‘I don’t believe you,’ I reply, shaking my head as I go towards my room and change out of my leggings and T-shirt.
I forget how much chemistry Ben and I have when we talk. It’s easy to forget how good the getting-to-know-you stage is when you’re on top of someone, on their bed, kissing and not doing much talking. Our routine has become very ‘over the clothes’.
I’m enjoying this and so is Ben. He holds my hand as we walk to dinner. His thumb grazes my skin over and over in a delicious circle as we leave the Underground at Leicester Square on our way to Chinatown. Who knew hand-holding could be so sexy.
‘The trick to this,’ Ben starts knowledgeably as we weave past hordes of visitors and Londoners venturing into town for the night, ‘is to find the restaurant where the Chinese go. Then you know it’s good. Let’s avoid the showy tourist traps.’
‘OK,’ I say, enjoying exploring new things with this man.‘I’m pleased you know what you’re doing. I’ve never been to Chinatown before to eat. Just to look.’
He guides me through traffic and people, hawkers and lit-up rickshaws with discos blaring. When we’re seated in a very busy but dingy-looking restaurant – but one that’s full of patrons who are definitely not tourists – Ben starts choosing things from the menu, asking my thoughts on dumplings and duck, sauces and squid.
I leave him to it, ordering for both of us so confidently after asking how spicy I like food to be (a bit, but not too much). I realise I’m wowed by Ben. I’m wowed by his generosity, his gregariousness, his ability to justbein any situation. I’m wowed by his kindness and his affability, his energy and joie de vivre. As he talks, I realise I’m not listening. I realise something else instead. I think Ben’s plan might be working. I think I might be falling for him.
‘What?’ he asks after a moment, smiling because my look is glazed and dazed and I think I’m smiling.
I shake myself back to the here and now. ‘Nothing,’ I say.
But he calls me on it. ‘That’s such a cop-out answer,’ he replies. ‘Be honest.’
I wonder how to phrase it. ‘I really like you,’ I eventually land on, because I’m not ready to say the other thing. ‘Ireallylike you.’
He grins. ‘I knew I’d start wearing you down.’
‘Ben! You’re not supposed to say that.’
‘What am I supposed to say?’ He lifts his chin, grins in defiance.
‘You’re supposed to say how much youlike me.’
‘You already know that,’ he retorts as a bottle of Tsingtao beer is put down in front of him. A glass of vodka and lemonade is placed in front of me.
‘Fine,’ I say with mock-annoyance, but I can’t help smiling. ‘Be like that.’
‘I will,’ Ben replies, trying not to laugh. He lifts the bottle to his lips, drinks half the beer in one go, puts it back on the table. I haven’t touched my vodka yet. ‘Come here,’ he says and leans towards me.
I lean over the table, taking care not to knock our drinks over, and let him kiss me. The taste of delicious cold beer on his tongue sets my world alight and I close my eyes for a moment and then sit back, leaving Ben still leaning towards me. I don’t want to be that couple who exhibit inappropriate public displays of affection. His eyes flutter open and he leans back, somewhat triumphantly, and drinks me in, a knowing smile still on his face as our starters of dumplings are placed in front of us.
It turns out I use chopsticks incorrectly, and Ben’s hands are on mine showing me what to do. I’m trying not to ping dumplings across the small but busy restaurant. I’m also trying not to giggle. In the end, when I clearly haven’t got it, I just spear the dumpling with the stick and Ben snorts beer everywhere.
‘This is fun,’ he says. ‘You’re fun.’
‘I try,’ I say, but honestly we’re having fun because I have no clue how to use foreign cutlery. Perhaps it’s me noticing the differences between us. If Ben notices, he’s not saying. He’s too gentlemanly.
Afterwards we walk hand-in-hand around London after-hours, popping into an off-licence to buy some chilled beers. We sit in Trafalgar Square near the lions. Red buses go past slowly, crawling through the ever-present traffic. Girls in white minidresses link arms on a hen-do. A group of lads shout, ‘Oi-oi’ in their direction. The girls shout back, and we drink our beers and sit on the stone edge of the fountains, watching the world go by. It’s perfect.
This late at night, it’s still busy, people come and go; and Ben and I talk about our courses and life, our uni, our new friends that we’re making on our courses, my job in the bar, the boys in flat nine, who are getting louder and louder by the day, and our upcoming trip to his home next month.
‘I can’t believe Christmas is so close. We only just started uni and soon it’ll be December. Crazy,’ I say.
‘I’m looking forward to you coming home with me,’ Ben says. ‘Liv and Ollie are in too. It’s going to be brilliant. We’re going to re-create our little flat environment in my parents’ house. It’s going to be exactly the same, but totally different,’ he continues energetically, full of the excitement that I’m learning to find thrilling and fun. And he sips his beer and I sip mine, loving listening to Ben not quite make sense.
CHAPTER NINE
Ben doesn’t just have a swimming pool. He practically has a leisure centre in his back garden, or in thegrounds, as his mum insists on calling the twelve acres surrounding the house.
Ollie and I exchange aJesus Christ!glance when Ben gives us the tour, his rather nervy mum hovering in the background to re-explain every room that Ben explained once already. His house is in the Wiltshire countryside, low-ceilinged and timber-beamed – IthinkTudor. It was built back when being small, height-wise, was the norm unless you were Henry the Eighth, so ceiling heights were of little concern. I’m doing my best not to bump my head and every time I have to duck to get through a doorway, I hear Ollie behind me trying not to laugh. Ollie has to duck too – we all do. But it’s obviously funnier when I have to do it, due to my height.
The house sprawls and sprawls and little table lamps are on in every room, glowing comfortingly. It’s really cosy, homely, which is surprising, given the house is so vast. A log fire is roaring away in the lounge, ordrawing room, as Ben’s mum calls it. It’s the kind of home anyone would be ecstatic to return to at the end of a long working day. It’s welcoming. I feel welcomed.
