He pulls back a little and gently kisses the corner of my mouth.
‘I need to get you home,’ he says, smiling.
For a second, I can’t think what he means – take me home with him? Come home with me? But then I remember: London Eye, panic attack, he’s taking me to the Tube. Right.
Chapter Twelve
The Tube is crammed and loud and we only manage to exchange a few words at each stop before all conversation is whisked away on the underground breeze. So many people got on at Leicester Square that I ended up pressed up against Dan, whose back is against the Perspex divider. I try to hold myself away from him, but every movement of the train knocks me into him. He feels just like I imagined he would feel. Solid and strong. And he smells really good. I glance up every now and then and pull the traditional ‘sorry about this’ face, but he just smiles back and doesn’t seem fazed.
I wonder what it would be like to just relax against him, my chest against his, our hips and thighs aligned. What would it be like to press my lips to the skin just under his jaw? To lick over his bottom lip? Maybe I could. Once you’ve kissed, it’s open season, isn’t it? The first time I kissed Anthony… no, I don’t want to think about that. I want to think about kissing Dan. Actually, probably better that I don’t. My face starts to heat up and I push myself backwards again, one hand on the Perspex next to Dan’s arm.
I hear someone grumble behind me as a backpack bashes into my bum and I call ‘Sorry!’ over my shoulder.
At Euston, we all burst out of the train like an overstuffed suitcase snapping its lock, and walk through to the other line.
‘You really don’t need to come all the way with me,’ I tell Dan. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I’m not even shaking any more.
‘No, I want to,’ Dan says, reaching for my hand. His fingers slide between mine and he squeezes a little. My belly flutters.
The next train is quieter and we chat for a bit. Dan tells me he runs in the park near his house every morning and I tell him I’ve never run in my life, but I like parks for sitting. Which is when he asks me why I was in the park the morning we met. I tell him about the milk at work – he remembers me saying I’d gone out to get milk, which makes me cringe – and I say, ‘It was such a beautiful morning that I thought I’d just have a little break in the park. I keep reading that nature’s good for stress and everything…’
He nods. And then he smiles in a way that makes me know he’s going to ask me something I don’t want to answer. I wish I’d never mentioned the park.
‘And what made you take a photo of me?’ he says.
Oh god. I knew it. A guy sitting opposite, wearing long baggy shorts and a vest that shows his nipples, glances up at me and smirks.
‘Ah. You saw that?’ I ask Dan, shifting in my seat.
‘Yup.’ His eyes are twinkling so I don’t think he’s going to accuse me of being a creepy stalker, but still.
‘I… I don’t know how to say this so it doesn’t sound creepy.’
He laughs. ‘I’m OK with creepy. Let your freak flag fly.’
I wince. ‘OK. Well.’
I have no idea what to tell him. I kind of want to tell him everything – I’ll have to at some point and if we’re meant to be then I guess that means he’ll have to be OK with it. But I imagine Freya’s face if I go home and tell her I told him about the dream on our second date.
‘I like taking photos of people,’ I say, feebly. ‘Like… around London. You know when someone’s just going about their day and they don’t even know how cool or interesting they look? Well, you were sitting there and the way the light was shining… There were shadows from the leaves on the tree next to you and it just all looked really cool. So I took a photo. I’m sorry.’
‘Can I see it?’ he says.
Shit. He’s got that excited look on his face. The one he had on the London Eye just before I lost my shit.
‘Um.’ I run my fingers over my phone in my pocket. The photo I took is nothing like the scene I just described. It’s grainy and slightly blurred. There are no leaf shadows. No pretty light. It looks like what it is – a creeper shot of a hot man. Could I fake a panic attack now? Now that I know what they’re like. No. I just need to think of a reason not to show him the photo. I could tell him my phone’s out of charge. He wouldn’t check – who would check? Or I could say it got accidentally delete—
I glance up and realise, to my enormous relief, that we’re at my station. And then I realise I don’t know how long the train’s been stopped.
‘Shit!’ I say, jumping to my feet. ‘This is me!’
I fling myself out through the doors and Dan follows me. On the platform, we both stand for a couple of seconds, expecting the doors to close and the Tube to leave and for us to have narrowly missed having to travel on to the next stop, but no. It just stands there. Typical.
‘I thought that was going to be like Indiana Jones,’ Dan says. ‘Kinda disappointed now.’
I laugh. ‘I know. Although I do feel like today’s been quite dramatic enough already.’
We stand there on the platform, looking at each other. I don’t want to just put him back on the Tube again, that seems weird.
‘So…’ I say, glancing over towards the stairs.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he says. ‘It’s not far, right?’
‘No, it’s only about five minutes. But it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me.’
He smiles. ‘But I want to.’
OK.
* * *
Henry is waiting in the ticket hall. I completely forgot I’d asked him to come and meet me. Shit.
‘Hey,’ I say, as I approach him. He’s holding two paperbacks, so I know he’s been to the book exchange bookcase while he’s been waiting. I’d have done the same thing. Even though we work in a bookshop, neither of us ever misses the opportunity to grab a new book.
I see him glance at Dan and then back at me.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I totally forgot I’d asked you to meet me.’
‘No problem,’ Henry says. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Oh!’ I say, realising he and Dan are looking at each other. ‘This is Dan. Dan this is Henry, my landlord. And work colleague. And friend.’
Dan holds his hand out and Henry looks down at it and then at me before taking it to shake.
‘Good to meet you, man,’ Dan says.
‘Yeah,’ Henry says, frowning. And then, ‘You too.’
They both stand there looking at each other so I say, ‘The Tubes are pretty frequent. You shouldn’t have to wait too long.’
‘Ah, don’t worry about that,’ Dan says. ‘You’re sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m good, yeah. Thank you so much for bringing me all this way.’
He smiles at me and something in his face goes soft. It’s nice. ‘No problem.’
He steps slightly closer to me and it’s only then that I realise he’s going to kiss me again. In front of Henry. That’s fine, right? Friends kiss people in front of their friends, I’m sure they do. Dan grasps the front of my coat in both hands and tugs me towards him. It makes me laugh. And then his mouth is on mine, but it’s a quick kiss. Not a peck, but nothing like the kiss on the bridge. No tongue. It’s nice.
‘Call me tomorrow?’ he says.
I nod. ‘Definitely.’
When I look at Henry, he’s looking down at one of the books in his hand. It’s The Great Gatsby; I recognise the cover. Pretty sure he’s already read that one.
* * *
Neither Henry nor I talk for the first bit of the walk towards home. I feel a bit awkward and embarrassed about the kiss, and I assume he does too.
‘How come he came all this way?’ he asks, eventually, as we’re passing the bookshop. We both pause outside to peer through the windows and make sure everything looks OK.
Once we’ve started walking again, I say, ‘I sort of had a panic attack, so he didn’t want me to get the Tube on my own.’
<
br /> Henry stops and turns to look at me. ‘You had a panic attack?’
‘Yeah. On the London Eye. Apparently I’m not good with heights. Who knew?’
‘And Dan was with you?’
‘Yeah. He was actually great. His sister has them apparently, so he knew what to do. He talked to me and kept me calm. Well… as calm as I could be since I thought I was dying.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad he helped.’
We pass the burger place where I once spent about six hours waiting for Henry to get home from a date, because I’d left my bag containing my keys, phone and money at work. When I went back the next day to pay, the owner wouldn’t accept my money.
I mention it to Henry. ‘Who were you out with?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘You must do!’ I laugh. ‘It wasn’t that long ago.’
He shrugs. Something seems off with him. He’s not his usual self.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘For dragging you out to meet me.’
‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘I don’t mind. Really.’
Except something tells me he absolutely does.
Chapter Thirteen
Freya’s in the kitchen when we get home. She’s got exercise books spread out all over the dining table, she’s halfway through a bottle of wine and she’s blasting Carly Rae Jepson from her laptop.
Henry goes straight upstairs, but I join Freya and put the kettle on.
‘Have you got much more to do?’ I ask her, gesturing at the piles of books.
‘Oh,’ she says, shrugging. ‘Shitloads, yeah.’
She turns the volume down on ‘Cut to the Feeling’ while I fill the kettle.
‘So,’ she says, when I turn around. ‘How was it?’
I catch her up on all the panic attack stuff and then say, ‘And he kissed me. On Westminster Bridge.’
‘Ooh!’ she says, pouring herself another glass of wine. ‘I wonder if anyone took a photo. Want one?’
‘That’s what I thought!’ This is why we’re friends. ‘And no, ta, I’m fine with tea.’
‘So how was it? The kiss?’
‘It was nice.’
‘Nice?’ she says, disdainfully. ‘Oh god. I’m sorry.’
‘No!’ I blow on my tea. ‘Not bad nice. It was good! It was a good kiss.’
‘You said it was “nice”. A nice kiss is not a good kiss.’
I shake my head. ‘I mean… I don’t really have much to compare it to. But it was nice. Soft lips. He didn’t slobber or bite me. It was—’
‘Nice. I get it. Was Anthony a good kisser?’
I wince. I’ve spent a long time trying really hard not to think about Anthony. I don’t want to think about Anthony. I reach for her wine and take a sip.
‘He wasn’t really into kissing,’ I say. He thought it was a waste of time, I don’t say.
She pulls a face. ‘Of course he wasn’t. OK, so did your knees go weak? With Dan?’
I frown. ‘They were already a bit dodgy from the whole panic attack thing, but I don’t think so, no.’
She shakes her head. ‘I think a first kiss should make you melt.’
‘Maybe in films. Or novels.’ I’m always struck by how perfect fictional first kisses are. No one ever bumps heads or even noses. Teeth don’t bash together. They’re never too slobbery. It’s all slow and gentle effortlessly becoming hot and desperate. It’s not realistic.
My first kiss with Anthony didn’t make me melt either. Oh, and now I’m thinking about him when I didn’t want to be thinking about him. But we had our first kiss in Waterloo station. He was running late for his train. We’d been walking along the Embankment, and every time we stopped I wondered if he was going to kiss me. At one point we sat on a bench and looked out at the river and I considered making the first move and just kissing him, but I was worried that he didn’t actually want to kiss me and that if I kissed him, he’d push me away and say, ‘God no!’ or something hideous. So I waited. And we got to Waterloo, looked up at the board, saw his train was leaving from somewhere down the escalators in just a couple of minutes and he sort of grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. It was a bit too hard – my top lip bashed against my teeth – and he stuck his tongue in pretty much immediately with no finesse, and then he said, ‘I’ll ring you’ and practically threw himself down the escalator.
‘No,’ Freya says. ‘In real life.’
‘What?’
‘First kisses. Should be good. In real life.’
I shake my head. ‘You’re the one always saying that I’m a romantic. That I have unrealistic expectations.’
‘Right. And you are. And you do. Meeting a man that you’ve been having a recurring dream about is an unrealistic expectation. That a first kiss should give you butterflies – IN YOUR PANTS – is not.’
‘I don’t agree,’ I tell her. ‘I think the kissing will get better with time.’ Anthony’s didn’t. But Dan is not Anthony.
‘OK,’ she says. ‘So I told you about Georgie, right. The girl I met through work?’
‘Not really. But Henry told me he surprised her in the bathroom.’
Freya laughs. ‘Oh god, yeah. She was mortified.’
‘So was he.’
She grins. ‘OK, well, she came into work for an interview. I interviewed her. And she wasn’t right for the job, but we got on really well in the interview and I just… felt something, you know?’ She purses her lips at me. ‘No. You don’t know. Well, I’m telling you. We had chemistry. So when I rang to tell her she didn’t get the job, I asked her out for a drink.’
‘You did not.’
She waggles her eyebrows. ‘I so did. And she said yes. And we went for a coffee – I told you that, right? – and then we went for a walk. And then she pulled me into a bus shelter and kissed me and I nearly fucking came there and then.’
I stare at her. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously. Like if we hadn’t been near her house I wouldn’t have been able to wait. When you kissed, did you feel it in your, you know…’ She gestures at me, grinning. ‘Lady place?’
‘I can say “vagina”,’ I tell her. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘I mean, I think you’d know if you had, so you didn’t.’
‘But that’s OK!’ I say. ‘It was just a first kiss. The next one might be the… bus shelter kiss.’
‘But shouldn’t the first one be like that? He’s the man of your dreams. You fancy him, right?’
‘He’s really hot.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question. But let’s just assume you do. And he clearly fancies you. So why was the kiss such a big dull dud?’
‘I didn’t say it was a big dull dud!’
‘You didn’t have to.’ She picks up her wine with both hands and drinks while staring at me over the rim of the glass.
‘It’s not all about that anyway,’ I say, once I’ve drunk some of my tea. ‘I think it was nice because it was easy, you know? Like it was easy to talk to him – after the whole panic attack embarrassment – there were no awkward pauses. I was worried he would be freaked out and run away, but he didn’t. He was totally chill. It was just… like it was meant to be.’
‘Seriously?’ Freya gets up, opens the fridge door and then slams it shut, a Dairylea cheese triangle in her hand. ‘I mean… that sounds promising. But did you want to rip his clothes off? Did it feel like coming home? Was it the kiss of your dreams?’
‘I don’t think so, no. But I don’t have much to compare it to.’
‘No, I know,’ Freya says. ‘It makes me want to hunt Anthony down and punch him in the face.’
I push my chair back. I think I’ll take my tea upstairs. I used to fantasise about doing the same thing, but now I just don’t want to think about him at all. I wish she wouldn’t keep bringing him up.
‘Don’t go,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I know you don’t like talking about him.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, picking up my tea.
‘It’s not. I upset you. And I’m sorry. I just think… it’s something you should think about.’
‘Yeah,’ I tell her. ‘I will. I promise.’
But I really don’t want to.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m in the park. I can see Dan in the distance and I head towards him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The sun’s shining, but there’s a cool breeze and I glance up at the sky when I think I feel a couple of raindrops. It’s only as I approach the bench that I see the man in the distance isn’t Dan at all – it’s Anthony.
I stop walking and the rain gets heavier, the wind rattling the leaves on the trees. Anthony is still coming towards me, but I’m frozen. He gets closer – he’s staring at me – and then just when he’s close enough that I think I’m going to have to speak to him, he just disappears. And I’m left standing in the park alone, soaking wet.
And then I wake up.
* * *
My stepdad, Tom, is already there when I get to the restaurant. He’s sitting over on the far side of the room in a booth, looking out of the window, and only looks up when I arrive at the end of the table. But as soon as he sees me, his face transforms into a huge smile and I smile right back. He stands up and leans on the table as I crane over to kiss him on his cheek. He smells like home.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he tells me, as I sit down and scooch until I’m opposite him. He comes to London once a month for work and he always takes me out to lunch. I love it. And not just for the free lunch. And because I work for him, he can write it off against tax, so we’re both happy. He likes this place because it’s just behind Oxford Circus, so it’s handy for both of us.
I smile. ‘Thank you.’ He always says that. Always has.
‘How are you? Any news?’
‘Good,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks.’ I pick up the menu. ‘I sort of met someone.’
‘Wow,’ he says, smiling at me over the top of his own menu. ‘Really?’
It Had To Be You: An absolutely laugh-out-loud romance novel Page 7
