Page 27 of The Wedding Game

‘Afraid not,’ he replies. ‘Which means you’re not obliged to order it and enthuse madly over it, if you don’t want to.’

‘I won’t then,’ I say, although I haven’t even looked at the menu. I can’t stop looking at Josh; his button-down shirt is rolled up at the arms and his chinos look totally in place in this neat part of London. And yet he still looks effortless. All ability to make conversation has left my body and I still don’t know what to say. I’m saved by a green-blazered waiter offering us water and asking for our drinks order. Today feels like an ice-cold white wine kind of day, as the weather has picked back up again, which is encouraging given that September will be here soon. Josh leaves me to choose. I opt for a Sancerre, checking with him if the price is OK, and he seems very at ease with what are – to me – hefty sums.

I often wonder what peopledofor a living to be able to afford to eat in places like this. Being a farmer obviously pays Josh well enough that he doesn’t bat an eyelid at £70 bottles of wine. I glance around. What does everyone elsedo, to afford all this? Presumably none of them are temping while secretly wishing they had a job that was more creative.

We talk for a while about our weeks, and Josh’s sounds like it’s been … intense: waking early to feed the cattle and then attend to jobs around the farm. ‘Checking pipes andtroughs for breakages, making sure the animals are well, milking.’

‘What time do you go to bed?’ I ask when he finishes. ‘If you have to get up at five-thirty?’

‘Nine p.m., latest,’ he says and I wince. That’s unsociably early. ‘I’ve tried later and I’m a mess the next morning,’ he continues. ‘Thankfully, I don’t have to get up early for work tomorrow, so I’m all yours for a bit longer.’

‘Nine p.m., though – my evening’s only just getting started after I’ve got in my ten thousand steps or snuck in an occasional yoga class.’

‘Farming is my cardio,’ Josh replies. ‘Imagine I told you I lived in London and got up at that time and went to the gym. It’s sort of the same.’

I make anI’m not sure about thatkind of noise. ‘How on earth did you become a farmer?’ I ask as the waiter returns and takes our food orders, topping up our chilled wine.

‘The route of most farmers: I was born into it. It was my grandfather’s and then my father’s farm, but he’s retired now. He and my mum moved out in order to truly retire. Living at the farmhouse and working on the farm – it’s like living above the shop. So now it’s only me. And I’ve stayed put, other than a stint at agricultural college to learn more modern techniques, and then uni. Although experience is everything, and my dad’s still just down the road for help and advice. I’ve been running the place on my own for so long that I feel at ease, though, comfortable with what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. My best mate works with me and is helping me to diversify. We’re branching out from beefand the obvious dairy supplies, and are producing our own ice cream now too and … Sorry, am I going on a bit? I’ve just realised I might be.’

‘No,’ I reply honestly, straightening up, encouraging Josh. ‘You’re not. I think it’s wonderful. I’m kind of in awe. Ice cream sounds brilliant. How many of you work there?’

‘I’ve got a team of four, and we’re more of a family than a workforce. Known each other for years now. We’re happy to do pub quizzes as a team at the end of a long week, rather than stride off and not see each other again for forty-eight hours.’

‘Sounds like the dream working environment.’

Josh laughs. ‘I’m pleased I’m making it sound that way. It’s hard work. Doesn’t leave much time for anything else.’

I ponder this for a moment as our starters arrive. ‘Do you get lonely?’

‘I don’t really have the time or the energy to get lonely, but I guess if I think about it … maybe.’

‘Not too much time for romance?’

He smiles, shakes his head. ‘Not really.’

I smile back. The universe is strange. The way Josh and I met was strange. The way Chris and I met was strange.

Being with Josh, here, like this, is easy. His gaze connects meaningfully with mine, and I have to really work hard to fight the overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him.

We’re politely ushered away from our table at the end of the meal as we’ve been there for hours, and we decide to prop up the bar at the restaurant instead of lingering at the table, which they clearly want to start clearing away. We decide toorder cocktails from the bartender, even though it’s verging on 10 p.m.

‘This is past my bedtime,’ Josh jokes, stifling a yawn.

‘I’m a little sleepy too,’ I say as we read the cocktail menu. ‘And I’ve got nothing like your excuse. Your job is intense. Mine ends in a week.’

‘No signs of anything new?’ Josh asks as we both order the signature Daphne’s Martini.

‘Sadly not.’

‘Something will come up,’ he tells me as we watch our drinks being mixed.

‘I’m sure it will,’ I reply with a positivity I don’t feel.

We drink our cocktails and then order one more each while the restaurant slowly empties out. When we take the hint that it’s time for us to move on and let the hard-working restaurant staff go home to their beds, we stand in the street, not knowing how to end the date.

Josh automatically turns, presumably in the direction of his hotel, and I walk with him, my overnight belongings rolled up tightly in one of the larger handbags I own. Josh’s hand finds mine and we walk and talk about the many differences between London and Somerset. He pauses for a few moments and then laughs uproariously after I confess that I honestly thought Somerset was a London borough when he first mentioned it.

‘Really?’ he eventually manages to say when he’s stopped laughing. I’m giggling along with him and tell him what I’d told Scarlet.

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