I shake my head.
‘“I wanted to go back inside, mate.”’
‘Ouch. I think I’d be tempted to say, “Fight your own case next time!”’ I put down my knife and fork; I don’t want any more pizza, I’m too full.
‘Yeah, but these kids don’t stand a chance, do they? It’s like the minute they’re born, their lives are mapped out: peer pressure, poverty, drugs, prison, abuse…’
‘That’s where I come in.’
‘Yeah, I guess you do.’ He’s shaking his head sadly, remembering what happened. ‘And then… it was raining when we walked from the court. He had on a T-shirt and no money for a bus or a train.’
‘That’s sad,’ I say, knowing from my experience that, for some, bus fare is a luxury.
‘So I ended up giving him a lift home.’
I feel my heart swell at this. ‘That was kind of you.’
‘Yes, I hope in some way it helped him feel like I cared beyond the court – not just as someone paid to do a job.’
‘I’m sure it did, some people have never known simple kindness.’
He nods. ‘And how is anyone ever expected to free themselves from a life of crime when they have nothing, and no hope of anything? He’s nineteen and he already feels like he has no future.’
I nod, I know exactly what he means. ‘Gosh, you sound like me. I wrote a piece for a social-work blog recently and said exactly that.’
‘Did you? I’d love to read that sometime.’
I blush slightly, loving the fact he’s taking such an interest.
‘I dropped him off at his flat,’ he continues. ‘Peeling paint, the smell of urine… I gave him thirty quid, it was all I had on me, but, do you know, I swear I saw tears in his eyes. I sometimes wonder why I didn’t become a wealthy, corporate lawyer – but that’s why – for kids like him, who have no faith, and no one fighting for them.’
He looks at me, and I feel a physical tug. This guy is truly wonderful.
He shrugs, and takes a breath. ‘So, are we having dessert again today?’ He lifts the menu, dismissing his heroic act of kindness.
Modest too.
I can’t eat any more, my stomach is in knots, my appetite always diminishes when I fall for someone. It’s all or nothing with me, I’m either fat and single or skinny and in love.
‘I’m too full for dessert,’ I say.
He reaches his hand across the table. The tips of his fingers touch mine. It’s so erotic. He looks into my eyes. ‘I know it’s only our second date, but it’s… good – this.’ He gestures to me and back to him and I nod eagerly.
‘Yes, it’s good,’ is all I can utter. I want to say so much more, I want to tell him how I haven’t felt like this for years, how my ex barely noticed me, how I didn’t think I’d ever be able to love someone again, and it’s all so quick but right now I think it’s happening. But of course I don’t say any of this, I need to take this gently and don’t want to scare him off.
But when he kisses me outside my door a little later and suggests we meet again tomorrow night, I tell him breathlessly, ‘I can’t wait.’
I run up the steps to my flat, while he watches me go in – he’s so sweet, making sure I’m safely inside before leaving. But just as I get inside and walk towards my door, I hear something outside. I turn and a sudden banging on the door scares me half to death. I know I shouldn’t just open the front door, but it might be Alex back to take me in his arms, and even if it isn’t Alex, the banging will wake my neighbours in the downstairs flat.
I go to the door, and open it cautiously – and, to my deep relief, it’s him. I half-expect him to try and kiss me, but he doesn’t.
‘Sorry, Hannah, I don’t have your mobile number!’ He’s leaning in the doorway, breathless, sheltering from the rain. I laugh, relieved it was him, and we swap numbers before he runs off into the rainy night, stopping briefly to wave at me as I stand on the doorstep watching him trip between puddles, lit momentarily by a street light or a passing car.
When he’s finally out of sight, I go inside and dash up two flights of stairs without even feeling it. Falling in love even makes exercise bearable – I could run up twenty flights tonight if I had to! Once inside, I put the kettle on, make a camomile tea and relive the evening in my head. It’s like watching a favourite old film again and again, remembering every nuance, every word, the way his smile gives him a twinkle in his eyes, causing his face to light up suddenly.
I shake my head. It’s early days; I need to stop thinking about him all the time, Jas warned me about that. Oh crap. Crap. Crap. Jas! I promised to go to the cinema with her tomorrow evening, and I’ve just arranged to see Alex. Oh God, I would never be that woman who dumps her friend the minute a man comes along. But, then again, I don’t want to cancel on Alex either. This is new and I don’t want him to think I don’t like him or I’ve changed my mind – or that I’m unreliable. What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter Four
It turns out there’s no way Jas would have let me stand her up tonight. She’s already booked two cinema seats and is even talking about what kind of popcorn we’ll be eating during the film, and it’s only 10 a.m.! I’m going to have to text Alex, I can’t even call him because she’ll hear and I don’t want her to think I was even considering seeing him tonight because it will hurt her feelings. I’m wary of not wanting another lecture from her. Jas’s heart is in the right place but she simply wouldn’t understand what’s already between me and Alex.
So, I text Alex, wanting to let him know as early as possible that I can’t see him tonight. I explain that it’s something I’d previously agreed to and suggest we do something later in the week. He doesn’t get back to me straight away, he’s probably busy.
Harry arrives in the office a little later, carrying a warm almond croissant in a napkin. ‘For you, madame,’ he says, throwing it on my desk.
‘Ooh thank you, but you shouldn’t,’ I say.
‘I should, it’s your favourite. Gemma had some extras, so I grabbed one for you.’
‘You’re right,’ I say, biting into the moist croissant. ‘It is my favourite. When are you going to marry this girl, damnit?’
He laughs, as he saunters over to his desk. ‘I’m too young for marriage. We’re fine as we are.’
‘Sameera’s usually here first, is she not in this morning?’ I ask. She’s closest to Harry.
‘Sameera?’ he says, looking over at her desk. ‘Oh yeah, she’s, er…’ He has to rack his brain. ‘Doing something boring, like getting fitted for a wedding dress, tasting the bloody cake for the hundredth time.’
I laugh. ‘You’re such a lad, Harry.’
‘Well, it’s a load of rubbish, isn’t it?’
‘You might think that, but us ladies of a certain age dream of rubbish like that, I know I certainly do.’
He laughs and shakes his head.
‘Do you ever see you and Gemma getting married?’ I ask.