Part 6 (1/2)

'And tonight at your gig, it was as though people had been on laughing gas.' I was swamped by an overwhelming sense of love. 'I've never seen so many smiley people in one room since I left Australia. It must be you.'

I'd added this thought before my brain had checked the sentence for coolness. Luckily, before I could drown in my cheesiness, the waitress returned to our table. She chatted about how chockers it was and asked if we were OK sitting so close to the kitchen. She'd brought tap water rather than expensive bottled stuff, which was thoughtful. I stole a glance at Stevie. Miraculously he wasn't grimacing at my obvious compliment; he was grinning.

'The waitress is gold too.' I couldn't hide my astonishment. Stevie shrugged, clearly he hadn't noticed one way or the other, he would probably only notice the waiting service if the waitress accidentally spilt soup over his head and only then if she failed to offer a cloth to mop it up. Stevie was so laid back he was horizontal. I liked it.

'Aren't all waiters and waitresses pretty much the same?'

'No. The service and charm are usually inversely proportional to the beauty-slash-handsomeness of the server. The stunning ones know they're going to get a tip however surly they are, so they're rarely anything other. Mid-range try quite hard.' I was talking as an insider, I'd done my fair share of table waiting. 'This equation, however, has a point of no return. The incredibly ugly ones know that they won't get a tip no matter how nice they are, so they usually opt to be as unhelpful as the beauties.'

'That's a very sad theory,' commented Stevie, but he was grinning again, as though everything I said pleased him.

'Sad but true,' I a.s.sured him grimly.

'Do you really think the world is that superficial?' he'd asked.

'Lots of it. You must be b.l.o.o.d.y lovely not to have noticed, especially as you work in a school.'

Stevie's eyes widened. 'Did you just pay me another compliment?' he asked.

'No, I insulted you. I said you lacked perception.' I smiled again so that Stevie wouldn't take offence. He didn't. He laughed out loud. It was a laugh that came from the belly and rang clearly through the restaurant and all of London town too, I expect.

We talked, gossiped, told stories, swapped views and barely paused for breath. I got the opportunity to air my theories on the enormous quant.i.ties of sugar that builders, ostensibly, have in their tea (they must use it to mix cement or something). I talked about Eddie, a whole heap, so much so that I had to keep asking, 'Am I boring you?' Stevie a.s.sured me that he wasn't bored.

He talked about his work, his mates and his mum's Sunday roast. I was about to run a mile, I can't stand men with oedipal complexes and I don't buy into the theory of watching how a man treats his mum as an indication of how considerate he'll be as a boyfriend. An exceptionally close motherson relations.h.i.+p at Stevie's age could only indicate a lack of proficiency with the was.h.i.+ng-machine dial. I was relieved when, instead of telling me how friggn' A his mother's roast is, he confessed that she can't cook and that her gravy is often served with the question, 'One lump or two?'

After leaving university Stevie had b.u.mmed around Edinburgh for a while, then galvanized and spent three years travelling around the world. I adore meeting other explorers. We talked about all the places we'd visited, and the ones we still wanted to see. Only another traveller can summon the appropriate interest to enthuse about a sunset not personally witnessed. Stevie seemed bright, animated, wise and relaxed. Characteristics that, pre-Oscar, might have been attributable to me.

It was past four in the morning when we fell out on to the street. We were giggling so much that I was bent double, although I can't remember what he'd said that was so funny. I was having a fantastic time, and from what I could gather, he was too. It seemed natural when he put his arm round me, and I don't think it was just to stop me falling over my heels and landing a.r.s.e-up in the gutter.

'What do you want to do now?' Stevie asked.

I glanced along the Fulham Road and saw a cab's light in the distance.

'Do you have a girlfriend?' I asked, because although we'd discussed pretty much every other area of our lives we had both avoided discussing our love lives. I had done this for two reasons. First, I'm not sure I have a love life to discuss; and second, if I have, then it's one that has left me not quite bitter and twisted but certainly scared and scarred. Not, I believe, attractive qualities in a date. If we were on a date, and I'm pretty sure we were. It felt date-like.

What was Stevie's excuse for his reticence?

'No, the situation is vacant,' he said, with a broad smile.

I wanted to ask him if he was waiting for me to apply but, even fortified by a large amount of drink, I didn't dare be so forward. He doesn't wear a ring but I thought I ought to check. 'Are you married?'

Stevie glanced at his shoes. 'The thing is-'

'You're married to your work, right?' I asked, cutting him off because of course he isn't married. What a stupid question. It's insulting to his integrity; I was immediately ashamed.

'I wasn't going to say that.'

Suddenly a depressing thought overwhelmed me. 'Are you gay?' I asked.

'Not last time I checked. Why? Are you h.o.m.ophobic?' he asked, mock-serious.

'No, of course not. I just don't want you to be gay. Even if it means I could say, ”Some of my best friends are gay.”'

'Am I going to be one of your best friends?' asked Stevie.

Was he flirting? He was. 'I hope we're going to be friends,' I rea.s.sured him.

Friends and a whole lot more but I didn't add that because just then a cab slowed to a standstill next to the pavement where we were stood.

'Need a ride?' asked the driver.

'Yes,' Stevie and I said in unison.

On our arrival at Stevie's flat I discovered I was anxious beyond precedent. I continually mixed up West Hamp-stead and Highgate and barely managed to articulate that I took my coffee black, one sugar.

'I've kind of forgotten how to do this,' I confessed.

'Do what?' asked Stevie.

'Whatever we're about to do,' I mumbled, wanting to kick myself. Had I just asked him to sleep with me? I had, hadn't I? Or as good as.

Stevie smiled away my nervousness. 'Well, I'm about to show you my enormous photo collection of my travels in India, Thailand and Malaysia. All you have to do is pretend to be interested. It's easy,' he joked. 'But be warned, if you do a convincing job I'll make you sit through the really old ones of me in South America too,' he added, as he rummaged around for packets of photos in an untidy cupboard. So that's how we pa.s.sed the time until the sun came up and our eyes were stinging with lack of sleep.

I remember now that I fell asleep on the floor of his sitting room while he was trying to unearth some chocolate he was sure he had somewhere maybe in the fridge, maybe in a cupboard, maybe in his sock drawer...

This morning is peculiar. This morning it is our easy intimacy that unsettles me. I'm almost sure we should be awkward with one another. Are we this comfortable because he doesn't feel the electricity that I feel, can almost touch and taste? Doesn't he fancy me? Are we just good friends? That d.a.m.ning, hopeless epitaph. And there is something else bothering me, something related. Have we kissed? Because if we have and he's this calm, I'm a lousy kisser. But, on the other hand, if we haven't, why not?

Maybe I'm out of my depth. Stevie is gorgeous really, really special therefore I'm not sure I want to stick around long enough to hear him say he doesn't think of me in the same way. It would be soul-destroying to discover that I'm a nice girl but not his type. It would be better to leave now with the beautiful memories of my sparkling night intact. I'm just about to say that I have to get dressed and leave because I have an oh-so-busy schedule when Stevie asks, 'Have you any plans for the rest of the day?'

'None. Well, I have to pick Eddie up but no, after that, we are totally free,' I blurt, which I realize doesn't help to create the impression that I am in demand, a girl with a crazily busy and very glamorous schedule.

'Me neither,' says Stevie. 'Do you think Eddie would like to go to the Science Museum? I loved that sort of stuff when I was a kid.'

'I think he'd like that very much,' I a.s.sure, nodding and smiling. Relief floods me. Truth is, Eddie would like that nearly as much as his mum would.

15. Baby, Let's Play House.

Bella.

'Don't ever, ever make me lie for you again,' Amelie hisses.

'I didn't ask you to lie,' I point out.

I hate it when my friends go all sanctimonious on me. Hey, like haven't I told the odd lie for Amelie in the past? I think about this for a moment and realize that, no, I have not. But I would lie if I ever had to, that's what friends are for. Blow it. This is why I've never told anyone my secret.

'You put me in an impossible position. I like Philip.'

'I love him.'