It was time to backtrack so when the inevitable text arrived from Rob asking me out for a drink, I (perhaps belatedly) told him the truth. Thankfully, he took it in his stride, laughing it off with a quip: ‘I can’t believe I’ve missed out by a fortnight!’ and moving onto the important matter of setting his friend Mark up with my mate Rowan – it was time for us to play cupid – a role I was much more comfortable in than (faux) femme fatale.
Absolved of my guilt, I was all ready to move smoothly onto the next step with John, but there was one more unexpected hurdle coming up…
‘You’re going to hate me’ was the subject line of the email awaiting me on Monday morning. Huh? Was I about to be dumped just when I’d decided to be a one-man woman? With considerable trepidation and a sinking heart, I hit
While this was certainly a confessional, it was not one designed to send me on my way. In fact, it was John finally owning up to a little white lie, presumably because it now looked like I could be around for a while. He’d lied about his age - when he told me he was 25, he’d been a little generous – he was 24…almost. There was a month till his 24th birthday making him very nearly 6 years younger than me. An unsurmountabe age gap? Clearly not (well not considering there were 17 and 18 year olds in my back catalogue anyway!) but John was seriously, and very endearingly concerned.
I toyed with the idea of feigning fury but his email was just so sincere that I couldn’t bring myself to do it, letting him off the hook with barely a second thought instead. Hasty maybe? I didn’t think so. I was too excited about our third date to worry about it much…and why? Because this time there was no reason for the date to end with a goodnight kiss. This time, a sleepover was on the cards. Finally.
Come Saturday night, I was in a frenzy – What to wear? Where to meet? What if I’d changed my mind about him? What if he’d changed his mind about me? – fortunately there was just enough time for a quick glass of wine and a calming cigarette before date o’clock. While giving myself a little pre-date pep talk in my head, I was interrupted by my phone – a timely text from Rob asking for Rowan’s number to pass on to Mark and enquiring if there was any chance I’d seen sense and given up on John yet. And don’t ask me why (the wine? The nerves?) but for some strange reason, I found myself telling Rob about John’s little lie.
His response: ‘I’m imposing a new rule in my dating game. If they’re a different category on x factor, they’re out. That excludes under 25s. Seriously though, lying already? That’s how it all starts, you know.’
Realising how stupid I’d been to share that particular nugget, I shook off the seed of doubt Rob had planted and ran out the door. Time to get this show on the road. And prove Rob very very wrong. However, sitting outside the pub with John twenty minutes later, I wasn’t at all sure about things. He seemed younger somehow, he even looked younger to me, and the enthusiasm I’d found so irresistible before now came off as puppy dog keen. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. But then he kissed me, and all my doubts evaporated.
The rest of the evening was pretty perfect truth be told. John had miraculously managed to book us a table at one of my favourite restaurants. He made me laugh and he was the perfect gent - holding doors, pulling out my chair, insisting on paying the bill…walking me home. And when I woke up in his arms the next morning, any trace of doubt had disappeared. This was good - six stupid years were not going to change that and neither was Rob.
It was with great reluctance that I kissed John goodbye that afternoon. And when he surprised me by showing up on my doorstep the following morning with coffee and a copy of my favourite soppy film on DVD, I fell in that little bit deeper.
Who was the lap dog now?
Posts
