Also, her dad is mates with Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin, which is more than a bit cool. I hear they get together quite a bit so I’m hoping she’ll invite me.
Shallow? Perhaps. But it’s going to add an extra bit of spice to an already promising evening.
‘Make sure you have her home by midnight,’ my housemate and writing partner grins, wagging her finger at me like a failing-to-look-stern headmistress.
Otty is, of course, having the time of her life tonight. It’s the first date I’ve been on since she moved in and she’s relishing the chance to exact revenge on me for how I was the night of her first date with Rona’s brother.
‘Very funny,’ I say, leaning down to tie my shoelaces.
‘I will be scrutinising your breakfast choices in the morning for signs of wanton shaggage.’
She is enjoying this far too much.
‘That’s not a word.’
‘Er, I think you’ll find it is. “Shaggage – noun – the unexpected baggage that inevitably follows a bout of shagging. See also bonkage and knobbage.”’ She beams like a smug victor on a podium.
‘They never taught me that in English lessons.’
‘Maybe they should have, Joseph.’
I straighten and grab my jacket. ‘You know, this gets old really quickly.’
Otty blesses me with a wry smile. ‘Have a lovely time, Joe.’
‘I will.’
‘Be good,’ she calls after me.
‘I’ll be amazing,’ I call back.
‘Ugh. Get out of my house immediately!’
I grin as I leave.
I’ve arranged to meet my date in a decent restaurant just off Chamberlain Square. Not knowing what she likes, I played safe and booked us a table at a small French bistro. French is good, right? I arrive first and wait at the table for her, suddenly feeling nervous. Which is daft, considering I’m hardly new to this. But now I’m at the table, trying not to demolish all the breadsticks before Molly arrives, I’m acutely aware of how many months have passed since my last date. It isn’t that I haven’t wanted to; I’ve just been busy.
I’m only here now because Otty and I agreed we needed a Saturday off.
I’ve seen her go on the odd date here and there, too, but nothing serious. I can’t even remember their names because she maybe mentions them once and then they’re gone. Work has been so all-consuming that it’s no wonder we’re both a bit lacklustre on the dating side.
All that could change for me tonight, though, if it goes well.
I check my watch: Molly is five minutes late.
That’s okay, I assure myself. We’re just playing it cool on the first date.
I raise my hand to summon a passing waiter and have just ordered a beer when Molly arrives.
She looks beautiful. Her blonde hair is loose and curls up where the ends meet her shoulders. She’s wearing a white blouse and fitted black trousers and her belt has just a hint of glitter that shimmers as she walks. Remembering my manners, I scramble to my feet to greet her with a double-cheek kiss.
So far, so awkwardly good.
‘Did you find this place okay?’ I ask as the waiter pulls out a chair for her and I sit back down.
‘Yeah, it was exactly where you said it would be.’
‘Right.’ We share timid smiles. ‘Would you like some wine?’
She glances at my newly arrived beer. ‘You already have a drink.’
‘I know. But I can leave it if you wanted wine instead.’
What? One thing’s for certain: I need to work on my first-date small talk because I suck at it tonight.
Molly lifts her hand and the waiter reappears. ‘Beer for me too, please.’
‘Oui, mademoiselle.’
She shrugs, her smile dazzling. ‘I like beer.’
I resist the urge to laugh because at that moment, I like Molly.
As first dates go, it’s surprisingly good. Dinner arrives and we both relax. By dessert, things are positively cosy.
‘I was hoping you’d ask me out,’ she admits, mid-tarte Tatin.
‘Were you?’
She nods. ‘For a long time. I even thought about asking you on a date. But I didn’t know if you and Otty were a thing.’
‘Ah. We’re not.’
‘I know that now. It’s just you were always together at work. And then Daphne said you lived together.’
I bristle. ‘Right…’
‘She seemed to think there was more going on than just sharing a house?’
I’ve seen the dead-eyes Daphne’s been firing our way in the writers’ room. The woman is obsessed with us. I know Otty is wary of telling her anything now. ‘Daphne sees drama everywhere. Don’t listen to her. Otty and I work together and live together, that’s all. She’s dating, so am I.’
A small crease appears between Molly’s perfectly groomed eyebrows. I’m not sure why – I mean, I’ve just explained everything, haven’t I? ‘Okay.’
‘I’m having fun,’ I say, although it sounds more apologetic than I intend.
‘Me too.’
Molly plays with the last piece of apple on her plate, her spoon twisting left and right as if guiding an ice hockey puck across the cream-glazed base of her bowl. I follow it, mesmerised, her voice strangely far away when she speaks. ‘We could have more fun next time if you wanted to come to mine?’
‘That would be… Yes, great,’ I manage, the bistro suddenly very warm indeed.
Outside, Molly pulls me in for a kiss that is as long as it is sweet and I promise to see her again soon outside work. We didn’t talk about Robert Plant tonight, but I’m not disappointed. Judging by our goodnight kiss, there will be plenty of opportunity for that…
I half expect Otty to be waiting up to grill me when I get home, but I find the house in darkness. No doubt she’s saving up her jibes for tomorrow. I might call her bluff – arrive in the kitchen in only my boxers and take two cups of coffee back upstairs with me. Or I might rock up in the clothes I’ve worn tonight, as though I’ve only just come home.
Smiling to myself, I grab a bottle of beer from the fridge and head up to my room to work.
‘It’s your turn to get the coffee.’
I look at Otty over the screen of my laptop. ‘I got them last time.’
‘No, I got these.’
‘Did you?’
She laughs. ‘Must have been some night for you and marvellous Molly. It’s addled your brain.’
I pull a face but I’m enjoying the banter today. Otty beat me to the chase this morning by leaving a note in the kitchen inviting me to join her at this city café for a working brunch. All my clever schemes to wind her up about my date therefore failed – and by the time I arrived it seemed too late to try.
I haven’t been here before, but I like it. Excellent coffee and laid-back service, all within a short walk of Birmingham Cathedral. In fact, the service is so laid-back it takes practically an hour for them to make your coffee. They seem to be enjoying themselves, though, and it’s oddly calming to watch the baristas at work.
I’m glad Otty suggested working out here. I’m not a fan of Sunday writing but, with a deadline, every day is a writing day. If it had to be anywhere, it’s best in a place like this. Stuck at home we’d never be this productive.