Page 35 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
‘Just as sexy in its own way. Come on, let’s say goodnight to your folks.’
He leads me by the hand to the huddled group of my parents, Ollie and Sally, and the girls. My dad is silent and wavering slightly from side to side. That’s his ‘drunk but trying not to look it’ stance, and it’s not a bad one; he’s usually concentrating so hard on not falling over that he doesn’t have the time to be an arse. The downside is that he sometimes does fall over, and he’s a big unit to shift.
Libby and Lucy give us both hugs, and Libby whispers: ‘He’s lovely, Auntie Sarah. Totally bodacious.’
I have a moment of guilt at this whole charade. I’ve never claimed that Aidan and I were serious. I just told Sally he was a new man in my life. Which is true. But after his Oscar-worthy performance tonight, they’re all going to be very disappointed when it ‘just fizzles out’.
That, I decide, as my family disappears into the night in a flurry of coats and kisses, is a dilemma for another day. I look around as the DJ packs up his gear, and tired-looking staff patrol the room collecting glasses and scooping paper plates into bin bags. I wonder what they do with the balloon arch once the party is over? And what about those giant light up numbers that make up the 18? Do they go to some sad party graveyard, joining in with all the abandoned 21s and unwanted 60s?
Aidan slides my coat over my shoulders for me, which makes me feel weirdly sophisticated. He is so smooth when he wants to be… Needless to say I’ve never known a man quite like him. We walk together to the foyer and out into the cool night air. It feels welcome on my skin after a night of stress, dancing, and an unexpected amount of physical contact with Aidan. Plus, possibly one too many glasses of champagne.
I pause in the street, and once the relief of the drop in temperature fades, I realise that I am very much not looking forward to the next part of the evening.
‘What’s wrong?’ he says, gazing down at me. ‘Your face just fell. What did you think about?’
He notices way too much, this man. I bite my lip and consider lying, telling him that he imagined it, or that I’ve just remembered I need to work tomorrow. But when I see the genuine concern in his eyes, feel the gentle touch of his hand on my arm, I simply can’t bring myself to do it.
‘I was supposed to be staying at my flat tonight. But I really don’t want to go there. I think… I think I might check in at the hotel instead.’
‘Why don’t you want to go there?’
‘Long story. I’m just… Well, it’s been a nice night. I’m in a safe little bubble and I don’t want to burst it.’
He turns this over, then replies: ‘You wouldn’t feel safe in your own flat?’
I shake my head, suddenly sad and a little overwhelmed. It sounds so ridiculous when he says it out loud, and I’m annoyed with myself. I lived there until recently. Why am I suddenly so reluctant to return? I think it’s because I’ve felt so much better since moving out, since I relocated to Budbury. It’s like I didn’t even know how tense it was making me, living there after everything that had happened, until I left. The thought of going back to that– to looking over my shoulder, being obsessed with the alarm system, even barricading the front door with the armchair so I’d know if anybody got in– is weighing heavily on me.
‘What about if I come with you?’ he asks. ‘Would that help?’
Would it? In many ways I do feel safe with Aidan. He is calm and kind, soothing to be around, and I have no doubt at all that he could handle any physical challenge that arose. But I’m not aprincess who needs protection, and in other ways he makes me feel quite unbalanced. He disarms me, and has a way of sneaking past all my emotional alarms and barricades. In some ways that is just as concerning.
‘How about this?’ he says, when I don’t reply. ‘We head back there and I come in for a coffee. I promise not to use my evil James Bond skills to try and seduce you. I’ll just stay until you feel like you want me to go.’
‘What if I never want you to go?’
‘Then that’s fine too. I’ll stay with you the whole night if that’s what you need. I’m here for you, Sarah.’
How does he always know the right thing to say? Hehas a habit of unravelling me that is so unnerving. But maybe being unravelled every now and then isn’t such a bad thing, I tell myself. Maybe if I’m unravelled, I can knit myself back up better than new.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask. ‘It might be cold. And there’s no milk.’
‘I’ve survived worse. Cab or walk?’
‘Cab, in these heels.’
He glances down at my feet, and then lets his eyes move slowly up my legs, over my body, and finally back to my eyes. The deeply appreciative look on his face makes me feel very, very warm again.
‘They suit you,’ he says, his voice a little more gravelly than usual. ‘But I like you just as much in your sneakers.’
I’m starting to think he might not be human. The way he looks, his charm, always knowing what I need to hear… he could be an android. A high-level government experiment, or a new generation AI overlord developed by a top-secret crime syndicate. Because of course both of those would be keenly interested in testing out their new product on a middle-aged author from Essex.
‘I know what you mean,’ I reply, trying very hard not to blush at the compliment. ‘The suit is great, but your running gear is just as nice.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘I usually run without a shirt. Pervert.’
I laugh, and obviously lose my battle with the blushing.
Aidan hails a cab, because he is the kind of guy who magically conjures up cabs as soon as he needs one, and as we drive back to St John’s Wood I send a selection of photos from the night through to Cherie. Aidan looks on, grinning at the line-dancing shots.
