Page 24 of The Wedding Game

‘Oh,’ I repeat, wondering why we’re here, having this date, if he lives nowhere near me? I’m reminded of Chrisand his early disclosure that he lives in New York. It’s happened to me again. I can’t believe this.

‘Hang on,’ I say, hazily remembering our chat at the wedding. ‘I asked if you lived in London and you said yes.’

He recoils a bit. ‘No. No, you didn’t. You, rather weirdly, asked if I lived somewhere that required a plane ride to get to.’

I look at Josh directly. I feel I’ve been duped and I’m not sure why. ‘I just assumed you lived in London,’ I say rather pathetically.

‘Does it matter?’ Josh asks. ‘Have you got an aversion to anyone who lives outside the M25?’

‘No, of course not,’ I tell him. ‘But … how long does it take you to get into London from Somerset?’

‘About two hours, as long as the trains aren’t running late. I’ve got a bit of a drive at the other end as well, but today my mate’s picking me up later, so I could have some drinks with you.’

‘Oh my God,’ I say loudly. ‘You live for ever away.’

He laughs. ‘Well, not really. I mean, it’s a bit of a drive or – you know – the train.’

‘I’m totally thrown by this,’ I tell him honestly.

‘I can see that,’ Josh replies and his shoulders rise and fall briefly as he chuckles. ‘In a way I should probably take this as a good sign: you being a little miffed that I live quite far away. If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t care.’

I narrow my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. Maybe he’s right.

I lean forward, take up my wine glass, sit back and think. ‘What do you do, all the way out in Somerset?’

‘I’m a farmer,’ he says and I actually cough on my wine. The surprises keep coming.

‘You’re afarmer? A real one?’

‘A real one,’ he confirms.

‘I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg.’

‘I’m really not. I’m probably one of the most honest people you’re ever going to meet. To a fault. I live in Somerset and I’m a farmer.’

I look at this man, slightly rugged, very tanned and, dare I say it, handsome and I can see it. I see that he’s not like everyone else in this restaurant. He’s different. Earthier, raw, but in a good way.

‘What do you farm?’ I ask, determined to catch him out. ‘Or are you actually a stockbroker, and any second now you’re going to cave in and confess you live in Islington?’

‘Beef and dairy,’ he replies. He’s enjoying this, I can tell. ‘I farmed the lunch you just ate. That’s why I chose this particular pub. I’m one of their suppliers.’

My mouth opens in surprise and I feel it move into a smile. Josh is refreshing, in so many ways.

‘Well,’ I say, failing to mask my disbelief. ‘This city girl is surprised. I didn’t see that coming.’

‘I can’t tell if it’s put you off,’ Josh says, sitting back. ‘If I ask you out again …?’ He leaves that question there.

‘How would we do that?’ I ask, as I can’t see how the logistics of this are going to work. But … I am interested in seeing Josh again. This revelation surprises me. I didn’t seeit going past this one date, which is why it felt fine to book it in the first place. To put myself out there.

But at the back of my mind is Chris. It felt wrong to be seeing Josh when I’m messaging Chris. I know this is how it works these days. I know we all need to keep our options open in the early days – only make decisions when decisions need to be made. But it just feels a bit seedy. It’s having been cheated on; I know that’s what’s making me hypersensitive to the possibility of hurting someone else. And getting hurt myself.

‘I get Sundays off. Or, rather, I force myself to take Sundays off while someone else from my team looks after the animals. I could come back into London again next week, late on Saturday, and get a hotel for the night, spend the evening with you, all of Sunday if you want – it could work. But how about …’ he says teasingly, ‘how about we see how the rest of the lunch goes? I might yet change my mind.’

I play-thump him on his arm and Josh winces, laughs.

Conversation flows so easily as we learn more about each other. And, in contrast to how it was with Chris, there is so much small talk. It’s the details, the tiny little nicks and cuts of a human that make them who they are, and I like finding out these things about Josh. By the time we’ve finished lunch, opting for coffee over dessert, we decide to walk off our food. I’m reluctant to leave the dark and moody surroundings of the pub; it’s a little bubble where Josh and I have dined and laughed, talked and drunk. We sidled a little closer to each other when coffee came, and I could feel the heat emanatingfrom his arm as he showed me pictures of his farm on his phone. I told him I needed some sort of proof.

Exiting the pub, we’re confronted by the bright glare of the late-summer sun. ‘It feels later, like it should be night-time,’ I say, fumbling in my bag for my sunglasses. Josh hasn’t brought any and I can see white lines around the side of his eyes where the sun doesn’t get in, as he must wince in the glare when he’s working. We walk for a while as I grill him about farm life. I’m enjoying hearing more about this man and, as we cross the road, his hand rests on my back to escort me towards Kensington Palace Gardens.

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