Page 4 of Love at First Sight

Cal shudders. ‘Mum stopped me playing outside without supervision after that. We always had to be in somebody’s garden in the summer holidays.’

‘Mum and Dad had the same rule,’ I say. ‘We could play outside on the street in the cul-de-sac if we were directly outside our house, but we couldn’t go to the shop without an adult or anything like that.’

‘I see what you mean about that being detrimental, though. If somebody is always watching you, how do you figure out who you are?’

‘Exactly.’ I’m pleased he understands. ‘And I am so anti-screens for kids. But if they don’t have screens, what else can they do, you know?

So, Stray Kids would be supervised unsupervised play.

You’d have a secure outdoor area crawling with volunteers at the periphery, but the kids would be left alone.

So, if little Jonny decides to jump in puddles and gets wet feet, he can learn for himself that that’s what happens.

Because otherwise, we tell little Jonny he’ll get wet feet, but he doesn’t have a concept of why that’s bad. He needs to learn it for himself.’

‘Five minutes with soggy socks will teach him that …’ points out Cal.

‘Right?’ I say. ‘Let them learn for themselves! We’d brief them on safety – don’t pick up anything that looks dangerous, always stay in groups of three or more, stand still and yell loudly for help and somebody in a high-vis vest will come immediately.

All of that. But then, for two or three or four hours, whatever, the kids can fend for themselves: make forts, climb trees, play in the mud kitchen, decide when to eat their own snack even.

So if you eat your snack at the beginning and get hungry later, next time you know to save your snack.

Even kids being mean to each other – you see it in playgrounds all the time, caregivers intervening before kids can figure out a disagreement between themselves.

But it’s because nobody wants to be accused of not caring, of not giving enough attention.

But kids need to practise being brave with each other!

All that interpersonal relationship stuff, give them room to discover it. ’

Cal strokes his chin. ‘I’ve never thought of it like that before, but you’ve got me sold. Will parents – caregivers – go for it? If they’re really that risk-adverse?’

‘I’ve thought about this,’ I say. ‘But Stray Kids isn’t actually dangerous , it’s not like we’re giving children knives and hoping for the best. It’s a real-life environment that we make as safe as possible, and I reckon all it takes is for a few parents to lead the way before everyone sees the magic.

First session free, and a discount for kids on their own, so they understand it’s designed for children hoping to make new friends, too, not just groups of existing friends. ’

‘You know,’ Cal says, ‘your face lights up like crazy talking about this. I don’t think you should sit on the idea for any longer. If something captures your heart, I believe you have a moral imperative to go for it.’

I blink. What he’s saying makes my stomach do flips, but more than that, the way he’s looking at me undoes me.

He’s stopped being shy about his eye contact.

I don’t mean to look down at his mouth but I do, and in return he looks at my mouth too.

Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Is he wondering if we’re going to kiss, that we should kiss, that we should melt into one another and surrender to this, whatever this is?

‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling shyly. ‘I think you might be right.’

When we’ve paid our bill, we take a walk along the river.

I don’t know whose idea it was – both? Neither?

All I know is, this is the best date I have ever been on, and I didn’t even know it was going to happen.

The sun is low in the sky, making pretty patterns on the water, bouncing and reflecting to give the air a romantic glow.

Cal looks out over the river, but I look across at Cal.

He’s so handsome in the golden hour of the day.

His muscled neck slopes into his T-shirt, and it’s everything I can do not to reach out and smooth down the label poking out.

He looks solid as marble. To be held in those arms would be to feel safe.

‘Best city in the world, isn’t she?’ Cal says, when we stop to admire the view.

‘I’m born and bred London, so I’ll give that a hearty yes,’ I say.

‘You must have seen some change in your time,’ he muses.

‘In my time?’ I squeal. ‘I’m not eighty!’

‘You know what I mean,’ he says, knocking his shoulder into mine.

‘Where were you raised?’ I ask.

‘All over. Dad’s job kept us on the move. Nothing fancy, he was an engineer. Surprising how often he changed jobs though. This is the longest I’ve settled anywhere. I came for uni at Goldsmiths and never left. I never would, especially now I’m in Lower Clapton. I love it.’

‘You must have seen some change in your time,’ I say, and he bites his lip to stop smiling too much.

‘You’ve got quite the mouth on you, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir. And proud of it.’

Cal looks at me, licks his lips. It is … loaded. It robs the breath from me. I think it’s going to happen. At some point, we’re going to kiss.

‘Hmmm,’ he says, and then – and I’m not even making this up – a goddamn violinist sets up beside us and starts playing.

‘Jesus,’ Cal says. ‘This light, this music … you … This is so unexpected.’ He holds out a hand, as if he wants me to take it.

‘Dance with me?’ he asks, eyes big and vulnerable. ‘When is something like this ever going to happen again?’ And he’s got a point. This could be the last first date of my life, and so why not make it one to truly remember, cringey dance by the river and all.

‘I’d be delighted to,’ I say, stepping towards him so he can pull me in close.

My head rests on his reassuringly broad chest, one hand in his, the other on his waist, and we sway, gently, slowly, gorgeously, to the achingly lovely notes of the violin. It’s perfect. Strange, and cheesy, but perfect.

Remember this.

We don’t speak, just dance, and for the briefest of moments I even close my eyes, breathe in the manly scent of him, and start to believe that maybe I can have a happy ending, too. Or, at the very least, a happy beginning. I’m willing to work for the rest.

My eyes flutter open, gaze unfocused. We’re alone, just me, Cal and the violinist. As my eyes readjust to our surroundings, I spot something up ahead.

In the distance, there’s a woman leaning over the wall separating the path from the Lea.

It’s not very high this side – it comes up to her mid-thigh – but it’s a steep drop down to the water on the other side.

I watch her, unsure of what I’m seeing until it’s painfully obvious.

She climbs up, her energy frantic, and stands on the wall, looking down.

I stiffen. Surely she isn’t going to jump. Surely not.

The woman is very still, staring into the distance. Dread creeps up the back of my neck, my body telling me to pay attention.

‘Cal,’ I say, and he murmurs a response. ‘No,’ I say, lifting my head off him. ‘Cal. Look at that woman.’

He stares where I’m pointing. His mouth parts as he understands what he’s seeing.

‘Shit,’ he says, walking towards her. I follow for the ten paces or so it takes to stride over.

‘Beautiful night, isn’t it?’ Cal says to the woman once we’re close enough to her to talk.

He doesn’t shout and there is no sense of panic in his voice.

Meanwhile I’m physically shaking and couldn’t sound normal if you paid me.

This is bad. This woman looks beside herself.

She’s young, and she has her black hair slicked back in a low bun, hooped earrings, a nice manicure.

She looks normal . But hanging over the edge of the wall that way is anything but.

Cal says, ‘I’m going to step forward towards you, if that’s okay. I’d like to see the water too.’

The woman looks to her side – not all the way back, but enough for me to see she’s younger than me, maybe late twenties, and totally gorgeous. Beautiful. She’s got tears in her eyes and her nose is running. She’s crazed. Panicked.

‘Fuck off,’ she says, loudly, and for a split second I think we’ve got this all wrong. We’re not wanted. She’s fine, she just wants to be alone.

‘No,’ says Cal, firmly. ‘I’m going to stay here. I’m going to stay here, with you, all right?’

‘Fuck. Off!’ the woman says. ‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!’

And then she starts crying, a big-gulp-of-air sob and then lots of little ones and she whispers, ‘I hate this.’

Cal takes a breath. I don’t know how he’s so calm, how he knows how to handle all this. I’m shitting myself, frankly. I wonder if I should call the police. But the sirens might spook her. What if she jumps and we’re the only ones around …

‘I’m coming to the wall,’ Cal says. ‘I’m Cal, by the way. What’s your name? You look like somebody I used to know, actually. She was called Clarissa.’

‘That’s an awful name,’ the woman says, as Cal reaches the wall and hovers about six feet from her.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘We called her Riss, for short. It suited her, somehow.’

The woman nods.

‘So … what’s your name?’ Cal presses.

A beat. But then, ‘Naomi,’ the woman replies.

‘Naomi,’ Cal repeats. ‘It’s nice to meet you. Are you having a bad day, Naomi?’

She gives a hollow laugh.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Cal says.

‘I’m having a bad life ,’ Naomi tells him.

‘Do you want to tell me some more about that?’

Naomi looks at him, and he gives her an encouraging nod.

‘I’m listening,’ he says, kindly.

She considers this, looking back out to the water and closing her eyes to inhale deeply. When she opens them again, she whispers, ‘It feels hard. Everything just feels so hard.’

‘In what way?’ Cal asks, and he’s doing an incredible job of keeping her talking. I barely move a muscle – I’m transfixed. I don’t know if Naomi knows I’m here, and I’m scared that if I even breathe too loudly, I’ll break whatever influence he’s having.

‘Work. Family. My life,’ she says. ‘I’m in some shitty copyright job earning sod all.

I have, like, two friends, and they always seem to be busy.

None of my dates work out. My landlord is putting the rent up, and I don’t know how I’ll ever afford it.

I’m probably going to have to leave London.

But to do what? To go where? I hate all this thinking .

’ Naomi covers her eyes with her hands. ‘I just want somebody to sort it all out for me, you know? Or to fast-forward ten years to when everything is better and it doesn’t all hurt so much … ’

‘I understand that,’ says Cal. ‘London can chew you up and spit you out, can’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ says Naomi, sadly.

‘Would you like a hug?’ he offers. ‘If I hold out my hand you can climb down, and we can have a hug. I’m not a creep, I promise.

You’re not alone, Naomi, do you hear me?

Those two friends love you, and there’ll be people at your job who care about you too.

You’ve had bad dates because they weren’t your person, okay?

Your person is looking for you, and they need you to step down off that wall and be safe so that they can find you. Can you take my hand, Naomi?’

Cal reaches out, and in a blur of motion Naomi grabs hold, gets lifted to the ground, and falls to a heap, crying uncontrollably, with Cal wrapped around her.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘You’re okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.’

I don’t know how much time passes. I sit on the path about ten feet from them, waiting.

Naomi cries and cries, loudly at first, and then the noise dies down into a soft whimper.

It gets dark. Cal doesn’t rush her, doesn’t push her, just lets Naomi sink into his lap so he can soothe her.

I could almost fall asleep myself, until eventually, after about forty-five minutes, he motions to me and I perk up.

Naomi has stopped crying. Cal points to the main road off from the towpath and mouths cab , so I get up and wait for a black taxi with its light on to approach, so I can wave it down.

Cal gently lifts Naomi up and, as the taxi pulls up to the kerb, Cal says to the driver, ‘The nearest A&E, please, mate.’ The hospital.

He’s taking her to the hospital. Instinctively, I know I shouldn’t get in the taxi too – it would be too much, too claustrophobic for this poor, poor woman – so I stand there, mute, Cal looking at me and me looking at Cal, hoping he can read my mind.

I want him to know he’s a hero. A total hero.

I cannot believe a man like him exists. Thank goodness he was here.

He guides Naomi into the car, following close behind.

I shut the door and Cal lifts a hand to wave through the window.

He looks heartbroken, and sad, his skin wan and his eyes surrounded by dark circles, as if this past however long has drained the lifeblood from him.

I wave back, watching them go. It’s only when I get home, numbed by worry for Naomi, and climb into bed, that I manage to emerge from my daze and realise: I don’t have Cal’s number, or know what his surname is. Nothing.

I’ve had the best day of my life with the man of my dreams, and now he’s gone without a trace.

Dammit.