remember, drive carefully and don’t be home too late.’
‘We’ll be waiting up,’ said Dad, his warm tone masking the veiled threat.
Whatever Katie may have told Dad, Jack doesn’t, in fact, drive a Vauxhall Astra. On our first date I discovered that he owns a battered old green Beetle, one of those
retro cars that has round edges and looks a bit like it’s smiling at you. It’s rickety and bumpy and stalls a lot. It’s the sort of car people say has ‘character’,
which really means that it’s ugly and ancient. Jack told me his uncle gave it to him when he passed his test.
We didn’t go anywhere fancy, just the local pizza restaurant, which was cheap and cheerful and somewhere we both felt at home. Jack said I could order whatever I wanted, which I took to
mean he was paying. In the past I’d have got a salad from the ‘all you can eat’ salad bar, but somebody had recently told me that there are billions of bacteria in all the salads
because people go to the loo and don’t wash their hands, and then stick their fingers in, which is so gross it put me off for ever. Plus, it turns out that all the oily dressings mean there
are just as many calories in the salads as there are in a pizza. When I relayed this to Jack, he said that sometimes you’re better off not knowing too much. But I did notice that he
didn’t have a side salad.
I ordered a pizza with mushrooms and Jack had one with anchovies and olives. He was easy company; I could be one hundred per cent myself and chatting to him felt as natural as talking to Katie,
although we weren’t as rude to each other, obviously. I wondered whether the way Jack ate his pizza said anything about him and whether it meant we were compatible. I always start from the
inside out, leaving the empty circle of the crust on my plate. Jack ate his way around his pizza in a clockwise direction, as if he was consuming a clock, hour by hour. He caught me staring at him
and put down his fork. ‘Are you OK, Lily?’
‘I’m great,’ I said. I didn’t want him to think I was the sort of person who analyses the way people eat pizza, even though I am. Not on the very first date. ‘I
guess I’ve just got order envy.’
‘Here,’ he said, cutting me a neat little triangle of his pizza and placing it on his fork. ‘Try some.’
He leaned in towards me, holding his fork to my mouth, and there was a brief moment of awkwardness when we both realised that this was exactly the kind of clichéd romantic thing couples
do on a date. It reminded me of the kiss we hadn’t yet enjoyed, the kiss that, hopefully, would come later.
‘Mmm,’ I said, lying – literally – through my teeth, as I bit into the pizza. I hate anchovies. I think they taste like salty worms, although I’ve never actually
eaten a salty worm, so I can’t be sure.
‘Do you want to swap?’
‘No, no, that’s very chivalrous of you, but I’m fine with my mushroom, honestly.’ And, I thought, chuckling to myself, you’re already a ‘fungi’ to be
with – although I’d never have dared say anything that cheesy (ha!) aloud.
It’s just as well that I didn’t say it, or I’d have ruined what happened next. Jack must have been thinking exactly the same as me (about the kiss, not the mushrooms) because
he looked directly into my eyes, put his knife and fork down and took my hands in his. Then he snogged me right there and then, in the middle of the restaurant, not caring who was watching. It was
amazing, even if his mouth did taste a bit salty. He moved his chair so that it was next to mine and we kissed until the cheese on the pizza had grown so cold it curled up and turned to rubber. And
when the restaurant staff started stacking up all the chairs, Jack paid the bill and took me home.
Chapter 5
It was on our first date that I learned not only what a great kisser Jack was, but also how cagey he could be about certain aspects of his life. To start with, I thought he was
a
‘We’ll be waiting up,’ said Dad, his warm tone masking the veiled threat.
Whatever Katie may have told Dad, Jack doesn’t, in fact, drive a Vauxhall Astra. On our first date I discovered that he owns a battered old green Beetle, one of those
retro cars that has round edges and looks a bit like it’s smiling at you. It’s rickety and bumpy and stalls a lot. It’s the sort of car people say has ‘character’,
which really means that it’s ugly and ancient. Jack told me his uncle gave it to him when he passed his test.
We didn’t go anywhere fancy, just the local pizza restaurant, which was cheap and cheerful and somewhere we both felt at home. Jack said I could order whatever I wanted, which I took to
mean he was paying. In the past I’d have got a salad from the ‘all you can eat’ salad bar, but somebody had recently told me that there are billions of bacteria in all the salads
because people go to the loo and don’t wash their hands, and then stick their fingers in, which is so gross it put me off for ever. Plus, it turns out that all the oily dressings mean there
are just as many calories in the salads as there are in a pizza. When I relayed this to Jack, he said that sometimes you’re better off not knowing too much. But I did notice that he
didn’t have a side salad.
I ordered a pizza with mushrooms and Jack had one with anchovies and olives. He was easy company; I could be one hundred per cent myself and chatting to him felt as natural as talking to Katie,
although we weren’t as rude to each other, obviously. I wondered whether the way Jack ate his pizza said anything about him and whether it meant we were compatible. I always start from the
inside out, leaving the empty circle of the crust on my plate. Jack ate his way around his pizza in a clockwise direction, as if he was consuming a clock, hour by hour. He caught me staring at him
and put down his fork. ‘Are you OK, Lily?’
‘I’m great,’ I said. I didn’t want him to think I was the sort of person who analyses the way people eat pizza, even though I am. Not on the very first date. ‘I
guess I’ve just got order envy.’
‘Here,’ he said, cutting me a neat little triangle of his pizza and placing it on his fork. ‘Try some.’
He leaned in towards me, holding his fork to my mouth, and there was a brief moment of awkwardness when we both realised that this was exactly the kind of clichéd romantic thing couples
do on a date. It reminded me of the kiss we hadn’t yet enjoyed, the kiss that, hopefully, would come later.
‘Mmm,’ I said, lying – literally – through my teeth, as I bit into the pizza. I hate anchovies. I think they taste like salty worms, although I’ve never actually
eaten a salty worm, so I can’t be sure.
‘Do you want to swap?’
‘No, no, that’s very chivalrous of you, but I’m fine with my mushroom, honestly.’ And, I thought, chuckling to myself, you’re already a ‘fungi’ to be
with – although I’d never have dared say anything that cheesy (ha!) aloud.
It’s just as well that I didn’t say it, or I’d have ruined what happened next. Jack must have been thinking exactly the same as me (about the kiss, not the mushrooms) because
he looked directly into my eyes, put his knife and fork down and took my hands in his. Then he snogged me right there and then, in the middle of the restaurant, not caring who was watching. It was
amazing, even if his mouth did taste a bit salty. He moved his chair so that it was next to mine and we kissed until the cheese on the pizza had grown so cold it curled up and turned to rubber. And
when the restaurant staff started stacking up all the chairs, Jack paid the bill and took me home.
Chapter 5
It was on our first date that I learned not only what a great kisser Jack was, but also how cagey he could be about certain aspects of his life. To start with, I thought he was
a
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