I look down at the ground until I spot them. I’m suitably impressed when my eyes trail up the body. ‘I suppose he is pretty cute. Is he seriously checking me out?’ My answer comes when he turns to face me and gives me a wide smile. ‘Oh, cripes. He’s coming over.’
Any hint of bravado leaves my body as the bloke comes to a standstill in front of me.
‘I haven’t seen you here before, have I?’ It’s only a tiny fairy step up from the gag-tastic “do you come here often?” line but I find myself forgiving him, mainly because he’s cute and could be a contender for Project Wedding Date. Lauren and I don’t make these trips to the football pitch a regular occurrence but we do occasionally turn up and I haven’t noticed him before either. But then I have been walking around in a bit of a daze since Ben. Deciding to date again – in whatever form – has obviously opened my eyes to cute guys again, which can only be good news.
‘That’s my nephew, Lewis.’ He points out one of the boys but I can’t tell which one – they all look the same to me – but it’s one of Ryan’s lot and not the opposition.
‘We’re here with the boys’ PE teacher.’ I point out Ryan, who is yelling something across the field and waving his arms about.
‘But he’s just a friend,’ Lauren chips in. ‘Delilah’s single.’
My cheeks burst into flames. I’d forgotten how excruciating dating can be. It was never like this with Ben, which proves how right we are for each other.
‘Delilah? Nice name.’ I swear to all that is holy that if this guy starts crooning Tom Jones at me, I’m walking away. But he simply smiles while I go a bit redder in the cheeks department.
‘Do you have a name?’ Lauren asks and I glare at her. Does he have a name? No wonder she’s single too if this is how she initiates conversations.
Instead of backing away never to be seen again – which he should – he laughs and nods his head. ‘I’m Jack. And yes, before you ask.’ He half turns towards Lauren but keeps his gaze on me. ‘I’m single too.’
‘It’s like fate!’ Lauren looks past us, towards the football pitch before placing her hand on Jack’s arm. ‘Will you excuse me? I think Ryan’s trying to get my attention.’
Ryan isn’t trying to get her attention at all. When Jack and I look out onto the pitch, Ryan is caught up in trying to break up a scuffle between the opposing teams.
‘Does your friend play Cupid often?’ Jack asks as Lauren weaves her way through the crowd.
‘Fortunately not.’ My cheeks are still quite warm but the fact that Jack hasn’t run a mile is quite promising. Could Jack be it? Could he be my plus one for Francesca’s wedding? I try to see him through Ben’s eyes and conclude that yes, Jack is a pretty good contender. He’s taller than Ben without towering over me ominously, handsome without being arrogant (I have to admit – begrudgingly – that Ben had a tad of arrogance about him) and he seems like pleasant enough company.
‘She means well,’ I say and Jack nods effusively.
‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’ Jack nods a bit more. ‘She seems like a good friend.’
Ben never really liked Lauren. He said I became loud and uncouth whenever I was with her, which is totally unfair. I can be loud and uncouth without Lauren’s encouragement, thank you very much.
‘I should go and find Lewis.’ The whistle has been blown, signalling the end of the match. Ryan’s team has won two-nil. ‘But I’d really like to see you again.’
‘Yes,’ I decide. ‘I’d like to see you again too.’
Jack’s snowed under with work at the moment so I don’t get to see him until the following week. We’ve sent texts back and forth and Jack has phoned me a couple of times but it’s good to see him again and confirm that I didn’t imagine how cute he is. Yes, he will definitely look good as my plus one. Jack picks me up and tells me we’re heading to a lovely little restaurant in the countryside. It takes quite a while to get there but Jack assures me it will be worth it.
‘What do you think?’ Jack asks when we finally arrive at the secluded pub restaurant.
I look around the small, dark room. It isn’t quite what I was expecting but it’s a quaint little place with a proper open fire. ‘It’s cosy. And quiet.’ Quiet is an understatement. There’s only one other customer; an elderly man in a tweed jacket and mud-encrusted wellies who’s nursing a pint of bitter.
‘Good.’ Jack winks at me. ‘That means I get you all to myself.’
The landlord wanders out from the back of the pub and looks taken aback to see new customers in his establishment. He blinks at us before asking what we’d like.
‘You serve food, don’t you?’ Jack asks. He takes his phone out and tries to open his internet browser but there’s no signal here. ‘It said you did on TripAdvisor.’
I’m surprised at Jack’s words. From the way he’s been talking, I assumed he’d been here before, several times. I thought it was his favourite place to dine.
‘Aye, we do food.’ The landlord nods and leads us to a table by the fire, producing a menu which consists of a single laminated sheet of paper. ‘Are you having a starter?’
There is only one starter available: soup of the day.
‘What soup is it today?’ I ask as I shrug off my jacket.
‘Heinz tomato, love.’
We decide to have a starter plus a main course of sausage and chips for me and egg and chips for Jack. Neither of us fancied the third and final choice of liver and onions.
‘I’m so sorry about this,’ Jack says as the landlord heads off to the kitchen. ‘It has five stars on TripAdvisor, I swear.’
‘I thought you’d been here before.’
‘I have but it was a couple of years ago. They must have changed hands since.’
‘Never mind.’ Jack looks so crestfallen but the location of our date isn’t what’s important. As long as we have a nice evening together, that’s all that matters.
And we do have a nice evening. The food is edible and we have the added bonus of a drunken serenade by the man in the wellies as we eat. Jack and I chat about our lives and work and Jack tells me about his nephew, who is in Year Eight at Ryan’s school.
‘Do you want kids of your own?’ I ask and Jack nods. We’ve finished our meal and the landlord has taken away our dishes but we’ve remained by the fire where it’s cosy. The landlord has disappeared again and with the only sounds coming from the back of the pub where the man in wellies is attempting to woo a wilting pot plant with a ballad and the crackle from the fire in front of us, we could be in our own little cottage.
‘One day. I love kids. I just have to meet the right girl first.’ Jack chooses that moment to lean in and kiss me, to convey that maybe, given time, I could be that girl. ‘I’m sorry. Was that too soon?’
‘No, it’s fine. Really.’ It’s an odd sensation being attached to lips that don’t belong to Ben. Jack’s lips feel different and the fuzzy feeling is missing from my tummy, but it’s a pleasant enough kiss and I wasn’t expecting – or wanting – fireworks anyway.
‘I think this could be it,’ I tell Lauren. We’re once again standing on a muddy field as Ryan’s football team tear up and down the pitch. It’s freezing so we’re bundled up in thick coats, hats, scarves and gloves to ward off the cold. We’d usually find some excuse to stay at home (in the warm) but I’m hoping to see Jack again. We agreed to see each other after our date but Jack has been busy with work again and we haven’t had the chance to meet up.
‘The kiss was that good?’ Lauren asks and I give her a chiding look.
‘No, Lauren. The kiss was ok but you know I’m not looking for Mr Right.’ I’ve already found him but unfortunately he’s set on making Eden Mrs Right and not me. ‘Why are you so fixated on seeing me settled down? What about you?’
‘What about me? I don’t need a date for Francesca’s wedding.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ I take a furtive glance around the field but Jack doesn’t seem to be here. ‘I’m talking about you
finding yourself a boyfriend. A real, permanent one.’
Lauren gives a wave of her hand. ‘I’m fine as I am.’
‘I don’t think you are.’ I sneak another glance for Jack. ‘You’re as hung up on Courtney as I am on Ben.’
Lauren gives a humourless laugh. ‘I am not.’
‘You really are.’ I take another look around the crowd gathered on the side lines. ‘Oh, there he is!’ I’m up on my tiptoes when I spot Jack loitering at the back. Grabbing Lauren’s arm, I start to drag her through the crowds but stop abruptly when I see that he isn’t alone.
‘Who’s she?’ Lauren asks but I shrug. ‘His sister?’ Lauren thrusts a thumb at the pitch. ‘The kid’s mum?’
All the tension that has been building up in my body and making my shoulders rise higher and higher leaves my body in a sudden rush. I visibly deflate, only just managing to stay upright as my suddenly floppy body makes for the muddy ground.
‘Of course it’s his sister!’ Still, I’m in no rush to go over there. As much as I enjoyed my date with Jack, I really don’t want to meet his family. I melt back into the crowd, taking Lauren with me.
‘Um, Delilah.’ I feel the resistance as Lauren stops, her body refusing to be led back to our original spot. ‘I don’t think that’s Jack’s sister after all.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask but one look at Jack tells me everything I need to know. It seems the mystery woman enjoys Jack’s kisses much more than I did on our date.
Chapter 10
The Pub Quiz
Text Message:
Delilah: What’s the capital of the Faroe Islands?
Dad: Are you at the pub quiz? Because that’s cheating
Delilah: Dad! I wouldn’t cheat! I’m not even at the quiz. Lauren and I are planning a holiday and we were thinking of the Faroe Islands and wanted a bit more info
Dad: Where in the world are the Faroe Islands?
Delilah: In the sea? Just tell me the capital. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!
Dad: The capital is F
Delilah: Funny
Dad: The capital to that is also F
I’ve calmed down about the whole Jack-kissing-another-woman thing by the following day. I mean, it’s no big deal, is it? We’d been on one measly little date – that hardly constitutes a committed relationship. Besides, being upset by the kiss is a tad hypocritical of me when essentially I’m just using Jack as a prop to prove that I’m over my ex and not for an actual relationship.
‘He’s married.’ Ryan’s words send my reasonable mood into turmoil. ‘I had a word with Lewis – subtly, obviously – and his Uncle Jack is married to his Aunty Kate.’
‘Married?’ The news punches me in the stomach and I place a protective hand across my middle. ‘Jack is married?’
I feel awful, and not just because this scuppers my Project Wedding Date plans. His poor wife! From the way they were snogging like a pair of horny teenagers at the football match, their marriage isn’t in jeopardy and she clearly has no idea what her darling husband is up to. The pig! No wonder he took me out to the middle of nowhere for our date. He didn’t want to get caught out.
‘I feel so stupid.’
‘You have nothing to feel stupid about.’ Lauren takes hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘Jack is the one who should feel stupid for being such a sleaze.’
‘Do you think I should tell his wife?’ I’m hoping my friends with reply with a big, fat NO. I can’t bear to break that poor woman’s heart.
‘I don’t know about that. You’d be opening a can of worms with that revelation.’ Ryan, bless him, comes to my rescue. ‘Are you prepared for the fallout? Because it won’t be Jack she blames. It’ll be you.’
‘Why would she blame Delilah?’ Lauren asks. ‘He’s the one doing the dirty.’
Ryan gives a helpless shrug. ‘You know what you women are like.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Lauren’s eyes are almost popping out of her skull and I scan the pub for a hiding place. Talk about opening a can of worms, Ryan. ‘You women? What is that supposed to mean?’
Luckily Clifford comes to the rescue and announces the start to the pub quiz. Sunday evenings are always spent in The Farthing for the weekly quiz. Lauren, Ryan and I form a team – occasionally with Ryan’s latest squeeze tagging along – called Two Short Planks. You may think this name is amusing and tongue in cheek, but sadly we didn’t come up with the name ourselves and I suspect there were no tongues planted in cheeks when the name was hurled at us from across the room.
We’d been taking part in the pub quiz for a few weeks (coming last, every single time) but we hadn’t found ‘our’ name. Ryan had suggested One Man and His Dogs (and had walked with a profound limp for the next few days) while I’d suggested Greased Lightning and Lauren wanted Law and Disorder. Each week we’d argue over our team name, delaying the quiz by at least half an hour. The other teams became increasingly agitated by our lack of agreement and there was even a murmur of kicking us out of the quiz altogether.
Miserable, nerdy gits.
‘Nobody’s getting kicked out,’ Quiz Master Clifford had said. ‘But you do need to come up with a name, and fast. We can’t have this every week.’
‘Let’s just go with Law and Disorder,’ Lauren said, her tone implying she was the one backing down.
‘I don’t think so. Let’s go with Greased Lightning.’
‘Or Beauties and the Beast.’ Ryan, in a bid to save his ability to walk, had changed tack. But it was too late. Lauren and I both refused to roll over and let another team member win.
‘For Pete’s sake!’ Kenneth from The Know It Ales threw up his hands. ‘Why don’t you call yourself Two Short Planks?’ His suggestion earned a titter among the other groups while Lauren’s jaw dropped.
‘Are you calling us thick?’
‘What do you think?’ Kenneth asked.
Lauren turned to me for back up, but what could I say? Our track record hardly proved otherwise.
‘Just stick it down,’ I told Ryan, who was in charge of the pen. Lauren couldn’t be bothered arguing any more and so we became Two Short Planks and lived up to our name every week.
‘Are we all ready?’ Clifford asks now as he looks around the room.
‘Nope,’ Lauren says, which earns a groan from the other groups. ‘We haven’t got a drink.’
‘Who cares?’ Kenneth taps his watch. ‘The quiz starts at eight. You should be prepared.’
‘I either go and get a round in now or in the middle of the quiz,’ Lauren tells him. ‘Take your pick.’
Kenneth mumbles something under his breath but he doesn’t put up a fight as Lauren starts to gather our empty glasses.
‘I’ll go,’ I offer. ‘It’s my round.’
‘Will one of you go – and hurry up?’ Kenneth taps his watch again with a heavy sigh.
‘Aren’t you worried about Dan?’ Lauren asks. I’ve been avoiding The Farthing since my disastrous date with the barman and have managed to steer clear of him until now but it’s time I grew a pair.
‘It’ll be fine.’ With my shoulders back and head held high, I march to the bar. It’s been two weeks since our date and as Dan hasn’t attempted to get in touch with me, I assume he feels the same way as I do.
Dan is in his rightful place behind the bar when I arrive and I almost chicken out and scurry back to our table. I can’t do this. Dan and I went on a terrible date – how can I chat to him like nothing has happened?
‘Delilah!’ Dan sees me and beckons me over. I have no choice but to go to him.
‘Hello, Dan.’ I attempt a nonchalant lean on the bar and end up sticking my elbow in a puddle of spilled beer. ‘How are you?’ I feel stiff and awkward, my smile as genuine as a politician’s in the run up to a general election. Where has the easy, flirtatious atmosphere gone?
‘I’m good.’ Dan collects my empty glasses and in the moment he turns to load them into the dishwasher, I contemplate fleeing. I won’t even return to my fr
iends. They can quiz without me (they did better without me, so they’ll probably be glad of my disappearance). I’ll go home and dive under my covers and when I wake up in the morning (without my usual Monday morning hangover, which will be nice) this will all be a distant memory.
‘So where’ve you been hiding?’ Dan is back. I haven’t fled. I’m standing in the exact same spot. Foolish girl!
I fake a laugh. ‘Been busy. Work and stuff.’ I want to go home.
‘I was beginning to suspect you were avoiding me after our date.’
‘Ha ha.’ Even the politicians would be wincing at my clearly fake smile now. ‘Of course not. That was a great night.’
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
‘We should do it again.’ Dan must see the fake smile drop because he jumps in quickly, leaning across the bar towards me, expertly missing the puddle of beer. ‘But it doesn’t have to be one of my gigs this time.’ Bless him. I wouldn’t describe the shambles that he and his so-called band put on as a ‘gig’. ‘We can do something else. Go for a drink. Not here, obviously. How about we go into town?’
Part of me is begging myself to just say yes. Say yes and end this torture. I can’t stand to see the pleading look on Dan’s face, the beginnings of a dimple as he smiles hopefully at me.
But I can’t. As tortuous as Dan’s expectant little face is, it’s nothing compared to the torture of that date.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ There. I’ve said it. I’m quite proud of myself.
‘It doesn’t have to be town. We could go for something to eat. There’s this all-you-can-eat place we sometimes go to.’ Dan laughs. ‘Munch has a lifetime ban. That lad can eat.’
‘No. No thank you.’ I’m surprised by how assertive I sound. So is Dan. He blinks at me, taken aback by my rejection. ‘I don’t think we should see each other again. On a date, that is. Here is fine, obviously.’
‘But why?’
Does he genuinely not know? ‘We don’t have any chemistry, do we?’ It’s kinder than saying I can’t stand being around your immature pals and your band is embarrassingly rubbish.
The Wedding Date Page 7
