‘Oh.’ There’s a whole lot of ‘knowing’ in that one syllable. ‘And?’ His voice has an edge I haven’t heard before.
‘He asked if I’d thought about a makeover to make myself look more attractive, sexier …’
‘Rosie,’ his tone is gentle. My eyes well up. I mustn’t cry, I really must not. I have customers to deal with, and I’m being silly. ‘I think you’re totally fine, more than fine, perfect, exactly as you are. You just need to see the girl I see and believe in her. Listen to me, I’m your resident expert, remember?’
He’s trying to make me feel better, to smile. It works.
‘It’s what makes you feel good, Rosie. Not what I think, not your dad. You! Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ I repeat in a small voice.
‘You just kicked off your list saying you wanted somebody who liked you as you are. So, do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Do you like yourself as you are? Do you feel good about yourself?’
‘Well yeah, well no, well I don’t bloody know!’
‘Maybe that’s what we need to talk about, who you are, not who you want this ideal man to be.’
‘Sounds complicated to me.’ I sigh. I’m tired. This whole relationship is hard work, even when I’ve not really started. ‘Look, sorry, I need to go. I’m supposed to be working. It’s not fair on Bea.’
‘Sure.’ His voice is soft, the nearest thing to a hug I can imagine. It’s making me feel sorry for myself again, so I bite down on my lip hard. ‘I’ll catch up with you later then, okay? You are okay?’
‘I’m fine. Don’t worry, I am, really. He’s always like that, he doesn’t mean to upset me, it’s my fault.’
‘Rosie, it is not your fault!’ In my head I can practically see him rolling his eyes. ‘You’re lovely, you really should be proud of who you are,’ there’s another pause, ‘and so should he.’
Oh God, he is so nice it is making me sniff. If I ever feel the urge to date a charmer, he’ll be top of the list. ‘I do have to go.’
‘I know.’
Bea doesn’t say anything when I finally step into the shop and target a pile of books that need sorting. She ignores my flushed face and just raises an eyebrow. I nod and smile weakly. She knows what I’m like after a message from Dad.
***
‘Somebody,’ Bea says, just as I am trying to decide which of the Tolkien covers deserves pride of place in the display, and I’m still debating whether I do like myself just as I am, ‘is asking for you.’
‘Hang on a sec.’ Am I happy? Do I feel good about myself? It’s not something I’ve really thought about. I’ve just drifted on. Tried to ignore Dad’s barbs, been soothed by Robbie’s casual acceptance.
‘Rosie!’ She sounds unusually impatient for Bea.
‘I said hang on! I’m coming down in a sec.’
‘Really, you’re saying hang on when that is calling your name?’
The way she says ‘that’ makes me twist round on the stepladder, and I nearly fall off my perch. Not because she is fanning herself and making wide-eyes (I have excellent peripheral vision), or because she is mouthing ‘is it him?’ I am feeling like somebody has turned me upside down and is shaking me because it is him. Noah.
‘Hey!’ He winks.
Bea puffs up like a cat that’s about to wind herself round his long legs and smiles as though he’s said ‘hey’ to her and not me. ‘And hey to you too!’
Where the hell has that sultry voice come from?
Oh my God, it really is Noah and he’s about to talk to, or more likely be pounced on by, Bea.
I’m in such a hurry to get between the two of them that I dismount in much the same way a fireman goes down a pole and end up staggering around, still clutching J.R.R. ‘Here.’ I throw it at Bea and rush towards him, making herding gestures until I’ve got him cornered next to ‘Software for Geeks’.
‘What are you doing here?’ It comes out as a bit of a hiss. ‘You can’t be here!’
‘Ah, but I am. You didn’t answer my last message!’ He wags a finger at me and looks very amused.
‘The message you sent about two minutes ago?’ I’d felt my phone vibrate whilst I’d been shifting Harry Potter to a more prominent position. ‘I was up a ladder!’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I haven’t had time to read that. Don’t you have any houses to build or anything? It’s not Thursday yet!’ I need time to prepare in my head. He can’t just be, well, spontaneous!
I suddenly realise he has stopped talking and is studying me intently with a concerned look on his face. I shut up.
When he speaks, his tone has lost its earlier teasing quality. ‘I was worried about you.’
‘You don’t need to—’
‘I know I don’t need to. I just was! You sounded really down, subdued.’ His tone is so gentle, and his gaze so steady, it’s making me feel all tearful again. This is not good, feeling tearful. I am used to standing up for myself and coping, not crying because somebody is being kind.
‘I’m fine. How can you think that, just from a quick phone call?’
‘One of my superpowers.’ His eyes are twinkling again; there’s a ghost of a grin hanging round his mouth. He’s trying to cheer me up. ‘Am I right, or …’
‘Don’t you dare start that again!’ I can’t help but smile back at him though.
‘That’s what I like to see! My feisty Rosie is back again. Right, I’ve got a free hour, so why don’t I start to rebuild you instead of some derelict building?’
‘Rebuild?!’ I’ve gone a bit screechy. He’s beginning to sound like Dad. I have also just spotted Bea creeping closer. ‘Out, out, now!’ I’ve got him by the front of his T-shirt, and he allows himself to be dragged towards the door. I scowl at him and fold my arms. ‘Right, I thought you said this was about confidence!’
‘It is!’ He touches my elbow briefly. ‘I’m not talking about changing you, Rosie, I’m talking about changing the way you see yourself.’ I squirm under his steady gaze. ‘Everybody else sees the person that you choose to see; if you know you’re great, and you love yourself just as you are, then so will they.’ He winks. ‘Works for me.’
‘So why doesn’t my dad?’ The words are out before I can stop them.
‘Because he’s a shit who just wants to mould the world around himself?’
‘You can’t call him a shit! You don’t even know him.’
He shakes his head, holds his hands up. ‘It was a question. But hey, I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not family, so I can say what I see, can’t I?’ He pauses. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. ‘For fuck’s sake, Rosie!’
I blanch. I’ve not really heard Noah get angry or swear like that.
‘Sorry, sorry, I just don’t get why anybody would try and …’
‘Yes?’
‘Undermine you like that, let alone your own bloody dad! Aren’t parents supposed to look after you?’
‘He doesn’t mean … you don’t understand, you don’t know him.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He sighs. ‘Don’t do this for him, Rosie, don’t go trying to get a date, or think you need to be glam for your dad. Do it for you, do what you want to do. Eh?’
‘I’m not doing it for him,’ I mutter. But in my heart, I know Noah’s got a point. And if I batter him with the nearest Jamie Oliver cookbook and chase him out of the shop for daring to say what he thinks, then my hopes of a date for the party are zilch, and even the chances of a date before this time next year are severely diminished. ‘Fine, yes, sure. I am.’ I unhand him. Straighten the front of his clothing. Pat him down, then stop abruptly when I realise people going into the shop are staring. ‘So, how are you planning on changing me? Are you going to tell me I’m,’ I wince, ‘more stay-at-home bookworm than sexy seductress?’ If he says ‘yes’ I might have to sack him on the spot. However kind he has been.
‘No, I’m not! Why the hell would I say that?’
‘Well some p
eople might,’ I say huffily. ‘I’m probably not making the most of myself, because I like—’ I look down at my sensible flats, ‘being a bookworm.’ Dad might have had a point. Dress to impress has only been for special occasions for me. ‘And I am at work, in a bookshop.’
‘Which is perfect, it’s you! I’m not planning on changing you. If there is going to be any change at all, you’re going to do it.’ Noah is giving me a quizzical look, as though he’s not sure where I’m going with this. He’s not the only one.
‘But maybe it’s not me.’ I sigh. ‘Maybe I don’t feel one hundred per cent happy with myself.’ This is what time up a ladder with Tolkien does for you. ‘Maybe I don’t always like myself just as I am.’
‘Okay, so ignoring what anybody might say to you, if you could wear anything you want, do your hair how you want, whatever … what would you do?’
I stare at him. He looks straight back.
My mind is completely blank.
What would I do? I’ve spent most of my life trying to be what I think Dad wants me to be. I’ve never really stopped to wonder what I actually want myself.
But Noah is telling me that this isn’t about changing myself for Dad, or possible dates, this is about whether or not I’d actually quite like to change myself for me.
I look at Noah, who is waiting patiently. And being buffeted by customers pushing their way in and out of the shop.
In my teens I used to spend hours flicking through magazines, looking at the latest trends, the wild fashion shoots. Wondering what I’d look like with green hair and a black leather jacket. I did it in my early twenties as well. Not the green hair thing, but I still loved the magazines.
Then somehow it stopped. I flicked on past the handbags and shoes pages: I couldn’t afford it. I bought soft furnishings with Robbie instead. Invested in our future, ha!
‘The more outrageous the better!’
A little flicker of something strange tickles at my insides. It’s like the feeling I had as a kid, just before I was allowed to start opening my Christmas presents. Anticipation.
‘I’m not sure, I might need to window shop!’
‘Your wish is my command.’ He chuckles and bows.
‘I quite fancy a bit of remodelling; no structural work though!’
‘Fantastic!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘I can’t wait. Let’s find out who Rosie really is! I’ve got an hour, lead the way, let’s shop!’ Then he frowns at me. ‘We’ll examine the rest of your man-requirements another time,’ he says darkly, which sounds ominous.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All that boring shit about steady job, clean chin, flosses twice a day.’
‘I did not say that!’
‘Close enough! Oh Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, you want the right guy, not some make-believe …’ He stops himself short, probably because he has seen the look of disbelief on my face. ‘Okay, okay, that’s for another time. Lead me to the shops!’
‘But I’m work—’
‘You must get a lunchbreak!’
‘I’ve only just started, it’s nowhere near lunchtime!’ I’m torn, I would actually quite like to go shopping. It’s kind of exciting, being with somebody who doesn’t have any preconceptions, or expectations. Somebody who thinks anything is possible. But I’m supposed to be working.
‘Coffee break?’
‘She does, she does. Off you go.’ Bea has caught up with us. ‘I’ll hold the fort.’
I look at Noah. Hesitate.
‘Go!’ Bea has booted us out of the doorway and pulled it firmly shut behind us. We turn round and then I glance back. She is wiping her brow with the back of her hand, then does a dramatic swoon. I can’t help myself. I snigger.
‘And I thought you were weird!’ Noah chuckles. ‘Come on, call this lesson 2. Riotous Rosie rediscovered!’
‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve never been riotous.’ I think about the black leather jacket and green hair.
‘I bet you have,’ he taps the side of his head, ‘in here! Right where do you want to start?’
‘Small? Something not too noticeable.’ Then I’ll work up the courage to go wild.
‘I’ve got just the thing! Start at the bottom and work up as they say!’
I hope this doesn’t mean high heels. I can’t do high heels; they make my bottom stick out and my legs go rigid.
‘Oh, and I’ve come prepared,’ Noah continues, unaware of my fear of footwear.
‘You thought I’d say yes!’
‘I knew you’d say yes. I’m irresistible!’ He grins, dips into his pocket and pulls out a slightly squashed chicken wrap. ‘Here’s lunch. Never say I don’t give you anything.’
I sigh. ‘Okay, I’m all yours.’
He chuckles. ‘Well I never thought I’d hear you say that!’
‘Stop it.’ I give him my severe look but feel a little bit – as my gran would say – chuffed. ‘You know what I mean. Lead the way.’
We’ve taken approximately fifteen steps, I’ve only taken one and a half bites of my wrap, when he stops.
‘Oh my God, no!’ I splutter a mouthful of Southern fried chicken in all directions, and a dog leaps at my hand – which has dropped to my side. ‘Shit!’
‘What?’ Noah blinks at me.
‘That bugger took half of my lunch!’ I swear that bloody animal winked at me, before trotting on alongside his owner, who is totally oblivious to the fact that she has the canine equivalent of the artful dodger in tow.
‘Never mind, I’ll get you another one, after we’ve …’
‘No way, I did not mean that! I am not going in there. Is this what you meant by riotous? You have so got the wrong girl!’ I dig my heels in and gesture at the shop window. Wherever my search for self-confidence had been taking me, it was not here – a lingerie shop. ‘It’s that shop! Nope, big no.’
Noah carried on walking after I’d stopped, and we’re now stretched at arm’s length. Did I mention the fact that he’d taken hold of my hand just after he’d handed over lunch? Well, to be honest I’d hardly registered it, well I had registered it, but not in a horrified ‘oh gawd, what’s he doing, how do I react? Is my hand sweaty?’ kind of way. It had just felt natural, fine. Until now. He tugs gently, persuasively. I don’t want to be persuaded. I tug back, then try and shake myself free. ‘Forget it. I am NOT going in there with you.’
He frowns. ‘But you said start with something small! And, we should start at the bottom.’ He waggles his eyebrows. ‘I thought this was perfect! You’re not telling me you don’t wear undies?’ His eyes are positively twinkling, deep dimples frame his mouth. I stop myself staring.
‘Of course, I wear knickers! I don’t wear them with you, no, no I don’t mean that!’ He’s enjoying this far too much. ‘I don’t buy them when you’re there, and I don’t go in shops like that!’ My knicker buying is online, from the privacy of my bedroom – or from Marks and Spencer or Matalan – multi-pack bikini style. Tried and trusted. ‘I was thinking jewellery when I said start with something small!’
‘You’re kidding me.’ His face falls, puppy-dog style. ‘Confidence starts from within, and this is as close to within as I’m going to—’
‘Stop it!’
‘Can’t you just go and browse for—’
‘No!’
‘You’re such a spoilsport.’ He heaves a sigh of resignation and I’m not sure if he’s genuinely upset or winding me up. ‘This was the fantasy part.’
‘It’s about my fantasies not yours!’
‘I don’t even have to see them on, off is fine, it’s just the thought …’ I growl at him. ‘Okay, okay.’
‘Hey, Noah!’
Shit, the door of the shop is open and we’re being waved at rather vigorously by a girl with immovable boobs (good advert for the job), perfect lipstick, perfect eyebrows and even more perfect flicky eyeliner.
I need to point out at this point that this is no discount knicker store. This is the works, the type of place I nor
mally sidle past and pretend not to look. The one time I did look and leaned in closer to look at the quite pretty camisole top (wondering if Robbie might appreciate a bit of Christmas glamour), the accompanying price tag made me hyperventilate. I’d been thinking ‘there’s not much to it, but I don’t mind stretching to a tenner’, reality was I’d have had to cancel the hairdresser, my festive nails and most possibly the turkey. We’d have been left with stuffing, sprouts and a sexy top he might not have even noticed.
This is an expensive, silk and satin, flimsy lace, red and black stuff type of lingerie shop. The type where glamorous assistants insist on measuring you and pulling ‘I wouldn’t if I were you’ faces when you eye up anything skimpy, before they offer the type of bra that could keep a blancmange immobile for the duration of a 100 metre hurdle sprint.
‘Are you coming in?’ This is getting awkward. Miss Perfect boobs and eyebrows is waiting.
Noah raises a questioning eyebrow at me.
‘You go if you want, I’ll er go and look at shoes next door. I like shoes!’ I say brightly.
‘What?’
‘My inner self is not lurking in my crotch,’ I hiss at him, while trying to smile at the girl, ‘nobody is going to see my …’
‘Really?’ He looks shocked. ‘But I thought that was the point?’
‘Not the whole point.’ But maybe it is.
‘Come on.’ He tries to tempt me over the threshold as though I’m an unwilling puppy. ‘It’s my favourite shop!’
That figures. I scowl at him. The most daring I’ve been in the past, when it came to knicker choices, was to go for black and a hint of lace. If you’ve been with the same guy since puberty, spending this kind of money on sexy undies isn’t really on the agenda – a new sofa seems more important.
‘Aww please.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’m Rach, by the way.’ She looks from Noah to me and back again. ‘I want to see what you think about this stuff I was thinking of getting for my wedding anniversary, but I wasn’t sure if it was too much.’ She grins at me. ‘Don’t want to give Darren a heart attack! I need a second opinion.’
I glance at Noah, who has actually gone a bit of a funny colour. Bloody hell, he’s blushing! Which makes me giggle. And it makes my mind up. Despite all the flirty comments, if undies can make him blush then he can’t be a complete womaniser, can he?
The First Date Page 10