The First Date

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘It’s good for the thighs, you should try it. Thunder thighs your dad used to call me when we were younger!’

  I smile. I’ve been wrong. Whatever Mum’s been through hasn’t really changed her. She’s bounced right back. Maybe I need to take a leaf out of her book. Be me. Be brave. Maybe falling in love with the wrong guy wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

  Chapter 15

  Two hours after Mum called, when I’d had a chance to shower, drink several cups of black coffee, and google HRT to see if it can cause extreme personality changes (the menopause has a lot to answer for, but I’m not sure it can be held totally responsible for Mum), my mobile rings.

  ‘Ropes.’

  ‘What?’ This was not the first word I thought Noah and I would share after our intense evening together.

  Maybe he is one of those people who doesn’t recall anything they say after several drinks.

  ‘Our next lesson, I’ve decided we’re going to do it with ropes.’ He chuckles. Why has this made my mouth go indecently dry, and my body feel all hot and bothered?

  ‘Ropes?’ It comes out all high-pitched. I swallow and try again. ‘What do you mean ropes? And what do you mean next time, we haven’t done it a first time!’ For some reason my mind has taken a detour down a very dirty route.

  ‘Rosie, Rosie.’ He tuts, but he’s smiling. ‘Mind like a sewer, and I thought you were such a nice girl.’

  ‘I am a nice girl!’ A confused girl, but a nice girl. ‘I thought we were going to meet at that café by the park?’ Cake, not ropes.

  ‘Change of plan. I’ve decided we need to fast track!’

  Oh no, he can’t wait to get rid of me. ‘It’s okay if you’re busy, you can just stop, I do understand.’ My fingers are crossed, I’m not quite ready for Noah to walk out of my life. Not yet. ‘I have learned quite a lot, I’m loads more confident than—’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s not that. But you’ve still got to be party-ready, yep?’

  ‘Yep!’ This is even more important now, after my chat to Mum. Not only have I kind of reinforced the idea that I have an actual boyfriend, and I have somehow managed to drop the name ‘Noah’ in, I am also determined to turn up on full supportive terms for her, and to stick a metaphorical two fingers up at my wayward dad by being with somebody I want to be with. This is tricky, as I am now beginning to think I do actually want somebody who is fun and flirty (like Noah) – and where the hell am I going to find somebody like that with such short notice? I think we need to jam as many lessons, and practice dates in as possible. Quickly.

  ‘I was thinking last night about what it is that we’re missing, and I got it.’ WTF? I lie awake wondering if he’s okay, and if not kissing him was a mistake or a good thing, and when and if he’s going to get back in touch, and he’s thinking about bondage and fast tracking me? ‘I set some objectives. You need to take a few risks in life, step outside your comfort zone.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘You do. You need to let go of control a bit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I try to push the note of suspicion out of my voice.

  ‘Well, er you’re a bit reserved.’

  ‘No, I’m not!’

  ‘Well, not always.’ He’s grinning. ‘You’re a bit of a conundrum, more than direct enough when it comes to speaking your mind, but you need to dice with danger a bit – find out that it won’t kill you.’

  ‘Is this about me not letting you pick a drink for me!’

  ‘Something like that, and the fact that you picked a boring git like Steve to go out with.’

  ‘I was practising! It was just a date!’ I pause. ‘Oh right, I see, you’re getting me back for sorting out my own practicals!’

  ‘He was a safe bet.’ He chuckles again.

  ‘I was actually quite proud of myself actually getting a date, until you butted in and—’

  ‘Oh.’ There’s a long pause. ‘Sorry, I’m being a git. You did do well, brilliantly, but you need another date, better dates.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Lots more dates: he read my mind. ‘Mum says I need passion.’ I’m not going to tell him what else she said – that would have him running for the hills.

  ‘Exactly! Wise woman. So, tomorrow we’ll get you up in the air. Then I’ll take you for a drink after to recover.’

  ‘Recover?’ I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

  ‘Trust me. I know what I’m doing.’

  Do I trust him? I think I trust him – I mean he’s never given me a reason not to, has he?

  ‘Oh, and sorry I didn’t reply to your texts, forgot to put my phone on charge when I got in last night. Too much to drink; sorry if I got a bit OTT, dunno what got into me.’

  ‘But you’re okay now?’

  ‘Of course, I am, why wouldn’t I be? I’ll pick you up at 10am.’ He ends the call before I can say anything else.

  I call an emergency meeting with Bea. This calls for coffee, cake and some logical thinking.

  And an escape plan.

  ***

  ‘Why are you looking so worried?’ Bea nudges me in the ribs as I drop my mobile phone back in my bag.

  ‘I’m not looking worried.’

  ‘Okay, pensive then? Come on then, spill. Tell me about him! Did you shag?’

  ‘Bea! You know it’s not like that!’

  ‘No, I don’t! Hang on,’ she peers at me, ‘you’re talking about Noah, aren’t you?’

  ‘Why, who are you talking about?’ I frown at her.

  ‘Steve! Your date, remember?’

  ‘Oh him, yeah.’ I’d pretty much forgotten about Steve.

  She laughs. ‘Come on then, what’s happened now? Honestly you spend more time talking to Noah that you did to Robbie!’

  She’s right. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I do talk to Noah and text him a lot. When we go our separate ways, it will leave a big hole in my life. Though the whole point of this is to fill any holes with a new man, or at least the ability to get one.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Ropes.’ I stare at her. ‘He wants to do it with ropes!’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘That’s what he said. What does he mean?’

  ‘Ropes, oh my God, Rosie! He’s a dream! Honestly, why you’re not shagging him yet I will never understand.’

  ‘Stop it, he didn’t mean that!’ I say, even though that was exactly my first thought. ‘And we’re not like that!’

  ‘You’ve gone pink!’

  ‘He said I need to step out of my comfort zone and let go of control.’

  ‘I bet he means climbing walls, or that jungle place.’

  ‘Oh shit, why didn’t I think of that?’ I didn’t think of that because hanging suspended above a forest with only a rope to hang onto is not something I even think about, let alone consider doing. ‘No.’ This is really stepping out of my comfort zone. ‘I’m scared of heights!’ I am. Just seeing somebody else stand on the edge of a rock face makes me feel queasy.

  ‘You can cling on to his manly body.’ She chuckles. ‘Though you have to admit, if you survive that then it will make dating people a piece of piss.’

  ‘Very nicely put,’ I say, madly googling ‘rope climbing’. ‘Frig, you could be right.’ My heart is pounding as I look at the website with the tag line ‘go wild’. I put my phone down. I feel sick. ‘Let go of control AKA scare myself shitless.’ I am now feeling weak at the knees for totally different and unromantic reasons. ‘I think I’d rather he just tied me up,’ I say glumly.

  Bea laughs. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘You know I don’t like it!’ This doesn’t date from some experience in my childhood. It’s like spiders. But less irrational. Falling from heights can hurt you. I’ve seen enough murder movies to know that.

  ‘I know.’ She smiles softly at me. ‘But you do trust him, don’t you?’ She says encouragingly.

  ‘Well, yeah, but …’ I do. I have never trusted anybody in my life like I do Noah. Something about him makes me fe
el safe in some deep-down part of me.

  ‘Then try it. What can go wrong?’

  ‘I die?’

  ‘These places don’t let people die, except—’ She grins. ‘Except in extreme circumstances, or,’ she pauses, ‘sabotage.’

  ‘Thanks, I feel much better now. I think,’ I stir my coffee slowly, ‘I need to get another date quick. I can tell him I don’t need to do the ropes!’

  ‘But you haven’t got a date!’

  ‘I’ll pretend!’

  ‘You could just say no.’ Bea is giving me her piercing look.

  ‘He might dump me.’

  ‘Ha!’ It’s a triumphant shout which I choose to ignore. I carry on calmly, reasonably. ‘This isn’t about you needing dating help, you’re scared of losing him, aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’ I am. If it wasn’t for the party, then I’d be willing these lessons to take longer. I’d be a klutz of a student, demanding extra sessions. I suppose if I do fail at getting a date, and he does come with me as my ‘fake date’ then it will mean that we carry on doing this for a bit longer. But then that will complicate life soooo much, and I’ll be lying to my mum.

  ‘Admit it! Oh Rosie.’

  ‘Don’t oh Rosie me,’ I say crossly.

  ‘Well just say no to him.’ She sits back. It sounds like a challenge.

  ‘Okay, I like seeing him. Satisfied?’ She waits for me to carry on. Bloody hell, this is frustrating. ‘I’m using him to pretend, aren’t I? While he’s in my life I’m stalling; I’m not having to go out and do it for real.’

  ‘Or you’re hoping?’

  ‘Will you just drop it? We’re not compatible, you know that. There is no way I’d date him for real, we’re friends.’ Except since he told me about Jed and his view of falling in love, and since I chatted to Mum and realised I need to be braver, and since it started to dawn on me that Dad never coming home wasn’t my fault, and that even Mum believes that faithful and fun aren’t mutually exclusive … since all of that I’ve had a little niggle in my head saying that maybe dating Noah wouldn’t be such a totally bad idea after all.

  Except then, it might just be one date and I’d have lost him as a friend.

  ‘Of course, you are.’ She touches my hand gently. ‘And friends can say no.’

  Chapter 16

  When I get home, I make the mistake of googling Serena the cellist. I know what my mother is like, she won’t forget that she wants to invite the woman. If I don’t do it and get it out of the way now, she will escalate the pressure – with texts, emotional blackmail and may resort to leaving pleas on my social media.

  This is another reason why I didn’t understand my parents’ marriage. Mum is so determined and efficient in all other aspects of her life but failed miserably when it came to sorting out her love life. Why has she always let Dad get away with things?

  Except maybe all that is about to change.

  Anyway, it doesn’t take much effort to find Serena. Mainly because the second result that comes up has a photo of her with my father.

  They are so close together they have to be touching. In fact, I’m sure his hand is on her bum. But it isn’t that which upsets me.

  Even after chatting to Mum, even after thinking I’d got what kind of man he really is sorted out in my head, this stings.

  It’s the look on his face. He is laughing down at her and his face, even in a picture, is alive.

  It is the look he used to give me when he decided to come home and grace us with his presence. I used to long for that look, wait for that look. That moment when I felt like I was important. I was his everything.

  And this image is that look frozen in time.

  With some floozy.

  I slam the lid of my laptop down as a feeling of revulsion and anger runs through me. I hate him. How can he do that with somebody else? How can he not come to see me, us, and be looking at somebody else that way?

  I mean, I do know he’s a total charmer, I do know he flirts his way through life, I do know he’s had what Mum calls ‘stupid flings’, but I’ve never had the evidence shoved in my face.

  This is everything that Mum didn’t spell out. The man she knew, but I was shielded from.

  Googling my dad is not something I’ve done before – because he’s just my dad. I’ve always taken his career for granted, just thought about it as an ordinary job. He doesn’t make the nationals, it’s not like he’s famous. You have to dig out the ‘arts and culture’ pages of the Sunday supplements and search with a magnifying glass to find some mention of him. So I don’t.

  But apparently, he does help fill the digital columns.

  Particularly when he messes around with ingenues and prodigious talents that the world of music is watching.

  My fingers are trembling slightly as I re-open the lid, take a deep breath and look again.

  Was I really just another person in his life to charm? I gulp down the lump in my throat, then hit the cross and close the photo. The next result is a newspaper report. There’s another photo of the two of them. It looks like they’re shouting at each other.

  I don’t read the story, I can’t. Instead I try not to throw up over my keyboard (I’d never get the bits out) and flick down the screen with tunnel vision until I find her contact details.

  It’s not that hard. Mum could have done it herself. It’s not like she’s not capable of using a laptop. Maybe she asked me because she wanted me to stumble across some of this crap; maybe she thinks I’m old enough now to know more, be able to handle the truth that is my parent.

  ‘Mum, I’ve found Serena’s details, but are you positive you want them?’

  ‘Of course, I do.’

  ‘Are you sure you couldn’t have got them yourself?’

  ‘You know you’re much quicker at finding things than I am. I bet it took you two seconds flat and I would have been messing for ages. My laptop is so slow as well these days, I think I need a new one.’

  Should I tell her? Surely, it’s better to know? If she doesn’t already. ‘I found this photo in Rome.’

  ‘The cosy one? He always was very good at hankering to the press.’

  ‘And an online article in the Daily Mail.’

  ‘Ah that one, I heard about that, but I don’t bother looking these days. I know what your dad looks like, especially when he’s arguing. That journalist seems to be rather keen on featuring your father; does make me wonder if he’s had a bit of a thing with her. She seems angry, doesn’t she? Didn’t you think that? A woman scorned?’

  ‘I didn’t read it, Mum.’

  ‘Serena was a child prodigy, that’s why she gets the coverage.’ She sighs. ‘You’d really think he’d be a bit smarter about who he picks, wouldn’t you? Stupid, arrogant man.’

  ‘Why not ditch the anniversary party, Mum?’ Please I pray inside my head. Why not ditch him as well, I want to add.

  ‘No, trust me, Rosie, I need to throw this bash. Do you want to text me the details? Is that easier than reading it out? I want to make sure I’ve got it right.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ I sigh again. ‘Oh Mum, I hope you’re doing the right thing. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘I’ve already been hurt, Rosie. We both have and I’m sometimes worried it’s affected you more than me.’

  ‘Look, Mum, we’ve been through this. I’m fine.’ We blow kisses and exchange ‘love yous’ and I put my mobile down. One down, one to go.

  This has put me off Noah and his ropes even more, if that is possible, for two reasons 1. is Noah, and 2. is ropes. I am worried that because of 2 I will end up clinging to 1, and that is not acceptable at all.

  Much as I want to, clinging to charming, flirty Noah could lose me everything.

  Bea is right. I just have to say no. So, I am going to call him and explain that as I have dates, I don’t need to do this.

  ***

  ‘Oh no, you can’t get out of it like that.’ I can hear the background chuckle in his deep voice.

  ‘Bu
t I’ve got a date lined up, a proper date, I don’t need—’

  ‘Nope,’ he says firmly. ‘That doesn’t change anything, this will still do you good.’ I’ve got a horrible feeling he wants me suspended from the ground so that he can interrogate me about my next date.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t? You’ll be fine, high ropes are totally different to climbing a rock face. Hey,’ his tone softens, it travels seductively across the airwaves and aims straight for my heart, ‘I’ll look after you, you know that, right?’

  I nod. Strangely enough, I do. ‘It’s not the climbing, it’s the heights.’ And you, I say in my head. And I can’t get any closer than I am already to you.

  Oh bugger, I should not have said yes.

  Chapter 17

  The weekend started off very ropey, haha, but has just got decidedly better. I am being manhandled by a very dishy guy, and it isn’t Noah. He’s dishy in a quiet, unassuming serious manner, which is lovely. And has very large, warm capable hands, which is even lovelier. And, like I say, he isn’t Noah, which helps put our relationship back on a professional (if it’s wise to call it that) footing.

  Noah wouldn’t back down on the whole rope idea thing; we had a bit of a tiff to be honest. I felt a bit raw after the whole Serena thing, which didn’t help. But even using my logic and reasoning to tell myself that Noah is not Dad, and that this isn’t a romantic involvement anyway, the whole idea was still making me queasy.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to watch him romp about on a rope Tarzan style, I’ve just got a thing about being suspended high up in the air, my feet dangling and lots of spiky things below waiting to, well, spike me, if I let go. Or something breaks. I don’t want to end my days resembling a raw kebab.

  He did mention kayaking (honestly? You must be joking, all that water all around and who knows what weeds lurking ready to drag a body down), skydiving (too expensive, thank God), and wild swimming (see kayaking, above, plus this is England and even though it’s summer it’s not exactly the same as swimming with dolphins in sun-kissed sea, is it?). I counteracted with motorbikes or a gallop on the beach, which he said wouldn’t work as a. I’d suggested them so they obviously didn’t scare me, and b. if I thought he was getting on a horse I had another think coming. His sister apparently put him on her pony when he was eight, then hit its bottom with her whip. He’s never got over the indignity of being galloped off with then dumped in a smelly ditch. She thought it was hilarious.