The First Date

by Zara Stoneley

‘I thought I was,’ I say, then realise I sound a bit sulky. ‘I’ve had lots of dogs, but they usually only come up to my knees, and they’re not scared of everything. Hugo is a complete wuss.’

  ‘He’s a boy.’ He ruffles the hair on the top of his head. ‘Needs reassurance,’ he winks at me, ‘to be kept close. Body contact.’

  I try not to meet his eye, and instead look at Hugo. Who is glued to Noah’s thigh.

  ‘I thought he’d like a long lead; you know, a bit of freedom.’ I see now the error of my ways. A dog on the end of a very long leash is pretty hard to control, unless it is so small you can just reel it in like a fish. I don’t think the retract button on an extendable lead would work with Hugo.

  I’m beginning to think Dad might have more in common with Hugo than Noah.

  ‘He needs to know you’re there for him, don’t you, boy?’ Hugo looks up and for a moment they stare at each other, complete love-in. I’m beginning to feel a bit jealous.

  ‘Huh, well.’ I think I have discovered why Ophelia’s other dog-sitters were unavailable – even if Hugo is in fact a big sweetie. Which he is. ‘I’m not convinced dog sitting is one of my special skills. It’s trickier than man-dating!’ I sneak a sideways look at Noah. ‘I thought I’d try it instead, dog sitting, doggie borrowing; I thought I might meet somebody nice in the park or something, with a common interest.’

  ‘Hugging trees?’ He chuckles, and I punch him lightly in the ribs. Mates-style. ‘You did meet somebody nice, me!’

  ‘This is my place,’ I say slightly surprised as we slow down near my gate. We’ve somehow got home without me noticing. And Hugo hasn’t stared at anything with suspicion or threatened to shoot off.

  ‘I know.’

  I feel myself blushing. Of course, he knows. He’s been here before, when I was drunk, feeling sorry for myself. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘It was fun, so,’ he rubs his hands together, ‘I pick the next scenario!’ He draws out the word scenario. It makes me smile back at him, forgetting my total embarrassment. He has this knack of knowing the right thing to say, lightening things up. ‘You’ll never get past the first base with Hugo. He’ll be a crap kisser, all drool and big tongue!’

  ‘Eurgh, shut up.’ I punch him and laugh; I can’t help myself. Even when I’m sober, Noah makes me laugh. A lot. ‘I don’t want to snog him or you!’

  ‘Well, here you go.’ He hands the end of the leash over. Hugo sits down and looks up at him, then at me, then back at Noah. He doesn’t want him to go. Noah does something I’ve failed at: gives him confidence.

  ‘Thanks.’ I unlock the door but don’t step inside. I’m not sure I’m ready to let Noah go either. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get much time for, you know …’

  ‘Seduction techniques?’ He’s got the most gorgeous dimples. How come I’ve not noticed them before? Grrr! I’ve not noticed them before because I don’t want, I must not, notice things like this. We have a business arrangement. ‘Don’t worry, it gave me a bit of,’ he pauses, eyes twinkling, ‘insight!’

  I take a deep breath. This bit is trickier now we’ve drawn to a halt. In my head ‘come in for a coffee’ was easy as we walked back. But I’ve now hit that awkward silence on the doorstep. The one that is scared of letting him in to my house, letting him see ‘me’. I take a gulp and go for it. ‘You fancy that drink?’

  ‘Look, Rosie.’ He rests his hand on my arm. ‘You don’t have to do this you know.’ He shrugs. ‘But it could be fun.’

  ‘I know.’ Oh lordie, this is embarrassing. ‘But I want to.’ I think. ‘I have to,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  ‘Have to?’

  In for a penny, in for a pound as they say. ‘I need a date for my parents’ wedding anniversary party. I told Mum I had a boyfriend,’ Noah raises an eyebrow, but I crash on, ‘and she’ll tell my dad.’

  ‘Ahh, your dad. You can’t do this just for your dad, Rosie.’ His tone is soft. His gaze is soft.

  ‘I’m not, I’m doing it for me.’ My voice has gone wobbly.

  ‘Well that’s fine then.’ He reaches up. He’s going to touch me, he’s so close. He’s going to do that fingers along the cheek thing they do in the movies, then tangle his fingers in my hair and …‘Twigs in the hair might work for some, but it’s a bit of a niche audience.’ He holds up a leaf and grins, but it’s a grin with soft edges that matches the tone of his voice and makes me feel even more awkward than I did before, if that’s possible. ‘Lumberjacks, tree protesters, hobbits maybe.’

  I gulp, try and clear my throat. ‘Not many of them round here. Hobbits that is. There’s a very nice tree surgeon in—’ I’m rambling to fill the silence that I’m expecting any minute, but he puts a finger on my lips, so I freeze.

  ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I squeak. But I am. I’m petrified that if he touches me, I’ll end up crushing on the wrong guy. This would be the worst kind of failure. I do not want to discover that I have been conditioned to fall for somebody like my dad, that I’m going to repeat the pattern of behaviour I’ve seen as I’ve grown up.

  If I get this wrong now, not only will the chance of taking a date to the party be doomed – so will I. Well, maybe not doomed. But it is not going to happen.

  ‘Shall we start again? You know, in a conventional kind of setting. You, me, man, woman.’

  Hugo groans and flops down. ‘No dog?’ I bite the inside of my cheek. I need a prop. What do I use if I can’t have a dog?

  ‘No dog. Let’s hit this head on, off the nursery slope, straight onto the black run.’

  I never did fancy skiing.

  ‘Stop avoiding me, Rosie.’ His voice is soft. ‘I’m not the one making you do anything. Skip out if you want, it’s your life.’ He holds his hands up in surrender.

  I don’t want to skip out; I don’t want him to walk out and not see the best of me. Oh bugger, why am I thinking like this? I’m doing exactly what I’ve always done with Dad – desperately wanted him to see the best of me. Tried to please him.

  Take a deep breath, Rosie. You are not doing this so Noah can see the best of you. You are doing this for yourself. Because you can do this.

  It is my life. And I’m not too stupid to ignore the fact that right now it’s a life that needs a bit of added-spice, and a companion – but not of the four-legged furry type.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ My heart is pounding like billy-o.

  ‘Oh, afraid I’ve got …’ He looks uncomfortable.

  ‘A date?’ Gulp! Why does that make me come over all possessive? He’s allowed dates, I’m allowed dates, that’s the point!

  ‘To see my mate.’ He suddenly looks all deflated and sad. ‘It’s the anniversary of his wife’s death.’ Noah blinks; he’s looking my way, but not at me any longer. He’s looking into the distance. ‘I don’t like him to be on his own,’ then the moment passes as he snaps himself out of it and gives a crooked smile, ‘bloody miserable company though, he’s a real sad sod.’

  ‘Oh.’ I try not to be relieved that he’s seeing his friend. That’s horrible, being pleased when his poor friend is heartbroken. ‘I hope he’s okay.’

  He shrugs, and I want to hug him. Not because I’m pleased that he’s not proper dating, but because he cares about his friend. The lump in my throat catches me by surprise. This is a side of Noah that is nothing like my dad. My father wouldn’t put himself out like this. He’s a good-time boy, like I’d presumed Noah was. Out to have a great time, but never sticking around for the bad times.

  ‘He’s a bit broken.’ That twisted smile flashes briefly again. ‘That’s what love does for you. Anyway, Thursday?’

  ‘You’re not busy with, you know, proper dates?’

  ‘I can fit them in Wednesday or Friday.’ He winks. Not funny. See, what did I say about not being impressed by winks? ‘You are okay? Sure?’

  I think he has mistaken my silent, and totally inappropriate, simmering for dog-induced trauma. It is not that at all. I am in shock
. Shock that I am the slightest bit bothered about him dating alongside our tutorials. Which is ridiculous. Why should I care? In fact, it is a bonus. He obviously doesn’t fancy me, and so all my fears about pretend-dating the wrong kind of man are groundless. I am safe. Phew.

  But also slightly miffed. Why doesn’t he fancy me at least a tiny bit? Am I really that unattractive that even a serial first dater (who, let’s face it, must get through a helluva lot of dates) isn’t interested? Huh!

  ‘I don’t need to check you over for damage?’ He raises both eyebrows suggestively, his dimples deepening.

  ‘You never stop, do you!’ I grin at him; I can’t help myself. Maybe he does find me just a teeny-weeny bit attractive after all. He shakes his head, then pats Hugo.

  ‘Noah?’ I stop him on impulse, about to ask him why he’s doing this.

  He pauses. Raises an eyebrow.

  I can’t do it. I can’t ask because I don’t want to hear an answer that might be crushing and will make me slam the door and never dare date again.

  ‘Thursday?’

  ‘Thursday. I’ll text you the details!’

  ‘What? You can’t …! You need to tell me.’ He starts to step backwards down the path, away from me. Smiling. ‘I don’t like surprises!’

  ‘My turn!’

  ‘Don’t be mean! Give me a clue? Where?’

  ‘Laters! Oh, and Rosie, if you haven’t got a date sorted for that party, I can always step in!’ He winks, waves a hand and is gone.

  Hugo stands up, shakes and strolls into the house as though it is his home.

  I push the door firmly shut and lean against it. What have I done?

  Then I look at my phone. I could cancel! No, I can’t cancel. I can handle this. I can.

  Hugo barks. When I look, he wags his tail then sits down looking very pleased with himself.

  Why am I doing this? I stare at my reflection in the hall mirror, and I do know deep down, even if I won’t say it out loud. It’s not just the party, or my dad.

  I like the idea of being in a relationship. And I like being in love. I miss it. I don’t want to just watch it on Netflix, or read about it, I want to do it. I want to fall in love.

  ‘Am I mad?’ I go in search of Hugo, who has flopped out on my sofa, and left me a tiny corner to squeeze into. ‘I know I have to get a date for the party, but I really want a boyfriend again.’ I fondle his ears. Like Noah did. It seems to work: he sighs. ‘Am I being pathetic? Is it just FOMO?’ Hugo cocks his head. ‘Do I really want a date or am I just scared I’m missing out?’ He rests his large head on my lap. ‘Oh my God, Hugo. I’ve just agreed to meet up with a serial dater again! Twice!’ I feel a bit sick. But I think it’s excited sick. Jittery, nervous, can’t sit still kind of sick – not head in a toilet bowl. ‘Would I be better off staying safe, finding the right dog?’ He wags his tail lazily, with a thump, thump, thump. ‘You do realise this is all your fault? If you hadn’t liked him so much, I wouldn’t be doing this. I trusted you!’ There’s a loud slightly disturbing noise from my lap, and a woomph of warm air towards my crotch. Hugo is asleep, snoring and blowing bubbles between my thighs.

  I edge up, trying not to disturb him.

  Hugo is lovely, and I like dogs, but really? Am I really ready to skip snogs and cuddles from a sexy man? I guess the answer is no.

  It’s probably impossible to find the love of my life before the party, but once it is done and dusted, I will politely dump my desperate date and use everything Noah is about to teach me to find the man of my dreams.

  Watch out world, Rosie Brown is about to find out what a man really wants!

  Chapter 9

  I went to bed feeling very positive and determined and woke up humming to myself as I brushed my teeth and made a coffee.

  The door slams behind me and I practically dance down the street on my way to work. I’ve got this. I have a plan.

  Stage 1 is to learn how to ‘first date’ and with Noah’s help nab a man before the party. I will not have to resort to taking Noah, despite his kind offer.

  He’s too easy to like, which makes him dangerous. And what makes being with him even more dangerous is that while I was lying awake in bed last night it dawned on me that although he reminds me of Dad in tons of ways, he’s also different in quite a few lovely ways. He seems to genuinely care about people for one, and he also seems to quite like me as I am. But letting myself fall for a man who loves his carefree life and having fun would be bad for me. So I am not going to let it happen. Introducing him to my parents would be a massive mistake. And Dad probably wouldn’t like him anyway, as they’re so similar.

  Bugger. Dad. I don’t care whether he does or doesn’t like my boyfriends. I have to stop thinking this way. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to please him.

  Except I do care.

  Anyway, Stage 1 is about letting Noah teach me how to get a date, then getting one. Before the party.

  Stage 2 is about using my new-found skills to find the right man. A man I really want to be with. Obviously, this might take time, but that is fine.

  My mobile beeps as I’m putting my handbag in the back room of the bookshop.

  ‘Morning, sexy lady! This is your sex god calling!’

  I can’t help the smile that teases at the corners of my mouth. There’s a pause, then a second text.

  ‘Noah, in case you were wondering!’

  I laugh. I can’t help it; he has that effect on me.

  ‘Good morning, Noah. I did realise! Rosie.’

  ‘I need help! Noah’

  ‘Don’t you just!’

  I add a smiley to show I’m joking.

  ‘Haha very funny! Look, I need to get something straight in my head here. You keep (again and again) telling me I’m not your type (soul-destroying, but I’m trying to cope). So what is your type? What kind of man are we after? Noah’

  ‘ps still can’t believe I’m not your type, I’m everybody’s dream!! Noah’

  ‘So glad you asked! I want somebody who likes me as I am, solid job, kind, wants to plan for the future.’

  I’m sure he’s getting the gist by now, but just in case he isn’t …

  ‘Not interested in charm, don’t want somebody who flirts with other people, or men who spend more time in the bathroom than me (not long). Don’t need flamboyant gestures or exotic holidays.’

  I just want to be loved and love back. But I can’t say that. There is a long pause after I hit send.

  ‘Wow!’

  I am not sure if this is a good wow, or a bad wow.

  ‘Somebody who wants to commit.’

  I add for good measure, just in case there is any doubt in his mind. There is another long pause. Maybe I’ve overdone it and scared him off. Bugger. I really need him to help me.

  ‘Long term this is! Short term, I’m looking for a few fun first dates to get me on the right track.’

  ‘Are you sure you want safe, secure, boring??!! You’re fun, clever and full of life!’

  I am just starting to type a reply, saying that flattery will get him nowhere and what’s fun now might not turn out to be after the wedding bells have chimed, and that some people do believe in deep, honest love that doesn’t necessarily jingle their innermost organs and give them palpitations, when there’s a new text.

  Dad.

  Why does my heart sink before I’ve even read it? It’s not right, is it? This is so different to the excited feeling of anticipation I had when I spotted that Noah had texted.

  ‘Thought about a makeover?’

  Straight for the jugular, don’t mess about with niceties, Dad!

  ‘Less provincial bookworm, more interesting catch. Dad x’

  For all his faults and similarities to Dad, I can’t ever imagine Noah sending me a message like this.

  What?! I glare at the message.

  ‘Sorry? R x’

  Maybe he meant to send it to somebody else.

  ‘You can be a bit off-putting. Too, how do I put t
his, strident? Challenging? A new sexier image could help. Try a bit harder! Just a thought! Dad x’

  Strident, challenging? Try a bit harder?

  ‘I’m not a fish, I’m not a catch! R x’

  His next text starts with a crying with laughter emoticon.

  ‘Not yet you’re not! Get your skates on, darling! Only trying to help. Dad x’

  There’s another laughing emoticon after the ‘skates’.

  I hate him.

  ‘Love you, darling, must dash. Conductor has his baton poised. X’

  Does he love me? Do I love him? How can a relationship with your dad be so screwed up? I’ve always tried to please him; I’ve always thought that if I tried harder, if I was better, if I was the daughter that he really wanted then he’d come home. Spend more time with me, with us. I guess I’m still harbouring that stupid, childlike dream.

  ‘Everything okay in there?’ Yells Bea. ‘I’ve got you a coffee!’

  ‘Out in a sec.’ Dad thinks I’m too loud, too boring, and now apparently too staid and unsexy. I’m also going to get the sack if I don’t actually start work soon.

  My phone rings. Despite myself, I can’t ignore it. Maybe he’s going to apologise, tell me I am okay as I am after all.

  ‘Rosie? Everything okay? You didn’t text back.’ Noah. ‘Did I say the wrong thing?’ I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes me want to cry. ‘Overstep the mark?’

  ‘Apparently,’ my voice is slightly shaky, ‘what I think I need isn’t important. I need to be somebody different altogether. I need to find myself like Robbie did, haha.’

  ‘Rosie, what’s happened? Where’s the bubbly Rosie I know and love?’

  ‘Being bubbly is half the problem, the other half is my appearance.’

  There is quiet and for a moment I think he has rung off. ‘Your dad again?’

  ‘How did you guess?’ I sigh. How can he be so perceptive? How can he just know? ‘He messaged with a few home truths.’