The Wedding Game

CHAPTER TEN LEXIE

CHAPTER TEN

Lexie

Josh stands to greet me when I arrive at the gastropub he’s suggested. He looks good, his blue eyes twinkle when I arrive and he’s wearing a very lovely fitted white shirt tucked into pale-blue jeans. Men just manage to nail smart-casual so much easier than women. I’m in a wrap dress and flats, because I had no idea how casual the venue would be. It’s in Marylebone and it’s pretending to be a relaxed boozer, when it is in fact a staggeringly expensive gastropub. I’ve caught sight of the menu and am desperately hoping Josh remembers my credit card is maxed out or this could get embarrassing. He leans in to kiss my cheek and I kiss his in return.

‘You look … great,’ he says, ushering me next to him in our semicircular booth-style table. The pub is busy, exuding a hint of glamour played down with antique curios. It’s good to have the sounds of other revellers drowning out what I sense might possibly turn out to be an awkward first date. It was all fine and easy when we were a few drinks in and bantering about wedding bingo. But I wonder now, sober and in the middle of the day, if we’ll have enough to talk about. I’m not sure how I feel, being on this date. Part of me regretted saying yes this morning and I thought about cancelling. But I’ve got to put myself out there a bit more, say yes to things.

‘Thanks. You look good too,’ I reply.

‘I didn’t think you were going to come,’ Josh says with a laugh. He’s not wearing his devil-may-care-stubble today – he’s freshly shaven and I’m not sure which version of him I prefer.

‘Why did you think I wasn’t going to come?’ I’m surprised at his confession, while also wondering if he somehow magically sensed my hesitation.

‘I don’t do this kind of thing often,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure what the protocol is. When people – women – say they’re going to turn up for lunch, if they … really will turn up. It was a bit of a surprise when you walked through the door. A nice one. I genuinely didn’t expect you to.’

Well, now I feel guilty about considering cancelling. ‘The same way as when you goaded me into kissing you and I did, you didn’t expect that, either,’ I tease.

He smiles. ‘I should probably stop underestimating you.’ There’s something in his expression that sends a light tremor of excitement through me.

‘Might be a good idea,’ I say, mock-seductively.

A waitress takes our drinks order, although we’ve not looked at a wine list yet, and so I suggest a bottle of house red and Josh agrees.

‘Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to turn up?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘I’m glad you did, though.’

I’m starting to feel more curious about Josh and ask him, ‘When did you last go on a date?’

He pauses, and his gaze moves gently to the side as he works it out. ‘A proper one? Like this?’

I nod.

‘Maybe two years ago.’

‘Two years …? You’re joking? Have you just been released from prison or are you freshly divorced?’

‘No,’ he answers, laughing. ‘Neither of those things. Do I look like enough of a bad boy to have been incarcerated? I’m not sure how to take that,’ he says with a shocked grin.

‘Why so long, then?’ I ask.

‘I’ve dated – sort of – but I’m so busy with work and life and … all that stuff. You know?’

No , I think. I wish I was so busy with work that I’d lost the ability to date. I’ve dated a bit since my last disaster of a relationship. A swipe here and a swipe there. But it’s been one and done, with each of them. Soulless guys in soulless bars. All of them combine into one immemorable man – the cut-out-and-keep proverbial bad date.

The waitress saves me, returning to take our order. We both opt for fried courgette with flaked truffle to start, followed by roast beef.

‘Is it boring that we’re both having the same thing?’ he asks.

‘Nope. It means we’re in sync, food-wise,’ I say and lift my glass of wine. ‘We’ll have to choose different puddings, though.’

‘Cheers,’ Josh says and we clink glasses. ‘I thought a roast dinner was probably an OK suggestion for a Sunday, especially given it’s not too hot out there. Sort of autumnal enough today, now it’s almost September, to get away with being indoors for lunch.’

‘You know summer’s over when there are no more weddings. Well, for now,’ I say.

‘Have you had a lot?’

‘Too many. It’s all got very expensive. But I am seeing a lot of the UK.’ I tell him about Scarlet and me being each other’s plus-ones throughout the wedding season last year, and again this year. ‘They all sort of merge into one. Hence why we initiated the bingo game.’

I watch Josh smile, dip his gaze down and then back up to me again. ‘Oh yeah,’ he says slowly, softly. ‘The bingo game. I must admit that worked out well for me.’

‘I didn’t do too badly out of it, either,’ I say as our starters are placed in front of us. ‘Although it is all a bit upside down, this way round, isn’t it? Kissing first and then going on a date.’

‘Do you know,’ Josh says, ‘I think everyone should kiss first, date after.’

‘Really?’ I ask, my fork halfway to my mouth.

‘Hear me out,’ he continues. ‘If you and I hadn’t kissed, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?’

‘We might,’ I say. ‘You asked me to dance, remember. If I hadn’t had to rush off to hand someone a drink, who knows where that might have led.’

He looks at me as if he’s not quite sure what I’m insinuating. Am I being suggestive? Is he? I quite like this.

‘You tried to turn me down?’ he says. It’s a question, not a statement. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice. You didn’t initially want to dance with me, but you did want to kiss me?’ He draws out the next word: ‘In-ter-esting.’

‘Perhaps it was the dance that sealed the deal for the kiss?’ I suggest. ‘You asked so sweetly as well, but I’d already agreed to go back to the terrace with drinks for someone else. I left them standing alone for ages so that I could sway awkwardly with you.’

Josh laughs loudly.

‘But as if I could turn you down. Especially as you paid for the drinks.’

He smiles and looks thoughtful. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

By the time we reach our main courses we’ve drunk most of the bottle of wine and have agreed to order a second.

‘You don’t have to drive then?’ Josh asks me as two plates of roast beef and all the trimmings are placed in front of us. There’s so much food, but I’m starving, and I haven’t lined my stomach enough for the amount of wine I’m drinking. I’m having a really nice time. Josh is so easy to talk to; he’s kind of sweet too, sort of unsure of himself, but handsome enough to carry it off.

‘Drive? In central London?’ I ask. ‘Of course not. Do you?’

‘No, but I’ve got to get up stupid early in the morning.’

‘Well, yeah, it is Monday tomorrow,’ I say. ‘How early is stupid early?’

‘Five-thirty a.m.’

‘Ugh! Why?’

‘Work,’ he replies and then asks me, ‘What do you do?’

I tell him I’m temping while I work my way towards something better, although I’m not really sure what that better actually is. I tell him I want to be an interior designer one day, and then I wait for the inevitable advice to be dispensed, but Josh doesn’t offer any, simply saying, ‘Great. I’ve no idea how office jobs work. Is it an easy leap from temping on reception to interior design?’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘Oh, wait, you’re taking the piss.’

‘A little bit,’ he replies and leans forward to top up both our glasses. ‘Do you … have a plan as to how you can become an interior designer? Can you temp and study for it at the same time?’

‘The thought of doing another degree fills me with dread, but now that I know I really do want to be a designer, I’ve started thinking about courses that won’t suck three years of my life out of me.’

‘Can you do an online one or an evening one, or … I dunno how it works.’

‘I suppose I’m having so much trouble actually finding a normal job that it didn’t seem realistic to take my fantasies about my dream job any further right now. I’ve been focusing on working on my portfolio and hoping an internship in a design company might crop up.’

Josh nods, but looks unconvinced. I’m sure I do too. ‘I might have another little look at courses when I get home later,’ I tell him. And I will, although I need to get a proper job in order to fund a course. I shudder inwardly.

I direct my gaze fully at him, noticing again those little flecks of grey within his blue eyes, a little frown line running vertically in between his eyebrows. He looks a little rough around the edges, kind of rugged, not too perfect.

He looks back at me and there’s a quiet moment between us until I think we both realise we’re looking at each other for far too long. I take a mouthful of the delicious roast beef in order to avert my gaze. I still haven’t started on the cauliflower cheese yet, but I fully intend to. I might not eat this well again for months.

‘How’s your food?’ he asks, gesturing to my plate.

‘It’s incredible,’ I say. ‘I think it’s the best beef I’ve ever had. I regret drowning it in so much gravy now. It’s like butter, does that make sense? Like if silk was a food.’ I start on the cauliflower cheese.

He laughs. ‘If silk was a food,’ he echoes thoughtfully.

‘Where do you live?’ I ask, putting my knife and fork down for a bit. I want to look polite and not as if I’m eating for survival – which I am.

‘Somerset,’ he says.

I frown. ‘Which bit of London is that?’

He laughs. ‘It’s not,’ he replies. ‘It’s just at the bottom of the Cotswolds.’

‘Oh,’ I say, and I’m sure my mouth has dropped open. ‘You live in the Cotswolds ?’

‘Yeah.’

I sit back, stare at him. ‘Really?’

It’s his turn to frown, to stare back at me. ‘Yeah.’

‘Oh,’ I repeat, wondering why we’re here, having this date, if he lives nowhere near me? I’m reminded of Chris and his early disclosure that he lives in New York. It’s happened to me again. I can’t believe this.

‘Hang on,’ I say, hazily remembering our chat at the wedding. ‘I asked if you lived in London and you said yes.’

He recoils a bit. ‘No. No, you didn’t. You, rather weirdly, asked if I lived somewhere that required a plane ride to get to.’

I look at Josh directly. I feel I’ve been duped and I’m not sure why. ‘I just assumed you lived in London,’ I say rather pathetically.

‘Does it matter?’ Josh asks. ‘Have you got an aversion to anyone who lives outside the M25?’

‘No, of course not,’ I tell him. ‘But … how long does it take you to get into London from Somerset?’

‘About two hours, as long as the trains aren’t running late. I’ve got a bit of a drive at the other end as well, but today my mate’s picking me up later, so I could have some drinks with you.’

‘Oh my God,’ I say loudly. ‘You live for ever away.’

He laughs. ‘Well, not really. I mean, it’s a bit of a drive or – you know – the train.’

‘I’m totally thrown by this,’ I tell him honestly.

‘I can see that,’ Josh replies and his shoulders rise and fall briefly as he chuckles. ‘In a way I should probably take this as a good sign: you being a little miffed that I live quite far away. If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t care.’

I narrow my eyes, but I can’t help smiling. Maybe he’s right.

I lean forward, take up my wine glass, sit back and think. ‘What do you do, all the way out in Somerset?’

‘I’m a farmer,’ he says and I actually cough on my wine. The surprises keep coming.

‘You’re a farmer ? A real one?’

‘A real one,’ he confirms.

‘I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leg.’

‘I’m really not. I’m probably one of the most honest people you’re ever going to meet. To a fault. I live in Somerset and I’m a farmer.’

I look at this man, slightly rugged, very tanned and, dare I say it, handsome and I can see it. I see that he’s not like everyone else in this restaurant. He’s different. Earthier, raw, but in a good way.

‘What do you farm?’ I ask, determined to catch him out. ‘Or are you actually a stockbroker, and any second now you’re going to cave in and confess you live in Islington?’

‘Beef and dairy,’ he replies. He’s enjoying this, I can tell. ‘I farmed the lunch you just ate. That’s why I chose this particular pub. I’m one of their suppliers.’

My mouth opens in surprise and I feel it move into a smile. Josh is refreshing, in so many ways.

‘Well,’ I say, failing to mask my disbelief. ‘This city girl is surprised. I didn’t see that coming.’

‘I can’t tell if it’s put you off,’ Josh says, sitting back. ‘If I ask you out again …?’ He leaves that question there.

‘How would we do that?’ I ask, as I can’t see how the logistics of this are going to work. But … I am interested in seeing Josh again. This revelation surprises me. I didn’t see it going past this one date, which is why it felt fine to book it in the first place. To put myself out there.

But at the back of my mind is Chris. It felt wrong to be seeing Josh when I’m messaging Chris. I know this is how it works these days. I know we all need to keep our options open in the early days – only make decisions when decisions need to be made. But it just feels a bit seedy. It’s having been cheated on; I know that’s what’s making me hypersensitive to the possibility of hurting someone else. And getting hurt myself.

‘I get Sundays off. Or, rather, I force myself to take Sundays off while someone else from my team looks after the animals. I could come back into London again next week, late on Saturday, and get a hotel for the night, spend the evening with you, all of Sunday if you want – it could work. But how about …’ he says teasingly, ‘how about we see how the rest of the lunch goes? I might yet change my mind.’

I play-thump him on his arm and Josh winces, laughs.

Conversation flows so easily as we learn more about each other. And, in contrast to how it was with Chris, there is so much small talk. It’s the details, the tiny little nicks and cuts of a human that make them who they are, and I like finding out these things about Josh. By the time we’ve finished lunch, opting for coffee over dessert, we decide to walk off our food. I’m reluctant to leave the dark and moody surroundings of the pub; it’s a little bubble where Josh and I have dined and laughed, talked and drunk. We sidled a little closer to each other when coffee came, and I could feel the heat emanating from his arm as he showed me pictures of his farm on his phone. I told him I needed some sort of proof.

Exiting the pub, we’re confronted by the bright glare of the late-summer sun. ‘It feels later, like it should be night-time,’ I say, fumbling in my bag for my sunglasses. Josh hasn’t brought any and I can see white lines around the side of his eyes where the sun doesn’t get in, as he must wince in the glare when he’s working. We walk for a while as I grill him about farm life. I’m enjoying hearing more about this man and, as we cross the road, his hand rests on my back to escort me towards Kensington Palace Gardens.

‘You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?’ I say as we enter the lush green space.

‘I’m well-trained,’ he replies. ‘I always forget London has such huge parks.’ People ride bikes past, and families with small children meander next to us. ‘It feels like the countryside.’

‘Do you want to be a tourist and get tickets for the palace?’

‘I can’t,’ Josh says reluctantly. ‘I have to go soon.’

My eyes widen. ‘Already?’ Men keep running out on me.

‘Sadly,’ he says. I think he means it. ‘I didn’t like to automatically presume this would go well, so I booked a return ticket and I haven’t got long.’

‘Oh,’ I reply, sadness sweeping me up in its grasp. That has to be a good sign, because I don’t want him to go. I wonder briefly if he’s going to do a Chris – invite me to go with him. But Josh doesn’t.

We’re on a tree-lined avenue with cherry and magnolia glades on either side and, as we naturally come to a stop, Josh says, ‘Can I see you again?’

‘Yes,’ I reply meaningfully. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Next weekend?’ he suggests and I agree.

‘Can I walk with you to the station?’ I ask.

He glances at his watch. ‘I genuinely think I’m going to have to break into a run or I will miss my train. It’s not going to look effortless or cool, but I’ve got no choice.’

‘Oh, OK then. Quickly. Go!’

‘But first,’ he says and dips his head, brushes his lips against my cheek, withdraws and backs away.

‘No proper kiss this time?’ I call after him.

‘Something to look forward to next weekend,’ he calls back, laughing from a few feet away. And then he changes his mind, comes back to me, pulls me towards him and kisses me. I love how his body feels pressed against mine, how his mouth feels against mine, how we feel in each other’s arms – here, like this. It’s so hot and so unexpected. All of it.

He pulls away, brushes my lips with his once more, lightly, which is far too seductive for this time and place. ‘OK, I really need to go now,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you?’

‘Yes, please,’ I reply.

He turns and jogs away, raising his arm in the air to wave, and I can’t help laughing because Josh was not at all what I was expecting.