“Maybe it’s because I’mtrashed,” he says, and I laugh; there are some words he says that make me remember he’s American, “but I wanted to tell you that I really, really like you, Hannah.”
I smile. This is going to be a fun conversation that I’m going to rib him about for weeks. Months. Although I worry how he’s going to get through the next however many hours until midnight if he’s already this drunk, and I tell him.
“Ah, I’ll be fine. Actually, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he says and I picture him swaying as he says it. “In about ten minutes I’m going to throw up and pass out. AndthenI’m going to be fine.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “Where are you now?”
“I’m at my friend Grant’s house.”
“Hi, Hannah!” I hear in the background of Davey’s call.
“That’s Grant,” Davey says and I’m smiling, even though I’m actually quite worried for Drunk Davey.
“Hi, Grant!” I say, and Davey relays my message to yet another man I’ve never met.
“OK,” Davey says. “We are going out now.” He sounds almost robotic. “I am going out now. We are going out now.”
I can’t stop laughing. “With a bang?” I suggest.
“With abang,” he says.
“Davey?” I ask. I’m genuinely worried, although I’m still laughing.
“H-Hannah,” he says and I wish I could stop laughing.
“Can you message me when you get home? Or maybe earlier than that?” I ask.
“Yes. Do you like me?”
“What?” I ask, staring out to sea.
“I mean, do you like me?” He repeats the same question with no further explanation.
“Yes, Drunk Davey, do you like me?”
“You bet. OK,” says the man who looks like he should be in a superhero film, “I’m going to go throw up and then I’m going out.”
I laugh again. “Happy New Year, Davey.”
“Happy New Year, Hannah.”
Chapter 8
January
New Year’s Daywith old school friends always makes me feel as if I’m being visited by ghosts of New Year’s yet to come. We spend it in a little restaurant called Samphire and every year a friend has either found a new boyfriend or had another baby.
I never think, “When will it be my turn?” These things are just organic. One day this will be my life, I think, as I look around at friends juggling breastfeeding with counting down the weeks left on their maternity leave. I’m not ready for that yet. I get sent a picture from George. In it he’s wearing sunglasses, even though it’s a cold and dreary New Year’s Day. He’s clearly hungover, and I send him back a photograph of my brunch with the glass of Buck’s Fizz in shot.
He responds with the vomit emoji.
When the conversation around me turns to me and my “love life,” I feel like Bridget Jones around the dinner-party table. Smug marrieds everywhere. I don’t tell them about Davey. How do I even begin to explain that, without sounding like a lunatic? I won’t show them the pictures Davey’s sent me. That will send them falling from their chairs. Instead I remain enigmatic. Mostly.
The snow never even touched Whitstable, and even though London received a flurry in my absence, it’s cleared by the time I get back to Wanstead. Out with the old and in with the new.Davey texted in the early hours of this morning, with a photograph of him smiling and clearly totally wasted. Next to him is a man I’m assuming is his best friend, Grant. I’ll be surprised if I hear from Davey again today—I hope he’s had such a wonderful time that I don’t hear from him. I message him telling him as much, and that I hope he’s getting some rest. Ten days, and counting, until he arrives.
I don’t hear back from Davey for two days, which isn’t totally unusual, but I start to worry. I’ve messaged him a few times, but in the interim I’ve taken this time to clean my flat and start running daily, for the month of January. This is partly in preparation for my holiday and partly in prep for Davey’s arrival. Christmas has not been kind to me. But it’s also because George has confessed that the gym is already heaving and it’s only the third of January. “So many people wanting a personal trainer. I’ve got loads of new clients.” I’m happy for him and his finances, but I also know that I’ll never get anywhere near my beloved cross-trainer now.
My Christmas break at home has reset me. I feel invigorated by life, excited for what the new year will bring. Perhaps this will be a different year. I daren’t imagine what might happen between Davey and me. We have a genuine connection. I tried not to feel it at first. When Miranda kept banging on about it, I think I was purposefully vague, not wanting to attach too much meaning to our conversations. But I’ve started to get that feeling—you know, the one where you look at your phone and youwillit to ring and wait expectantly for the vibrant sound of a new message stream. Is it because I’ve never met him? It’s the allure of the unknown and the known, all at the same time.
