by Vicky Owen
‘For your songs.’
I was?
The waiter returns with a small basket of artisan breads and an olive oil-based dip. Thankful for the excuse to pull my hands out of Kirsty’s grasp, I take a small roll and tear it in two, all the while trying to find an answer for her question.
‘I guess,’ I say slowly, dipping my bread into the olive oil, ‘my songs are based on my own experiences.’ As soon as the words are out, I realise how stupid and predictable they sound. But, quite frankly, I don’t know what else she could have been expecting. It’s not exactly a secret. Don’t all artists use personal experience for their work?
‘Ooh, interesting!’ She takes another sip of wine, ignoring the bread basket.
It’s not interesting. This is the dullest conversation I’ve had since listening to Gethin’s monologue about why Tekken is better than Street Fighter II. He went on and on about characters and combat mechanics. I think he may have been drunk at the time. Also he was wrong.
‘So who are your songs about?’ She’s still not eating any bread. Who doesn’t love freshly-baked bread?
Cerys would eat it.
I’m annoyed, but I’m not sure if it’s with Kirsty for being so banal or with myself for agreeing to this date in the first place.
Or with Cerys for being so…Cerys. I can’t get her out of my head. Should have kissed her.
Or maybe it’s Gethin I’m annoyed with. He made me doubt myself.
I shove more bread in my mouth.
No, it’s definitely me I’m pissed with.
Kirsty is touching my hands again, and my attention snaps back to her.
‘Uh…’ I scramble my brain for an answer. What I really want to do is tell her to mind her own fucking business. Music is personal, and I don’t want to share the details of my lyrics with you. You’re no one to me. I’m only here because of Harry.
Maybe it’s Harry I’m pissed with…
Kirsty is still waiting for an answer. Aren’t the lyrics themselves enough?
I sigh and settle on the ultimate cop-out. ‘It’s too complicated. The songs are about all sorts of things. Wouldn’t know where to begin explaining them.’ I start pulling my hands away again but she tightens her grip on them.
‘Well that’s okay,’ she says, looking down at my fingers and tracing hers along them, ‘we’ve got plenty of time. We’ve only just ordered food.’
Why did I agree to this so-called date? I could be with Cerys right now if I hadn’t resolved to let her initiate next contact after Gethin’s comments. Don’t want her to feel pressured, but damn, I want to see her. I still have the—
‘And besides,’ Kirsty continues, interrupting my thoughts, ‘who knows where the night will take us?’ Her eyes flick up to meet mine. ‘Maybe we could go back to yours.’
Yeah, no.
‘Swordfish?’ I’m saved by a dead fish—surrounded by steamed veggies and buttered new potatoes—being placed in front of Kirsty and giving me an excuse to pull my hands out of her grasp.
‘And steak, sir?’
‘Thanks.’ A juicy rib-eye with a blooming onion, fries and a brimming bowl of salad is placed in front of me by the waiter. ‘Enjoy,’ he smiles before leaving. My steak looks far more appetising than her fish.
Kirsty is looking at her plate with a frown on her face.
‘Everything okay?’
‘I asked for it without new potatoes. I wanted salad instead.’
I look at mine. Caesar salad is my favourite. ‘Well…’ I pause for a moment, considering whether I really want to give my food to her. ‘You can have mine if you want.’ Anything to make this night end more quickly.
She looks at mine and scrunches her nose at it. ‘Too high fat.’
An exasperated sigh escapes me before I can stop myself. ‘Just eat around the potatoes then. Or ask them to swap it. I don’t know.’ I don’t care. I just want this to be over so I can leave and message Harry to tell him his taste in women is shit.
For a few minutes, she alternates between looking around anxiously and frowning at her plate. By the time she settles on my first suggestion—that is, eating around the potatoes—I’m already halfway through my meal. It’s fucking delicious. The restaurant was also Harry’s suggestion. He’s wrong about women but right about food.
After a couple of bites, Kirsty seems to relax again, and I realise that there’s something very familiar about her. Something about her hair and eyes.
‘So,’ I venture, ‘how do you know Harry?’ I don’t really care but maybe it’ll jog my memory.
‘He was at school with my brother,’ she says, taking a small forkful of swordfish into her mouth. The answer takes me by surprise. I’d forgotten this is Harry’s hometown and just assumed she was a friend of one of his many one-night stands, most likely the girl he picked up in Low. ‘And he hooked up with my friend a few weeks ago in Low.’ Ah, yeah, there it is. Of course he did. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ She asks.
I finish my last bite. ‘Yeah, just the one half-sister…’ I trail off as it dawns on me who she reminds me of. ‘Kelly.’ Auburn hair, dark blue eyes. My half-sister. Kelly’s hair is admittedly a bit shorter, and she’s not even slightly neurotic about food, but there’s a definite resemblance.
‘How old is she?’ Kirsty dabs her mouth with her napkin before picking up her wine glass.
‘Nineteen.’
‘Me too! Oh wow, what a coincidence,’ she says before finishing the last of her wine and smiling at me yet again. Then she suddenly stands up. ‘Just popping to the ladies’. Won’t be a moment.’ She picks up her bag and heads to the restroom.
I sink back in my seat, feeling all kinds of wrong. Oh God. Fucking Harry. I reach in my pocket for my phone to send him a message telling him what a twat he is. He’s met Kelly, for fuck’s sake. How could he have missed such obvious similarities?
‘Finished, sir?’
The waiter is back.
‘Uh, yes. Thank you.’ I pull out my mobile.
‘How was your meal?’
‘Really good. Can we get the bill please?’ I’m putting an end to this date right now.
‘Very well, sir.’ He efficiently stacks the plates and leaves while I look at my phone.
I have a message.
Cerys.
Want to grab something to eat tomorrow night?
Tomorrow. Friday.
I reply: Sure. Pick you up around 7.
‘Everything okay?’ Kirsty is back, sitting down and smiling at me. I tuck my phone back into my pocket just as the waiter returns with the bill. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘I was hoping we could get dessert.’ The waiter pauses.
‘I’m really sorry, but I’ve had a message and I’ve got to go,’ I say quickly, passing my credit card to the waiter who accepts it cautiously. I don’t even look at the bill as I stand to leave.
‘Okay. Well, next time maybe?’ Kirsty stands back up and puts her bag over her shoulder.
‘I’ll drop you off home.’ And there’s not going to be a next time. I keep that part to myself.
The waiter returns swiftly with a chip and pin machine, and I quickly confirm my details before we leave, collecting our jackets as we exit.
‘IT’S JUST HERE.’
I pull over outside a large semi-detached with a double driveway on a tree-lined street.
‘Would you like to come in? My parents are away until Sunday.’
Oh God. No. ‘I really can’t, sorry.’
She looks a bit crestfallen. It’s disturbing how similar she looks to Kelly in the soft street light. She starts moving towards me.
She wants to kiss me.
No. Fuck. I do the first thing that comes to mind: I turn away. Focus on the road. Wait for her to get out.
After a moment of painfully awkward silence I see her moving in my peripheral vision and the door opens. ‘Whatever,’ she mutters, before slamming the door shut.
I should feel bad, but I don’t. I’m just glad she’s
gone.
Never taking dating advice from Harry again.
Cerys
JEANS AGAIN?
I rifle through my wardrobe.
Would it be too samey to wear jeans yet again? Shouldn’t I be trying to look more…girly to seduce Jake?
It’s a pointless question. I have no skirts. I live in jeans and pyjama bottoms.
Lexi isn’t here, and even Mylo is out this time. He’s out with friends and she’s out on a date. Some guy she met on that dating app. She left half an hour ago looking as gorgeous as ever. I haven’t even told her about tonight, afraid I’ll jinx it.
Fuck it. I’m just going to dress like me. I grab the softest pair of skinny jeans I own and toss them onto the bed.
Now a top. There are countless vests in here. I’m looking for one in particular. I haven’t worn it since my first year. It’s dark red with a plunging neckline.
Well, I can look like me and still be sexy. Right?
After a bit of searching through the wardrobe’s dimly-lit interior, I find it and toss it onto the bed before digging around in my undies drawer for a push-up bra.
Five minutes later, I’m dressed and studying my reflection in the mirror. Tight jeans and boots—as always—and some pretty impressive cleavage. Push-up bras for the win, I think, adjusting it slightly. I study my face and settle for some clear gloss smeared across my lips.
I’m just finishing up—scrunching my hair to give it that messy, carefree bed head look—when a text comes through from Jake, letting me know he’s outside.
I could have just met him there, I think. But I like it when he picks me up. I like that he’s still a bit overprotective of me.
Anyone else I would tell to fuck off. But not Jake.
I grab a small jacket from the wardrobe and check my reflection one last time before locking up and heading downstairs. I wonder for a moment if the top is too much. Or too little, depending on the question. But no. It’s perfect for what I want tonight.
I exit the building expecting to see Jake’s car, but it’s not here.
‘Hey.’ I look in the direction of the voice and there he is, tilting his head and looking far too good for a man who’s just wearing jeans, a shirt and a jacket. He’s standing by the open door of a black car. I think it’s a Bentley.
I walk towards him and I can feel his eyes on me as I approach. He’s not looking directly at the centre of my chest, but I know he sees it. He smiles like he can’t help it, and I suddenly feel naked in front of him. He gestures for me to get in the back.
‘Sushi Roll,’ he says to the driver, getting in next to me as I buckle my seat belt.
‘Is that that new restaurant? I’ve never had sushi,’ I say as I turn to face him. He picks up my hand and holds it in his lap, teasing my fingers with his. His touch unnerves and excites me, and I can’t bring myself to reciprocate for fear of doing something wrong.
For the whole journey we stay like that. Quiet. Intimate. Me wondering what’s happening. Desperate to say something but afraid it’ll break the spell.
As we pull up to the restaurant, he turns to me and smiles. ‘Hungry?’
‘Yes.’ For you.
The driver opens the door and helps me out while Jake gets out on his side. A moment later, he’s right next to me, holding my hand again, leading me into the restaurant.
‘So, never had sushi?’ He opens the door and ushers me in first. We’re going in the front this time, and not via some secret back entrance.
‘Nope,’ I say, entering a small, glass-walled room that separates the entrance from the restaurant proper. It’s cute in here. Bright colours everywhere. The tables, the chairs. The walls. The floor. Even the cutlery, from what I can see. And so busy.
‘Norton,’ Jake is saying to a Japanese girl behind a podium. She scans a list in front of her.
‘Yep.’ She ticks something. ‘Found you. Follow me,’ she smiles, grabbing a couple of menus from the side of the podium and walking briskly into the restaurant itself. Jake tugs gently on my hand and we follow the Japanese lady before being seated next to a conveyor belt that carries a huge variety of foods I recognise only from a small party game I own.
‘Have you eaten with us before?’ she’s saying as we sit.
I shake my head.
‘Okay, well these’—she puts the menus in front of us—‘tell you what’s what. You just take what you want from the conveyor and we’ll calculate the cost at the end. There’s forks, spoons and chopsticks in here.’ She taps on a cylindrical container in the middle of the table, filled with cutlery and napkins. ‘Can I get you any drinks?’
Jake looks at me, raising his eyebrows as if to say, you go first.
‘Can I just get some water, please?’ I say.
‘Sure thing. And for you, sir?’ She looks at Jake.
‘Same.’
She smiles and turns to leave.
‘Wait,’ he says suddenly, letting my hands go and picking up the drinks menu. ‘Can I get an Amaretto Sour as well please? In fact’—he puts it back—‘make that two Amaretto Sours.’ He grins at me as she leaves. ‘Seeing as I’m not driving,’ he adds for my benefit.
‘One of those for me?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’ve never had an Amaretto Sour. I don’t know if I’ll like it.’
‘It’s a night of firsts. First time eating sushi. First Amaretto Sour. First…’ He trails off.
First real date? I finish in my head. ‘Yeah,’ I say, reaching over to grab a pair of chopsticks. Something to distract my suddenly lonely hands with.
These are brightly-coloured too. Cute.
‘Ever eaten with those?’
‘Well, not these exact ones,’ I tease, twirling them around in my fingers.
‘Funny.’ He shrugs off his brown jacket and there’s a flash from the other side of the room. My head turns instinctively. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Just ignore them.’
‘It’s not your fault. And it could be worse.’
‘I try to be as private as possible, but they don’t make it easy,’ he says, running his hand through his hair.
‘Well…perks of being a celebrity?’ I raise an eyebrow, still trying to work out if he’s uncomfortable being seen with someone like me in public.
‘Ha ha.’ His face is deadpan.
The waitress returns with our drinks. ‘Two waters,’ she says, setting them down, ‘and two Amaretto Sours.’ She puts both of them in front of Jake before leaving. He slides one over to me.
‘Let me know what you think.’
I pick up the short glass and look at the dark liquid before lifting it up to my lips. The scent of marzipan hits me before the drink even touches my lips. ‘Oh my God, Cherry Bakewells!’ I exclaim. He laughs and nods as I take a sip. ‘It’s good.’ I put it back down. ‘Reminds me of your house. Your mum always had those little Cherry Bakewell things.’
He takes a sip of his own drink. ‘Yeah, well it was a good way to pacify you when I used to win Mario Kart.’ He reaches over and grabs something off the conveyor belt. ‘Every time,’ he adds.
‘Excuse me? Every game? I don’t think so. Are those California rolls?’
‘Thought you’d never been to a sushi restaurant before.’
‘No, but I have this game—’
‘A sushi game?’ He raises an eyebrow, grinning.
‘Yes.’ I immediately regret saying it. I can’t tell if he’s making some kind of innuendo or mocking me for having a game about sushi. Not sure which is worse.
‘Maybe I could come over and play it some time?’ He reaches over and takes the chopsticks, using them to pick up one of the three rolls in front of him. I’m still trying to work out if he’s being genuine and talking about the game when he holds the roll towards me.
‘For me?’
‘We’re at a restaurant. Eat.’
‘Don’t you want it?’
‘There are two more here.’
I let him feed me the roll. It’s good. Be
tter than I was expecting.
‘Yeah?’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘More.’
He laughs. ‘So when am I coming over to play this sushi thing? I notice you haven’t invited me in yet.’
Oh God. No. He really does want to come over. Memories of his perfect house flash through my mind, immediately followed by the squashed, messy flat I share with Lexi and Mylo. I search desperately for an excuse. ‘Maybe I should bring the game to yours.’ He widens his eyes. Too forward? ‘I mean,’ I add hastily, ‘I wouldn’t want you annoying my poor flatmates.’
He sits back in his seat, not taking his eyes off me as I worry that was too harsh. I was only teasing.
He slowly eats one of the remaining California roll, never breaking eye contact. ‘I think,’ he says after swallowing, ‘you’re just trying to keep me away from your hot friends.’
My stomach sinks. Lexi. He must have seen Lexi. He must be referring to Lexi. So what the fuck was all that about in the car? Oh God. I knew I was reading this all wrong.
I can feel my face burning with shame for letting myself think I could have more. My heartbeat grows louder. Trying to suppress the blood rush, I frown and look away, grabbing the first thing that catches my eye on the sushi conveyor. Dumplings.
Still refusing to look at Jake, I reach for a fresh pair of chopsticks. A hand closes around mine as I pick some up. ‘Cerys,’ Jake says softly, ‘I was teasing.’
Now I really can’t look up. He knows he upset me. He knows I’m jealous. This is humiliating.
‘I mean,’ he goes on, ‘I’ve never even seen your friends.’
I snap my head up. Teasing bastard. ‘Fuck off.’
He laughs and pops the last roll into his mouth.
CHAPTER 9
Cerys
NINETY MINUTES AND three more Amaretto Sours later, we exit the restaurant. Jake holds my hand while making a short call, and within thirty seconds the car is here to pick us up.
I’m a teensy bit tipsy, feeling warm and happy as we get into the back seat and the car pulls away.
