‘Tu es un peu,’ Sofia whispers.
‘I mean,’ I stutter, ‘I know we were, like, hiding here on this corner, watching the restaurant, but we’re definitely not weirdos.’
The man takes a full step back, reaching inside his pocket.
‘You don’t need to call anyone.’ My voice gets high and scary. ‘Definitely not, like, the police!’ I titter a staccato,frightening noise. ‘You can take your hand out of your pocket, my friend, because we are justnormalpeople, asking normal questions’ – I saidnormaltoo weirdly – ‘and there is no reason to be scared or call the authorities or—’
‘Fuck it,’ Bibi interrupts my terrifying monologue with a shout, ‘RUN!’
We all take off at a lick, Sofia way out in front, running like an elk, all muscled thighs and elegance.
I glance back as we reach a corner, just long enough to see a look of utter bafflement on the man’s face.
That went really well.
EX 4: PAUL D’SILVAAka The Missed ChancePART THREE
Wetherspoons
The worst table
10.14pm
‘C’mon, let me see those boobs,’ he says, leering down my top. ‘You’ve been leading me on all night. Just let me have a little look at those milkies.’
Gagging slightly, I stand up. ‘I’m going now,’ I say as calmly as I can manage. ‘And I’d suggest for future Tinder dates that you steer clear of calling breastsmilkies. Unless you’re on a date with a dairy cow.’
I don’t wait to hear his reply before I walk away and out the door of the pub.
God, the cold air feels so good on my face.
What a miserable, horrible date. What a sad excuse for a night. Ugh, I’m just so sick of dating. I’ve had one good date in a year – and that wasn’t really a date. More of a frenzied encounter in a disabled toilet. But let’s not think aboutthatright now.
Around me, it starts to rain and I stop to search my bag for an umbrella. My phone lights up and I reach for it instead.
There’s a voicemail. Voicemails always give me a bit of a thrill. It feels exciting, somehow. But today, it’s more exciting than usual. Is this what I’ve been waiting for all week?
Ignoring the rain, I press the phone to my ear.
‘Good evening, Ms Adams, apologies for the late call. It’s Anjan Cochran here from the Norris Museum. I’m delighted to be in a position to offer you the role as events co-ordinator, we loved your interview. Please give me a call back when you get this – tomorrow is fine – so we can discuss terms. Hopefully this is good news!’ He laughs a little at this. ‘Right, enjoy your night, speak soon.’
I put my phone away. My hands are shaking.
I got the job. I got it, I actually got it.
Who should I call? My fingers hover over the phone screen, ready to hit the speed dial for Bibi or Louise. But a small, powerful jolt hits me as I realize who it is I really want to tell first. The person I want to scream my news to and dance around the room with. The person I want to celebrate with. And do other stuff with.
I’m finally done with cooking. I’m done with the mad hours and the hot, sweaty kitchens full of dismissive, angrymen. This is my chance for a new life. A life that actually has stuff in it that includes things that are not work. I can actually enjoy myself. I could have a boyfriend.
It’s Paul I want to call. It’s Paul I want to kiss. It’s Paul I think about all the time.
For so long, he and I have danced around our attraction. We are so clearly mad about each other, I fancy him so much, and wework. We’re good together! Everyone says so! For ages I denied it to myself, while I was working alongside him. Partly because of the awful drama at A’Diva, and partly because it seemed stupid to get involved with him. Then I was so worried about getting into something again after what happened with Alex. I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with Paul.
But I realize now that having a decent friendship as a foundation is vital for a relationship. It’s the basis of any proper love. Being best friends who fancy each other is the best kind of love there is! Paul and I could have that. We could have the best thing ever and it has to be worth the risk.
I put my phone in my bag. He’ll be working tonight, but I have to see him. I have to tell him all of this face-to-face. I have to fucking let myself kiss him at long last.
I find myself on a bus heading towards the gastro pub where he now works as a senior sous chef, and as I jump off outside, I still don’t know what I’m going to say. Maybe I won’t say anything, maybe I will just finally snog his face off.
