I walked into The Neath, bought our drinks and, without thinking, headed to the back of the wine bar and sat down at the same table Jon and I had chosen when we had met a month earlier. I looked forlornly first at my spritzer and then at the white wine I had bought for Sophie, before swapping the drinks and taking a large gulp of the wine and replacing it miserably on the table. I then removed my phone from my bag and placed it next to the wine glass. I stared at it, willing Sophie to make contact. I had ambled to The Neath at a leisurely pace, gazing into shop windows as I went, and had left her a message to text as soon as she was on her way. It was now a good half-hour since I had left the office and yet there was still no news.
Another five minutes passed and I was just beginning to become concerned, when a bugle sounded, indicating the arrival of a text. It was from Sophie. My sense of relief was immediate.
But very short-lived.
Sorry but can’t make it. Am going out with David. Your date will be with you in 5. Have fun x
‘Oh, what?’ I exclaimed at full volume. I looked up. Only the couple immediately next to me appeared to have heard.
I picked up the phone and called Sophie. She didn’t answer and it went to voicemail. I hung up and began to text furiously.
Are you joking? Because I’m not laughing. What have you done?
I pressed send and waited. A bubble on the screen told me she was replying.
Calm down. I’m just introducing you to a friend. Connie and Abs had a bash – now it’s my turn. I was going to come and help things along but I think it will be better without me. Just have a drink and if you’re not keen you can leave.
I replied again.
I’m actually really pissed off about this. Get here right now. Bring David with you.
Another bubble.
Can’t. I’m on a date too. David and I had a huge snog in his office and now it’s a romantic dinner for two.
I flopped back in my chair; misery totally suffocating any sense of shock, curiosity, amusement or delight which I may otherwise have felt at Sophie’s announcement. And my mystery date, whoever he was, was not my main point of misery. I was a grown-up. It was an embarrassing situation but I could cope with half an hour of awkward conversation, followed, no doubt, by an equally awkward exit. What was more difficult to cope with was the realisation that one of my best, supposedly most insightful, friends didn’t actually know me at all.
I texted again.
Who is he?
I waited for the reappearance of the bubble before tapping the caps lock impatiently.
WHAT IS HIS NAME?
The bubble appeared, followed immediately by the text itself.
Wesley.
I reached for Sophie’s wine, took another gulp and began to run through the seemingly innocuous chain of events which had resulted in me being out on a Friday night, against inclination, and facing the prospect of having to make polite conversation with a man whom I had never met, whom I had never wanted to meet and who, knowing Sophie, might not even be expecting to meet me.
And just when I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, I was suddenly gripped by an icy terror.
I began to text again.
Wesley? The plasterer? The convict?
Her reply was immediate.
Ex convict
I was staring at the screen in open-mouthed horror, when what was to prove to be her penultimate text of the evening arrived.
But that’s Wayne – not Wesley. So just relax, have fun and please, please trust me. xx
‘Hello.’
At the sound of a man’s voice, I took a deep breath and looked up, bracing myself for an unwelcome stranger.
‘Jon,’ I said, uncertain whether to laugh or cry with relief. I stood up and threw my arms around his neck. ‘Are you meeting someone here? Even if you are, could I sit with you for half an hour? Wesley is coming and we’re on a date arranged by Sophie, which I knew nothing about. Meanwhile, she’s gone swanning off with bloody David and left me here to face the music. I can’t believe she’s done this to me. But I’m so pleased you’re here. Who are you meeting?’
He put his arms around me and said nothing. I turned my head to one side and rested it on his chest.
There was silence between us.
‘Are you here to meet me?’ I said at last.
‘The penny drops,’ he replied.
‘Are you…’ I took a deep breath and hesitated, ‘my date?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. I found out about five minutes ago, at around the same time that I discovered that Sophie was no longer coming and that my name is Wesley.’
‘And do you mind?’ I asked, enjoying the feeling of holding and being held, but agonised by the possibility that he might not feel the same way.
‘Well, Wesley’s not my favourite name, but the rest…’ he paused. ‘…the rest I’m definitely OK with.’ I exhaled, closed my eyes, and realised that I was smiling. ‘And you?’ he asked.
‘I’m definitely OK with it too,’ I said quietly.
I felt him relax. ‘Good,’ he said simply.
‘And I even quite like the name Wesley,’ I added, ‘if you shorten it to Wes. But Sophie’s insane.’
He laughed. ‘I’m putting it all down to a twisted sense of humour and an overdeveloped sense of theatre.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Maybe she thought I wouldn’t have come if she’d said you were coming.’
‘Well, you have refused me twice.’
‘I’ve genuinely been really busy,’ I said. ‘Plus, I got a bit muddled,’ I murmured.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know. I was there.’
‘Hmm…’ I opened my eyes and realised that the couple at the next table were staring. ‘I’m still hugging you,’ I whispered.
‘I can tell,’ he said.
‘It’s nerves.’
‘Stay nervous,’ he said. ‘It’s working for me. Although, I could do with a drink. I’d offer to get you one, but it looks like you’re lining them up.’
‘You go to the bar,’ I released him, ‘while I try to calm down.’
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said.
I sat down and watched him walk away. Then I texted Sophie.
He’s here. Honestly, Sophie, you’re such a nutter x
I waited for a moment and was rewarded with a smiley face and a kiss. I returned my phone to my bag.
A minute or two later, Jon returned, placed a glass of red wine on the table and sat down opposite me. Wearing a dark suit, with a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, he looked, I thought, intimidatingly good. He offered me a smile, which I attempted to return.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
I nodded and focused on my glass. ‘If I seem subdued, it’s terror, not misery.’
‘That’s…’ he hesitated ‘…nice.’
‘I just don’t want to say the wrong thing.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said calmly. ‘But we should probably try to clarify a few things.’
I nodded again. ‘OK.’
‘Such as your feelings, for example.’ He looked at me questioningly.
I recoiled at the prospect. ‘Why don’t you clarify your feelings first,’ I said.
He looked amused. ‘A somewhat cowardly, suggestion.’
‘I prefer prudent to cowardly,’ I said.
‘OK, I’ll go first.’ He smiled, looking at me in a way which made me reach hurriedly for a steadying sip of wine. ‘And I’ll start by saying that I am very happy to be here, with you, and even happier to discover that we are on a date.’ Suddenly finding myself unable to maintain eye contact with him, I instead watched his mouth forming each word. ‘That I love you,’ he continued, ‘and that I have loved you for a long time is, I hope, a given.’ I nodded slowly and found myself involuntarily leaning towards him. ‘That I wanted you as more than a friend was harder for me to come to terms with.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Accepting that our relationship could change was difficult for me. I hurt you in the process and you already know how much I regret that. I want us to be more than friends and I hope you feel the same way. But, if you don’t, I can accept that. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose your friendship.’
I remained silent; wholly focused upon his mouth which, as I continued to stare, formed a smile.
‘Your turn,’ he said.
I nodded, my mind racing as I recalled the wonderful highs and heart-breaking lows of our long friendship; a friendship now on the brink of becoming so much more. I wordlessly opened and closed my mouth several times, clueless as to where to start. ‘Actually, I really like what you said,’ I said eventually, barely audibly, suddenly finding myself unable to raise my voice above a whisper.
His smile broadened. ‘That’s quietly – very quietly – promising.’
‘So, can I just copy that?’ I asked, still in an undertone.
He sighed. ‘I suppose so.’
‘OK – what you said then,’ I whispered.
He picked up his drink. ‘A little disappointing in terms of effort and audibility, but a relief nevertheless. I think—’
‘I love you, Jon,’ I interrupted loudly, surprising myself with the sudden increased volume of my voice and causing him to jump and almost spill his wine. The female half of the couple next to us groaned. ‘I have loved being your friend, but I want more than that,’ I continued, loudly and undeterred, moving my gaze from his mouth to his eyes. ‘And I now know that being in love in the present, doesn’t mean we can’t still hold precious the past.’ I blinked up at him. ‘And also your mouth is very nice,’ I concluded in a rush.
‘Impressive projection,’ he said, raising his eyebrows, ‘and also an unexpected twist at the end there.’
‘I know,’ I said, finally gaining control of my vocal chords and lowering my voice to a more acceptable conversational level. ‘And I’m not usually very good at public speaking.’
He put down his wine glass and smiled. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re welc—’ And then, without thinking, or attempting to finish the sentence, I was kissing him.
How long I kissed him for I wasn’t certain. But eventually regaining a sense of time, place and decorum, I went to move away, only for him to reach out, place his hand gently behind my head, and pull me back towards him.
And then he was kissing me.
Only a light cough from the table next to us prompted separation.
We looked at each other and smiled. Neither of us spoke for a moment.
‘It’s been an odd few months, hasn’t it?’ I said eventually.
He nodded slowly. ‘It certainly has.’
I stared at the table. ‘You know, I told Miriam that I hadn’t been looking for a new relationship, because I felt that the one I wanted was already there – just waiting for me. ’ I looked up at him and frowned. ‘I just didn’t let myself see that it was you.’
‘If it’s any comfort, I didn’t really know what was going on either,’ he said quietly. ‘Everything between us just seemed suddenly very complicated.’
I nodded. ‘It did.’
‘And then, of course,’ he sighed and picked up his wine glass, ‘just as I slowly began to make sense of everything, and tried to come to terms with how I felt… you shredding books and advising me to find new friends seemed to indicate that perhaps my feelings might not be entirely reciprocated.’ He smiled at me over the top of his wine glass.
‘I would like to point out,’ I said, raising a finger, ‘that you had previously reduced me to a quivering wreck at a party and then followed that up by telling me how irritating I was.’
‘Minor details,’ he said. ‘And besides, before any of that there was your email.’
‘My email?’
‘Your finding-Mr-Right email. The one in which you welcomed all-comers and promised not to stand anyone up. That wasn’t exactly what you’d call encouraging either.’ He tutted and rolled his eyes.
‘I was actually very confused and feeling quite low at the time,’ I protested. ‘As I said to Sophie, I was trying to be positive.’ I frowned at him across the table and he offered me a slow smile in return; one which left me feeling in need of a little extra oxygen.
I took a deep breath and smiled ruefully. ‘To be honest, even when I stopped being confused, it didn’t feel great,’ I said. ‘It was so awful, understanding my feelings for you, but being absolutely certain that you didn’t feel the same way.’
‘I can relate,’ he said.
I sighed and turned to gaze unseeingly out of the window. ‘I still wanted you though,’ I murmured. ‘I couldn’t help it. I wanted your conversation, I wanted your company and worst of all I wanted to kiss you.’ I shook my head despairingly. ‘Every time I saw you, basically. It was quite an issue for me,’ I concluded a little breathlessly.
‘Again, I can relate,’ he said
I turned back towards him. ‘You can?’ I asked, envying his relaxed tone, in contrast to what felt like the sudden onset of mild hyperventilation.
He nodded. ‘I mean, I can’t claim to have always been as comfortable with the thought of kissing you as I am at this moment,’ he said, leaning towards me. ‘But it crossed my mind frequently: in pubs, in taxis, at parties, in my office…’ I took a deep breath and held it as he looked at me steadily. ‘Even when you’ve been shouting at me whilst wearing a very unflattering bicycle helmet.’
I exhaled. ‘Is that true?’
‘Yes, it’s very unflattering,’ he said. ‘Are you sure it’s the right size?’
I smiled and placed my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my hands and continuing my attempts to regulate my breathing. ‘You’re so Ethan Frome,’ I said quietly, my face now just inches from his. ‘Perhaps if you’d just kissed me in a taxi, in an act-now-think-later kind of way, it might have saved us a lot time and trouble. But actually,’ I said, sitting up, ‘I don’t think I can talk about…’ I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled slowly through my mouth, ‘…that at the moment.’
‘About Ethan Frome?’
I shook my head. ‘About kissing in taxis.’ I took another deep breath. ‘About kissing anywhere, actually,’ I added, leaning back in my chair and placing my hand on my chest. ‘Because thinking about it is making me feel breathless, as if I’m asthmatic, even though I’m not asthmatic.’ I continued the deep breathing.
He smiled and shook his head, as the muffled strains of The Divine Comedy, began to drift up from beneath the table.
Everybody knows that I love you
Everybody knows that I need you
Everybody knows that I do, except you.
Jon frowned, I reached into my bag to retrieve my phone, and the couple next to us got up and moved to a table on the other side of the bar. ‘It’s my Friday ringtone,’ I explained, ‘courtesy of Sophie. And this is her now,’ I added, looking at my phone and pressing accept just as the singing ceased.
Jon laughed. ‘I wonder how their date is going.’
‘Well, I’ve just missed her,’ I sighed, still looking at my phone and waiting in vain for a voicemail. ‘Do you think she was being serious about it being a date? I think she was. I hope she was. But you just never know with her.’
‘She sounded pretty serious about it in her texts to me,’ he said. ‘And very happy too.’
I looked up and smiled. ‘I think they’re perfect together,’ I said.
‘I agree.’ He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. ‘Now, would you like to go to dinner, Ms Waites?’ he asked.
I nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I would, Mr Durham,’ I said.
‘Come on then,’ he stood up and held out his hand to me.
I took it and rose to my feet. ‘Where shall we go?’ I asked, as we walked across the bar, and through the stone-lined archway, towards the exit.
‘How about,’ he said, holding the door open for me as I stepped out onto the pavement, ‘I cook for you? We will have privacy, we won’t be forced to whisper and you can relax and hopefully feel less asthmatic.’ He turned, looked down at me, seemed suddenly amused and then, taking my face gently in his hands, he kissed me. ‘What do you think?’ he said after a moment, his hands moving to my waist.
‘I think I might actually end up feeling more asthmatic,’ I said, reaching up and placing my arms around his neck. ‘But I’m willing to risk it. So,’ I continued, ‘what are you planning to cook this evening?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, smiling down at me. ‘Any thoughts?’
I nodded.
‘Any of them to do with food?’ he asked.
I shook my head.
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said.
And then he took my hand and we walked up the hill.