Rounding the corner of the garage, pushing my bike towards the shed, I spot Mum framed by the back doorway. She’s waving a pink and white striped tea towel at me.
Here we go. I’m a bit later than normal. Like, ten minutes? I shall ignore her and carry on with putting my bike away.
She’s not going to let me ignore her.
“Ah, Tessa! Tessa, love! Tessa, you’re back.”
This is a bit obvious, but I refrain from saying so. Sarcasm absolutely doesn’t work.
She’s got a slip of paper in her other hand and she’s looking at it while still flicking the tea towel sort of in my direction.
“This boy… this… er… Danny Proctor… He called at about three o’clock. He wanted to speak to you and he’s left a number. Here it is… ” and she starts to read the number out loud.
I drop my bicycle on the grass where I stand and am at the back steps in seconds.
She has curiosity scribbled all over her face and I snatch the note from her in case she refuses to give it to me until I’ve explained just who this Danny Proctor is.
“Oh God, why did he have to call when I wasn’t here? I’ve missed him!”
That came out desperate; I didn’t mean it to. But he never phoned yesterday, which not only set my despondency alarm bell off but made it damned awkward when Gill greeted me today with, “So come on – what time did he call you and are you going to see him again?”
She’d only gone and told Moira about my date on Friday night too so I had to describe it all over again to her while wondering if it was actually going to go any further than that. And again, when Charles and Nathan got home, but only to Charles because Nathan did one of his vanishing acts.
“He sounds nice. He was so polite when I spoke to him.”
She’s positively cooing, sidling up to me. I dodge round her and, on those jumpy sort of legs that want only to run, head straight for the phone.
Act cool. I dial the number with a sweaty finger. As the phone rings at the other end I wonder why the hell I didn’t spend a few minutes thinking of things to say to him and nearly put the receiver back. Too late. Someone picks up and intones, “Hello. Proctor household.” It’s him.
*
“So when are we all going to meet Lover Boy? You talked to him on the phone for long enough.”
She’s smirking and sniggering at the same time. This is rich, coming from her, after all her wistful and pointless sighings over Rob.
“I don’t know when, Rosie. He’s asked me to go to the Dairy Den with him on Tuesday morning.”
“You’re going out with him again on Friday, aren’t you?” Mum informs everyone. Mum, the great announcer. “I’m looking forward to meeting him. He sounds ever so nice. Very polite boy. I’m sure he dresses neatly too. Does he?”
Oh please shut up. Why should people only ever be ‘nice’ if they’re ‘neat’? Wear your shirt outside your trousers and you clearly have a delinquent temperament and questionable morals.
I give her The Look, while ignoring Rosie’s giggling, but she rattles on regardless, dragging me with her.
“Is it that church opposite the shops with the modern flat roof on one side and the funny sloping bit of roof on the other?”
“Lean-to,” says Dad.
Rosie swallows her mouthful abruptly.
“Church? You’re not getting married already?”
I so need to change the subject right now, but my mind has emptied. I can’t reach her legs with my foot either.
“Don’t be ridiculous. And actually no, we’re not going after all. Danny says his brother wants him to go to this kind of Christian youth meeting but I don’t think he – Danny that is – really wants to go. He said maybe we’ll go some other time.”
“Wow!” my sister exclaims with some reverence. “It must be love!”
We eat for a bit, then Dad asks, “Tessa, did you lock the shed after you came back from riding?”
Did I?
I have a nasty feeling I just left my bike lying on the lawn.