‘Men in tight dresses?’
‘Honestly, I have no problem with that, you do you. But if something’s such a big part of your life it is worth a mention before you invite anyone back for coffee.’
Alex laughs, so I plough on with the story, hoping it will amuse him and he won’t think I’m mean.
‘He took a particular liking to a leopard-print top I was wearing – he even asked if he could try it on!’
He stops drinking and looks horrified. ‘While you were on the date? In public?’
‘No, when he invited me back—’ I stop, realising that this might give him the wrong impression, and that an invitation for coffee leads to my immediate abandonment of clothes. ‘It was just coffee. That’s all,’ I add.
He smiles, and goes on to ask about my job, and I fill him in on the life and times of a social worker, how rewarding – and frustrating – it can be.
‘Some of our clients need so much support, but we can’t give it to them because of the slashed budget. I work with teenagers, and some of the shit that they’ve had in their lives is horrifying, and they’re kids… still just kids.’
He shakes his head slowly, gazing at me, fascinated. I like the way he makes me feel.
‘I was twenty-two when I got my first job and thought I could change the world.’ I sigh. God, I sound like such a bloody cliché. I think it has more to do with erasing my past than making a difference, but I don’t want to hand him my baggage at this early stage in proceedings. ‘After fourteen years of battling, I’ve had to manage my expectations.’ I take a sip of wine. To my surprise, he hasn’t nipped into the silence with a story of his own like people often do. He’s waiting to hear what I say next. ‘Anyway, I now know I was deluded to think I could change anything,’ I say, putting down my glass. ‘There’s not enough money or time to take every kid from every potentially abusive situation. And once we’ve pushed through all the red tape, sometimes it’s too late.’
He’s still listening intently. I think I’m in love.
‘And… the kids are still being abused and neglected,’ I continue, as he nods sympathetically. I feel indulged. After being ignored for such a long time in my previous relationship, I’m beginning to realise how it could be – how it should be. ‘Sometimes I go home to my flat after a day of fire-fighting, and I feel so – pointless.’ I probably should stop slurping the wine because I’m talking too much and I mustn’t mess this up. ‘Sorry,’ I say, touching the stem of my glass and moving it away slightly.
‘Don’t apologise, you’re driven – and that’s a good thing. But I’m sad that it makes you feel that way.’ He says this with such sincerity, that I know he means it. He isn’t bored by my rant, he’s moved by it.
‘Jasmine, or Jas, as we call her, is my boss – and my friend – and she’s always telling me I shouldn’t get so involved. She says it can affect decision-making. And that I’d find the work easier if I was more detached…’
‘Detached?’ He laughs. ‘Life would be so much easier if we were all more detached – but we’re human, it’s what we do. I take it your boss is a robot?’ His eyes are laughing again.
‘No.’ I smile. ‘She’s one of the good ones.’
‘But saying you need to be more detached seems a little harsh. I mean, it’s your kindness, your caring that shines. If you stepped away, cared less – well, it wouldn’t be Hannah – it wouldn’t be who you are,’ he says, as if he’s known me forever. I feel like he has.
‘I just need to be more professional. I react to situations with my heart, not my head,’ I admit.
‘I can relate to that.’ He sighs. ‘As a lawyer it’s the same in my work, when I lose a case it really slays me, especially if I know someone’s innocent. I feel I’ve let them down. I’m afraid I don’t understand people who say “think with your head”. That’s for bankers and city types… and your boss.’ He sighs again. ‘Not me.’
I agree – it seems there’s nothing we don’t agree on. It’s a strange but not unpleasant experience to finally meet someone who seems so in tune with me. I don’t want this date to end and I’m more than happy to order dessert and make the evening last longer. He asks if I’d like to share one and I say no, because I love dessert and I want it all to myself, which makes him laugh.
When our desserts arrive, I give Alex strict instructions not to come anywhere near. He eats his portion of sticky toffee pudding, giving me a running commentary. ‘It’s sticky and sweet and warm… Oh the depth of that toffee, the reverberant echoes of earthy chocolate,’ he gushes, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy.
I laugh, not only is he gorgeous, he’s funny.
‘What a shame you decided not to share your chocolate mousse with me. I might have shared this with you,’ he teases.
I play along. ‘Can I just try a teeny-tiny bit?’ I say, making out that I want some, which actually I don’t because my heart is sitting somewhere between my chest and stomach.
He shakes his head. ‘Nuh-uh.’
‘I don’t want your pudding, anyway, I’m loving my mousse,’ I tease, pretending to sulk.
‘What’s your very favourite dessert,’ he asks, ‘if you could have anything at all?’
‘Mmm, probably pistachio ice cream.’
‘Oh, nice,’ he says, ‘but this is better.’ He tenderly lifts his spoon towards me.
Our eyes meet, and I take the sickly sweet treacly sponge from his spoon into my mouth. It feels intimate, sensual, and I welcome in the lush sweetness as it melts on my tongue. It’s delicious, but I don’t want any more, yet Alex is insisting and gently pushes another loaded spoonful of stickiness into my closed mouth. I have no choice, I either take it or end up with toffee goo all over my lips, so I open up and in it goes.
We both linger over coffee, and I get the feeling he wants to make things last longer too. But when we finally look around, we’re suddenly aware there’s only us left in the restaurant and the staff look like they want to go home. We get up to leave. I go on ahead, and turn to see him discreetly pick up my used coffee spoon and napkin, and push them into his trouser pocket.
I look at him, smiling quizzically as a bored waiter stands holding the door open for us. ‘Did I just see you steal cutlery?’ I murmur, under my breath.
For the first time all evening he loses his composure slightly and seems a little flustered. For a moment I wonder if I’ve spoiled everything by even mentioning it, he obviously hadn’t realised I’d seen him, but as we step out into the cold night air, he seems to find his smile again.
‘I’m short of teaspoons,’ he says.
‘Isn’t everyone?’ I giggle and don’t mention my used napkin. I don’t want to embarrass him, nor do I want this perfect evening to be tainted by anything weird. So I leave it. For now.
An hour later, as we stand in the inner doorway of my block of flats, Alex says I still have some toffee on my cheek. He touches my face, and with his other hand pulls me towards him gently, but firmly. I melt into him, he smells of pine forests and leather – and a subtle undercurrent of something else, smoky, and dark. I breathe him in as he kisses me deeply, taking me somewhere else, filling my head with wonderful nonsense, and I close my eyes, drifting off into the night. And then, to my absolute surprise, in the middle of all this, he pulls away. I open my eyes, and he’s just looking down at me. It’s dark, and as hard as I try I can’t see his face properly to work out what’s happening. I feel confused, abandoned, he’s now holding me away, his hands on my shoulders.