Page 41 of The Fallback

Rosie swatted his hand. She was enjoying the sensation of flirting with a man. He smiled at her, evidently enjoying it too. Rosie wondered if she felt the tiniest stirrings of a long-lost sensation tingling inside her as she looked up into Graham’s face. He took her hand and she let him. He smiled at her and a queasy sensation of awkwardness washed over her at this intimate gesture. Wondering how long she might have to leave her hand in his, she was saved by the arrival of her drink, which gave her the perfect excuse to let go and reach for her drink. The chilled exterior of the glass cooled her clammy palm.

* * *

It was late, the bar had emptied out and Graham had insisted on paying for their evening, before helping Rosie down off the bar stool. She had needed a little more help getting down from the stool than she had needed getting up. On top of the wine and the gin and tonic, she had drunk two cocktails, which she couldn’t remember the names of, but which their new best friend, the barman, had assured them they would enjoy. And she had, thank you very much.

She and Graham had chatted, laughed and flirted all evening. Hand-holding awkwardness aside, Rosie couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed a date like this. But something definitely felt off: despite his charm and humour and the fact he was obviously very good-looking, Rosie felt something was missing. At first, she had put it down to nerves, which she had tried to dispel with a few drinks. And as she struggled to put on her jacket she wondered if she had perhaps gone rather overboard with that. But she was no longer nervous; in fact, if he didn't try to hold her hand, she felt really comfortable in his presence, rather too comfortable. Perhaps that was the issue?

Outside the restaurant, they both stood awkwardly on the pavement. Graham stepped towards her. ‘I really enjoyed this evening,’ he said holding her arms and looking earnestly down at her.

Rosie shifted from foot to foot, ‘Me, too,’ she agreed.

‘Do you think…’ he started ‘…I mean, would it be OK?’ Rosie knew what was coming and instead of feeling excited she felt a sense of dread.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he finally asked. Rosie said nothing. She didn't want to, really she should speak up, but instead she closed her eyes and hoped to feel differently once he actually kissed her. She tipped her face up towards him and felt his lips on hers. And she feltsomething. Yes! She definitely felt something. Not fireworks exactly. It was nice, she thought, but there wasn’t that electric spark she had been craving. Confused, she pulled away and stared up at him.

‘Can I see you again?’ he asked.

Rosie contemplated this. Could he? She’d enjoyed herself, he seemed nice, did she fancy him? Sort of. Maybe? But she certainly didn’t feel swept off her feet. Perhaps that was OK, perhaps this might be a slow burn? She should definitely give him another chance, shouldn’t she?

Her phone beeped as her Uber pulled up.

‘This is mine,’ she said, failing to answer his question or to hide the sound of relief in her voice at the sight of her cab. For a moment Graham looked hurt. Then, pulling himself together, he opened the car door for her and tried again.

‘So can I call you?’ he asked as she stepped in. She nodded and waved at him as she pulled the car door closed.

‘Good night?’ the driver asked as he pulled away from the curb. She nodded, hoping this wasn’t a chatty Uber driver who would insist on talking all the way home. Luckily he took the hint and went back to listening to his radio.

Rosie rested her head against the cool window. It should have been a good night. Itwasa good night. Graham was almost perfect on paper. Good-looking, clever and charming. Rosie stared out at the London streets, always busy whatever the hour, full of people headed home after a night out. She saw a couple kissing outside the tube station, a group of friends saying loud and emotional farewells and she suddenly felt very alone. What was wrong with her? She had just had a fun night out with a man who was obviously keen to see her again, and all she wanted to do was to go home to her flat and call Mitch. Rosie felt the tears roll down her cheeks as she realised that while Graham might be perfect for someone else, he wasn’t perfect for her.

ChapterTwelve

'What's with the sunglasses?’ Mitch asked, leaning across the park bench to playfully swat them from Rosie’s face.

‘It’s bright, OK?’ she replied and scooted along the bench away from him. If she went much further she would end up falling off the end of it.

‘OK,’ shrugged Mitch, sounding unconvinced as he looked up at the grey sky.

It was a typical London day. Not wet, just overcast, which suited Rosie’s mood perfectly. The sunglasses offered two-fold protection; she was feeling hungover after her night out with Graham. Which wasn’t something that happened very often; in fact she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a proper hangover, probably over a year ago on that holiday in Italy with Mitch. One too many glasses of rosé and too much sun. Or maybe the Christmas party?

The second purpose of the sunglasses was to stop Mitch seeing her red eyes, which were due to all the crying she had been doing on and off since she got in the cab last night. Rosie kept telling herself to get it together, it wasn’t rational to behave like this. But the emotional side of her brain was defiantly ignoring these instructions and instead behaving like a hormonal teenager.

Mitch, in contrast, was behaving like a puppy. The grey London day seemed to have no effect on his mood. It was extremely irritating.

‘How did it go? How did it go?’ he’d practically panted at her when they met at the entrance to the cafe.

So far she had managed to avoid his questions. He had messaged her first thing this morning demanding they meet for lunch to discuss her date, and Rosie hadn’t had the energy to put him off. She had spent the time they were in the queue in the sandwich shop studying the menu to avoid his questions. But now that they were sat on the bench together, she had no other means of deflection.

She mumbled something non-committal under her breath – if it sounded an awful lot like ‘sod off’ Mitch did a good job of pretending he hadn’t heard.

He shuffled up the bench, carefully holding his sandwich in one hand and elbowed her with his other arm.

‘So?’ he asked again.

’It wasfine, Mitch.’

‘Fine?’ he said. 'What does that mean? Fine, as in you want to see him again, or fine as in he’s a monster and you never want to see him again? Fine covers a lot of territory, Rosie,’ he said, waving his sandwich around. Rosie ducked to avoid the flying lettuce.

‘Hang on.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re eating a bacon sandwich,’ he said, staring at it in her lap.

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