The First Date: A heartwarming and laugh out loud romantic comedy book that will make you feel happy

by Zara Stoneley

  ‘Haha, yes! We have the key! Come on then.’

  We wobble our way down the road, and it just feels right to slip my hand into his. A moment later he pulls free, and I feel like I’ve lost a part of me, then his arm is around my shoulders and it feels like it belongs there. We’re offering each other support – mentally and to stop ourselves falling over.

  We stare at each other when we get to my front door.

  ‘This is me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Maybe not a good idea.’

  I think the walk has sobered him up. He’s right, maybe not.

  We both know that this could go horribly wrong if one of us should take a step forward, if one of us should reach out. If he puts his hands on my waist, or I put mine on his shoulders. If our lips were to meet. I know it would be perfect. I know it’s what I want.

  I know it would change everything. Spoil everything. Be the beginning of the end.

  But oh my God I wish he would.

  Because maybe he isn’t the man I thought he was. Maybe he’s not like my dad at all.

  But it would still end in tears. Mine. Because I’d just be another girl who wants more than he can give. Like Daisy.

  He gives me a gentle shove. ‘Night, Rosie.’

  ‘Night, Noah.’

  His words are soft, and mine match, but I don’t think he hears. He’s already turned away, waving briefly at the bottom of the path without looking back.

  Chapter 14

  Noah has gone a bit strange on me. You know when you get up in the morning and you have that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach, because you know things aren’t right?

  That.

  I suppose it’s my own fault. When he didn’t reply to my first text, I should have taken a deep breath and left it. But I didn’t.

  It’s just I find it so frustrating if I text somebody about something and then I don’t get a reply. Even though the original text wasn’t that important. I text again, then start to panic that things aren’t right, that I’ve said the wrong thing. So, I text again. And before I know it, I’m getting more and more wound up about something stupid and there is no way back.

  I couldn’t just leave it.

  Anyway, he’s not replied.

  I think we might have spoiled everything. This is what happens when you get drunk with somebody and share your innermost thoughts. You cock things up, because there is no going back to the person you wanted them to see. They can see the other, naked you.

  Noah is naked, and he never wanted to be with me. I’m not stupid, I know it’s not me personally. He doesn’t want to be stripped bare in front of anybody. So, he grins and flirts and gets along just fine.

  I understand, I truly do. I have my own barriers. I know the version of Rosie that I want the world to see. But this does hurt: the feeling of loss, the feeling that we might have spoiled things and can’t go back to the way we were. If he’d just reply to my bloody texts it would be okay.

  It is making me feel sick and churned up inside.

  I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s not just the thought I’ve lost Noah that is making me feel a mess, it’s everything.

  I am so glad I don’t have to go into work today. It’s not just that I have an alcohol induced hangover, I’ve also got a mental hangover – total brain ache. I zonked out the moment my head hit the pillow, then was awake two hours later feeling slightly sexually frustrated and majorly annoyed with myself. Sending texts that I shouldn’t.

  What was that last night? I really could have grabbed Noah and kissed him. As in totally snogged his face off. Tonsils, tongues and tits as my mate at school used to say when we were young and hormonally challenged.

  We were drunk; definitely, totally smashed. And I was sad for him, so it would have been wrong; it would have been a pity snog. That’s it!

  No, it wouldn’t, who am I trying to kid. I really wanted to snog him. I wanted to feel his hands on me. I wanted him to rip off my new sexy underwear and ravish me.

  Oh shit.

  I put my hands on my hot cheeks.

  This is not good.

  If he hadn’t been the gentleman he is, then last night could have ended in disaster.

  Or would it? I mean, from what he said he’s not the player he comes across as. He’s just scared of love.

  Although isn’t that what players are? They’re not all shits who like the chase and the power. Some of them just can’t commit.

  I lay my hot forehead against the cold glass. It helps for a split second.

  I can’t date somebody who can’t commit. I can’t. I can’t be like my mother. In love with the fantasy version of a man.

  I’m in dangerous water. Noah was seriously upset last night; he genuinely cares about his friend Jed and it nudged something deep inside me. He’s a good man, a nice man. He’d make a brilliant friend – but how do I make sure I don’t try and make him out to be more in my head?

  Maybe the fact he’s not talking to me is a good thing. If he was, I might make a complete jerk of myself.

  My phone buzzes and I scurry back into my bedroom at an indecently fast pace. Just in case it’s him.

  Bugger. I’ve stubbed my toe on the door jamb and it bloody hurts.

  I take a deep breath and force myself to stop and rub it. Slow down. It doesn’t matter if it is him; it doesn’t matter if you miss the call. I’m turning into the desperate woman I swore I’d never be.

  It’s not him.

  The surge of disappointment is scary. And my head hurts. Even my eyeballs are smarting.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’

  ‘Hi, darling, it’s me!’

  ‘I know it is.’ I sit on the bed and force a cheery note into my voice.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  Ha! That didn’t work then. ‘Fine, just stubbed my bloody toe.’

  ‘Don’t swear dear, how many times have I told you to wear slippers?’

  ‘Plenty. Everything okay, Mum?’ I inspect my foot. It’s not bleeding, but it is throbbing. Like the rest of me, haha.

  ‘I can buy you some.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Slippers, dear.’

  ‘I’ve got some.’ Five pairs in fact. Four unworn. One pair under the bed. Mainly Christmas and birthday presents from my parents. ‘I just didn’t put them on.’

  ‘We’re not having the party—’

  ‘Oh thank—’

  ‘—in the house this time.’ She carries on as though she hasn’t heard me. ‘We’re going to have a marquee. Sorry, darling, what did you say?’

  ‘I said oh goodness.’ Bugger, for a moment then I thought she’d come to her senses and abandoned the idea. ‘Does that mean there are lots of people invited?’

  ‘More than normal; some of your dad’s friends from the orchestra are coming. I thought it would be a nice surprise for him!’

  Oh hell, this is getting worse. ‘Surprise?’ I say faintly. Does this mean he doesn’t know?

  ‘Surprise. So anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’re bringing a plus one, or not; you don’t have to tell me in advance as we’ll have lots of room.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘But you will bring your young man, won’t you? You are still seeing him, aren’t you? The fling.’ She chuckles.

  ‘I am.’ Am I?

  ‘Well whatever you like to call him, we’d like to meet him.’

  ‘He might not want to come. He might be too busy.’ At the moment he’s too busy to even text me to confirm that he’s still alive. ‘But who knows I might have another guy by then, haha.’ Why on earth did I say that? We’ve not progressed beyond beginner’s level lessons, and it doesn’t look like I’ll ever get to the practical sessions.

  The only man I have had an actual date with is Steve. And I can’t ask Steve, because there really is no future in that, and I don’t really want to ask Noah because things are tricky enough in my head as it is, without introducing a ‘meet my whacky par
ents’ scenario. Not that he’d reply anyway.

  I need to get a move on. I need to go out and try out my fledgling seduction techniques. Find myself a real boyfriend. I mean, Steve fancied me and that worked out fine as a date, so I’ve definitely made progress, haven’t I?

  ‘Darling, are you still there?’

  ‘Of course, I’m still here.’

  ‘Have you got a contact number for that pretty cellist that your father is fond of? You know Stella, Sarah, the young one?’

  ‘Serena?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  Shit. Simpering Serena who was so thrilled to play in Italy with Dad. I think she took a personal tour of his own less monumental but similarly inclined tower of Pisa.

  ‘I know he was exceptionally fond of her, but he moved on, and if I don’t invite her it will look like I’m bothered.’

  ‘But you are bothered, Mum. Of course, you’re bloody bothered.’

  ‘Don’t swear, dear,’ she says mildly. I think it’s from force of habit rather than her being bothered.

  ‘Mum, is this really a good idea? Can’t we just invite friends, you know, real friends?’

  ‘Rosalie, darling, you really don’t understand, do you? I don’t blame the girls, I blame him.’

  ‘Oh.’ There really is no answer to that.

  ‘It takes two to tango, and I can’t blame those silly deluded girls if they’re taken in. I was!’

  ‘But that’s different! You fell in love with each other, and he—’

  ‘We did, darling. And I still love him a lot, but he loves himself and the thrill of the chase even more. If he wants to collect pretty things, then we might as well put them on show rather than hiding them in a cupboard, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Well, yes, but …’ If I thought my head was spinning before, it’s hit a whole different level now. I sit down heavily on the floor and rest my forehead on the palm of my hand. ‘Not at your wedding anniversary party, and not at our home!’

  ‘Well I don’t see why not. That’s the problem, he puts things in different boxes, and I think we need a reorganisation.’

  I’m not sure if she’s lost it or come to her senses.

  Is this a menopause thing?

  ‘I feel very guilty about dragging you halfway round the world with us when you were little.’

  Mum has never, ever said anything like this before, but the last thing I want her to feel is guilt. ‘I loved it!’ I did, in the main. I loved the new places, even if I was lonely at times when my parents only had eyes for each other. But it was better than being at home with a mum who was sad and anxious.

  ‘It was selfish, but I couldn’t let him put his family in a box to come back and play with when he got tired of his new toys.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like being classed as an old boring toy.’

  ‘You weren’t an old boring toy, he loved playing with you, he always came back – you were his favourite.’

  I feel a bit queasy. Is this what it’s like when you take hallucinogenic drugs? Wow, that must be what happened last night. My drink was spiked, none of this is real.

  Was I really just an entertaining plaything for him? A novelty.

  ‘But he couldn’t resist new shiny toys; he still can’t, and to be quite honest I’ve grown too old and wise. I haven’t got the time and patience to be running after him waving my travelling toy box.’ She sighs. ‘He thinks we’ll always just be here when he fancies coming back to us.’

  ‘But we will, won’t we?’ A note of alarm has crept into my voice. I can feel a shiver of fear in my throat. She’s not going to leave him, is she?

  I’ve never thought about Dad this way, and I’m shocked that Mum does.

  But maybe she’s right.

  Maybe however hard I tried to be perfect, I’d still always only be the daughter he came back to see when it suited him. When it was convenient, and there was nothing more exciting on offer.

  I feel ill. Is that all I ever have been, convenient?

  Is he something worse than just a bit of a womaniser and cheat?

  Does he deserve to have somebody as wonderful as Mum waiting for him?

  ‘Oh, course, Rosie,’ she says firmly. ‘I’m just knocking the safe walls down so that we can all see more clearly what’s what. I refuse to hide! You can only listen to the same old promises about changing so many times before you start to get immune to the sugary charm that they’re coated in. Now, that’s enough of that. It’s entirely up to you if you bring a boyfriend, though I would rather like you to fall in lust at least once.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘I let your father give me stress and frown lines I don’t deserve, but when we were younger, oh goodness the passion was worth anything. I’d forgive him anything at that moment when—’

  ‘Lalala, hands over ears, can’t hear you!’

  She laughs. ‘You’re a funny girl at times! I was about to say when he looked into my eyes and I felt like I was the most important thing in the world to him. I want that feeling again, Rosie.’ Her voice softens. ‘There’s no better feeling than being loved, than being somebody’s entire world, not just a small square-shaped hole they’d like me to wait quietly in. You’ll know when you get it.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I’m not being nasty, Rosie, but your Robbie wasn’t that. He was a nice enough boy, but you’re not really bothered he’s gone, are you?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Now, I am arranging this party because I want a good party. I like the excuse to dress up and dance, but I am also not going to pretend these flings don’t exist, so if you can track Serena down for me that would be wonderful. I’m sure you can find her on the internet quicker than I can. Are you going to tell me why you’ve got a hangover?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’

  ‘I hope he was worth it.’ She laughs.

  ‘I could have been out with Bea!’

  ‘Ah, but you weren’t, were you?’

  I don’t quite know what has happened to Mum. She’s being weird, weirder than normal. ‘You’re not, well, ill or anything are you, Mum?’

  ‘I’m not planning on dropping dead any time soon, if that’s what you mean. I just want a bit of fun, to live a bit. I’m thinking of Botox, and bootcamp.’

  Oh God, she has got more energy than me.

  ‘I’ve been telling you all your life to do things for yourself, not some man, and everything I do is for your bloody father!’

  ‘Don’t swear, Mum!’

  ‘Oh he makes me want to swear at times. I mean, I went out with him in the first place because my friend said “go out with him and you’ll never have a boring life!” I mean she was right, we didn’t, but now I even watch what he wants on the TV, you know. Even when he’s not here! So he’s only got himself to blame for this.’

  ‘What, Mum? You’ve lost me.’ Normally Mum is pretty lucid, but she seems kind of hyper today. Everything is at double speed.

  She sighs. ‘I saw him on this documentary thing.’ She has slowed down and sounds a bit defeated. It was nicer when she was speeding. ‘I only got a brief glimpse of him, at this opening night of some opera or something. He wasn’t featured or anything, just a face in the crowd.’

  ‘And?’ I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, it’s just the way she says it. Matter of fact but so deliberate it’s scary.

  ‘I double checked the date, but I was right, it was my birthday. He told me he had a life-changing audition and so I forgave him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ve turned into a right doormat and it isn’t who I really am. Be yourself but better is my new thing!’ Her voice has lifted again, and she sounds genuinely happy, not put-on happy. Strong.

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like Noah.’ I can’t help but smile.

  ‘Noah? Ahh! He’s your man. I like him already! And he gave you a hangover and made you all wound up, which is more than Robbie ever did.’

  ‘I am not wound up!’

  She laughs again. ‘I do lo
ve you, Rosie.’

  ‘I love you too.’ I say, not quite able to hide the fact I am slightly miffed.

  ‘I didn’t give you a shit upbringing, did I?’

  ‘Only when you wouldn’t let me have supersize popcorn at the cinema.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have followed your dad round like I did. I could have scarred you for life.’

  Scared for life more like. ‘I wouldn’t have seen him if we hadn’t! And you wanted to be with him.’

  ‘God knows why I’ve put up with him for so long.’

  I stare at my feet. ‘Because of me?’

  ‘Oh heavens, none of this is your fault! I mean, I did want you to have two parents when you grew up, that was my decision. But honestly, Rosie,’ her tone softens, ‘he wasn’t the best example of fatherhood, well manhood, in the world. A man can be fun and flirty without feeling the need to get into every passing pair of knicker—’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘And think it’s right to lie to and deceive the people who love them. Anyway, when you were born, we were the adults and I was determined to try and make it work, but I honestly wonder if you’d have been better off without watching our sham marriage.’

  ‘It wasn’t a sham, Mum.’ I’ve always given Dad excuses, blamed me, blamed work, blamed a million and one things, but never really blamed him. Maybe I need to face up to it, like Mum has. Dad has, like Noah said, been a pretty shit father.

  And Noah was right when he said that I should be the person I want to be, not the one I think Dad wants me to be. And Noah was right when he said that my list of requirements isn’t all it should be.

  I don’t want a ‘Robbie’, I want somebody who is fun and makes me laugh. I want a little bit of the good things that Mum had.

  Maybe there’s some truth in what she’s said though, about the sham marriage. Maybe this is why I’m so totally crap at adult relationships. If I’m so confused about who my parents are and what they want from each other and expect from me, how can I possibly know what I want for myself?

  I take a deep breath. ‘You wanted to be with him, and I did too.’ Sharing more time at home would have been nicer, but that had never been the life Dad had mapped out, with or without his ‘Serenas’. He’d never have been a nine-to-five man.