all the other ludicrous ‘creatives’ with bird’s nest hair and luminous trainers. He doesn’t reciprocate with a question, but it does at least give him something to riff on. He loves the ‘industrial vibe’, but he feels that it’s been spoiled by the Johnny-come-latelies from the city who’ve moved there in the last few years.
‘Did you grow up round there then?’ I ask innocently.
‘Er, no, I’m actually from Hitchin, but it’s been my patch for donkey’s years.’ Case closed. The restaurant fits in with his industrial vibe perfectly: it’s a mixture of chrome and tiles, with a long zinc bar running down the length of it. Piercing spotlights bounce off the shiny surfaces, casting everything in a dazzling white. The cosy Italian that Ali took me to suddenly springs to mind. Will Jenna be whisked off there on his pillion, with no idea she’s following in my footsteps? An efficient but unfriendly waiter delivers us to the bar and offers us an aperitif while the table’s being prepared.
‘Two gin Martinis,’ says Tarquin, like we’re a married couple from the 1920s.
‘Actually, sorry, can I just have a glass of white wine?’
‘Don’t be such a square,’ says Tarquin in a tone that’s simultaneously flirty and aggressive. ‘You’re a good-time girl and here we are, out having a good time.’
I laugh it off to the bemused waiter and insist on my order, but when the drinks come he’s brought me both.
‘Have a swig,’ says Tarquin. ‘If you don’t like it I’ll do the honours.’
Why is he so controlling? I can’t bear to waste any more time talking about it, so I take the tiniest of sips, while listening to the potted highlights of his career thus far. He mainly seems to have directed pop videos for men with hair as absurd as his own, with the odd Spanish cat food commercial interspersed for variety.
‘It’s fantastic they gave you such a big step up,’ I say once we’re seated and then curse myself for implying that it sounds unwarranted. Luckily his ego doesn’t allow for such suggestions.
‘Damien’s tracked my career right from the off; he’s always been a champion of mine. He’s just been waiting for the right thing. I reckon you might get your big break soon. I’m sure in a year or so you’ll be ready to design something yourself.’
I quell the rage I feel that no one bar Gareth understands that this whole enormous, impossible job has fallen on my shoulders. Considering how much time I’ve spent interpreting Tarquin’s ridiculous suggestions, I can’t believe he hasn’t noticed. I think the tiny sips of neat gin have proved cumulative, as I go into a massive speech about what I’ve put together for the wedding, determined to make him acknowledge my contribution, whatever it takes.
‘Emily’s dress has got this lovely pearly hem and the bridesmaids are going to be in these little purple smocks and…’ Mid-monologue, I catch sight of his glazed-over expression. Oh God, who can blame him? Do I really want to sit across another dinner table being defensive and narky? Surely some of what I originally liked about him was more than just a mirage? Perhaps I need to reprogramme, try relating to him as a human being rather than as an adversary that I’ve got to endure and manipulate.
‘What was it like, growing up in Hitchin?’
He looks a bit startled, and who can blame him? As conversational gambits go, it’s not the best, but he gives it his best shot.
‘Erm, I dunno. Kind of boring. But maybe that’s what got me interested in directing – pretty much the only thing to do was go to the multiplex in Stevenage.’
‘But do you think that growing up always involves swathes of boredom, even if you grow up in Manhattan? You’re always going to have times when you’re not old enough to do what you want to do.’
‘I reckon you’re the kind of girl who watches “Gossip Girl” on a Sunday morning,’ he replies with unexpected perspicacity. ‘You wouldn’t catch Blair Waldorf living it large at the Stevenage multiplex.’
And we’re off. He doesn’t miss any opportunities to remind me of his prodigious talent, but we do succeed in having a proper conversation that’s not about work. Why are we all so wedded to the armour that our careers provide? Perhaps we could all relate to just about anyone if we asked them what they felt rather than what they did. I manage to not only finish my Martini, but also consume half