Oh, I fancy him.
No, you do not!I practically shout at myself.Enough! Move on!I sternly keep repeating this as I go to the toilet, but I reapply my lipgloss before returning to the bar. I’m only human, right?
‘Here you go, nice and warm,’ Dave says, removing his large hand from the top of the padded stool.
‘Thanks.’ I sit down.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asks.
I check Ben’s expression, wondering if he’s going to make some wisecrack about underage drinking, but he’s staring into his glass of – what is it?
‘Thanks,’ I tell Dave. ‘I’m on the cider.’
He turns to get the barman’s attention.
‘What are you drinking?’ I ask Ben.
‘Whisky,’ he replies, swirling the ice around in his glass.
‘Straight?’ I check.
‘Yeah.’ His eyes meet mine and he grins cheekily.
‘Ooh, hardcore,’ I tease, as a flutter goes through me.
‘How was last night?’ he asks, staring at me directly.
‘It was strangely good fun. Much better than I thought it would be.’
‘Why?’
‘They were all oldies.’
He laughs and shakes his head.
‘I went to the lily pond this morning,’ I tell him. ‘Well, afternoon.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah.’
Pause.
‘Here you go,’ Dave says, handing me my drink. ‘Cheers.’ He chinks my glass with his and Ben follows suit. ‘Happy New Year,’ Dave booms loudly, and it occurs to me he’s been here drinking for quite some time.
‘I didn’t know you were married,’ I say to him.
‘Yep. Five years and counting.’
‘Blimey. Five years. How old were you when you got married, then?’ I flash a look at Ben.
‘What was I?’ Dave asks his mate. ‘Twenty-three?’
‘Something like that.’ Ben looks amused. ‘Lily thinks wecountry folkget married and have, what do you call them – sprogs? – before our twenty-first birthdays.’
Dave chortles and I giggle because I’ve been caught out.
‘We haven’t moved on to the sprogs stage yet,’ he tells me.
