Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) (14 page)

Drinks ordered, it’s small talk time…

The options on offer are: Weather, current events, sports, more about the weather, last night’s television.

All are boring, contrived and guaranteed to make me sound like a cretin with nothing to say.

I decide to thrown caution to the wind and go meta.

‘I think this is the point where we’re supposed to engage in small talk, you know,’ I say with a smile. It’s a huge gamble – potential success or otherwise depending on Laura’s sense of humour. She’s either going to find it funny, or think I’m an idiot.

The gamble pays off! She gets the joke and laughs.

The smirking barman returns with our drinks and I hand over the cash.

I pick up Laura’s wine and twist round to give it to her, forgetting my back problems for a brief moment.

A sharp bolt of pain rockets across my shoulder blades.

Don’t let her see! Man up!

I want to let out a contemptible gasp of pain and make a grab for my shoulder, but instead I internalise the agony.

I think I got away with it without Laura noticing…

Picking up my pint with deliberate caution, I suggest we go over and sit in the corner at a quiet table, where the chairs have nice high backs for me to rest against.

As previously stated, the next two hours are fantastic.

…well, other than the fact I have to sit bolt upright all the way through it.

Also, Laura has to pop off to the toilet several times, which is a bit strange as she only has one glass of wine and a diet coke.

I can tell when she needs the loo as her left leg starts to jiggle up and down a bit and her brow creases in apparent discomfort.

I’m not going to let a minor thing like a weak bladder stop me from liking this girl though.

It was gone eleven before I reluctantly said I’d have to wind the date up thanks to a
six thirty
start the next day. This suited her as well. When you run your own shop, you have to be up at the crack of dawn every day apparently. Who knew flogging posh chocolate could be so stressful?

The dull ache that had settled across my shoulders roared into life as I stood up, and I couldn’t stop a look of agony briefly crossing my face. Luckily Laura was putting her coat on, so she didn’t notice.

On the walk back to the car, my brain once again threw up the kissing suggestion, this time by way of a goodbye.

Go on. Do it. Just a quickie on the cheek, you bloody coward.

This time I didn’t intend to argue. I liked this girl and thought it was worth a punt.

We arrived at her bright red Nissan Micra.

There was a nasty dent down one side on the driver’s wing. ‘That looks bad,’ I commented, pointing at it.

‘Yeah. Had to buy a car cheap. My old one was too far gone to bother fixing. This was the best I could find for the money.’ She ran a hand over the dent. ‘I call him
El
Denté
’.

That just made me fancy her even more.

A tight body and a pretty face are one thing, but add a sharp sense of humour and I’m in heaven.

Time for THE QUESTION.

This is much like THE PHONE CALL. Its importance can also never be underestimated in the grand scheme of things.

‘I had fun tonight Laura. Would you like to get together again some time?’

‘Yeah, I had a good time as well. That’d be great.’

Woo
hoo
! Now go for the kiss, you idiot!

I do.

And while this blog is full of embarrassing mistakes, social faux pas and idiotic moments in the life of Jamie Newman, this is not one of them.

I don’t accidentally head butt Laura, or let out an unexpected belch into her face. I merely lean forward, plant a gentle kiss on her cheek and stand back.

She offers me a heart racing smile and her eyes twinkle.

‘See you soon,’ she says and jumps in her dented car.

I see her off and walk back to my Mondeo at roughly three hundred feet above the ground.

That was yesterday, and I’m still buzzing.

All that bloody stupid game playing can go to hell as far as I’m concerned - and with no concern for my own welfare I called Laura
this morning
and asked her out again.

We’re due a second date at the weekend!

Laura’s Diary

Tuesday, May 24
^th
continued…

‘Make sure you turn up late, darling,’ Tim had advised me in the shop that morning. ‘The right man will happily wait for you.’

I’m never sure about these dating games, but Tim’s had more relationships than I can shake a stick at, so I followed his advice this time and got to The Barley Corn at nearly eight.

I would have been a bit late anyway, given the length of time it took me to deal with my stupid leg wound. The gash needed a dressing over it, which usually wouldn’t have been a problem, except that tonight I was determined to wear my best jeans and the huge bloody plaster I’d put over the cut kept painfully ripping off every time I tried to pull them up.

I had to resort to wrapping surgical tape right round my leg to keep it in place, which meant I couldn’t bend my knee properly. This caused a noticeable limp.

Therefore, Jamie would enjoy a lovely evening with someone doing their best impression of Long John Silver.

I hobble into the pub and see Jamie standing at the bar.

I’m no expert at body language but from the way he’s stood so stiffly, it’s obvious he isn’t feeling any more relaxed than I am. First dates are not for the faint hearted.

‘Hi Laura!’ he says, and I walk over, resisting the urge to cry
‘
Aaar
Jim lad!’
and offer him the black spot.

As I hobble towards him, there’s a very strange moment when Jamie appears to freeze in position, a blank expression plastered across his face. It’s like somebody has switched off the power.

His eyes flicker for a second before he blinks a couple of times and re-animates, sticking his hand out for me to shake.

‘Hi Jamie,’ I say and take his hand. It’s warm, smooth and feels very nice.

He asks me what I’d like to drink. I’ve got my nerves just about in check enough to only need a small glass of white.

I figure if he orders anything that’s pink or has an umbrella in it for himself, I know I’m probably onto a loser.

‘A small glass of Pinot Grigio and a pint of Fosters, please mate,’ he says to the barman – who can obviously tell two people on a first date from a bloody mile away.

Time to think of some small talk while the drinks are coming…

I hate doing this. What the hell do you say to a complete stranger you’re trying to create a good impression with?

Luckily Jamie saves me the trouble by coming out with something rather clever about how this is the point where we’re supposed to engage in small talk. It’s like he read my mind.

Another tick goes in the mental list of check boxes.

‘Shall we not bother?’ I reply. ‘I don’t care what the weather’s doing, and didn’t watch any telly last night.’

He laughs and the ice on this date is suitably broken with no injury.

Jamie hands me my glass of wine. For some reason, as he does this, he lets out a little high pitched squeak from the back of his throat and for the briefest of moments it looks like he’s just licked a battery.

This is the second strange interlude I’ve seen so far tonight. I hope they’re not a sign he has some kind of mental complaint.

So far the advantages are outweighing the disadvantages though, so I let it slide and we go over to a table close by the window.

Our conversation from then on is very enjoyable.

Jamie is quite charming and can spin a good story. Not massively surprising since it turns out he’s a writer.

I relax nicely into it, but I get the impression he’s still nervous throughout, as he sits upright the entire time and only makes small, careful movements.

I think it’s quite endearing really… and a good sign he’s not a cocksure idiot.

The only bad thing that happens is when my leg starts to bleed.

There I am, happily talking about how bad Come Dine With Me is and I feel the disconcerting sensation of blood trickling down my calf, towards the hundred pound high heels I’ve only owned for a month.

I have to beetle off to the loo on three separate occasions to sort the plaster out before the threat of a blood stained shoe is completely averted.

Still, it isn’t nearly as bad as the piles episode from a few weeks ago and I don’t think Jamie notices I’m having a problem.

As the evening wears on I become unpleasantly aware of the stock check I have to get up at six in the morning to do tomorrow, so part of me is quite glad when Jamie says he needs to leave as he has an early morning too.

There’s another part of me that hates the infernal drudge of the working week though, as I’d be more than happy to stay here and keep talking with this handsome, funny guy for a lot longer - instead of having to rush off home early because I’ve got to pay the rent.

We leave together and I manage not to limp too much as we walk back to where I’ve got El
Denté
parked.

After a slightly embarrassing exchange about how the little red terror came into my life, Jamie asks if I’d like to see him again, and for what seems like the first time in my life, I don’t have to hesitate to say yes.

My heart skips a beat as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. I feel a little electric shock run down my back as he does.

Having said our goodbyes, I drive away from The Barley Corn with the dumbest smile in history plastered across my face.

So there you go Mum, that’s how I officially met Jamie Newman.

We’ve already planned a second date. He’s promised to cook for me!

I’m expecting to be struck down with some hideous, disfiguring disease any moment now.

Or he’ll turn out to be a serial killer.

Or worse –
married
.

Love and miss you, Mum.

Your surprised daughter, Laura.