Did that… actually just happen? Is he serious?
‘Uh…’ I manage. ‘You were… talking about how much your fans mean to you?’
I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice, but he doesn’t clock it.
‘Oh yeah. Right.’ He leans back again, getting back into date mode. ‘So yeah, my fans, and charity too. I do a lot with mental health charities now. Use my platform for good, you know? It’s important.’
I nod mechanically, too stunned to say another word.
Across the room, the girl with the trainers looks confused as a waiter approaches their table. I watch, knots in my stomach, as there’s a brief, polite but firm exchange. She glances down at her shoes. Her face drops. Her friends look mortified.
Within two minutes, all of them are grabbing their things and heading out.
Max keeps talking, unbothered.
‘I go into schools too,’ he says. ‘Share my story. Inspire the next generation. It’s so important to give back.’
The girls shuffle past the edge of our raised section, cheeks flushed. I can just about hear their conversation.
‘I didn’t know there was a dress code…’
‘No one said anything when we arrived…’
‘I’m so embarrassed. I hope Max didn’t see…’
That poor girl will probably remember tonight for the rest of her life, and for all the wrong reasons. He makes himself seem like he’s this great guy, this man of the people who loves his fans, but he’s got himself flanked like he’s a member of MI5, with men in waiting to take out anyone who approaches him. I guess that’s why tonight seemed so normal, the hidden security, making sure he wasn’t disturbed. I get that it must be annoying sometimes, being approached when you’re having dinner, but this all feels so icky. Everything he bangs on about is shit. And even if he didn’t want people talking to him while he’s eating, he didn’t have to get her thrown out, did he? She came, she stayed because he was receptive, and then she left. She didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that.
I stare at him. The man who just cost a young woman her dinner because she dared to speak to the great Max Hart. The man who, now that I’m thinking about it, went viral while he was onWelcome to Singledomfor peeing in the water source.
My heart bangs in my ears and if it sounds like anything, it’s a door being repeatedly slammed closed, reminding me that this date is so, so over, because Max is the kind of man who will smile at you like you’re special and then flick you away like you’re a piece of dirt the second your back is turned. It’s all staged, all of it, from the hidden security to his fake TV smile. I’m falling for a manufactured vibe – thank God I got to see the real deal before I agreed to a second date.
I pick up my wine, take a long sip, and place the glass down again. My heart rate has steadied now. I guess there’s a peculiar kind of comfortable calm that comes with knowing something is absolutely, unequivocally over.
He notices my silence.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘You’ve gone quiet…’
‘I’ve just, you know what, I’ve remembered that I’m allergic to tuna,’ I tell him. ‘Honestly, I’m such a ditz sometimes.’
‘You’re allergic?’ he replies. ‘Do we need to get you, like, an EpiPen or something? I’m sure they have one here…’
He raises his hand to catch his security’s attention.
‘Oh, no, wait,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m just… I’m being… I just meant… it’s embarrassing, but I’m not allergic, I’m intolerant.’
‘You’re intolerant?’ he replies, confused. ‘To…?’
To you. You, you, you!
‘To tuna,’ I say. ‘So I need to go home before… before… well, you know.’
He stares at me.
‘I need a bathroom,’ I tell him. ‘One I can sit in for a long time. You stay here, enjoy your dinner, I’ll go and… yeah. Thanks for a great night.’
Ugh, I’m more embarrassed that I told him it was a great night than I am pretending I’m going to spend the rest of it with diarrhoea.
‘Right, well, that can’t be helped,’ he says, sounding like he wants to have nothing to do with whatever this is, which is fantastic.
