Page 78 of Happily Never After
‘Why get Liv to make it for you then? You know she doesn’t like it?’
Donna grins. ‘It’s a comparatively minor character flaw in me for her to focus on. All the time she’s trying to wean me off the shortbread, she’s not noticing all my other major flaws.’
‘I’m really not sure that’s how it works, Donna. Maybe stick to dog psychology.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, I do appreciate it because I know it’s not her thing, but she does it because she thinks it makes me happy. I probably ought to let her off though. Her pastries are to die for, aren’t they?’
I smile back at her. ‘I really hope that’s not a euphemism.’
She tilts her head back and laughs. ‘I’ll have to think about that. Now, let’s talk about young Meg here.’
By the time we all make our way up to bed some hours and a bottle of wine later, I’m feeling much happier about Meg’s situation, and any final reservations I had about Liv and Donna’s blossoming romance have also melted away. Donna is easy company, it’s lovely to see Liv so happy and there wasn’t a single moment where I felt excluded. In fact, the evening has been so much fun that it’s only as I’m climbing into bed that I realisewith horror that I never messaged Finn back. Hurriedly, I grab my phone and, after re-reading his message, send a reply.
Congratulations!! I knew they’d go for it. Studio tour and dinner both sound amazing. When did you have in mind? I’m flexible xx.
28
‘Not that one,’ Liv says firmly as I come down the stairs for the second time.
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’ I smooth the dress I’ve put on for my dinner with Finn. To my surprise, he suggested coming down to Margate rather than meeting in London. He’s obviously done his research too, as he’s booked a table at The Mermaid, arguably one of the best places to eat in the town at the moment.
‘Too floral. You look like a housewife from the fifties, not a siren.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ I turn on my heel and stomp back upstairs.
‘Put the yellow one on,’ Liv calls after me. ‘You always look great in that.’
‘He’s seen the yellow one. I wore it in France.’
‘He’s a man. He won’t remember, trust me. And put some better underwear on too. You need to maximise your assets.’
‘It’s just dinner, Liv,’ I call from my room as I pull the floral dress over my head, dumping it on the floor with the pile of other rejected outfits. Who am I kidding, I think as I unfasten my bra and start rummaging in the drawer for the push-up oneI bought on a mad whim last year. I realise it’s not going to work as soon as I find it, however. With a growl of frustration, I put the original bra back on and yank the yellow dress down over my body.
‘Better,’ Liv observes from the sofa when I reappear. ‘The bra still isn’t helping you though.’
‘Yeah, well, the only one that does is black, and that’s not going to work with this dress, is it.’
‘OK, fine.’ She sighs expressively and turns to Meg on the sofa next to her. ‘What do you think, Meggie? Do we sign Mummy off to go to meet this man looking like that?’
Meg is obviously uninterested in fashion as she doesn’t even look at me, instead opening an eye to peer at Liv, wagging her tail briefly in the hope that being spoken to means something good is going to happen to her, and then closing it again with a soft sigh when she realises it isn’t.
‘You’ll do,’ Liv says encouragingly after a moment. ‘Stop biting your lip though.’
‘It’s normal to be nervous. I haven’t been on a date since, well, I can’t remember. What if I’ve forgotten what to do?’
‘It’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re meeting a total stranger. This is the guy you spent hours just chatting to when you were away. If nothing else, you should be able to do that, no?’
I know she’s right, but that doesn’t alleviate the knot of nerves that’s formed in the pit of my stomach. Thankfully, before I can wind myself up any more, the doorbell rings, setting Meg off as usual.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to feel as I open the door and see Finn standing there. Excitement? Relief? Like me, he’s made an effort, wearing a dark blue jacket over a white shirt and chinos, with polished brown brogues underneath. Like me, he looks a little nervous.
‘Hi,’ he says, making no move to embrace me.
‘Hi yourself.’ I smile at him, but it doesn’t feel natural at all. Why isn’t this working? Is it because I’m struggling to reconcile the smartly dressed man in front of me with the casual guy I hung out with in France? Maybe it’s the fact that he’s in my space now, rather than the comparatively neutral ground of L’Ancien Presbytère. Whatever it is, something’s not quite right and, from the way he’s behaving, he feels it too.
‘Nice dog,’ he observes, bending down to stroke Meg, who is busily sniffing him. ‘Meg, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Well remembered.’
