Davey calls me that evening and the rush of joy is palpable. I’m almost breathless as I answer. He asks me how I am, and how the rest of my break was. He’s got such lovely manners and I’m drawn to that dangerous place of wondering if my mum and dad will likehim. They’ll love him. I don’t even get a chance to ask how his party was, because he launches straight in with a graphic description of how ill he’s been and how shocked with himself he was. I tell him about our conversation when I was on the beach and he was already halfway between the gutter and the stars.
“Damn,” he laughs. “I don’t even remember calling you. Did I say anything stupid?”
“Such as?” I tease.
“Oh, shit, now I’m really worried.”
I laugh. “Don’t be. You were your usual charming self—just a very merry version.”
“Phew. Did you tell me to stop drinking?”
“No,” I laugh.
“You should have.”
“Would you have listened to me?”
“I always listen to you,” he says. “Grant had to practically carry me home. I’veneverhad a hangover like that in my life. I slept all of New Year’s Day and all of yesterday. Thank God it was the weekend. Back to work tomorrow. Man, that’s gonna behard.I can’t believe how tired I still am.”
“You clearly need more rest. Maybe you’ve been overdoing it—trying to get too much done before you leave.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Listen, I gotta go, but I just wanted to say a quick hi.”
“Can I video-call you tomorrow?” I ask, and he makes a silly noise like a child who’s been handed a balloon. “You want to video-callme? Have I converted you?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Perhaps I miss your face.”
“Perhaps I miss yours too.”
This is nice, this easiness. I hope it’s this easy when he arrives. I hope we don’t need the physical distance to remain wide in order to make this work.
The next day I go back to work and it’s better than I remember.I forgot how merry everyone is the first few days back after New Year’s and the Christmas break. I make good on my plan to video-call later and time it at what has now become our usual time: 11P.M.for me, 5P.M.for him. I’ve overcome any embarrassment about being in my pajamas and, because of these video chats, I wisely invested in some nice new nightwear when I was home in Whitstable. The pajamas have tapered legs, so they don’t ride up while I’m sleeping. They’re a total game-changer.
We talk for hours face-to-face. I’ve grown so used to it now that I have to remember to put him down when I go to pee. I’m in total danger of simply taking him everywhere, as the conversation flows from one topic to another.
We’re back on our bucket lists again. Like me, Davey’s already planning holidays, loving how every country he’s ever really wanted to visit is now on his doorstep—or will be in a few days’ time. He tells me how his long-term dream is to take a sabbatical, hire a camper van on the far side of Europe and travel to as many countries as possible.
I tell him, honestly, how I’ve always hated camping, but I think I could just about muster time in a camper van.
“You’ll have to come with me,” he suggests.
And I nod, thinking to myself how lovely that would be. But is it actually likely to happen? Pipe dreams and big plans with a man I’ve never met are perhaps a tad silly, but I think about it all the same.
“It won’t happen for a good few years, though,” he says, as if sensing what I’m thinking. “They don’t hand out sabbaticals the moment you start at a new company, sadly.”
“Which countries would you go to?” I ask.
“All of them. I’ll drive fast.” He gets up to make himself a drink and I can see packing boxes and suitcases lined up. He’s ready to leave, and my stomach tightens again as I know this is real. Davey being here is actually going to happen.
“And then,” he continues, “we’ll end up in Rome for a long weekend and we’ll treat ourselves to a few nights in a hotel that overlooks the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica.”
“That sounds like heaven,” I say, and then I ask if we can take in Tuscany. I tell him about my favorite film, the Merchant Ivory adaptation ofA Room with a View,and how a young Helena Bonham Carter wafts around in floaty Edwardian dresses, being seduced by a shy young Englishman, and how he swoops in out of nowhere into a field and gives her the snogging of her life. “And after that, I suppose, I’ve always wanted to at least see Tuscany, although I’ve never been. Perhaps it’s because I’m scared I’ll go and it won’t live up to how I picture it in my head.”
“We’ll go together,” he says. “I’ll drive us in the van, and you can put on a floaty dress and we’ll go stand in a field together and look at the view.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I agree. My mind travels to Tuscany and I have to push aside all sorts of thoughts of Davey and me in a sun-drenched field.
“Davey?” I ask and he looks at me with that smile. “Are you having phone calls like this with anyone else?”
