If I Never Met You(51)

‘… OK,’ she shrugged, in defeat.

There was a pause as they prepared to part.

‘Do you wear glasses?’ Laurie adjusted the files she was carrying.

‘Uh?’ Jamie pointed at them, on his face.

‘I mean sometimes you’re in them and sometimes you’re not.’

‘Have you heard of long sighted and short sightedness?’

‘Yes, but I can’t work out which you have.’

‘Is this relevant in some way I’m not grasping?’ Jamie said, testily.

‘It’s not relevant. I’m being nosy.’ Laurie smiled. ‘I’m meant to know stuff about you, now we’re going out.’

‘They’re clear,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

‘Clear? As in no lenses?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why wear them?’

Jamie turned his head up to the heavens briefly. ‘When I first started going to court I looked young, OK, and I noticed I got treated differently when I wore them. They’re a … prop.’

‘OK.’

‘Don’t tell anyone at the office please. I will get roasted for it.’

‘I will definitely not tell anyone at the office.’

‘Thank you.’

‘… That you do Atticus Finch cosplay! Hahahahoohoo.’

Jamie glowered as Laurie doubled over. She had a feeling no one had ever sent him up like this. Certainly no female. Laurie didn’t know why she dared with Jamie, she just knew she did.

‘Oh up yours. Great. Right, I’ve got a murder committal in court nine, going to do that before I do one myself. Catch you later.’

He stalked off, leaving Laurie wiping her eyes, not sure if she should regret her mockery.

When Laurie’s WhatsApp pinged at five p.m., she expected Jamie to be saying you know what, maybe you’re right, let’s leave it.

Jamie

Big guns: why don’t we do dinner at The French? The French is spendy, it would say: we mean this. If we go at an awkward time like 6 or 9.30. I bet we could get a last-minute booking. Our photos wouldn’t need to point that out of course. Thoughts? J

She noticed she’d forfeited the kiss, however.

Although she’d been the one wanting to can it all, she was relieved he was on board, and being constructive. If she wanted this to work, maybe she should ditch her passivity in the process. If the next move was a candle-lit meal …?

Laurie

Yes, except … The French is more for anniversaries and occasions, I think. Second date, too much pressure, it’s not quite plausible. Hawksmoor, perhaps? Steak, cocktails, moody interiors. You can even ask for date night tables when you book.

Thank you, Emily, for that intel. Laurie felt clued up and relevant for a change.

Jamie

YES. Good thinking. I will book for Friday? x

Laurie replied in the affirmative. The kiss was back, the game was once more afoot and Laurie realised, Jamie was right (albeit probably for the wrong reasons). Time to screw her courage to the sticking place, and stick it to everyone.





21


Laurie had been to Hawksmoor a year back for Dan’s birthday, and if anyone had told her the circumstances under which she’d return, she’d have said: are you high on hallucinogens? Is that not a vision of my future, but an episode of Black Mirror?

She really took to Hawksmoor, it was her kind of place: the dark Victorian tiles and white lanterns, the gloaming, felt like starring in a bloodthirsty period piece with Tom Hardy in a Bill Sykes hat. And nothing sorted out imbibing to excess like a steak the size of a mattress. ‘The cow gets the hangover, not you, it’s brilliant,’ she’d told Dan, who’d said ‘ewwwww’.

She’d dug out a respectable if two-year-old navy pencil dress, put up her hair, done her own make-up this time – if she and Jamie were doing weekly dates, she wasn’t going to make Ivy levels of effort on the regular.

Laurie was seated in the bar with something strong and marmalade-flavoured, tapping her foot to New Order’s ‘True Faith’, when Jamie messaged to say he’d been detained by a domestic crisis. He wasn’t a man who one pictured having either domesticity or crises. She snickered to herself, lifting the glass to her lips, imagining one of the torches had puttered out in his BDSM dungeon.

He arrived twenty minutes later, pale face wind chilled, in a flurry of apologies and Acqua Di Parma and a Paul Smith scarf.

‘No worries,’ Laurie said, ‘The waitress has been over to say they cocked up and had us down for an hour later, so we’re in the bar for the meantime anyway.’

Jamie kept apologising and Laurie said, ‘It’s no issue to sit here with a drink on my own for half an hour. It’s quite nice in fact.’

He looked faintly quizzical at her serenity, so she asked, ‘Do the women you usually see get very upset at being on their own somewhere?’

Jamie muttered something.

What a very old-fashioned dynamic for a modern swinger. It might not hurt Jamie to spend time with other grown-ups.

Laurie was going to politely avoid the nature of the domestic crisis, but Jamie volunteered a washing machine overflow.

‘You live in the city centre?’

‘No, out towards Salford.’

‘I totally pictured you in a central flat,’ Laurie said, not wanting to say, a shag pad with sheepskin rugs.