‘We’re going go-karting.’
I’ve never been go-karting before but both Ricky and Adam – the only people I know who have had a go – assure me that it’s fun, so I will have to take their word for it.
‘Is he picking you up? Do we get to meet him?’ Mum pauses the television and starts fluffing up her hair. ‘Do I have time to get changed? I can’t meet your new boyfriend looking like Miss Hannigan.’
I smile (briefly) at the Annie reference. ‘No, you can’t meet him. And he isn’t my boyfriend.’ Not yet, anyway. But I’m working on it.
Grabbing my handbag, I flee from the house, glad that Mum can’t chase me in her fluffy robe. It’s far too soon to be meeting parents – we’ve been on one date so far and we haven’t even kissed. Nothing would scare the man away quicker than Mum showing up ready to welcome him into the family.
Ricky isn’t due to pick me up for another fifteen minutes so, with the hedge acting as a cover, I sit down on the kerb to wait. Eleanor pulls up a few minutes later, grabbing her Waitrose shopping bags from the boot. We don’t even have a Waitrose nearby but she won’t step foot in one of the local supermarkets.
‘Morning, Eleanor,’ I call as she strides towards her garden gate, ignoring my presence completely. I know my acknowledging the woman will irritate her, so I add a cheery wave for good measure. She twitches her lips into an almost-smile but she strides ahead with her shopping, her nose stuck so far in the air I’m surprised she can see anything but sky.
Ricky arrives and I slip into his car, feeling a bit awkward. I haven’t had a second date in quite some time so I’m unsure how to act. Do I lean over and kiss his cheek? Shake his hand? Simply say hello? I really haven’t a clue so I do nothing but sit.
My lack of go-karting knowledge doesn’t seem to bother me to begin with and I feel myself bubbling with excitement as we arrive. The track is inside a massive warehouse-type building, marked out with a red-and-white barrier. We’re supplied with red jumpsuits, thick gloves and black helmets, which we quickly change into before climbing into our karts. It’s lower down than I expected and a bit of squeeze but once I manoeuvre my knees around the steering wheel, it’s not so bad. It’s when the rumbling begins that I start to feel the excitement morph into nerves. In a few seconds I will set off around this track, with several other people tearing around, and I’m not quite sure what will happen.
I look across at Ricky but he doesn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, he’s raring to go, testing the pedals and the steering wheel as though he’s performing a warm-up. I see him attempt to crack his knuckles through the thick gloves but I’m not sure if he succeeds as it’s far too loud to hear anything but roaring engines and my erratic heartbeat in my ears.
We’re given the signal and we move along the track to the start and then suddenly it’s happening. The noise is phenomenal, even with my helmet on, but I try not to let it faze me. I can no longer hear my erratic pulse but I can certainly feel it. Painfully so. I set off with the others, whizzing along the track and somehow steering smoothly around the corners. I have no idea how I’m doing this, but I am. Call it beginner’s luck if you will.
I love this. I actually truly love this feeling. The nerves are still there but they are so overpowered by the thrill of driving at speed that I barely notice them. I’m laughing and squealing and having the best time. Adam was right – this is so much fun! I can’t wait to tell him all about it on Monday morning. Maybe we can organise an office outing here, but leave the Brinkleys behind, obviously.
I’m flying along the track, overtaking other karts while managing not to crash. I see Ricky’s kart up ahead and swerve to the inside of the track, managing to pass him as we round a bend. I don’t want this to end – this race, this feeling of freedom and triumph – but I reach the end of the circuit, miraculously still ahead of Ricky and several other karts.
‘Yes!’ I throw my hands up in the air, turning in time to see Ricky finishing three people behind me. After Ricky’s total annihilation of me at bowling, this victory is extra sweet. ‘I won! I bloody won!’ I leap from my vehicle and throw my arms around Ricky, but instead of giving me a congratulatory squeeze, he slips away from my grip and removes his helmet.
‘It wasn’t a race. You didn’t win anything.’
‘If it wasn’t a race, what were we doing then? Taking a tour of this beautiful warehouse?’ I giggle as I hold my hands out to the view, which is one of the most uninspiring views I have ever seen. Ricky doesn’t join in my good humour. His face is all pinched and he won’t look at me. The concrete floor is fascinating to him.
‘It was just a bit of fun.’ Ricky shoves his helmet under his arm and stalks away towards the track’s exit. I follow, skipping along as I remove my own helmet.
‘It really was fun. We should do this again.’
Ricky gives a shrug. ‘Nah. Go-karting’s lame. It isn’t a real sport or anything.’
It turns out that not only is Ricky super competitive, he’s also a super sore loser. He sulks the rest of the way home, answering in a monotone voice whenever I ask a question, using as few words as possible and he doesn’t crack a smile once. Despite him being a moody bugger, I suggest we stop off somewhere for lunch but Ricky turns me down, citing ‘other plans’. He drops me off home, turning his head when I go to kiss him goodbye so my lips graze his cheek.
Perhaps I should have let him win.
‘You’re right. Go-karting is a bit lame. I think they gave me an easier kart.’ I’m hoping to appease Ricky with my lies but he barely registers that I’ve spoken. ‘I’ll text you about meeting up again soon, yeah?’
Ricky gives the merest hint of a nod and I climb out of the car. He’s driven away before I’ve even made it to the garden gate. If only he’d been able to drive that speedily in his go-kart.
The house is empty. Dad will be at work, Justin will be out with his mates and Mum will be either shopping or pottering around the garden centre. I’d usually relish a quiet house and watch a musical (perhaps Grease so I could relive my own victory on the racecourse) but I don’t feel like being on my own. I feel a bit weird after my date with Ricky so I text Lauren and Ryan and ask them to come round so we can analyse what went wrong.
‘Do you think I should have let him beat me?’ I ask once I’ve explained Ricky and his moody reaction to my bittersweet victory.
‘Absolutely not!’ Lauren is horrified at the suggestion. ‘Did he let you win at bowling?’ I shake my head. My score had been embarrassingly low while Ricky’s was almost perfect. ‘He sounds like a big baby to me.’
I turn to Ryan, feeling a flash of guilt that he’s stuck in the middle. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think it had better work out between the two of you otherwise work is going to be hell for me.’
Yikes. ‘Maybe he’s just not used to losing. I’m sure he’ll be fine by now. He’s probably feeling like a bit of an idiot for acting the way he did. I’ll text him about meeting up again next week and see how he reacts.’
I type out a quick message, steering clear of any mention of go-karting or today’s date in general.
‘There.’ I put my phone down on the arm of my chair and stand up. ‘Shall we watch a film?’ I’m still in the mood for a bit Greased Lightning.
But my friends don’t have the chance to answer. My phone beeps with a new message. It’s from Ricky and it isn’t good news.
Ricky: I don’t think we should see each other any more. There’s no chemistry
‘Is he seriously ending things because you beat him at stupid go-karting?’ Lauren turns to Ryan, her mouth wide like a goldfish. ‘You’re friends with this idiot?’
‘Hey.’ Ryan holds up his hands. ‘We’re work colleagues rather than mates and I didn’t want to set Delilah up with anyone in the first place. I am not taking any of the blame for this.’
‘I’m not blaming you.’ I rest my head on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘I’m not blaming anyone.’ Not even Ricky, who I should be major
ly cheesed off with right now. I’m too horrified to be upset or assign blame. This is the grim reality of my life now, isn’t it? Terrible dates, meeting awful men and licking my wounds – this is what I have to look forward to without Ben unless I want to end up alone.
‘I’ve had enough. I can’t do this any more.’
‘What about the wedding?’ Lauren asks. ‘You need to find someone else to take now.’
I shake my head again. This is it. No more dates. I can’t take it.
I’m going to have to do what I should have done in the first place: come clean and tell Francesca the truth.
Chapter 21
Confession Time
Text Message:
Ryan: I’m never drinking again
Delilah: Why are you giving up this time?
Ryan: Drunkenly texted a girl I like, telling her I have a crush on her. Sent it to the (male) head teacher by accident
Delilah: Ha! Ha! Ha! Also, WHO IS THIS GIRL???
‘How was the go-karting?’ Adam asks as soon as I step into the Brinkley’s office on Monday morning. Katey-Louise is sitting at her desk (editing a YouTube hair tutorial) so I can’t be entirely honest with my answer.
‘It was amazing. I really enjoyed it.’ This part is true; it’s just what happened next that was a blow to both my ego and the now-defunct Project Wedding Date. I’ve had the remainder of the weekend to recover but I’m still feeling pretty miserable about the whole thing.
‘Didn’t I tell you you’d enjoy it?’ Adam’s smile is infectious and I find myself returning the gesture despite feeling jaded by the weekend. ‘Maybe we can put it down as one of your interests in the ‘get to know you’ section of the blog.’
‘The what?’ I sit down at my desk and switch on my computer. I can see the clock cards glaring at me from my in-tray, ready for their Monday-morning input into the payroll report. Yipee.
‘I told you about the new section I’m planning on the blog, right?’ I shake my head at Adam. I have no idea what he’s talking about. ‘I’m going to highlight an employee each week – not just the office staff but down on the shop floor, delivery, development, everyone – so they can tell us all about themselves: what their job is within the company, what their favourite parts of the job are. If they have any.’ Adam winks at me and I get a bit fluttery. ‘As well as some personal stuff: hobbies, favourite film, that kind of thing.’
‘Ooh, ooh.’ Katey-Louise has been listening in and is currently bouncing up and down in her seat with her arm up in the air. ‘Can I have a go?’
Adam nods. ‘Everyone can if they want to.’
‘Can I go first?’
‘I don’t see why not. I’ll email you the questionnaire. Answer any of the questions you want to and leave any you don’t want to and then send it back.’
‘Do you want me to attach a photo?’
Adam grabs his camera from his desk drawer. ‘I was going to take a photo of the employees within their work environment.’ Adam switches the camera on but Katey-Louise shrieks, holding her hands up in front of her face, shying away from the camera like a vampire avoiding exposure to sunlight.
‘Not yet.’ Katey-Louise jumps from her seat and widens her eyes at Adam, her hands ready to shoot up again should she need to protect herself. ‘I haven’t touched up my makeup and look at my hair.’ I look at it. It looks fine to me. In fact, I will grudgingly admit that it looks very pretty. ‘Give me five minutes.’ Katey-Louise grabs her handbag before dashing off in the direction of the loo.
‘Five minutes. Pah. She’ll be gone at least half an hour,’ I predict, which helps to add a bit of cheer to my gloomy Monday morning. Any amount of Katey-Louise-free time in the office is pure bliss.
‘Do you fancy taking part then?’ Adam slips his camera back into the drawer. ‘We can go through the questions over lunch? At the pub?’
I groan. ‘I wish I could. I’m meeting up with a friend.’
Today I’m going to meet up with Francesca and tell her the truth. Or at least a watered down version of the truth. I’m not going to tell her than I lied about having a fabulous boyfriend – hello? Why would I? I may as well fashion myself a ‘I’m a big, Pinocchio-freakoid’ badge. No, instead I am going to tell her that I’ve broken up with my fabulous boyfriend (sob) and will therefore be turning up at the wedding alone.
‘Another time then?’ Adam asks.
‘Definitely.’ I’m not over-excited about taking part like Katey-Louise, but I’m not going to say no to spending some time with Adam away from the office.
Francesca and I meet at the same café as last time, except I’m the first to arrive this time. I’m too nervous to eat so I order a cup of coffee and sit by the window so I can do a bit of people-watching while I wait. I’m on my second cup of coffee before Francesca arrives, apologising profusely.
‘I have just had the most stressful meeting.’ Francesca gives an elaborate roll of her eyes. ‘You won’t believe the colour scheme my clients have requested.’ She demonstrates her distaste by pretending to stick two fingers down her throat. ‘Total pukesville. Anyway, I’m starving.’ She looks down at the table and wafts a hand over it. ‘Have you eaten? Oh gosh, am I that late?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m not hungry.’
‘Let me get you another coffee to make up for it.’ Francesca marches off to the counter without waiting for a response. I’m going to be pretty wired by the time I make it back to the office at this rate.
Francesca returns with two coffees and the tiniest salad I have had the misfortune to clap eyes on. I thought she was starving?
Francesca rolls her eyes again when she sees me eyeing her pathetic lunch. ‘Wedding diet. I’m this close to fitting into my dress.’ She holds her finger and thumb a couple of millimetres apart. ‘I can’t wait until I can eat properly again!’ Stabbing a tiny piece of lettuce, Francesca pops it into her mouth and I could weep for her as she chews on it. ‘I am so glad you suggested meeting up. I’ve been super-super busy so I haven’t had chance to arrange another get together. I felt so bad after the last one. I’m so sorry I had to dash away like that.’ Francesca spikes the tiniest cherry tomato, cuts it in two and pops one half into her mouth.
‘It’s ok.’ I’m used to Francesca dashing away by now. She should be the size of a pencil the way she zips about from meeting to meeting.
‘No, it really isn’t. You were about to tell me about your new lover…’ Francesca giggles and spikes the remaining half of her tomato. ‘And I didn’t get to hear a word of it!’ She pops the tomato in her mouth and chews slowly. I could jump in now and tell her that the relationship is doomed, but I’m a great, big chicken and I keep my mouth shut. ‘I also wanted to check that you’re ok after the Ben and Eden news.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course!’ I may be turning up to the wedding solo, but that doesn’t mean I have to admit how much the news that Ben has a new girlfriend – sorry, fiancée – has shaken me. ‘I’m totally fine with it. Ben and I are in the past. We’ve both moved on.’
Francesca drops her cutlery so she can reach across the table and clasp my hand in hers. ‘I am so glad to hear that, darling! I know you and Ben talked about the possibility of having children one day so I was worried this new development could open up some old wounds.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ What on earth is she talking about? ‘Children?’
Francesca’s eyes almost pop out onto her salad (what’s left of the measly portion, anyway) and she releases her grip on me so she can cover her mouth with her hands. ‘Oh, gosh. Have I put my foot in it again?’ She bites her lip, her eyebrows pulled down so low she starts to resemble a bloodhound. ‘I thought you knew.’
‘Knew what?’ I’m experiencing a real sense of déjà vu here.
‘About the baby.’ Francesca starts to sink in her seat, dipping lower and lower. I expect her to slip onto the floor and crawl out of the café. ‘I am so sorry, darling. It’s all over Facebook. I thought everybody knew.’
I want to be sick. I actually want to vomit all over the table and Francesca’s stupid salad.
‘I don’t follow Ben on Facebook,’ I say through gritted teeth. I told her this last time. ‘And I certainly don’t follow Eden.’
‘No, I guess not.’ Francesca looks ridiculous still stooped in her seat. ‘But like you said, you’ve both moved on, yes?’ Francesca’s eyes are pleading. Please say yes. Please don’t make a scene.
Less than a year ago, Ben was my boyfriend and I was living happily under the assumption that one day he and I would produce a gorgeous little Baby Martin. We’d even discussed the finer details of our Baby Martins, for heaven’s sake! Our first baby would be a boy, who we would name Thomas after Ben’s father. Thomas would be joined a couple of years later by his sister Hermione (named after Ben’s grandmother and not Ms Granger). We didn’t want too much of a gap but we also wanted a couple of years to focus on Little Tommy (Ben wasn’t keen on calling our son Tommy, but it was so cute and I was sure it would grow on him eventually). We couldn’t agree on what we wanted our third (and final) child to be; Ben wanted another son named Benjamin and I wanted another daughter named Roxie.
‘What kind of a name is Roxie?’ Ben had said the name as though I’d wanted to name our child Smelly-Faeces, his nose wrinkled and the corners of his mouth turned down in disgust. ‘That’s a stripper name! No, we’re not having a child called Roxie.’ And that was that. I’d let the matter drop because babies were way off in the future.
But apparently not for Ben and Eden. Babies were very much in the present.
I can’t believe it. I grab myself around the middle as though I can squeeze all the pain out but it does nothing to alleviate the hurt bubbling inside.
Ben is having a baby. He’s going to be a father, and look at me. I’m still single and unhappy without even the hint of something life-changing on the horizon. I can’t turn up to Francesca’s wedding alone now. It’s imperative now more than ever that I show the world how over Ben Martin I am.
The Wedding Date Page 15
