billionth time that day I wondered if there was anything worse than a first date. Waterboarding?
Then I saw him wave from a table by the window. Max.
Oh.
My.
Days.
Was this a joke? Some kind of set-up?
He was so good-looking, so obviously, absurdly handsome, that I felt instantly more nervous. I’d always been someone who’d appreciated classically good-looking men from a distance. Sure, that man at the bar, or the party, or the wedding might be so hot he was almost beautiful – Superman jaw, wide shoulders, big smile – but he was never going to go for me, so I wasn’t going to consider him. It was self-defence – I had mousy hair that fell to my shoulders and frizzed out at the ends, and a nose with a weird bobble. I often squinted at women I saw on Instagram – perfect fringes, matt skin, flicky eyeliner – and wondered if I could ever be one of them. But whenever I tried to do flicky eyeliner, my hand wobbled and the line went all watery.
Jess once told me my best attribute was my height since I was only a couple of inches off six foot. But ask a man what he looks for in a woman and none of them reply ‘a giantess with a nose like a bicycle horn’. The handsome ones were out of reach, I’d long known, and yet here was a man so mesmerizing I could barely look at him without blushing. He was trying to mouth something at me from the table. What was it? I squinted at him to try and guess what he was saying, then regretted it. Don’t squint at the handsome man, Lil.
‘Hi!’ I mouthed back at him. Maybe he was short, I thought, as I pushed my way through other people. Maybe that was the problem. That was why he was single. Face like a gladiator, legs like a hobbit. That had to be it.
He stood as I approached. Not short. He was several inches taller than me. Well over six foot, for sure. In jeans and a dark blue shirt which was undone to reveal a perfect triangle of chest. Not hanging loose to his navel like a dancer from Strictly. Not buttoned to the top, which was too East End hipster. Couldn’t see his shoes. And shoes were crucial. But so far, so excellent.
‘Lil, hello,’ he said, leaning forward over the table to kiss me on the cheek. He smelt good. Course he did. Woody. I pulled back but he went in for a kiss on the other cheek. A two-kisser. We brushed cheeks on the other side and then both laughed awkwardly.
‘I got you a vodka,’ he said, nodding at two glasses on the table. He sounded posh, a low drawl like James Bond.
‘Thanks,’ I said, trying to slip off my leather jacket in a manner which didn’t reveal my sweaty underarms.
‘Good to meet you,’ he said, once I’d sat down, lifting his glass towards mine.
‘You too,’ I replied, raising my glass slowly, still trying to keep my right arm clamped. I grinned shyly at him and my mind went blank. Suddenly, it was as if I’d lost the power of speech. I’d gone mute while all around us people laughed and talked normally.
‘This is an all right location for you because you’re in Brixton, right?’ he said.
I had a sip of my vodka and nodded. What can I ask him? Come on, Lil, think of something otherwise you might die of awkwardness.
‘Where are you again?’ I asked.
‘Hampstead?’ he replied, as if it was a question.
I nodded again.
‘Cool,’ I said, having another sip of my drink. Quite a big sip. ‘You been there long?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘a few years. I love it. Got the park. Can get out of London easily. It’s great.’ He had a sip of his drink. ‘You?’
I frowned at him. ‘Huh?’
‘Have you been in Brixton long?’
‘Oh right, sorry, er, no. Not really. Like, six months.’
‘Where were you before?’
‘Angel?’
He nodded.
We both had another mouthful of our drinks.
‘And you said you were a teacher?’
‘Mmm,’ I replied. ‘5-year-olds. I love them most days, want to kill them on others.’ Why are you threatening child murder on a date, Lil?
He smiled. He had good teeth. White. And the vibe of a man who owned and, crucially, used dental floss. ‘You must be unbelievably patient,’ he went on. ‘I have a couple of godchildren who I love, but I get to hand them back again after a couple of hours.’