The Wedding Date (18 page)

‘Delilah!’ Ricky ceases his whooping when he spots me and strides over. ‘Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You’re early.’

‘So are you.’ I like this. Good time-keeping isn’t necessarily sexy but it’s a definite plus-point in my books.

‘Yeah, I hate being the last to arrive. You look great, by the way.’

‘Thank you.’ I feel myself go all giggly and pink-cheeked. ‘You too.’ And he does. Ricky has a nice, wholesome look about him. He doesn’t quite send my pulse racing like Adam did at the pub the other night but he is cute and I’m sure we’re going to have a fun evening.

‘We’re a bit early. I booked the lane for eight. Do you fancy a game while we wait?’ He indicates the video game and although I’ve never really seen the attraction, I find myself agreeing.

‘I don’t really know what I’m doing,’ I admit as Ricky drops a couple of coins in the slot. Justin has an array of consoles at home but I’ve never been inclined to have a go. Partly because they’re stored in his smelly bedroom where I never venture unless it’s absolutely vital.

‘It’s easy. You’ll soon pick it up.’ Ricky presses a flashing button and points to a bulky cartoon guy on the large screen. ‘See him? You need to defeat him. Like this.’ Ricky starts to hammer at the buttons and I find myself being jostled out of the way as his enthusiasm grows. Not that I mind. I’m more than happy to watch Ricky play. He hops about in front of the machine, his fingers darting across the buttons until the bulky guy ends up flat on the ground.

‘Yes! Get in!’ Ricky adds insult to injury (or death, by the way he’s slumped on the ground) to the bulky guy by slapping his palm down on the screen. ‘Do you want another go?’ Ricky has already inserted more coins into the slot but I take a step back.

‘It’s ok. You have another go. You’re obviously good at it.’

Ricky has a couple more goes of the video game before we head over to the bar to grab a couple of drinks. We both stick to soft drinks (Ricky because he’s driving and me because I want to be fully alert during the date, just in case I have to make a swift exit).

‘So how do you know Ryan?’ Ricky asks as we take a seat at a vacant table. The bowling alley is pretty crammed, despite it being mid-week.

‘We used to live next door to each other growing up.’

‘And you’ve never…’ Ricky wriggles his eyebrows and I find myself laughing.

‘Gosh, no.’ I’ve been asked this question a million times in various forms. People really don’t believe a man and a woman can be friends without having a go in the sack. ‘He’s one of my best friends. It’d be like hooking up with my brother.’ Gross, gross, gross. Why did that analogy even pop into my head?

‘Sorry, it’s really none of my business,’ Ricky says. ‘It’s just I don’t tend to date my mate’s exes.’

I nod in agreement. ‘It gets messy, I suppose.’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me and Ryan.’ I take a sip of my drink. ‘Never going to happen.’

We chat for a while longer, passing the time until our lane is free. Ricky is easy to talk to, although I find out pretty quickly that he doesn’t like to be teased. Adam and I spend most of our workday playfully mocking each other so I’m a bit taken aback, but we find our own rhythm.

‘Let’s get you some shoes,’ Ricky says when our lane is free. I exchange my shoes for a pair of damp, clown-style bowling shoes.

‘Don’t you need any?’ I ask as we leave the shoe-hire desk.

Ricky lifts the navy holdall he has slung over his shoulder. ‘Brought my own. And my own ball. I find I play better with it.’

‘You have your own shoes and ball? So you play regularly?’

Ricky nods. ‘Yeah, quite regularly. It’s a great sport.’

I already know that Ricky is sporty due to his job so it isn’t too much of a surprise. We head over to our lane and program our names into the scoreboard. I go first, selecting one of the lightest balls (which is still pretty damn heavy). Self-consciously, I scuttle towards the lane and toss the ball. It lands with a thud but it does somehow make it to the pins, knocking down six, which I’m thrilled with. I take my second turn, flooring two more.

‘Not bad, not bad,’ Ricky says as I return to the seating area. He stands up and rests a hand on my shoulder. ‘But let me show you how it’s really done.’ Ricky winks at me as he picks up his special, personalised ball. It’s a deep blue ball with his name engraved in silver.

Ricky tears towards the lane, dropping into a sort of crouch as he releases the ball. It thunders down the lane, thwacking the pins and sending them all down in one go.

‘Strike!’ Ricky punches the air and saunters back to the seating area. I expect him to blow imaginary smoke from his fingers but luckily for both of us he doesn’t.

‘He’s very competitive,’ I tell Lauren and Ryan the next day. We’re at The Farthing and I’m still not entirely comfortable being here. I tried to get out of it but Lauren practically dragged me here, pointing out that unless I planned to find a new local (which isn’t such a crazy idea), I’d have to suck it up and get used to being in the same room as Dan.

‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’ Lauren asks.

‘I don’t know.’ I take the tiniest sip of my pint. It’s my round next and Dan is the only one manning the bar so I have to drag it out for as long as possible. Hopefully until it’s time to go home. ‘I mean, I don’t want to date a loser or anything, but it did start to get a bit uncomfortable when he started giving the bloke next to us dirty looks whenever he got a strike.’

Bowling with Ricky wasn’t quite as much fun as I’d anticipated. He earned an almost perfect score, only missing a strike once. He made up for it with a spare, but that wasn’t good enough for Ricky and he still saw it as a failure and sulked until the next strike. I managed one (fluky) strike myself, which earned me a high-five from Ricky.

‘You’re still lagging way behind though,’ he’d pointed out. He’d stuck his tongue out after he said it, which softened the blow slightly. But still.

‘Was it enough to put you off seeing him again?’

I think of Dan and the defaced fiver, and of William, possibly still wailing into his pasta. And then there’s philanderer Jack, snake-tongued Wolfgang, bloody nailed Ivor and slimy Patrick. Best not even mention Vincent! A bit of competitiveness is tame in comparison.

‘No, I don’t think it was.’

‘Excellent. Give me your phone.’ Lauren wriggles her fingers at me. ‘Let’s set up another date.’

‘I think I can do that myself.’

Lauren drains her drink and my stomach fills with dread. ‘If we leave it to you, you won’t get in touch with the bloke until Christmas. Gimme.’

I pass my phone to Lauren and grab my purse, taking a twenty out of it and passing it to Ryan. ‘Would you mind going to the bar for me? I’m a bit busy here.’

‘You’ll have to face him again some day,’ Ryan says but he plucks the note from my fingers anyway and wanders off to the bar.

‘What are you saying?’

Lauren reads out her message as she types. ‘Had a fun night. Would love to meet up again soon.’ Lauren glances up from my phone to make sure the message meets my approval.

‘Soon?’ I scrunch up my nose. ‘Doesn’t that sound a bit desperate?’

‘The wedding is fast approaching,’ Lauren points out. ‘You are desperate.’ She looks back down at the screen. ‘Do you want me to put three kisses or just one?’

‘None!’ I snatch the phone back, read through the message and send it off to Ricky before I change my mind.

‘Dan says hi and that he’s sorry about the message he sent you on the fiver,’ Ryan tells me as he places our drinks on the table.

‘Did he?’

Ryan laughs as he drops into his seat. ‘Nah, just pulling your leg.’

‘You’re a pig.’ I hold out my hand for my change (none of which is scrawled upon).

‘Oink.’ Ryan grins at me and takes a sip of his pint. ‘Anyway, what did you decide to do about Ricky?’

‘She’s sent him a message suggesting they meet up again,’ Lauren says.

‘So now we just have to wait and see if he sends me a reply.’

Chapter 20

The Need for Speed

Text Message:

Delilah:
Where are you? The quiz is about to start

Ryan:
I’m not feeling well. Don’t think I can make it this week

Delilah:
Beyoncé’s Fitter Sisters are here from The Wagon and Horses again

Ryan:
I’ll be there in two minutes!

Mum and Dad are snuggled up on the sofa in their pyjamas and dressing gowns when I get up on Saturday morning. They’re watching an episode of Masterchef that they recorded during the week and while normal people salivate over the meals, Mum’s drooling is courtesy of Gregg Wallace.

‘You’re up and about early,’ Mum says, tearing her eyes away from Gregg’s shiny head. It isn’t quite eight o’clock and while I’d usually still be cocooned in bed until at least ten at the weekend (ha! Try midday), I’m showered and dressed and ready to go.

‘I have a date.’

‘Who with this time?’ Dad asks, which earns him an elbow jab from Mum.

Mum beams at me. ‘Ignore him. I think it’s great. A young woman like you should be out having fun.’

‘I have a date with Ricky,’ I tell Mum before turning to Dad. ‘He’s the one I went bowling with the other day.’

‘Blimey, he’s keen.’ Mum’s almost bouncing off the sofa in her excitement, making Dad jiggle up and down beside her. ‘Two dates in one week?’

Actually, I’m the one who has sped up our courtship. As Lauren pointed out, Francesca’s wedding is looming scarily close and I’ve wasted enough time on dud dates. We need to get this show on the road.

‘It’s a bit early for a date, isn’t it?’ Dad asks, which earns him another jab.

‘We’re going go-karting.’

I’ve never been go-karting before but both Ricky and Adam – the only people I know who have had a go – assure me that it’s fun, so I will have to take their word for it.

‘Is he picking you up? Do we get to meet him?’ Mum pauses the television and starts fluffing up her hair. ‘Do I have time to get changed? I can’t meet your new boyfriend looking like Miss Hannigan.’

I smile (briefly) at the Annie reference. ‘No, you can’t meet him. And he isn’t my boyfriend.’ Not yet, anyway. But I’m working on it.

Grabbing my handbag, I flee from the house, glad that Mum can’t chase me in her fluffy robe. It’s far too soon to be meeting parents – we’ve been on one date so far and we haven’t even kissed. Nothing would scare the man away quicker than Mum showing up ready to welcome him into the family.

Ricky isn’t due to pick me up for another fifteen minutes so, with the hedge acting as a cover, I sit down on the kerb to wait. Eleanor pulls up a few minutes later, grabbing her Waitrose shopping bags from the boot. We don’t even have a Waitrose nearby but she won’t step foot in one of the local supermarkets.

‘Morning, Eleanor,’ I call as she strides towards her garden gate, ignoring my presence completely. I know my acknowledging the woman will irritate her, so I add a cheery wave for good measure. She twitches her lips into an almost-smile but she strides ahead with her shopping, her nose stuck so far in the air I’m surprised she can see anything but sky.

Ricky arrives and I slip into his car, feeling a bit awkward. I haven’t had a second date in quite some time so I’m unsure how to act. Do I lean over and kiss his cheek? Shake his hand? Simply say hello? I really haven’t a clue so I do nothing but sit.

My lack of go-karting knowledge doesn’t seem to bother me to begin with and I feel myself bubbling with excitement as we arrive. The track is inside a massive warehouse-type building, marked out with a red-and-white barrier. We’re supplied with red jumpsuits, thick gloves and black helmets, which we quickly change into before climbing into our karts. It’s lower down than I expected and a bit of squeeze but once I manoeuvre my knees around the steering wheel, it’s not so bad. It’s when the rumbling begins that I start to feel the excitement morph into nerves. In a few seconds I will set off around this track, with several other people tearing around, and I’m not quite sure what will happen.

I look across at Ricky but he doesn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, he’s raring to go, testing the pedals and the steering wheel as though he’s performing a warm-up. I see him attempt to crack his knuckles through the thick gloves but I’m not sure if he succeeds as it’s far too loud to hear anything but roaring engines and my erratic heartbeat in my ears.

We’re given the signal and we move along the track to the start and then suddenly it’s happening. The noise is phenomenal, even with my helmet on, but I try not to let it faze me. I can no longer hear my erratic pulse but I can certainly feel it. Painfully so. I set off with the others, whizzing along the track and somehow steering smoothly around the corners. I have no idea how I’m doing this, but I am. Call it beginner’s luck if you will.

I love this. I actually truly love this feeling. The nerves are still there but they are so overpowered by the thrill of driving at speed that I barely notice them. I’m laughing and squealing and having the best time. Adam was right – this is so much fun! I can’t wait to tell him all about it on Monday morning. Maybe we can organise an office outing here, but leave the Brinkleys behind, obviously.

I’m flying along the track, overtaking other karts while managing not to crash. I see Ricky’s kart up ahead and swerve to the inside of the track, managing to pass him as we round a bend. I don’t want this to end – this race, this feeling of freedom and triumph – but I reach the end of the circuit, miraculously still ahead of Ricky and several other karts.

‘Yes!’ I throw my hands up in the air, turning in time to see Ricky finishing three people behind me. After Ricky’s total annihilation of me at bowling, this victory is extra sweet. ‘I won! I bloody won!’ I leap from my vehicle and throw my arms around Ricky, but instead of giving me a congratulatory squeeze, he slips away from my grip and removes his helmet.

‘It wasn’t a race. You didn’t win anything.’

‘If it wasn’t a race, what were we doing then? Taking a tour of this beautiful warehouse?’ I giggle as I hold my hands out to the view, which is one of the most uninspiring views I have ever seen. Ricky doesn’t join in my good humour. His face is all pinched and he won’t look at me. The concrete floor is fascinating to him.