* * *
The waiter has been and taken our order by the time Dan comes back with a three-pack of socks in red, yellow and blue and a two-pack in white and black (‘I didn’t know what colour you wanted’). I feel much better as soon as I put them on (I go for the red ones). I still can’t get my shoes back on, but I’m much more hopeful than I was earlier.
‘Stylish,’ I say, holding out one foot and twirling my ankle.
‘No!’ he says. ‘It actually is! I’ve seen stuff like that in magazines, where, like, you don’t think it would work but it’s ironic or something.’
‘You read fashion magazines?’
‘My sisters get them.’
‘You’ve got sisters?’ As I say it I realise he told me about one of them after I had the panic attack.
‘Three. They still live back in Derby.’
‘Ah, Derby. I was wondering where your accent was from.’
‘Yeah. What about you?’
‘Just outside Manchester. My parents still live there.’
‘Yeah, all my family’s still in Derby. Just me down here.’
‘How come you moved down here?’
‘For the original traineeship. I’m not planning to stay here long-term.’
‘No?’
‘Nah, I want to go where the money is. Dubai, maybe. A guy I was at uni with works somewhere out there and he is coining it in.’
‘I’ve never really fancied it,’ I say. ‘Too new and shiny. I love the history in London.’
‘History’s boring,’ Dan says.
I don’t mean to react, but he obviously sees something in my expression ’cos he says, ‘I mean, I know it’s all really interesting and everything if you’re into it – my mum is, she reads, like Dickens and stuff about kings and queens – but I’ve just never really been interested.’
‘I remember when I was a kid,’ I tell him. ‘My mum was always pointing stuff out to me. Like, we went to York and she was fascinated. I remember her touching a wall and saying it was the same wall that Romans had touched and I was like “yeah, whatever, big deal”. But that’d be me now. I love it.’
The waiter brings our food and once he’s gone, Dan says, ‘It’s more interesting when you put it like that. Like, if someone can bring it to life for you? But at school it was all just dates and laws and shit I couldn’t remember and couldn’t get straight in my head. Is that why you wanted to move to London? The history?’
I shake my head. ‘That’s part of it, I think? But really it’s just because London feels like the centre of everything. From the very first time I came, I knew I wanted to live here. I used to have postcards all over my wall. And we came every year for my birthday. I didn’t get presents for years; I’d have a day in London.’
‘What do you love about it?’
I frown and take a sip of my Red Slushy cocktail, which I chose because it looked and sounded like an actual slushy, but which I am now worrying is staining my mouth red… like an actual slushy.
‘I’m not sure exactly. The energy, I guess? I feel like it’s full of possibilities. Like at home I would have to be a certain thing, but here I can do or be anything.’
‘And what do you want to be?’
‘Ah. That’s a different issue.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Not really. I’ve thought about my own bookshop. Like a bookshop/coffee shop, maybe? But I’d need a lot of money for that and… I have no money. Right now I’m happy working in the bookshop. It’s fun working with Henry and there’s no responsibility… It’s not ideal long-term, I know.’
‘But you’re only young.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself. What do your sisters do?’
‘Katie is a teaching assistant at my mum’s school – Mum’s a teacher – and Tanya and Beth both work at a spa place doing, like, massage and treatments.’
‘That sounds cool.’
‘Yeah. They love it. They were always into beauty stuff. They used to give me facials when I was at home.’
I grin. ‘Yeah?’
‘And once I let them wax my legs. And my chest.’
I think of my bikini line and wonder again if it would be horrifying to Dan like it was to Anthony. I can’t imagine Henry caring about something like that. And I don’t know why I’m thinking about Henry right now. I drink some more of my drunken slushy and Dan says, ‘Do you have to get back?’
‘No. What were you thinking?’
‘Well, I was going to suggest a romantic walk along the Thames, but…’ He grins. ‘There’s a nice bar just over the road. It’s usually packed inside, but there’s a sort of beer garden that’s nice, if you’re OK with people smoking?’
‘That sounds good,’ I say.
Dan pays – I offer, but he insists, even though I tell him I already owe him for the socks – and then we leave. The bar is literally just over the road and down a side street and the beer garden is cute: small and square with only four picnic tables, and people smoking at just one of them. I sit down and Dan goes inside for drinks. I text Freya.
Tonight might be the night
Almost immediately she replies with a heart, an aubergine and a rocket emojis. Immediately followed by
You sure?
‘No,’ I say aloud. And then tap it into my phone.
Don’t do it unless you’re sure. Promise.
* * *
One hundred per cent?
I don’t know if I’ve ever been one hundred per cent sure of anything in my entire life.
Seventy-five should do it,
she replies.
Did you get condoms?
I send back the thumbs up emoji. I got them in Tesco on the way to the Tube. I felt weird taking them up to the counter – I couldn’t take them on their own, I also bought a Guardian and a packet of Revels – sort of shifty but also grown-up. Like I had a flashing sign over my head saying ‘May be getting laid’. The woman serving didn’t even blink. And I’m not sure I’m mature enough to be having sex if I get overexcited just buying the condoms.
Dan comes back with the drinks and for a minute or so we sit in silence.
‘Do you—’ he says.
‘What’s the—’ I say at the same time.
‘You go,’ he says.
‘I was just going to ask if you ever hear like a running commentary in your head? I was talking to my flatmate about it – Henry? You met him at the station? – the other day and I was just thinking about it.’
He looks confused. ‘Like a voice in my head?’
‘Yes! Like a voice telling you what’s happening?’
He shakes his head. ‘Never. No.’
‘Really? Like when you were in the bar, there was a voice in my head saying, like, “Dan’s gone to the bar” and…’ I realise I can’t tell him the other stuff I was thinking. ‘And, you know, just, like, observations.’
He laughs. ‘No. That sounds mental.’
I drink some of my beer. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘Oh!’ he says. ‘I was just going to ask if you go home a lot. But that sounds really boring now.’ He smiles behind his glass.
‘No,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t. I don’t get home that much, no. Just special occasions really. The train’s quite expensive and… I don’t know, it just doesn’t happen. I used to go home whenever my brother came home but he hardly does any more. What about you?’
He nods. ‘I try to get home as much as I can, yeah.’
A pigeon flies into the beer garden and we both watch it wandering between the tables for a bit. I’m struggling to think of something to say and the more I struggle, the more stressed I get. Eventually I say, ‘The other thing me and Henry were talking about the other day was the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done that no one knows.’
‘God,’ he says, covering his mouth with his hand. ‘Too many to choose from.’ He drops his head back, looking up at the sky, and then says, ‘When I was at school I liked
this girl. Portia. I wrote a note asking her out and my mate passed it to her. She sent it back saying yes. I was leaning back on my chair. On two legs, you know? Like the teachers always tell you not to. And when I read her note, I just fell right back. Flat on the floor.’
‘Oh no!’ I say, laughing. ‘That’s pretty bad. Although we actually had a teacher do that once, it was great. But that doesn’t count, people know about that one. Portia. And whoever else was in the class.’
‘Oh, you’re right,’ he says. ‘Forgot that bit.’ He thinks a bit longer and then says, ‘OK. No one knows this one. At one of my job interviews I went to the loo and then couldn’t get back to the interview room. There was a keypad on the door and I didn’t know the code. Ended up climbing out of the window.’
‘You did not.’
He nods. ‘’Fraid so. What about you? What’s your most embarrassing moment?’
‘That panic attack on the London Eye was pretty shameful.’
‘Nah. You’re going to have to come up with something better than that.’ He smiles.
‘OK…’ I try to think. Most of my embarrassing moments are too embarrassing to share with someone I might potentially be thinking about sleeping with. ‘I went to Alton Towers with some friends and my boob came out of my top on one of the rides. I didn’t realise – I could just see all these blokes going “Waaaaahey” every time I went past. It was only when it got to the end that I looked down and saw. I was terrified someone had filmed it and it would go viral.’
‘Which one?’ he asks, grinning.
I look down at my chest and point at my left boob. ‘This one.’
He laughs. ‘Which ride?’
‘Oh god. OK, so I can add that to the list.’ I shake my head. ‘The Runaway Mine Train.’
His eyes flicker down to my chest. ‘You probably looked amazing.’
‘I doubt it very much. But thanks.’
He swigs some of his drink, a line of foam settling on his top lip. I want to reach out and wipe it away with my thumb, but it seems like too much. He wipes it with the back of his hand and then shuffles along his seat and moves round the table to sit next to me.
‘Hi,’ he says, his voice lower.
‘Hi.’ I have to look up at him a little with him this close. I think I like it.
He runs his thumb along the back of my forearm and then circles my wrist with his hand.
My heart’s racing and I worry he’ll be able to feel my pulse under his thumb. Maybe that’s what he’s doing – he thinks I’m so dull, he was worried I might be dead and he’s come round to check. But no, I was just talking about my boobs – well, actually Freya’s boobs because that was her story, not mine. My embarrassing stories aren’t flirty enough, so I decided to nick one of Freya’s because all of hers are—
And he’s kissing me.
Sometimes in the romance novels I read, the heroines are freaking out and the heroes kiss them and all the thoughts go out of their head and all they can think about is the kiss. That doesn’t seem to be the case for me. Even though I do think this is a better kiss than the one on the bridge.
I need to focus on the kiss. His lips. Moving against mine. Slowly. They’re soft and not too wet and his thumb is stroking the back of my hand and it feels nice. I don’t know where his other hand is and I don’t know where mine is either. Where is it? Oh, it’s on my thigh. OK. I should move it.
I curl my fingers into his T-shirt. He shuffles even closer. I could press up against him if I wanted to, but I’m aware that there are other people here, even though I’ve got my back to them and I can hear them talking and laughing so I know they’re not sitting staring at us and evaluating the kiss. Probably.
Dan’s other hand slides inside my jacket now and his fingers curl into my side, briefly, before his hand moves higher. His knuckles graze over my ribs and I sit up straighter, pulling my stomach in. He runs his tongue over my bottom lip and I realise I’m supposed to be doing something with mine. I run it along his lip and he sighs against my mouth as his fingers brush up against the side of my breast.
OK. He’s heading for the boobs. I can do this. I can sit here in a public place and get felt up. That’s absolutely fine. I just need to focus.
And then Dan’s thumb brushes over my nipple and a few things happen at once. I inadvertently let out a sort of yelp and my leg shoots out under the table and connects with something soft. There’s a squawk and a pigeon flies up between me and Dan. I screech and rear back in my seat, knocking into the table so that my beer falls over and rolls into Dan’s lap.
Perfect.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Freya and Georgie are in the lounge when I get home. The TV’s on, the lights are low, and there’s a bottle of red and a bowl of crisps on the table.
‘Soooooo?’ Freya says, as soon as I walk in, pausing the TV. ‘How did it go?’ She’s got her feet in Georgie’s lap and Georgie’s stroking her ankles.
‘Great,’ I say, flopping down on the other sofa. ‘We’re back at his place having sex right now.’
‘Ha,’ Freya says. ‘You’re funny.’
I close my eyes. ‘I kicked a pigeon.’
‘Is that a euphemism?’ Freya says.
‘Ha. No.’ I open my eyes and shuffle on the seat, pulling a pair of balled socks out from behind my back. Ugh. Adam. ‘I literally kicked a pigeon. Dan touched my boob, I kicked a pigeon, knocked over my lager and it poured into Dan’s lap.’
Freya is just staring at me. ‘Thank god you didn’t try to have sex with him. You’d probably blow up a dog or something.’
Georgie snorts.
I drop my head back against the sofa. There was no way sex was on the agenda after the… pigeon incident. Dan was very polite about it, but still. It kind of killed the mood.
‘How was it apart from that?’ Georgie asks and Freya laughs.
‘My stupid fucking shoes murdered my feet,’ I say without opening my eyes. I had to prise them off as soon as I was in the front door and I almost threw them in the bin, but… they’re so pretty. ‘But other than that – and the pigeon – it was good. And he went and bought me socks.’
‘Socks?’ Freya says. ‘You’re never going to have sex.’
I straighten up and blink at her. ‘What?’
‘A man who wants to get into your knickers does not buy you socks.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ I tell her. ‘He was very interested in my boobs. Well, one of them. Also, he was just being kind. Considerate. That’s a good thing.’
‘It’s something,’ she says. ‘Was there more dull kissing?’
‘There was more kissing,’ I confirm. ‘It wasn’t dull.’
‘The kissing’s dull?’ Georgie says, looking up at me from Freya’s feet.
‘Not dull!’ I tell her. ‘Freya just decided it was dull because I didn’t hump him on Westminster Bridge. It was good.’
‘Tingles this time?’ Freya asks. ‘A special feeling in your special place?’
‘A bit,’ I tell her.
And I’m not even lying. If I’d been able to shut my brain off enough to really pay attention then I feel like there definitely would have been tingles. Probably.
Freya swings her legs down and Georgie curls up against her side, one hand fisted in the front of Freya’s ironic Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. I know they’d both happily talk to me, but I also know I’ve interrupted their evening and they’re probably dying to get back to watching whatever it is they’re watching.
‘What are you watching?’ I ask, squinting at the TV.
‘The Sopranos,’ Freya says. ‘Georgie’s never seen it, can you believe?’
I can. ’Cos I haven’t either.
‘I think I’m just going to go and watch a romantic comedy on Netflix,’ I say, clambering out of the chair and wincing at the pain in my feet. There’s no way I’ll be able to stand up all day tomorrow at work. I’ll have to beg Henry to give me something I can do sitting down.
‘That,’ Freya
says, pointing at me with her glass of wine, ‘is part of your problem.’
‘What is? And what problem?’
‘You’re a hopeless romantic!’ she says.
‘Aww,’ Georgie murmurs, nuzzling into Freya’s neck.
I need to get out of here; I know from painful experience that Freya has no boundaries where PDA is concerned.
‘I know I am,’ I say. Well, a romantic. I don’t know about ‘hopeless’. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s fine. It’s good. But you need a bit of realism too. You know, life is not all “I’m just a boy standing in front of a girl” it’s more like “Here’s a boy, in his pants, and they’re not even clean, but somehow I love him anyway”.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if I could love a man in dirty pants.’
She grins. ‘But you know what I mean? Romance isn’t all big declarations, running to the airport, performing a song for you at the O2. Sometimes it’s like… OK, I’ll give you an example. Georgie came over the other night, right? And I’d told her that I like M&Ms and she brought me a family bag.’
‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘It’s not exactly romantic.’
‘Well, then I kind of put them in places and it was all really fucking hot…’
Georgie giggles into Freya’s neck.
‘But that’s not my point,’ Freya continues. ‘My point is that she listened to me, remembered something I’d said, and did something to make me happy. And then something to make me really horny.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’ve gone off the point a bit.’
Georgie’s hand is creeping under Freya’s T-shirt now. I edge towards the door.
‘I know that romance in films and books isn’t real,’ I say. ‘I’m not an idiot.’
It Had To Be You: An absolutely laugh-out-loud romance novel Page 12
