Chapter 30 No luck catching them rubber ducks then?
No luck catching them rubber ducks then?
What the hell do you wear to a date? I wish Maahni had started working with me earlier, at least I would’ve known the correct colours of clothes to buy. Toby’s message wasn’t helpful either.
He just said that he will be at my house at twelve tomorrow and to wear comfortable, covered clothes. Does he mean sports clothes? Or, like, jeans and a turtleneck?
There is only one person in this house. And, fortunately, it is not my dad, who just found a stamp worth ten whole British pounds (good luck) and is meeting someone in a parking lot of a Big Tesco to exchange it for cash.
‘Yes?’ Hanako shouts out to my knock.
‘What do I wear to a date?’ I ask, opening the door.
‘You have a date?!’ She whips her head from the monitor, pausing some Chinese gambling game.
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Aren’t you, like, a nun?’
‘I’ll beat your ass.’
‘Does Dad know?’
‘No, it’s the first date. I’m not going to tell him anything.’
‘Oh, but I get grounded.’
‘Hanako, I’m 24.’
‘That old?’ she asks, genuinely surprised, and dodges the pillow I chuck at her head. ‘What’s the activity on the date?’
‘He said it’s a surprise,’ I say, and she grimaces. ‘What?’
‘Not very considerate, is he?’
‘He just said something covered. And a hat.’
‘Oh god, you’re meeting his parents.’
‘What?’
‘Why else would he ask you to cover?’
‘I thought it might be something to do with nature.’
‘That also would make sense. But that’s, like, two completely different outfits.’
‘That’s what I mean!’ I cover my face and drop onto her bed.
I wish Sashka and I were talking. She would have figured this out.
She also has been on dates with him. My stomach sinks, my palms clam up, and my vision blurs.
I have stalked Sashka’s socials almost every day since we last spoke.
I could have reached out, but part of me is still hurt by her actions, and the other part of me is embarrassed that I’ve hurt her.
‘Maybe I’ll cancel,’ I mumble into the sister of the pillow I threw earlier.
‘Stop it. I am sure if it got far enough for him to ask you out, it really doesn’t matter what you wear. Be braver.’
I did promise Toby to not bail.
‘I hate it when you are right.’
When Saturday rolls onto my doorstep, I am ready.
UV protective long-sleeved top and black jeans.
Dad is out with his rounder’s team, their uniform got delivered to the wrong address (bad luck) and now they have to go and locate the parcel.
The couch creaks every fifteen seconds, which is every time I nervously shuffle.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been on a proper date.
I used to sleep around, but that is different to getting to know a person.
Like what do I even talk about? My dead mum?
Oh my god, I haven’t told him about my dead mother.
I can’t do it now, what if that’s too much baggage?
I can’t talk about John or Sashka. I’ve already told him about Hannah getting into York and that Spriggy girl.
I am boring. There is nothing, absolutely nothing interesting about me. I’m going to fuck th—
The doorbell rings. I jump up and gallop across the room. Hannah appears, witnesses me running and turns around on her heels after my rapid go-away wave.
‘Hey.’ Toby’s confused smile flashes at me. ‘You opened the door very quickly.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I put on some plain trainers.
‘Excited to see me?’ he asks with an arrogantly raised eyebrow.
Something dismissive is about to escape my mouth, but I do not get a chance to say it. His hand slides into mine and pulls me from the house, barely letting me shut the door.
‘I hope you are prepared for today.’ He is not skipping, but I feel like he is one muscle away from it.
‘What are we doing?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he says as if bopping my nose.
His joyous demeanour is infectious. ‘I would, actually. How far are we going? You are not taking me fishing by any chance?’
‘There is a river involved.’
First stop is the local market that recently reopened after a three-year hiatus, possibly related to a global event that no one really likes to talk about.
I’ve either never been, or I suppressed the memory during an annoying teenage phase in which I considered walking around stalls and talking to people excruciating.
Probably that. The market snakes around a square surrounded by pubs and small shops.
This area used to be a silk mill, apprentices’ living quarters, and a printing workshop, but it has been transformed into independent stores and a pottery shop, with the old water mill still functioning.
The names of the pubs are related to William Morris, who used to print textiles in the neighbouring area.
There are so many people around, with pints, Pimm’s and Aperol on their tables, and even more people going to the stalls.
Local chilli jams, breads, cheeses, seafood.
The independent bookshop is displaying books by South Asian authors to celebrate South Asian Heritage Month.
This area is so alive, and I haven’t been here in years
I have never seen Toby interacting with people outside the office, but he is so charming and personable.
While I just walk around, smile, and shake my head if someone asks me if I’m interested in anything, Toby talks to everyone.
He also says things louder, which allows other people around him to join the conversation.
He gives everything a try and hands me the rice crackers with mango jalapeno spread.
The fishmonger and he find common language about the river that the mill is on and types of fish you can catch here.
He likes Toby so much that he opens fresh oysters for Toby and me to try.
For free. The fishmonger lost ￡2 from that interaction.
He finds common ground with every single person he speaks to. Half of the ladies try to pry his relationship status out of him, to which he confidently responds by grabbing my hand and saying, ‘It’s our first date, actually. Took months of convincing her.’
It was one-and-a-bit months, thank you very much. They would laugh and congratulate us, but I see it—the surprise in their eyes. You? Convincing her?
I swallow my pride the first two times, but three times in a row and my mood definitely sours.
‘You all right?’ Toby asks.
‘Yeah, this is really cool, isn’t it?’ I squeeze out a smile.
‘Have you been here before?’
‘They do very good steak over there.’ I point at the building with a pirate ship in front of it.
Toby’s apprehension is written all over his face. ‘Right.’
‘I promise you! Mum’s word.’
‘We should check it out sometime. I’ll hold you accountable if you lied.’
A woman with a clipboard and a wooden box floats to us in an overly enthusiastic manner.
‘You two look like people who would join our raffle to fund the upkeep of the water mill! It’s ￡1 for a set of two entries, ￡5 for a set of twelve.
First place wins a spa massage from the studio above the hat boutique, second place gets a house plant from Earth Growth, and third place gets a dozen cupcakes from Tiama Bakes. ’
She points at each stall.
‘We’re so in.’ Toby gives her a tenner. She writes our names and phone numbers against the raffle numbers, which I think breaks some data protection rules, but that would bring the mood down.
‘The winners will be announced at one! Good luck.’ She chases down a family and works her magic on them.
‘We will need that massage after the next stop.’ He turns to me.
‘What do you have planned?’
‘Quacky Races. Once we leave the mill area, a pavemented road will take us all the way to a National Trust park that today holds a rubber duck race that has resumed after a three-year hiatus.’
Huh, déjà vu, I wonder what could have happened?
‘Why did you ask me to wear something covered?’ I ask fearfully.
Will I need to jump in the water?
‘I’ve seen what you wear to the club. This is a family event. Don’t want to fight some 6-year-olds to lower their gaze. I kid. I knew we were going to be outside. I assume the bug issue might be worse for you if they are right on your skin.’
‘Wow, a knight in shining armour,’ I lilt out. ‘So are you telling me I could’ve worn something cuter?’
‘What do you mean? You look plenty cute.’
The rubber ducks aren’t the only ones racing, seems like my heart is joining in too.
‘Are we betting on duckies?’ I ask, trying to distract from my blushing face.
‘We are so racing.’
‘What?’
‘C’mon. This is going to be so fun. We can make a bet like you suggested.’
‘Like what? Loser pays for dinner?’
‘Loser cooks dinner.’
‘What if I can’t cook?’
‘What if you don’t lose?’
His gaze is so piercing, that it feels as if he can see through my skin, through the cogs that are ticking in my head.
He is not saying that he sees that I am in a slightly off mood, but his encouraging motherly tone suggests that he did actually pick up on my quietness.
Which sucks, because that means I am not as good at hiding things as I wish to be.
‘Fine.’ I muster up the courage and go to put my name down and select the duck for race number four.
They are planning for sixty races today. Ambitious.
Ten ducks are lined in a row with a stick by a man with extremely long wellies. The river will take the rubber down the stream, where two volunteers are going to catch the ducks after they cross the finish line, about 20 m away.
On your marks, get set, go. The ducks are released and taken away by the stream. Toby’s red duck is a runner. The other ducks (yellow, pink, green, and red) belong to the children and are lagging. My blue one is speeding ahead. I can really win this—only 10 m left.
‘C’mon, blue duckie!’ I scream and hear Toby wheezing with laughter.
The finish line is so close, you can almost smell it. You can almost taste it. You can almost—
What the actual fuck?
A fat-bellied heron drops down from the sky and picks up the blue duck. My blue duck. It lifts back up, toy in its beak. It drops my duck-shaped racehorse on the grassy ground, probably realising that it’s not edible.
The audience roars in shock. Laughter breaks loose from all corners. They have never seen anything like this, the parents tell their children. Toby’s duck is proclaimed winner.
‘This is unheard of, Fuko,’ he whispers to me in awe, the last stage of a hysterical giggle.
My face is in my hands, as I crouch away from people. I don’t move, as I do not know what to do to process what I just witnessed. I was so close to winning, but nature itself intervened.
‘I need a moment,’ I say quietly and walk towards the park’s cafe.
The bathroom smells damp. I don’t even need to use it. I just sit on the toilet without pulling my trousers down. It’s not that I am upset about the silly duck race—that would be childish. But I am... something. I guess I just really wanted to impress Toby.
The water runs over my hands, even though I didn’t need to wash them, but I don’t want other people to think that I’m a gross and unhygienic individual.
When I walk out back into the light, Toby is talking to the people in the coffee shop.
All of them: the staff, the old ladies, the families are talking to him as if he is an old friend.
Moments before, neither of them probably uttered a single word to each other, but now there is a discussion about the children’s program, old ice cream flavours that went out of fashion, and what they are going to do with the building that used to be a popular pizza chain about a week ago.
Toby hands me a coffee, and we sit down in the courtyard.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘You are very impressive,’ I blurt out without thinking.
He chokes on his coffee. ‘What? How come?’
‘You make friends everywhere you go. It’s as if you’re lacking the genes to be awkward.’
‘I was very awkward around you, if you remember. But that’s because I fancied you.’
‘I just feel like... I don’t know, let me ramble, and maybe I will get to the point, eventually.’
‘Please go ahead.’
‘I have always been ashamed of certain things. Looking different, sounding different, being bad at things, being unlucky. Exhibit A—the bird—I do not understand how that could have possibly happened to anyone, yet it happens to me constantly. I worry that I won’t be good enough to be around you.
Everyone loves you, and those women at the market loved you.
They couldn’t understand why you would want to be with someone like me, and I don’t blame them because neither do I. ’
‘Fuko—’
‘It’s just... I feel like I’ll always be a hindrance. I make horrible choices. Like did I tell you that whenever things get even slightly bad, I call John. I’ve been using him for years, and I justify it because he’s not a good person. But I am just as bad for stringing him along.’
‘I think—’
‘And that monstrous bird. I thought that maybe if I won this kiddy race I would at least have something. Something that I can show you that isn’t my normal mistakes, or my usual insecurities. Because I think... I think I’ve really started to fall for you.’
That just came out. I didn’t mean to say it, but I did, and now he is staring at me. Is it fear in his eyes? Oh god, I’ve fucked it. My mouth opens and closes like I am a fish witnessing colourful rubber birds bobbing up and down the stream.
My instinct is kicking in—to take it back or to run away.
But I sit, waiting to hear what he says.
His face turns red, perfectly matching mine.
Does he have the same fears as me? Of this being too soon and too sudden?
If he does, those fears do not interfere with his hands cupping my face and his lips finding mine.
Damn, I really wish I had worn something nicer—it could have been a perfect shot.
The bell on my amulet jingles, stopping the kiss as my phone starts ringing.
Reluctantly, I grumble and pull away from the kiss. ‘Hello?’
‘Is this Fookoh?’ asks the woman on the other end of the phone.
‘Yes,’ I say and shrug my shoulders at Toby’s silent question.
‘I am calling from the raffle.’
‘Raffle,’ I mouth to Toby.
‘You are our third-place winner.’
‘I won?’ I jump up.
‘The massages?’ Toby jumps up with me, and I shake my head. The second prize was...
‘Yes, please collect the cupcakes from Merton Abbey Mills by three o’clock today.’
‘We are coming right now.’ I hang up. ‘Toby, we have cupcakes to collect.’
‘That’s even better than a spa massage!’
‘It isn’t, but I like your energy.’
The cupcakes have no nuts, as Tiama’s daughter is also allergic. Toby and I share two cupcakes each. We laugh about the heron and the Quacky Races. Toby promises to be more forthcoming about future dates so I can plan appropriate attire.
We shake our hands, confirming that, although I did not lose in the true sense of the word, Toby did win the race. So our next date will have to include me cooking for him.
Small price to pay for the warmth that spreads from just being around someone who is so beloved by everyone, but chooses to be with me.