Page 24 of When We Were Young
Emily
I don’t want to be in this bar – everyone here is half my age – but FHD is back from his holiday and this is finally happening. I feel sick.
But why worry about your first date in twenty years when you’ve jacked in your job and have no way of paying the mortgage? That helps put things into perspective.
If I hadn’t quit my job, I’d have agonised for hours about what to wear tonight, but with the help of perspective , I chose a low-cut top and a pair of ancient but well-fitting jeans in minutes.
With indifference, no less. I even put on my sexiest underwear (only M he’s been let down twice already, and he should’ve been in Thailand by now.’
I picture myself running a coffee shop – I like the mental image.
‘There’s no harm in having a look, I suppose,’ I say.
‘You’d be doing each other a favour and the good thing is, it’s only for six months, so it’s not like it’s forever.’
‘It sounds like fate.’
He raises his glass. ‘To new beginnings.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
We share a cab. His place is closer, but he insists on dropping me first. I’m quiet on the ride home, my mind racing. Is he expecting to come in? Do I want him to come in? I put the underwear on, but I’m not so brave now.
‘When would you like to visit my mate’s café?’ He has the calendar open on his phone. ‘How about Monday morning?’
‘I have nothing on for the foreseeable future.’
‘Pick you up at ten?’
I fix him with a confident smile. ‘Sure.’
We pull into my road, and I direct the cabbie to my house. I take off my seatbelt, my ‘get-a-life’ mantra ringing in my ears again, then hear myself say: ‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’
He hesitates.
‘What am I saying?’ I backtrack. ‘It’s late—’
‘Sure, why not?’
Even as I put my key in the front door, I haven’t decided whether I mean coffee or ‘coffee’ in inverted commas. I look to FHD for inspiration. His hands are deep in his pockets as he stares into the distance.
‘Come in,’ I say, putting my handbag on the sideboard.
He follows me through to the kitchen. I flick on the lights, the dim ones that only light up the counter.
He sits at the little breakfast table.
‘Coffee? Tea? Night cap?’ I ask.
‘Night cap?’
‘Let’s see…’ I rummage in a cupboard. ‘I’ve only got gin, Baileys or Pimm’s, I’m afraid. Or white wine?’
‘Gin’s good.’ He smiles. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I get a flash of those lovely teeth.
Am I really doing this?
I cut a lime into wedges and break ice out of the mould. He watches as I run a wedge of lime around the rim of the glass before giving it a squeeze and dropping it into the drink.
‘Very professional.’
I hand him his glass and sit down.
We drink.
He has the kind of stubble that’s almost a beard.
It’s flecked with grey and there’s a little grey at his temples.
His knee is bobbing up and down like he’s listening to some internal soundtrack.
I drag my eyes away before he catches me staring at him, the phrase ‘it’s like riding a bike’ rolling around in my head.
‘I thought about what you said before.’ He looks at me intently.
‘About it being a long time and I want you to know I’m not in a hurry so…
you know, when you’re ready to… I mean, I know what it’s like…
to start seeing people again after… whatever…
and I had a good time tonight. I enjoyed spending time with you so…
I’m happy to, you know, hang out until you’re ready––’
I’m not sure if I want to put him out of his misery or if I just want him to shut up, but I shift forward in my chair and kiss him. I taste the lime on his lips and smell whatever aftershave that is.
I pull away to gauge his reaction.
He grins. ‘Or we could rush in.’
Heat flushes my cheeks, and as I look away, something catches my eye on the table.
It’s Liv’s door key with its ‘O’ keyring.
She’s here.