I woke to UB40 and Chrissie Hynde singing ‘I Got You Babe’ and took a few moments to see if I had a hangover or not. I sat up and turned my head from left to right. Headache? No. Crushing need to eat carbs and sugar until ten o’clock tonight? Not apparent. Good. I really hadn’t had that much to drink so I should have been fine and was glad I was.
I also had a very weird and vivid dream last night, that Ben and I kissed again – this time by a clear Italian lake, ‘Manic Monday’ style – and it was much, much better than it had been at the party. Not quite amazing, but almost, and in the dream I got all the right feelings in all the right places.
I shouldn’t write him off just yet, I thought. I mustn’t be too picky or too prescriptive. All right, during the real kiss there hadn’t been Catherine wheels going off and our pretty, winged friends jumping up and down in my stomach, but if you looked at him objectively he was a catch, wasn’t he? Nice looking, friendly, fun… and he had a good, interesting job. Plus, he liked me. That was all good stuff as far as I was concerned. It sounded good. I decided not to close myself off from him. I decided, as I padded downstairs for my first coffee of the day, we could work on that kiss. It was like what they said about sex, wasn’t it? It was always disappointing the first time and then it got better and better. The same must be true of kissing. It was something we could work on, if we wanted to.
As I left for work, there was Will, coming down his drive. He was all suited and booted and had a charcoal grey overcoat on, with the collar turned up. It was a really good look on him.
‘Morning!’ he said jauntily.
‘Morning,’ I replied. ‘Thanks so much again for last night. I really appreciate it. And for tidying up.’
When I’d got home from the party, the dust sheets had all been neatly folded and left in a corner of the hall and there were two paint tins lined up, the lids firmly on, next to them, on a sheet of newspaper. In the kitchen were the paint brushes we’d used, sitting neatly in jam jars of water. And my hall was all beautifully painted, including the skirting boards. I hadn’t even bought any paint for those so I was impressed. And I currently didn’t have any jam jars or newspaper either so he’d done a really good job.
‘No problem at all. How was the date?’
‘Yeah, okay. It was pretty good actually.’ A great start, Ms Positive, I thought. Full marks. Think and sound positive and positive things will come your way.
‘Oh, good!’ said Will, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. ‘Great!’ He had that bright smile again. ‘Do you think you’ll see him again?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Oh, fantastic! Oh, well done.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Right,’ he said, pulling his car keys from one pocket and giving them a good rattle. ‘So, I’d better get going.’
‘Yes, absolutely. Thanks again for helping me paint the hall.’
‘No worries. See you later, Daryl.’
‘Bye, Will.’
And he got in his car and I got in mine and I drove to work. I whacked up the radio full blast as I navigated my way down Wimbledon High Street. ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ was on – oh I loved this – and it was exactly what I wanted to do; have fun, live a little. I was oh so perky, I was very, very positive. I was going to walk in the sun; I was going to live my life right. I also decided I was going to be all American about this dating lark, all New York – I would treat the situation with Ben as casual dating, but with a business-like attitude. Head up, options open, plan ahead and work at it. Yes, a New York state of mind was where I’d be at, not an English one where it’s all about lust and snogging unsuitable people in nightclubs and discounting men without properly evaluating their merits. I was actually glad Ben had plans for tonight and I would let him get on with them – I had a life too. And right now it was to be the best weather presenter who had ever walked the earth and simply wow today’s listeners.
‘So, how did it go last night? Did you get it on?’ Sam was waiting at my desk, as I got into work, resplendent in a tight-fitting tweed dress and sassy ankle boots. She looked amazing – she’d been working hard on those thighs, I could tell. Lunges, it had to be…
‘Sshh!’ I laughed. I dragged Sam over to the kitchen, gently closed the saloon doors so they would stay shut and put the microwave on as though we were doing one of her ninety-nine calorie Cup-a-Soups. What actually happened when you put on a microwave with nothing in it? We would soon find out.
‘Well?’ she said, hand on hip.
‘It was good.’
‘Good?’
‘Great. Great, actually,’
‘Okay, brilliant. Percentage chance of falling in love?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that! None? I’m not falling in love, remember?’
‘Okay, then, percentage of it going somewhere?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied, ‘And keep your voice down, I don’t want the whole office hearing! Look, it’s very early days.’ The microwave pinged and I reset it again – nothing had blown up…
‘You haven’t got early days!’ exclaimed Sam. The forecast said by Friday. A slight possibility? Seventy percent? Eighty?’
I thought about it. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. We’re kind of around the fifty mark, at the moment, if I had to quantify it.’
‘Fifty!’
‘Well, yeah. That’s quite good, isn’t it? I’ve only had one date with the man!’
‘If it’s written in the stars, it’s written in the stars,’ mooned Sam, leaning against the sink. ‘Time will tell. Although you haven’t got a lot of it. Do you think there’s a chance of him being The One?’ She narrowed her eyes and looked serious.
‘The One? What does The One even mean?’ I said. I thought Jeff was The One but he turned out to be The One who hurt me, The One who let me down, The One who abandoned me… ‘No.’
‘Damn it! But you like him?’
‘Yes, I like him.’
‘Good kisser?’
‘How do you know we kissed?’
‘I can tell you have. You’ve got that I was kissed last night glint in your eye.’ I wasn’t sure the kiss with Ben warranted a glint, I wasn’t sure any part of my date with him warranted a glint, but perhaps I just felt hopeful of better to come and it was showing in my face.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Everyone kisses on the first date, anyway. So…?’
‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘Although I may have to have another go.’
‘Well, that’s fantastic!’ Sam was getting all bouncy and beaming. I feared she might break out into impromptu star jumps. ‘Fireworks? Thunderbolts and lightening?’
‘Potential for them,’ I said, which was slightly over-egging a bit of an undercooked pudding, but then I remembered Ben grinning at me, Ben taking my hand, Ben saying ‘I like you, Daryl.’ There was potential. I’d dreamed of it, hadn’t I?
‘How did the skinny tie go down?’ I’d texted her, in the taxi, with a rundown of what I was wearing – just after I’d had my slight wobble and almost hadn’t gone.
‘He seemed to like it.’ I blushed a little as I recalled him pulling me closer with the ridiculous thing.
‘You’re blushing!’ Sam enthused. ‘Right. Well, good. It’s all a good foundation to build on. You’ve got to start small, build up your strength.’ Was she referring to some kind of exercise regime? This wasn’t Pilates. ‘When are you seeing him again?’
‘We didn’t say. We haven’t arranged anything yet.’
‘You’re not seeing him tonight then?’
‘Tonight? No, he’s got plans.’
‘Good, because I’ve got something else lined up for us.’
‘What! Like what? I can’t go out again! That’ll be three nights on the trot! Well, four, if you count Sunday.’
‘Of course you can! Remember what I said? A date a night? If Ben’s not available and you’re not a hundred percent sure about him, you need to go out and meet some other men.’ She laced her fingers into a little platform and placed her chin on it. ‘There’s another singles thing tonight.’
I groaned. ‘Sam!’
‘Don’t groan! You met Ben at a singles thing. You can meet another man at this one. Keep all those options open. It’s a cookery night, at a lovely country cottage, edge of Richmond Park. I’m a bit excited about it.’
‘Are you? Why’s that?’
‘I’m going to meet someone with “heat” remember, cooking involves heat. Ta dah!’ She unlaced her fingers and threw them in the air. ‘Come with me. Let’s keep Ben on the back-burner – if you excuse the pun – see what happens there, by all means, but let’s make some new strides. If you want fireworks you have to go out and get them.’
I sighed. The microwave pinged again; we really should get back to work. ‘You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?’
Sam grinned and headed through the saloon doors.
‘Absolutely not.’
Mum called me at two o’clock, just as I was grappling with a wind chart freshly emailed from the Met Office’s weather station at Kew Gardens. As soon as I answered the phone I could hear the plink plonking of the upright piano in Mum’s dining room: Chas and Dave’s finest – I could make out the stirring chorus of ‘Gertcha’.
‘Hi Daryl, I just thought I’d give you a quick call to tell you I’ve had three offers on the gentleman’s pouffe. I should make a tidy tenner on that little beauty.’
‘Oh, well, that’s great, Mum,’ I said, as I deciphered isobars. ‘Auntie Margaret round?’
‘Yes, love.’
‘You rehearsing again?’
‘Well, just some general jamming, really.’
‘Nice,’ I said, half-listening. ‘You got some more gigs coming up?’
‘A few.’
‘Fabulous,’ I murmured, absentmindedly, then, my ears pricking up slightly, ‘Is that Bruno Mars I can hear?’
‘Yes, dear. Auntie Margaret’s bought the sheet music for ‘Locked out of Heaven’. She might leave out the word “sex” though. Substitute it with “vest”’.
‘Great idea,’ I muttered. ‘Has she bought any Kings of Leon?’
‘What?’
‘Never mind… Blimey, Mum, that’s a bit of a departure. Bruno… modern music.’
‘We’re branching out. Trying some of the modern ones.’
‘Right.’
‘So, my dear. How are you? You been on any more singles nights? Met any men?’
‘Nope, but I’m going on another one tonight. Cookery thing.’
‘Ooh, fab, have fun. And how’s Bill?’
‘Who?’
‘Bill, who lives next door to you.’
‘It’s Will.’
‘That’s it.’
‘He’s fine, Mum, why do you ask?’
‘You like him.’
‘Yes, you told me you did.’
I may have mentioned him in one of our phone calls the week after I moved in. I may have told her about the lemon drizzle and him carrying a box for me.
‘Not in that way, Mum. He’s just a friend.’ Good lord, it must never, ever be in that way – it wouldn’t be good for anyone, especially me. ‘Right, well, I’m quite busy, Mum, I’ve got to go.’
‘Keep it up, love – the socialising. The singles nights. He’s out there somewhere. He really is, poppet.’
Auntie Margaret had moved onto safer ground and ‘You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.’ She started to warble along. The piano got louder; she was really giving it some welly. I really had to go; I had a lot work to do.
‘Goodbye, Mum.’
‘Bye darling.’
I shook my head as I carried on extracting information from my chart. He’s out there somewhere. What a ridiculous notion. Just because people always said it didn’t make it true. And, besides, I didn’t want it to be true. Perhaps whoever was out there should just stay there and leave me be.