Page 55 of Playing the Field
By the time we’ve finished our meal, Ben admits the wine, which we’ve drunk fairly quickly, has gone to his head. And I’m half a bottle ahead of him after the hot tub, so I’m even more tipsy.
‘I hope whatever’s next doesn’t require a lot of dexterity,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure I could drive a hot tub in a straight line after this.’
‘How about firing a gun?’
‘Is that a serious question?’
I tell him where we’re headed and he laughs. ‘That’s a lot less concerning.’
‘Have you done it before?’
‘Never, so it’s another great choice. I’m feeling quite spoilt. It feels like my birthday.’
It’s a short walk to the venue, and when we get there we’re shown to a booth and given a brief explanation of how everything works. The first thing that strikes me is how heavy the gun is, and the host explains it’s a real gun, just not real bullets. There are sensors that will figure out where we’re pointing the barrel.
She shows us how to reload, tells us which of the five games are most suitable for beginners and explains the system for ordering drinks.
‘Would you say a cocktail improves your aim?’ Ben asks her.
‘An espresso martini maybe, but I’ll leave you to be the judge of that,’ she says.
It’s hard to tell if the cocktails have any effect or if we just us get the hang of it as we work our way through the games. While my accuracy averages a meagre eleven per cent in the first game, it’s more than doubled by game three.
Ben doesn’t do much better. He has a slight advantage in that his hands are bigger so he can reach the reload button more easily, but he’s just as perplexed by the speed of the ‘pigeons’, so there are only a few points separating us as we enter the fourth game– and I’m in the lead.
With everything to play for, I think we both get a little more competitive, which might explain why we both do really well in this round, despite it being harder than the previous three. At the end of it, I’ve just about clung on to my advantage, but Ben could easily overtake me in the remaining few minutes. He’s up first in what will be the fifth and final game, and there’s a danger I might not get another turn as the clock ticks down towards the end of our time slot.
‘Hurry up,’ I mutter as we wait for the screen to load. Ben’s already in position, ready and waiting.
‘Go, go, go,’ I shout as the first pigeon appears and in his haste he tracks, shoots and misses. But as he’s used to refocusing after a misfire, he just slows down for the next one and smashes eight of the remaining discs. He’s looking more than a little pleased with himself as he passes the gun back to me. It has left my score trailing and we’re now into the last thirty seconds.
With nothing to lose, I scatter bullets at will as soon as my turn begins, and my score creeps back up until I need just one more five-point pigeon to steal a victory.
‘No!’ His arms fly up in disbelief as I hit it at the exact second the screen freezes. ‘You lucky devil.’
I can’t resist a celebratory dance, which he pretends to be annoyed about until he relents and congratulates me. ‘It just goes to show, quantity over quality can be very effective,’ he says mock begrudgingly.
‘Let’s leave that theory in this room though,’ I suggest. And he laughs– he knows exactly what I mean.
‘So are you ready to head home now?’ I ask, now he’s got me thinking about the quality time I want to spend with him. He nods with an enthusiasm that tells me the next activity is one we’re both going to win.
29
While Ben’s in the gym the following morning, I allow myself a lie-in. His parents live close enough to his house for us to be able to walk there, so there’s no great rush to get out of bed ahead of our lunch date.
Their house, while not quite on the scale of Ben’s, is still impressively big, with red-brick walls and large bay windows. When we arrive, his nan Tilda is trying to make herself useful in the kitchen, but is mostly just getting under his mum Helen’s feet.
‘Get this woman out of here, would you?’ Helen says good-humouredly. ‘She’s driving me crazy. Welcome to the madhouse, Lily. I’ll say hello properly when I’ve got these last bits in the oven, but for now, shoo, the lot of you, or lunch won’t be ready till teatime.’
Tilda tilts her face up so Ben can kiss her on the cheek. ‘Finally someone who appreciates me,’ she huffs. ‘Let’s get you both a drink and then we can get out of grumpy chops’ hair and you can tell me all about yourself, Lily, and whether this one’s been behaving like a gentleman.’
‘Just a water for me, please,’ Ben says.
Tilda sighs. ‘You footballers. Lily, will you join me in a prosecco?’
‘Go on then.’ I’m not sure she’d take no for an answer even if I didn’t think I could benefit from a bit of Dutch courage.
‘Where’s Grandpa?’ Ben asks.
