He laughs. ‘Martha’s wearing Bleu de Chanel today.’ There’s a moment’s hesitation. ‘I brought her with me. I hope that’s okay?’
When I think of unbuttoning his freshly laundered white shirt, my knees go weak, but at least I can’t see any rips in his jeans. Him hanging back has to be a sign of how uncomfortable he is with this, because when did Lando ever not burst with confidence?
‘You’re looking pretty stunning yourself.’
I laugh. ‘Styled by the kids. Who knew there was so much electric pink tulle in one dressing-up box, and I still end up with a ra-ra skirt that barely covers my bum.’
Letting them put me in a wild and inappropriate outfit is my subtle way of downgrading the status of the event. There’s no danger of me or the date being taken seriously when I’m only covered in some teensy scraps of net.
Lando’s laugh is low. ‘I like you in miniskirts.’
I can’t hold back my smile because men are so obvious. ‘Then they insisted on neon fuchsia lips and stilettos to make me look kissable!’ I lower my voice. ‘I appreciate their help, but they make Jess seem like a lightweight! I feel like an extra off the Barbie set.’
He laughs again. ‘Are you going to kiss me and call me Ken?’
I ignore him and get back to the job in hand. Turning to Nemmie and Zara lingering in the doorway, I ask, ‘Are you ready for us to go up to the garden?’
They nod and hang on to the dogs’ collars. ‘We’ll keep Angel and Martha down here for now. Enjoy your date, we’ll be up to check on you soon.’
Lando looks at the flight of steps then back to my shimmery toes. ‘Would you like me to carry you up?’
I take the steps two at a time and I’m already looking down on him from the top. ‘All good, thanks! Don’t take too long or I may demolish the tea before you get here.’
A second later he’s by my side, and I’m wishing I’d turned away before I saw his easy athletic bounds. We pass Mum’s rambling roses dripping with blooms and then the table comes into view covered with a net curtain. Lando pulls out one of my nan’s old folding garden chairs for me and smiles. ‘Someone’s been busy!’
I ease myself back against pink gingham cushions from Mum’s bedroom, then my heart swells as I notice the flower petals scattered across the tabletop and the jam jar of dandelions and seagull feathers. When I get to the ice bucket and Mum’s best plastic picnic flutes there’s actually a lump in my throat. ‘They’ve even bought us pink alcohol-free Freixenet!’
Lando nods and his garden chair gives a creak as he pulls out his phone. ‘At the risk of sounding like a millennial, we should definitely do a selfie first.’
I leap to my feet and join him on the other side of the table. ‘Make sure you get everything in. They’ve even written “gud luck, Maevey” and drawn hearts and arrows on my paper plate!’
Lando laughs. ‘Mine says “hapy furst date, mate”.’
I’m soaking it all in, and as we put our heads together for the photos, I slow my breaths to keep my heart rate steady. Then Lando opens the bottle, and as I sit down again he hands me a glass of fizz.
He leans back in his chair and raises his own. ‘Good luck with your quest to find a soulmate, Maevey Wavey. Choose anyone you like, so long as it’s me!’
I’m staring at him and wracking my brain for a snappy response when there’s another louder creak, then a crack, and as his glass sinks downwards his face slides out of sight beyond the table edge.
By the time I dash round to see what’s happening, his arms are spread wide on the grass with the chair flattened underneath him. ‘Lando, I’m so sorry! Those chairs from the nineteen sixties are not built for guys who work out.’
He gets to his feet, props the pieces of broken chair against the wall, and I hand him another. ‘Try this; it’s less floral, but it’s newer and made of wood. And well done for your graceful landing and not spilling a drop of fizz!’
He rolls his eyes as he settles into his new seat. ‘I can’t decide if me crushing your vintage chair to destruction two minutes into the date is a disastrous start or a fabulous ice-breaker?’
‘It made me pleased it’s you on the date rather than anyone else.’
‘And you didn’t feel that before?’ He laughs. ‘When you’ve known me forever, at least we skip that awful part where we feel uncomfortable.’
He’s obviously speaking for himself there. For me, looking across to Lando and knowing his whole attention is on me is excruciating.
I push the loaded plate towards him. ‘Help yourself to scones! As a Cornishman, you have your jam first and then your cream?’ I slice my own scone and dig into the cream. ‘I’m going to be a rebel and do it the other way.’
‘I’d be disappointed if you did anything else.’ As Lando’s phone pings, he glances at it. ‘That’s your mum, reminding us the kids have done us a lucky dip of first date questions. They’re in the empty plant pot.’
I take a bite of scone and groan. ‘They aren’t making this easy, are they?’
Lando narrows his eyes. ‘It depends what the questions are.’ He dips into the pot, unfolds the first scrap of paper and grins. ‘Which peanut butter do you like best?’
