‘Are you upset with me, Naomi?’ she asked, meekly. She knew it wasn’t like me to be so concise.
‘No,’ I half-lied. I was upset, but I knew it wasn’t entirely her fault. If only she wasn’t so far away, then we could talk for hours, like we used to.
‘Oh. You just don’t sound like you, that’s all.’
‘Must be a bad line,’ I said. ‘Listen, I’d better go – I’ve got to go and meet Emily. I’ll call you tomorrow, after my date.’
‘Please do!’ she said, her voice rising an octave or two. She was trying to make up for her previous lack of enthusiasm. ‘Actually, no, I’ll call you – when we get back from our trip.’
‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘Speak to you then.’
I put the phone down before she could finish saying goodbye. Was this what our friendship was going to be like from now on – snatched exchanges of headlines with no details? Then I had a little cry and decided to do the only thing that would cheer me up: I went shopping.
I was in the Topshop changing room, working my way through a pile of chocolate brown and khaki trousers, when my phone rang. Call me psychic, but I knew it was Danny before I saw his name come up on the screen. I had the butterflies to prove it.
‘Naomi,’ he said. I could only just hear him over the din of the music. ‘How are you?’ The intimacy we had shared the night before was gone and I was conscious once again of the odd inflections in his hybrid accent. We were strangers again, polite and nervous strangers.
‘I’m good, thanks. How are you? Did you get home OK?’
‘I’m good, yes, no hassle. Where are you? It’s the middle of the afternoon, but if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’d gone clubbing.’
‘You’re almost right,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’m in Topshop.’
‘Do you want to go outside? I can hardly hear you.’
‘Um, yes, wait a minute.’ I couldn’t move. My trousers were round my ankles, my shoes buried under the reject-trouser pile. ‘Actually, Danny, can I call you back in a few minutes? I’m in the changing room and I, er, need to get dressed first.’
‘Oh, OK.’ He sounded embarrassed. He wasn’t the only one. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll be literally two minutes, I promise.’
I pulled on my jeans and shoes as quickly as I could and rushed out of the changing room, handing a messy pile of trousers to the shop assistant. I hadn’t put them back on their hangers and she tutted as I walked away. Serves you right, I thought, for being so unhelpful when I asked for a different size.
Once I was outside the store I paused to catch my breath. The high street was heaving with Saturday shoppers, and the roar of the traffic, with buses lined up end to end, was almost as loud as the music I’d escaped. I headed down a side street and found a small café with tables outside. Sitting myself down, I called Danny, using the ‘Last Call Received’ option. I wondered how long it would be before I knew his number off by heart. Would it be presumptuous of me – tempting fate – to put it on speed dial?
He picked up immediately. ‘Hi there, I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind,’ he said. ‘Or are you wearing your entire wardrobe today?’
‘I had to change into my Wonder Woman costume,’ I joked. ‘I’m out of practice. No, I thought I’d find somewhere I could actually hear you.’
‘Good. Well, you know why I’m calling. It’s about tomorrow.’
I felt a little sick. He wasn’t going to cancel me, was he? Had he had second thoughts about me? ‘Yes? Is it still all right? Weren’t you going to text me?’
‘I was,’ he said. ‘Well remembered. But I couldn’t think of a clever enough code, so I gave up and thought I’d give you a call instead. I apologise.’
‘Some spy you’d make, double-O Evans.’ I cringed at my terrible joke. He kindly ignored it.
‘So, if you still want to see me again, here’s the plan. Meet me by the pond in King Edward’s park at two p.m. And wear your Wonder Woman costume.’
‘It’s got to go to the dry cleaner’s, I’m afraid. But two in the park sounds good. I’m intrigued. Are we going to feed the ducks?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe not. Enough questions – you’ll have to wait and see. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ He had no idea how much. ‘Bye, Danny. Take care.’
‘Bye, Omi.’
And with a click, he was gone.
I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep. Lying in so late and doing very little all day had left me with an excess of energy and no outlet for it. I tried to read for a while, but the words danced before my eyes. After scanning the same page three times, and absorbing none of it, I gave up. The truth was that I wasn’t interested in the lives of the characters in the novel. I only wanted to know about Danny, to discover what the next day, the next chapter in our story, would bring.
Even then, I had an instinct that our burgeoning relationship was to be an important one for me, something that would mark and change me, that I would talk about in years to come. I’d had two ‘serious’ boyfriends before I met Danny, the first at fifteen and the second from sixteen to seventeen. I had cared for them both, but I had never really loved either of them, at least not in the way I believed love should feel. Both relationships had developed out of friendship, jogging along sweetly until I grew bored and felt it was kinder to put an end to things.
Mark, the boy who had made me the compilation CD, was the son of my parents’ friends. We’d grown up together, spending summer Sunday afternoons at barbecues and evenings at each other’s houses, ordered to play upstairs while our parents hosted dinner parties. By the time we’d turned fifteen, getting together seemed like the obvious thing to do; it would almost have been rude not to. It was the lazy option, so much easier for both of us than meeting a stranger at a party or youth club and enduring weeks of uncertainty, coded looks and gossip. To me, Mark represented familiarity and safety. We could practise kissing and fumbling with each other without any risk of getting hurt, or anybody else finding out.
The trouble was, I don’t think I ever really fancied Mark – I thought of him as a mate and I assumed he felt the same way. It turned out that I was very wrong. When I broke up with him, one hot Tuesday afternoon in the summer holidays after our GCSEs (not long after he gave me the CD), he cried. He told me he’d thought we’d be together for years and that one day we’d get married. After that, he never spoke to me again.
My second proper relationship was with Jack, a guy who joined my school in the Sixth Form. We took the same classes and often found ourselves working on joint projects. We got together at his house while revising for a test and our relationship lasted the whole school year. I really fancied Jack – he had a mop of blond hair and an athletic build, a bit like David Beckham (though that’s exaggerating his handsomeness). He was kind and sexy, but he was too much like hard work. He thought of himself as the strong, silent type – he rarely revealed what he was thinking or feeling and I’d have to drag it out of him. But what he had to say was never interesting enough to merit the effort. When he had his hair cut short, I did the same to our relationship.
Since Jack, there had been nobody special, just a few snogs at parties. I was impatient, ready for ‘the real thing’, for love and passion and excitement and intensity. And now, there was Danny, with his music and his dark lyrics and his ambition. You could say we were a perfect fit.
Chapter 6
I’ve never been one for surprises – I don’t like being thrown off guard and having to improvise. I always like to be prepared, to be wearing the right clothes and to have my things with me, just in case. What’s more, I’m not a good actress – my real emotions are too transparent – and surprises are almost always a disappointment for me. Generally, I end up feeling guilty and the person who has gone to the trouble of surprising me wonders why they bothered.
So, while it was a lovely, romantic idea, Danny’s surprise date had me fretting. You know wher
e you are with a bar, restaurant, cinema or club – but a park? At the end of October? I had absolutely no idea what to wear (it might rain or be muddy), how much make-up to put on (bright sunshine can be unforgiving), and whether to shave my legs to the knee or all the way up. I was afraid I would be forced to do something I hated, like rollerblading, or something which might require me to take off my clothes and reveal my pale, untoned body, like swimming (which, I’ll admit, was highly unlikely at that time of year). There were simply too many unknown quantities.
In the event, I left all my options open. I wore combats (hard-wearing, comfortable) and a pretty top (for glamour), draped a chunky, wool zip-up cardigan over my shoulders, and I packed my most compact umbrella in my shoulder bag, together with a swimming costume and a small towel – just in case – and my make-up bag. I shaved my legs from ankle to thigh, applied fake tan, waterproof mascara, concealer and long-lasting lipstick. I felt like a soldier, preparing myself for a campaign in a foreign country.
And, like every good soldier, I was on time, arriving at the park at fourteen-hundred hours prompt. Danny was late again – eighteen minutes and twenty three seconds late, if we’re being (militarily) precise. On this occasion I had no doubt that he would turn up and I was merely annoyed. It may have been mid-afternoon, but I was alone in a wide open space and I felt vulnerable. I didn’t even have anywhere to sit – there were no benches near the pond. It was a grey and sunless day, and I shivered, wishing I’d brought a coat. Still, waiting for Danny again, and now beginning to recognise that he had at least one flaw, made me less nervous about this, our second date.
I saw him before he saw me. He was walking up the path that leads from the main entrance of the park and snakes around its perimeter, branching off in several directions towards the pond or the tennis courts or the cricket pitch. He appeared to be carrying something heavy, which was causing him to stoop and making his progress uneven and slow. I wondered if I should run towards him and offer to help, but I didn’t want to spoil his surprise. So I turned the other way and feigned intense interest in a family of swans swimming across the pond. When his footsteps drew close behind me, I pretended not to hear them and tried to stifle the smile that was involuntarily spreading across my face.
‘Hello, Naomi,’ he said, over my shoulder. He was panting. ‘Are you ready for your surprise?’
Not as ready as I was twenty minutes ago, I felt like saying. He hadn’t even apologised this time. But when I turned and looked at him, breathless and stiff-armed from carrying what was now obviously an enormous picnic basket, my irritation vanished. ‘Absolutely,’ I said, allowing him to kiss me on the cheek. The sensation of his lips on my skin again made my heart lurch. I ached for him to kiss me again, properly, like he had two nights before. ‘Bring it on.’
‘OK, but first you need to trust me. I’m going to blindfold you. Is that all right?’
‘Um, yes, OK.’ I was nervous and excited at the same time. ‘You’re not going to push me in the pond, are you?’
‘Not my style,’ he said, smiling. ‘Maybe it was, ten years ago, but no, what I’ve got planned does not involve dunking you.’
Danny placed his hands on my shoulders and I let him turn me around. Then I felt the caress of smooth fabric – it must have been silk – across my face, slipping over my ears and around the back of my head. He tied it loosely, smoothing down my hair with his palm. ‘OK, now take my hand.’
We walked, awkwardly, for a few minutes, the picnic basket bashing into Danny’s legs with each step. I humoured him by acting disoriented – it made him grasp my hand more tightly – but I could actually see the grass and the path through the bottom of my blindfold.
‘We’re here now,’ he said, sighing with relief as he put down the picnic basket. ‘You can stop.’ He untied the blindfold, letting it drop to the floor at my feet. There, in front of me, was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. The park’s ancient gazebo had been decorated with multicoloured flowers and ribbons and tinsel. There were even bunches of grapes hanging from its poles. It looked like something you’d see in an epic movie set in Roman times.
‘Oh my God!’ I exclaimed. Had Danny really done this just for me? When had he done it? I’d had no idea how thoughtful he was, how inventive. Worried that I might begin to cry, I hugged him, a little too tightly. Then, embarrassed, I pulled away.
‘Do you like it?’ he asked, trying to gauge my emotions from my perplexing expression.
‘What do you think?’ I laughed. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
Reassured, Danny then opened the enormous picnic basket, taking from it two large, green floor cushions, which he placed side by side within the gazebo. ‘Now, if Madame would care to sit,’ he suggested, bowing and waving his hand like a courtier. I stepped into the gazebo and sat myself down cross-legged, while he continued to unload the basket. He took from it two plates, two cups and two sets of plastic cutlery, which he spread out on a tartan blanket. Then he brought out the food, the majority of it in tiny portion-sized containers, which I recognised from the posh delicatessen on the high street. He must have spent a fortune. There were giant olives, feta cheese, a pasta salad, stuffed vine leaves, asparagus spears, sun-dried tomato bread, lemon hummus, rocket salad with parmesan shavings, Kettle Chips and honey-roasted almonds. For dessert there was an exotic fruit salad and strawberries dipped in chocolate. It was all my favourite food, everything I’d mentioned liking on our first date. There was even – somewhat incongruously – a bag of dolly mixtures, because I’d told him they were my favourite sweets when I was a child. I was so overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail that I couldn’t speak.
‘Is everything OK?’ asked Danny, looking slightly anxious. ‘Or would you rather we’d gone to McDonald’s?’
‘Very funny,’ I said, resisting the urge to hug him again. ‘It’s gorgeous. Incredible. I just don’t know what to say.’
He beamed. ‘Don’t say anything. Eat.’
As we enjoyed the food, Danny told me about The Wonderfulls’ most important gig ever, which would take place in February at the 142 Club in town. ‘There’s going to be an A & R guy – a talent spotter – there from Excite Records,’ he said. ‘Word on the street is that they’re looking to sign a band like us.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘It is, but we’re going to have to get a hell of a lot of practice in between now and then.’ He saw me looking downcast. ‘Oh God, Omi, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean I won’t be able to see you again. I want you to be part of it all and, with your extensive musical knowledge, you can give me feedback on some new songs.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Won’t the others mind? I don’t want to become some sort of Yoko Ono hate figure.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the songwriter and the lead singer – it’s my band, really. Don’t worry about it. They’re great guys – you’ll like them. And they’ll love you. As far as I’m concerned, from now on you’re permanently on the guest list.’
We smiled coyly at each other, acknowledging that each of us saw a place for the other in our future, but not wanting to spell it out for fear of appearing too forward.
While we’d been in the park the sky had darkened considerably, and the clouds had brought with them an icy, damp wind. I didn’t want to put my cardigan on properly because, suddenly self-conscious, I was sure the chunky wool made me look fat. Instead, I draped it over my shoulders and chided myself for not wearing a coat. Danny noticed me shivering. He was only wearing a T-shirt and thin leather jacket, yet he appeared immune to the cold, as men often seem to be. ‘I’ve brought another blanket along,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we wrap it around us?’ He clambered up and went over to the basket, pulling out a soft, cream alpaca throw. I raised my eyebrows. If there was one thing I knew about, it was fabrics, and this was no picnic blanket.
‘This is my mum’s, actually,’ Danny explained. ‘She’d go mad if she knew I�
�d brought it, but she never uses it herself. Why waste it, eh?’ He sat down next to me and draped the throw over us. It was only then I realised how much I’d been longing for this contact again. He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his body, and the anticipation of another kiss began to grow within me. I would have been happy to sit there with him like that for hours, but, within minutes, it had begun to drizzle, then to rain heavily. Fat droplets of water trickled through the sides of the gazebo, causing the ribbons, which Danny had so artfully arranged, to bleed red, blue and yellow.
‘Shit!’ he cried, as a globule of yellow water stained the throw. ‘We’d better make a run for it! This rain is practically horizontal. There’s a shelter over there. I’ll come back for the picnic stuff later. Are you ready to go?’
‘OK,’ I said, picking up my bag and holding my cardigan together at my neck. He grabbed my hand and started running. His legs were so much longer than mine that I was being dragged along, my feet barely touching the ground.
‘Stop a second,’ he said, laughing at me. ‘I’ve got an idea. Climb on my back.’
He bent over and I jumped on his back, flinging my arms around his neck as he grasped for my legs. I was aware that it was a long time since anybody had given me a piggyback and, the last time, I’d been rather smaller and lighter. I hope he doesn’t think I’m a heifer, I thought. As we moved, I was half on, half off, pulling Danny’s T-shirt from his shoulder and accidentally kneeing him in the small of his back. Despite my discomfort, the sensation of his strong, muscular body beneath mine was tantalising. We were both giggling hysterically, becoming wetter and wetter and more bedraggled, and no longer caring.
Danny tipped me off his back at the entrance to the shelter. For a minute we just stood there laughing at each other. ‘Whose stupid idea was it to have a picnic in October?’ he said, raising his eyebrows in self-mockery. ‘Now what do we do? We’re both dripping wet, the food has gone swimming and I don’t think there’s much chance of getting served in here.’
Loving Danny Page 6