Chapter 3 #2
‘Yes, exactly. Better late than never . . .’
‘So, what made you turn to religion? I’m always so interested in why people turn to God later in their lives.’
‘What made me turn to it?’ he repeated. Tom had understood the question quite clearly. He simply had to bide his time to think of an acceptable answer.
‘Yes, was there a defining moment?’
‘Oh, goodness. What an interesting question.’
Tom rubbed at his chin, squirming in his seat as he wondered how he could steer the conversation in a different direction.
Then he took a sip of his coffee as he tried to figure out how he could avoid digging himself into a giant black hole.
He knew the less said on the subject the better.
This was exactly why he hadn’t been on any dates since the divorce.
People always wanted to know about your past. There were always questions.
As a seagull landed on a nearby table and stole the leftovers of a baguette, Tom thanked his lucky stars for the digression.
‘Did you see that seagull? They’re cheeky things, aren’t they?’
‘Oh, no. I missed it.’
‘Ah, yes, you had your back to it. Oh, anyway, before I forget, I must thank you for agreeing to come today. I have to say that when you walked in here, I almost didn’t recognise you.’
Clara was so taken back she forgot about her question. She had made such an effort and wasn’t sure how to take the remark.
‘Really, Tom?’
‘Oh, no. That came out wrong. I mean, what I’m trying to say is that you look even more beautiful today.
You look lovely in your clergy wear – don’t get me wrong.
But your dress shows your personality. It’s bright and lovely.
Just like you. You look absolutely gorgeous . . . As you always do, of course.’
Clara did her nervous snort, which made Tom laugh.
If only he knew how long it had taken her to decide on what to wear today.
Naturally, she didn’t want to dress for Tom, but she wanted to feel confident, and her long vibrant summer dress with the bright yellow sunflowers always gave her a boost of confidence.
She watched his hazel eyes sparkle as he looked at her and she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming urge to touch his hand from across the table.
Of course, she was much more restrained than that, though, and instead she felt something stir inside her that hadn’t stirred in a very, very long time.
Composing her thoughts, she drained her coffee cup and wondered whether they should order the afternoon tea that sounded so tempting.
Although as much as she would like it, she didn’t want a big blob of cream smearing her face.
She was only too aware that she loved her food a bit too much and would wolf it down like a hungry little piglet.
On a date with someone so lovely, she knew that she needed to show a bit of restraint.
She pondered on whether Tom was enjoying himself but she found him hard to work out, even though he was very complimentary about her.
As she gazed at him, she noticed the perfect Cupid’s bow on his upper lip and the way his hair was starting to grey at the sides.
He was such a distinguished-looking chap.
She was ashamed to admit it to herself but she wondered what he saw in her.
Why her when there were so many other single ladies in Oxford?
Every now and then he seemed to drift off as if on another planet, and she wondered if it was her own insecurities that were making her doubt his intentions, or if he genuinely wasn’t keen.
Maybe, as Eleanora said, he truly did like her but, still, she couldn’t be sure.
He might be desperate to end the date for all she knew.
‘Would you like another coffee?’ asked Tom.
‘If you have time, then I’d love one.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m not going anywhere. I’m enjoying myself far too much here.’
It was as though he had read Clara’s thoughts and she blushed, hoping Tom hadn’t noticed. If he hadn’t been looking at her, she would have wanted to punch the air in delight!
Little did Clara realise but Tom hadn’t enjoyed such genial company in ages.
After ordering two more lattes and deciding on one slice of carrot cake to share, Tom leaned back in his chair. He was beginning to relax a little, as he slowly became an expert at diverting from conversations that he didn’t want to indulge in. He knew the key was to keep the conversation light.
‘So, Clara, if you could sum this date up in a song, which song do you think it would be?’
‘Oh, goodness. I don’t know. What would you say?’
‘That’s easy. Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day”. I mean, look around, isn’t this the most perfect day?’
As the sun beat down on Clara’s skin, with the Cherwell flowing gently beside them, she had to admit that everything had been rather perfect. Not to mention the terrific Tom sat in front of her.
‘You know, I have to agree with you. That is ideal. Maybe that should be our song.’
The moment the words left Clara’s mouth she was mortified.
Did she seriously just suggest that they should have their own song on their first date?
Clara took one of the two forks on the plate in front of her and plopped a huge mouthful of carrot cake in her mouth to stop her from saying anything else she shouldn’t.
‘Well, it was perfect until you ate all the carrot cake,’ said Tom with a smirk.
‘Oh, goodness. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m just teasing you. I love a woman who enjoys eating. Food is good for the soul.’
‘You’re certainly right there.’
‘Don’t you just love cake though? Nothing like it,’ said Tom, finally digging his fork into his half of the carrot cake. Clara liked a man who understood a sweet tooth. There was nothing worse than a man who looked on scornfully at a woman with a big slab of cake in front of her.
‘There’s nothing better, that’s for sure. So, Tom, now that we’ve established that we both have a love of food in common. what else do we have in common? What about music? Who would you say your favourite band is?’
‘I love Dire Straits and Fleetwood Mac but if I had to say a favourite then it would be Def Leppard. I’ve seen them in concert three times.’
‘Really? I’m so jealous. Is it okay to admit that I’ve always had the biggest crush on Joe Elliott?’
It made Tom laugh that this gregarious clergywoman had a crush on the lead singer of a rock band. How she made him smile.
‘It’s okay. Everyone in the Eighties did, even me! I mean, how did he get his hair that good? I tried and ended up with the most hideous mullet.’
‘A mullet? Seriously? No, I can’t imagine.’
Clara and Tom laughed so hard that the table behind them turned to look. The strangers smiled at the couple who appeared as though they had known each other for years.
‘I need photo evidence or it didn’t happen. Come on. Please tell me you have a Facebook account with old pics,’ said Clara.
‘I’m not on social media, actually.’
Clara instantly detected a change in the tone of Tom’s voice. She thought everyone was on social media nowadays, although she could certainly understand the appeal of not being answerable to perpetual messages and likes.
‘Oh, that must be nice. It can become a full-time job. I once didn’t put a thumbs up on a christening event and was unfriended by the mum. It can be very fractious on there.’
‘Indeed.’
‘So, I guess you stay in touch with friends and family the old-fashioned way: by phone.’
‘Oh, I don’t really have much family. They’ve mostly died.’
‘I’m sorry. Both my parents have passed on. That’s the problem at this age. It’s sad but life goes on. Until we see them again in the afterlife.’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
She wanted to lighten the conversation and quickly changed the subject.
‘So, you told me you like Def Leppard and you had a mullet. I bet there are other things too. You have to tell me about all the skeletons in your closet.’ Clara laughed.
She couldn’t wait to hear what other mistakes he’d made during the Eighties.
A perm was the worst thing she had done, which she surmised was probably as bad as a mullet.
‘Umm, skeletons?’
While he sensed Clara’s jovial tone, it made Tom nervous.
Just as he thought he’d worked out how to steer the conversation his way, he was squirming once again.
He wondered whether he should make his excuses and leave before he said anything he might regret.
He knew getting close to someone would have its risks.
It was just that Clara seemed like a risk he couldn’t resist taking.
In spite of his fears, he decided that he didn’t want to leave yet and knew that it was high time he stopped running away from his problems.
‘There really isn’t much to tell. Nope. I’m truly very boring.’
‘You don’t get to our ages without some sort of story. I’m sure you’re far from boring, Tom. You’re fun and love good music for a start. I bet you at least owned a shell suit.’
Tom raised a smile and Clara waited for him to say something funny, but he shrugged his shoulders.
‘No, thankfully that’s one thing I didn’t own. No, there really is nothing exciting at all. You really don’t want to hear my story.’ Tom leaned down to grab the bottle of water he had brought with him and took an almighty glug from it.
‘Please do tell. I would love to hear your story,’ repeated Clara.
Tom averted his eyes, instead watching a punt heading west down the river beside them. Clara noticed how he had drifted off again; it was as though he was in some kind of daydream.
‘No, seriously, there really is nothing to tell.’
Clara sensed his hesitation. She had seen this sort of response plenty of times at church to know when to stop probing but, usually, given time, people started to open up.
Yes, he just needed time, she thought to herself.