guests, it seemed his magnetism was in the air around me everywhere I went. I knew where he was at any given time without turning my head to look. The attraction was almost superhuman. In the blink of an eye all my cynicism fell away and, deciding he probably wasn’t working in enrolment services for the Almighty, I answered his prayers. ‘A date? Sure. Next Saturday, 7pm? See you then!’
And that was it. He’d been the first person to ask me out since my split from Michael.
It was just four weeks and six further dates before I told him.
‘I love you, David.’
‘You do?’ he’d said, looking astonished. ‘Well, that is nice.’
I had waited for him to tell me he loved me too, but he just smiled, squeezed my shoulders and turned back to the television. Then, he jumped off the sofa and shouted:
‘Yahhh beauty!!!’
It was three nil to Chelsea.
Turning from the mirror, my face clashed with something jangly.
‘What the . . . ?’
A mobile made from miniature Ouzo bottles was swinging from the ceiling. Great. There was nothing to beat crashing face first into some dingly-dangly reminders of why I looked like death. Rubbing my forehead, I blinked again at the Binnie in the mirror who gazed back with bitterness, anxiety and regret etched on her face. When did I get so old? The Binnie in front of the mirror oozed boozy fumes. Still feeling awful, I stretched out my chin, trying to smooth away the extra one underneath and finding . . . Oh dear God . . . more fluff. Tut! I leant in closer for the beard check. THOU SHALT NOT CHECK FOR EVIDENCE OF BEARD!
‘That isn’t me,’ I told myself aloud.
‘Are you sure?’
Chris’s voice made me jump. I laughed a small, nervous laugh. Being caught talking to yourself was always embarrassing. Being caught stroking your sideburns at the same time was just too awful for words.
‘So sorry, I was just admiring . . . things. What a great apartment,’ I said, hiding acute mortification – I thought − pretty well.
‘Yes it is. Just needs some work before I can advertise for holiday lets and start making some cash from it.’ He smiled at me and I felt myself blushing again. For a few seconds there was that awkward silence thing – the kind I always had to fill with just about the first thing that popped into my head. I stroked the mattress. ‘Lovely, inviting bed, though.’
Nooo! Way, way too sleazy.
‘Er . . . not that I’ve tried it or anything . . .’ I continued. ‘Or that I’m inviting you . . . er . . . to.’ Oh, stop talking, Binnie!
I felt in my handbag for my SPF 15 sun cream before holding it out to him. ‘Here. You’re going to need this to protect yourself from my face.’
He laughed. ‘Invitation? Perish the thought.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I said.
‘The one I have upstairs is much more comfortable,’ he continued, winking at me and just about sending my facial temperature to the moon. At least we were falling back into our old, familiar, mickey-taking ways. At least a part of me was beginning to feel normal.
‘Aha, I see,’ I said, guffawing like a moron.
Looking around the quaint, white-washed room again, I had an idea − one that meant never having to face hoards of loving couples or any of the similarly dressed honeymoon hotel staff again. One that meant not having to be with strangers for the whole of my holiday. One that meant I didn’t have to be alone. However, it was also one that meant I might need to tell Chris my marriage to David really was over and at least some version of why. I guessed I was going to have to face this situation with everyone sometime soon, especially myself.
‘Look, in all seriousness, this place looks just ideal for me. Are you sure it’s not ready to let?’
‘For you?’ he said, looking surprised. ‘Aren’t you booked into a hotel?’
I nodded unenthusiastically. ‘Yes, but it’s a little . . . shall we say awkward? Some space just to be alone would be wonderful,’ I said. ‘I just
And that was it. He’d been the first person to ask me out since my split from Michael.
It was just four weeks and six further dates before I told him.
‘I love you, David.’
‘You do?’ he’d said, looking astonished. ‘Well, that is nice.’
I had waited for him to tell me he loved me too, but he just smiled, squeezed my shoulders and turned back to the television. Then, he jumped off the sofa and shouted:
‘Yahhh beauty!!!’
It was three nil to Chelsea.
Turning from the mirror, my face clashed with something jangly.
‘What the . . . ?’
A mobile made from miniature Ouzo bottles was swinging from the ceiling. Great. There was nothing to beat crashing face first into some dingly-dangly reminders of why I looked like death. Rubbing my forehead, I blinked again at the Binnie in the mirror who gazed back with bitterness, anxiety and regret etched on her face. When did I get so old? The Binnie in front of the mirror oozed boozy fumes. Still feeling awful, I stretched out my chin, trying to smooth away the extra one underneath and finding . . . Oh dear God . . . more fluff. Tut! I leant in closer for the beard check. THOU SHALT NOT CHECK FOR EVIDENCE OF BEARD!
‘That isn’t me,’ I told myself aloud.
‘Are you sure?’
Chris’s voice made me jump. I laughed a small, nervous laugh. Being caught talking to yourself was always embarrassing. Being caught stroking your sideburns at the same time was just too awful for words.
‘So sorry, I was just admiring . . . things. What a great apartment,’ I said, hiding acute mortification – I thought − pretty well.
‘Yes it is. Just needs some work before I can advertise for holiday lets and start making some cash from it.’ He smiled at me and I felt myself blushing again. For a few seconds there was that awkward silence thing – the kind I always had to fill with just about the first thing that popped into my head. I stroked the mattress. ‘Lovely, inviting bed, though.’
Nooo! Way, way too sleazy.
‘Er . . . not that I’ve tried it or anything . . .’ I continued. ‘Or that I’m inviting you . . . er . . . to.’ Oh, stop talking, Binnie!
I felt in my handbag for my SPF 15 sun cream before holding it out to him. ‘Here. You’re going to need this to protect yourself from my face.’
He laughed. ‘Invitation? Perish the thought.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I said.
‘The one I have upstairs is much more comfortable,’ he continued, winking at me and just about sending my facial temperature to the moon. At least we were falling back into our old, familiar, mickey-taking ways. At least a part of me was beginning to feel normal.
‘Aha, I see,’ I said, guffawing like a moron.
Looking around the quaint, white-washed room again, I had an idea − one that meant never having to face hoards of loving couples or any of the similarly dressed honeymoon hotel staff again. One that meant not having to be with strangers for the whole of my holiday. One that meant I didn’t have to be alone. However, it was also one that meant I might need to tell Chris my marriage to David really was over and at least some version of why. I guessed I was going to have to face this situation with everyone sometime soon, especially myself.
‘Look, in all seriousness, this place looks just ideal for me. Are you sure it’s not ready to let?’
‘For you?’ he said, looking surprised. ‘Aren’t you booked into a hotel?’
I nodded unenthusiastically. ‘Yes, but it’s a little . . . shall we say awkward? Some space just to be alone would be wonderful,’ I said. ‘I just
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