you’re worth waiting for,’ he says, raising a hand. ‘Night.’
As I make three attempts to get the key in the lock on my door, I wonder if that was an assumption rather than a compliment.
43
After a lot of – well, some – internal debate about whether it’s appropriate, I email Ben to tell him how it went with Simon. I don’t want him to think I’m some pasta-guzzling tease.
I send: ‘Hi – Bit of a weird one, had really nice time with Simon but not sure if going to see him again. Bit soon, etc. Hope you & Olivia not going to feel put in the middle.’
I come back from a break in court to find the reply: ‘Well … we do ask that you marry him to make any future dinner-party seating plans easier for us. Is that so much to ask?’
I giggle like a moron at this, then see the PS: ‘I’m trying to be healthy during my lunch hour and going for sandwich/walk in Platt Fields at one to get away from the office … want to join & have a chat? No problem if not, I’m not much of an agony aunt.’
I respond instantly in the affirmative and hop on a bus, Platt Fields not being as wildly convenient as I’ll insist it is if he asks. A change is as good as a rest and all that.
When I get to the park entrance, I see Ben is clutching brown paper bags, kneeling down, talking to a little girl in a dark duffle coat. A harassed forty-something woman joins them and as I approach, Ben says, in a slightly kids’ TV voice: ‘Here’s my friend! Rachel, hi.’
‘Hello!’ I say, trying for jolly, unsure as to whether to pitch my response to the adults or the child.
As we move away, Ben mutters under his breath: ‘Speak to someone’s lost kid these days, you’re more likely to get arrested than thanked. Was I glad to see you.’
‘Unless they think we’re a Brady-Hindley double act?’ I say.
Ben laughs: ‘I’d forgotten what I’d been missing with your sick sense of humour.’ Before I know whether to mind being forgotten or pleased at being miss-able, he adds: ‘Did you bring food?’
I realise that in my haste, I didn’t.
‘I bought you this. You still eat ham and pickle?’
He hands me one of the brown paper bags. I peer inside at a ciabatta sandwich, wrapped in a napkin. ‘Thanks!’
I’d never think to go and look at nature in the middle of a day at the courtroom coal-face and yet I’m instantly struck by the springtime loveliness of the park, the light glinting on the lake.
‘So … Simon and Rachel a non-starter?’ Ben says.
He gives me a mouth-full-of-food grin, as we gnaw the edges of our ciabatta sandwiches. I always think these things seem like a good idea and in practice are like chewing bricks, covered in brick dust. I give up and start pulling bits of ham out of the bread, inside the bag, so Ben doesn’t see me looking like I dipped my face in a bag of flour.
‘We went for dinner and it was surprisingly enjoyable …’
As I tail off, considering how to phrase this, Ben suddenly looks like a pubescent boy being forced to listen to the story of his own conception. ‘Oh-kay … There isn’t going to be, an, er, PG-13 …’
Looking at his fraught expression, I can’t resist continuing: ‘Afraid so, because when a man and woman like each other very much they have a sort of special cuddle …’
‘Argh, stop there! God, the thought of Simon banging the headboard shouting “Bravo! I have reached my conclusion! Preparing to disengage member in three, two, one …”’ Ben shudders. ‘Find another confidante for this stuff.’
‘Kidding!’ I say, through the considerable yet slightly tense laughter. ‘It was dinner á deux, home un une.’
Ben makes a forehead-wiping gesture with his napkin.
‘Simon was more enigmatic on the point, of course. Oh she’s rilly something, Ben.’ He pulls a Roger-Moore-eyebrow Simon face that turns into a yuck Ben face.
We laugh.
‘I don’t know if we’re a good fit, I guess,’ I say. ‘He’s very clever and witty and scathing and so on. I think we’re very different. I’m sure he’d be a challenge. He scares me a bit to be honest with you.’
‘Hmm, I’m not entirely sorry you say this.’
I think of Caroline’s observation from my flat warming. This frank admission from Ben makes it more likely that his motives are above board. I feel relief, and the smallest tinge of what might be disappointment.
‘No?’
Ben shakes his head while chewing and swallowing. ‘I get on with him, I don’t really trust him. I couldn’t in all conscience advise a friend to date him.’
A friend. I am a friend again.
‘Liv thinks I’m being ridiculous and you two would be great, though, so what do I know.’
Hopefully a lot more than her when it comes to me, but I don’t say so.
‘I was slightly surprised you agreed to a date at all, if I’m honest,’ Ben continues.
I extract another piece of ham. ‘When’s the right time to start seeing people again after thirteen years? How do you know for sure who the right person to see is? Caroline said I had to give it a go and I thought she was right.’
‘You ought to trust your own instincts more. Caroline’s great but Caroline’s choices are Caroline’s choices, not yours.’
I’m touched by this, so touched I blurt: ‘That’s very thoughtful. You’re what they call “just gay enough”.’
Ben shakes his head and says through a mouthful of bread: ‘And I was being supportive. Anyone ever tell you you’re a heartless witch?’
‘Yeah, some bloke at uni once.’ I wave my hand, dismissively.
Too far. Ben swallows with a hard gulp, a thin smile settling afterwards. Despite the rehabilitation, a twinge from the old injury, reminding us not to overdo it, not to put too much weight on it yet.
What are Ben and I to each other? There’s no word for it. Not exes and, despite what he said and what I want to believe, not exactly friends either. No wonder other people have asked for a description. I yearn to broach the topic. But it would ruin everything.
‘Second date with Simon unlikely then?’ Ben asks, as much for anything to say, I think.
‘Unlikely. Not impossible.’
‘I’ll tell Liv it’s a “definite maybe”. That’ll keep her off your back and won’t insult Simon if he asks her.’
‘Good
