and least favourite writers. Rory declared he hated American novels. I’d always held romantic ideas about American writers and defended them. Then I bet that he liked the Scottish writer George MacDonald Fraser. There was a certain type of public school-educated man who loved the sexually depraved escapades of his hero, Harry Flashman. Rory replied that he did indeed and, just as the cheese trolley came to a halt beside our table, he leapt in the air to pull an imaginary sword from its scabbard, neatly smacking the cheese-pushing waiter in the face with his fist. The waiter staggered backwards clutching his nose; Rory started apologizing.
‘Ai! Quel imbecile!’ the waiter mumbled through his fist.
‘Look, I’m so sorry,’ followed up Rory, ‘it was an accident. I was trying to show my friend a scene from a book. Are you all right? Oh dear, I think you might need some tissues. Have you got any tissues?’ he shouted in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Or a drying-up cloth?’
Other diners in the restaurant paused to watch this spectacle.
‘I think we’d better leave,’ said Rory, sitting down at the table minutes later, once the waiter had been helped off the restaurant floor with a fistful of kitchen roll held to his face.
He asked for the bill and paid, silencing my offer to pay my half with a fierce stare.
In return, emboldened by the wine and Rory’s own confidence, I asked if he wanted to come back to mine. It felt right. He’d made me feel secure enough to be brave and I couldn’t imagine that he’d vanish the following day without even a text message. I’ll admit, there was a small, buried piece of me that wanted to prove my family, Eugene and even Jaz wrong, to show that their jokes about my lack of love life were unfair. But it wasn’t just that. I wanted to do this. I wanted to remain in Rory’s hypnotic company.
‘I’d love to,’ he replied, so I ordered an Uber and collected my tote bag and coat. Rory apologized to the staff again and we stood on the pavement outside waiting for our Toyota Prius.
‘Good evening, my dear fellow,’ Rory said, falling into the car after I’d shuffled across the back seat. ‘We’re off to Kennington, I believe.’
‘He knows, it’s all right,’ I said, before letting out an enormous hiccup which made both the driver and Rory stare at me.
‘Sorry,’ I said, but then came another one, loud as a frog’s croak.
‘Look at me, I’ve got a brilliant cure for this,’ Rory said as the car pulled out.
I turned my head.
‘Bit closer,’ he said, so I slid towards him on the seat. Another hiccup. Practically a burp. But the champagne, and red wine on top of white wine, had left me too drunk to be embarrassed.
He stretched out his hands and cupped his fingers around my forehead, one thumb on each cheek, as if he was investing me with magical powers.
‘What the he—’
‘Shhhh,’ he commanded. ‘Concentrate. Look at me.’
‘I don’t understand. What’s this do?’
‘Shhhh, just stay quiet for two minutes.’
He carried on staring into my eyes, his fingertips pressing into my head. It felt like a playground blinking competition, just more intense, and I wondered briefly what it would be like to have his face looking down on mine in bed.
‘Why are you blushing?’ he asked, fingers still in place.
‘I’m not!’
‘I think you’re cured,’ he said, dropping his hands. ‘See?’
I sat back and waited for a hiccup. None came.
‘Hang on though, I’d better just check,’ said Rory, so I turned again and he raised his hand, only to scoop it round the back of my head and pull me into him for a kiss. A longer kiss than before, and no tongues because a Toyota Prius is an intimate space and we were only inches away from Aaron the Uber driver. But it made me feel as if I was floating all the same. I just prayed that my sisters would be in bed when we got back.
They were, fortunately, and the house was black.
‘I’m right at the top,’ I whispered to Rory, closing the front door quietly. I didn’t want to risk making a noise and Mia or Ruby, or even Hugo, poking their head from their bedroom doors, so I led him straight upstairs.
‘Stay here,’ I whispered, once we’d reached my room. ‘Two minutes.’ I shut myself in my bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. I suspected my tongue tasted of garlic.
I peed and wiped