The Wedding Date

‘Drums.’

I picture Harry Judd from McFly. Nice. Very nice. ‘Are you any good?’

‘Me or the band?’

I hand over the money and give what I hope is a coy one-shouldered shrug. ‘Both.’

Dan smiles. His eyes crinkle up and an adorable dimple appears in his right cheek. Swoontastic, right? ‘We’re pretty good. At least I think so. You should come and hear us play some time.’

‘I’d love to.’ I probably answer a tad too quickly. He’s barely finished his sentence, which makes me appear overly keen, but so what? Dan has asked me out – sort of – which is exactly what I want.

‘Great. We’re playing The Wheatsheaf on Bolan Street on Friday. Do you know it?’

‘Yes.’ I will Google Map it. ‘What time?’

‘We start at nine but we’ll be there earlier than that if you’d like to meet for a drink before.’

Yes, yes, yes!

Delilah James, you have yourself a date. Project Wedding Date is under way.

Chapter 6

The Worst Date Ever

Text Message:

Delilah: Have you SEEN the new barman?

Lauren: Hot, right?

Delilah: So hot!

Lauren: He has a dimple. I love a dimple

Delilah: Dimples are so cute and did you see his bum when he bent down to pick up that 50p?

Lauren: Good call dropping that, by the way

I’ve never seen Dan outside of The Farthing. I only ever see him outside of the bar when he goes on the odd glass-collection round. He seems much shorter in The Wheatsheaf. Not Santa’s helper-short, but he only just reaches my chin and I’m not even wearing heels. I’d agonised over outfits this evening – did I go for a dress, trousers or skirt? Casual or dressy up? Heels or flats?

‘That one’s easy,’ Lauren had told me. She’d helpfully popped round after work to help me prepare. ‘Dan’s a bit… vertically challenged, remember.’

So I’d gone for a pair of nude ballet pumps (thankfully), black skinny jeans and a floaty top. Not too casual but not too smart either. It was the Baby Bear of the fashion world.

‘You made it! Brilliant!’ Dan holds out his palm and I look at it for a moment before it dawns on me that he wants me to high-five it. I place my palm on his briefly before snatching it away. ‘Let me get you a drink and then you can meet the guys.’

I’ve never been to The Wheatsheaf before as it’s a bit out of the way. My first impression is that it’s quite dark. And a little bit dingy. It also seems to be missing its patrons. Apart from me and Dan, there is only a lone barmaid, bored and staring into space.

‘Hey, Donna.’ Dan hops up onto a stool at the bar (I’m surprised that he makes it. The stool is almost as tall as he is). The barmaid springs to life, her heavily made-up eyes wide and fluttery.

‘What can I get you, Dan?’ Donna’s eyes flicker to me and she scowls before beaming at Dan once more. She leans towards him, flashing a sizeable cleavage. It looks like Daddy Warbucks and King Mongkut of Siam are tucked down her top. ‘Your usual?’ She cocks an eyebrow at me. Yes, she’s saying. I know Dan’s usual. Do you?

I don’t, actually. I’ve never seen him drink anything at The Farthing. Not even a glass of water.

‘Please.’ Dan turns to me. ‘Usual?’

Ha! Dan knows my usual, Donna.

‘Yes. Thank you, Dan.’ I do a bit of fluttering myself but stop when I realise I look like a berk.

‘Two pints, please. And one for yourself.’

Donna’s eyebrows are raised at me as she passes to grab a couple of glasses. He’s buying me a drink too, they’re saying. This isn’t over.

‘Come on, let’s go and meet the others.’ Dan hops back down from the stool and grabs his pint, leading me to the back of the pub and through a door marked private. There’s a room beyond with a ratty old sofa, a precarious pile of old, dusty portable TVs and several boxes of crisps. There isn’t a window so the room is stuffy as it’s crammed with bodies, junk and instruments.

‘This is Mickey, Tris, Leona, Gary, Doodle and Munch.’ Dan introduces his friends, who nod and murmur greetings. ‘Guys, this is Delilah.’

Doodle and Munch grin at each other before they break out into song, serenading me with ‘Hey There Delilah’ by Plain White T’s. I smile and giggle as though it isn’t the twenty millionth time this has been done to me.

‘Leave her alone now.’ Dan grabs my hand and leads me through the assault course of the room. ‘Have a seat.’

I look down at the scabby sofa with its stuffing hanging out of old, fraying wounds. It smells of something I can’t identify. Something bad.

‘I’m all right standing. I’ve been sitting down at work all day.’

‘I don’t blame you for not wanting to sit on that.’ Leona, the only other girl, nods towards the stinky sofa. ‘That thing smells like somebody ate shit and threw it back up again across the cushions.’

And what a delightful image that is.

‘I really would rather stand for a while.’

Leona shrugs. ‘Fair enough. If you do want to sit down though, you’re better off sitting out in the bar.’

‘She can’t, can she?’ Doodle asks. ‘Not with Dan anyway. Donna’s out there.’ Doodle shakes his head at Dan. ‘You shouldn’t have banged her, man. That bitch is never going to leave you alone now.’

Dan has the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable, which only makes Doodle throw his head back and laugh his puny little head off.

‘Leave it, will you?’ Dan asks, but Doodle does not. He ups his game and starts to do impressions of Dan and Donna in the act, using Munch as a prop. To be fair to Munch, he isn’t at all happy with the arrangement.

I look at the time. There are almost two hours until the band are due to start their set. It’s going to be a long night.

The pub has started to fill up a little more by the time we escape the suffocating storeroom. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be out of there. I thought the smell of the sofa was bad, but then Doodle and Munch tried to outdo each other with farts and I would have quite happily shoved my face into the sofa cushions and inhaled deeply to mask their stench. At one point Munch had grabbed the seat of his jeans and waddled out of the room, declaring that he may well have shat himself. He couldn’t be sure and we haven’t seen him since.

‘I’m sorry about them,’ Dan says as we shuffle out of the storeroom. We’re carrying bits of drum kit, so it’s a slow walk to the corner of the pub where the band will play shortly. ‘They’re ok once you get to know them.’

‘It’s ok.’ I have to remind myself that I’m on a date with Dan and not his mates, otherwise I’ll drop the drum I’m lugging across the room and leg it. ‘They’re not that bad, really.’

‘They’re a laugh, aren’t they?’

Is Dan being serious? ‘Mmm.’ I’m not committing either way. It’s far too soon to pick faults with his mates.

‘I’m sorry about Donna too.’ Dan and I dump the kit in the corner before returning to the dreaded storeroom to pick up more. It still stinks. ‘I didn’t think she’d be working tonight. She doesn’t usually do Fridays.’

‘It’s fine.’ It’s none of my business, really.

‘It only happened once and I was completely off my face. I couldn’t even remember it but Munch filmed it on his phone.’

‘He filmed it?’ We pick up more bits of drum and shuffle out of the cupboard. ‘How did you not notice him in your room?’ I have visions of Munch crouching in Dan’s wardrobe, his phone poking out of a crack in the door. The weird little degenerate.

‘We weren’t in my room. We were out there.’ Dan nods towards the back of the pub. ‘Out in the alley. It was so dark you can’t really tell it’s me but I recognised my trainers.’ He sticks out his foot, displaying a pair of trainers that must be three-hundred years old. ‘And you can’t miss Donna and her big gob.’

Dan starts to tinker with the drum kit and I excuse myself to pop to the loo. This date is not going at all as I expected. I thought it’d be fun to hang out with Dan outside of The Farthing. We’ve always got on so well and he seemed fun and charming, but I’m seeing very little of that now. I don’t like this Dan and I really don’t like his friends.

‘Looking forward to the show?’

I jump at the sound of the voice as I leave the stall. I hadn’t heard anyone else come in but Leona is standing at the grimy mirror, the contents of her makeup bag tipped into the sink. She’s busily applying eyeliner, thick and neat with an elaborate flick at the corners.

‘Yes.’ At least I was, until I met the band. ‘How long have you been together?’

Leona screws the lid on the eyeliner, swapping it for mascara, which she applies liberally. ‘Since school, so about five years.’

‘Five years?’ My stomach does a funny jumpy thing. ‘How old are you guys?’

‘Me and Gary are twenty-one, the others are twenty.’ Leona applies a final coat of mascara before topping up her blusher.

Twenty? Dan is twenty? I thought he was older – my age at least – but he’s practically a boy. It explains the childishness, at least.

‘He likes you, you know.’ Leona gathers up her makeup, shoving it into her cosmetics bag. ‘I can tell. He’s sort of lit up since you’ve been around. Do you like him?’ Leona zips up her bag and turns to face me. She purses her lips and I feel myself wilt under her scrutiny.

‘Yes,’ I croak. ‘He’s a great guy.’

‘Dan’s the best.’ Leona checks her reflection one last time. ‘Not my type though. I prefer tits.’ Turning from the mirror, Leona marches out of the loo, but not before she’s given my boob a squeeze as she passes. I gape at her, not sure whether it actually happened or I imagined it. Did she seriously just fondle my boob?

‘Nice, by the way.’ Leona winks at me before the door swings shut behind her.

It’s official. This is the worst date ever.

Chapter 7

Mum, Dad & Pretend Gym Sessions

Text Message:

Mum: Hello? Delilah? Are you there, love?

Delilah: Mum, this is a text message. You don’t have to check if I’m here. Just say what you want to say.

Mum: Right you are. I’m at the shops. Does Lauren want to come for her tea tonight? And does she like Crispy Pancakes?

Mum and Dad – Raymond and Nancy James – have been married for over forty years. Mum was eighteen when she married Dad but they didn’t have their first child until she was thirty-two as they were having so much fun together. They travelled the world and even spent a year in a tiny camper van as they drove across Europe. They had no ties or responsibilities so they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. They’d party until dawn, have a quick kip and party some more. I can’t quite believe this when I look at my parents but they have photo evidence.

My sister Clara was a surprise (but a good surprise, they insist. I often wonder whether that’s true myself) and while they enjoyed the challenge of being parents and saw it as a new and enriching experience in their lives, it was another five years until I came along. I’m twenty-four now but Mum still sees me as a four-year-old in white frilly ankle socks and carrying a Danger Mouse lunchbox to school. It’s only in the last three months that I’ve convinced her to stop making me a packed lunch to take to work (thankfully not in a Danger Mouse lunchbox) and she still thinks fish fingers are my favourite food. Now, I’m not dissing fish fingers. They’re a fine food and nothing cures a hangover quite like a fish finger sandwich, but my tastes have broadened since I gave up the white frilly ankle socks. Ben used to take me to a seafood restaurant in town while we were together and there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for a lobster roll.

‘How was work, love?’ Mum asks as I flop down at the kitchen table. I haven’t even bothered to take my jacket off and my handbag is still slung across my chest.

Rubbish. Work was absolutely ball-achingly rubbish and I’ve felt the urge to stab Katey-Louise in the eye with a sharpened pencil on several occasions. I refrained, obviously, but only just.

‘Like that, is it?’ Mum asks when I simply lift my eyes to meet hers and let out a puff of air. ‘Well, that’s Mondays for you. But it’s over now – the boring bit, at least. Are you off out with your gentleman friend again tonight?’

I’d stupidly told Mum about my date with Dan, though I hadn’t revealed any of the gory details.

‘No, not tonight.’ Not ever.

‘Never mind. You’re getting back out there again and that’s the main thing.’ Mum flicks on the kettle and starts to arrange cups on the counter, dropping in teabags and spooning coffee and sugar accordingly. ‘It’ll do you good to date new people. It’s been a while since you and Ben broke up.’

Before he dumped me, she means. “Broke up” sounds mutual, which it definitely was not.

‘It hasn’t been that long.’

‘It’s been nine months, love. That’s an awfully long time to be on your own.’

‘I’m not on my own.’ I stick my chin out. ‘I have my friends and I have you and Dad.’

Mum smiles, her lips giving a half-sympathetic, half-amused twitch. ‘You know me and your dad love spending time with our little Delly.’ I groan. Nobody but Mum and Dad call me Delly, but that’s still two people too many. ‘But we’re getting on a bit now. We’re old farts. You should be out there, enjoying yourself. Getting blind drunk and flashing your lady area when you fall down in the gutter. I know people think it’s a travesty with the nation’s youth binge-drinking, but it never did me and your dad any harm.’ Mum’s face lights up with a beaming, I’m-reliving-my-past smile. ‘We had such fun, you know. Your dad was such a fabulous dancer. So sexy! All the girls were jealous that he married me, you know.’ Mum’s smile falters as she catches my eye and she’s brought back down to Earth, back to our kitchen and my failed love life. ‘That’s what I want for you, Delilah. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want for my children.’

‘And I am happy.’ Sort of. It’s difficult to be truly happy when the love of your life is engaged to another woman. ‘But I’m not ready to date anybody new yet.’

‘It didn’t go well with your new chap then?’

Understatement alert! I simply shake my head. I’m not ready to confide in Mum just what a disaster my date with Dan – my first date since Ben – had turned out to be.

‘It looks like you’re staying in with me and your dad tonight then.’ Mum turns as the kettle clicks off and pours boiling water into the cups. ‘There’s a Bruce Willis film on so I thought we’d watch that.’

Mum isn’t a huge fan of Bruce Willis but she does have a thing about pointing out how sexy bald celebrities are whenever Dad is present, to show that she isn’t at all bothered by his thinning hair. She recently went through a phase of making us watch ancient repeats of The Crystal Maze and practically salivated whenever Richard O’Brien was on screen.

‘I’d love to stay in and watch you perv on Bruce Willis, but unfortunately it’s a gym day. Lauren will be picking me up soon.’

My busted knee is no longer a valid excuse to avoid the gym and it’s lost its powers on Denise too, unfortunately.

‘Is that a brew I can smell?’ Dad, home from work, plods into the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair. He wraps his arms around Mum’s waist and kisses her noisily on the cheek.

‘How was work, love?’ Mum adds milk to the drinks and places them on the table. Our family has always spent a lot of time either in the garden or in the kitchen. Mum and Dad don’t like to be cooped up and the kitchen offers the most light and a fantastic view of the garden through the French doors. When it starts to get a little bit warmer, the French doors will be flung open and the other rooms in the house will only be used when absolutely necessary.

‘It wasn’t bad.’ Dad sits down at the table, cradling his hands around his cup of coffee. ‘Some kid tried pocketing a stash of Snickers so I took him into the office and threatened to phone the police.’ Dad is the manager of one of the local supermarkets and seems to spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with sticky-fingered youths.

‘And did you phone the police?’ Mum opens the oven to check the food inside. The delicious aroma of shepherd’s pie fills the kitchen and my stomach rumbles. Why oh why did Lauren have to develop a crush on a guy at the gym? There is no way I’ll be able to eat Mum’s shepherd’s pie before a session.

‘Nah. The lad started blubbering and that’s enough for me.’ Dad blows on his coffee and takes a tentative sip. ‘And I told him, if you’re going to nick a chocolate bar, at least make it a Twix.’

‘Oh, Ray.’ Mum grabs a tea towel and whips Dad lightly with it. ‘You shouldn’t encourage them.’

‘I’m not, but if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.’

I leave them to it, taking my cup of coffee upstairs to change into my gym kit.

‘Was it really that bad?’ Lauren asks as we stroll along side-by-side on the treadmills. This is the first time I’ve seen Lauren since The Worst Date Ever as I was too humiliated to relay what happened to my friends the next day and there was no way I was turning up to the pub quiz last night. Lauren and Ryan went without me and, for the first time ever, they didn’t come last. They came second-to-last, which isn’t anything to get mega excited about but it’s still an improvement. I’m not sure what to make of it. Does my presence bring down the intelligence of the group as a whole? Or was it a badly-timed fluke?

‘It really was that bad.’ I cringe just thinking about my date with Dan. ‘Worse, even. His friend soiled himself, for goodness’ sake!’

‘What were the band like? Any good? Because if they were anything like McBusted, a little poopy pantage is forgivable.’

‘Oh, Lauren.’ I sigh, long and heavy. ‘They were awful.’ The band consisted of drummer Dan, two keyboardists, Gary and Doodle (who shared the same keyboard and played it between them, sometimes seemingly at random), acoustic guitarist Mickey (whose guitar had a missing string), lead singer Leona and tambourinist, Tris. Munch didn’t seem to have a role other than leaping around and being a bell-end.

‘It was like at primary school, when the teacher hands out instruments and there’s just noise. I half expected them to burst into “The Wheels on the Bus”.’

Lauren presses her lips together and I know she’s desperately holding in a giggle. I’m mad at her for half a second, annoyed that she finds my misery entertaining. But then I picture Munch performing a flying kick, making contact with the edge of a nearby table and falling flat on his back before being showered with some poor bugger’s pint and I find myself sniggering. I catch Lauren’s eye and that’s it, we’re pissing ourselves laughing on the treadmill, clutching the rail with one hand and our stomachs with the other.

‘So you won’t be going on a second date with Dan then?’

‘Absolutely not.’ The laughter drains away now. ‘What am I going to do? How am I going to face him at the pub?’ Some may say that finding a new local is a bit drastic, but I’m not convinced I’m one of those people.

‘How did the date end? Did Dan think it was a success?’

I close my eyes but it makes me feel dizzy on the treadmill so I open them again. ‘He thought it went great. He wants to see me again.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I didn’t say anything. I pretended I had a phone call, said there was an emergency with my gran and ran.’

‘He probably knows you don’t want to see him again then.’ Lauren’s voice is matter-of-fact, absolutely sure with no wriggle room at all. ‘That’s the oldest trick in the book. You’re in the clear. The only thing you need to do now is find a replacement.’ Lauren suddenly yelps and batters the buttons on her treadmill, which quickly picks up speed. By the time fitness instructor Courtney wanders by, Lauren’s legs are pelting away, her ginger ponytail rhythmically swinging in time with her pumping arms. She stares straight ahead, her breathing controlled.

‘All clear,’ I say once Courtney is out of view. Lauren hits the emergency stop button and slumps against the machine, wheezing and panting and praying for death.

‘I need to sit down,’ Lauren rasps, so we step off the treadmill and make our way to the rowing machines. We move in rhythm, but there’s no effort involved at all.

‘So you need to find a new man to date.’ It’s ten minutes later and Lauren can finally converse without wheezing. ‘Anybody here who takes your fancy?’

Of course there is. I wouldn’t endure this torture twice weekly if it wasn’t for the room full of buff blokes.

‘He’s pretty cute.’ I casually glance at the guy warming up by the weights. He’s tall and toned without being overly muscly.

‘Good choice.’ We watch as he stretches towards a high metal bar and leaps up to grasp it. Lauren shakes her head as he starts a series of chin-ups.

‘Nope,’ I agree as he grunts and gurns away, his face stretching into the most unattractive poses.

‘That’ll be his sex face,’ Lauren whispers and we both start to giggle. ‘Try again. What about him?’ I turn to where Lauren is gawping and spot a giant of a man. He’s as wide as he is tall, with bulging biceps and calves the size of oak trees. ‘Think how intimidated Ben would be if you turned up with that big boy.’

‘I’m intimidated by that big boy.’ I can’t do it. I’d be too terrified to speak to the bloke. If he looks across and sees us gawping, I’ll pee myself.

‘What about Mr Treadmill?’

We both look back towards the treadmills, where one of the regular gym members is pounding away, clocking up the miles as sweat pours from his face. He has a towel around his neck, which he uses frequently to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. We see him here all the time but he never uses any other equipment. Just the treadmill, over and over again. He was on the treadmill when we arrived and he’ll still be there when we leave.

‘I want a date that takes place outside of the gym,’ I say. ‘And one that doesn’t involve running and buckets of sweat.’

Lauren tuts. ‘You’re so fussy.’

‘Would you date him?’

‘Nah.’ Lauren stops her pitiful attempt at rowing. ‘But then I’m not desperate.’ She grins as I swat her. ‘I’ve had enough. Shall we go and get a smoothie?’

‘Yes!’ I leap up from the rowing machine, using up more energy than I have in the hour that we’ve been here.

I’m hoping the perfect guy will present himself in the juice bar, all clean and sweat-free and easy to talk to. But there’s only me and Lauren in there so I make do with an orange and pineapple smoothie. I guess the gym isn’t the ideal place for me to meet men anyway. They’ll expect me to be fit and willing to exercise. What if he wanted to go jogging on Sunday mornings? Ugh. It’s exhausting enough pretending to exercise with Lauren twice a week – I really don’t want to actually exert myself.

‘So if not the gym, where?’ Lauren asks.

I shrug and take a long suck of my smoothie. ‘I was hoping you’d be able to give me some pointers. You’ve been single for longer than I have.’

‘Thanks for the reminder.’ Lauren sticks her tongue out at me. ‘What about work? You seem to like that Adam guy.’

‘Adam’s great. He’s funny, kind and gorgeous, but he’s just a mate. Plus, I work with him and that can get messy, especially when I end it after the wedding.’

‘So you’re really still just going to use the guy as a front? No actual romance?’

I shake my head. ‘No romance. I don’t want a future with the guy, just a wedding date.’

Lauren takes a sip of her smoothie. She’s opted for a classic strawberry and banana. ‘Don’t you miss it though?’

‘Miss what?’ I miss Ben, but that’s pretty obvious.

‘Having a boyfriend? Having fun, dating. Sex.’ Lauren sighs. ‘I haven’t had sex in so long.’

It’s been eight months since I’ve had sex. A month after we split up, Ben broke the no contact rule and we’d hooked up. I’d foolishly thought we were getting back together but it turned out it was just a ‘for old time’s sake’ fumble and I’d been too embarrassed – not to mention crushed – to tell anybody about it. But still, it showed that Ben was still attracted to me so a tiny remnant of hope clung on.