There were so many reasons why I was looking forward to my date with Marco, and not all of them were to do with his face, forearms or lips. The next episode of House of Stars aired that evening, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near the house when it happened. My date would keep me out of the house for most of the evening.
The house was a strange (well, stranger) place to be. Aphrodite and Eros clearly weren’t going to break the news to Dad about Apollo’s big TV break. Aphrodite was in her room/studio all the time, handling Foam of the Sea orders and uploading new vlogs to her beauty channel, and Eros seemed to split his time between several different volunteering projects. It’s almost like they were avoiding Dad.
Maybe I was overthinking it? When I told Eros about Apollo’s bid for fame, he barely seemed to care. The gods have successfully lived in a mortal society for centuries, so what’s the harm in them having a little fame now and then?
I was zipping up my parka in the hallway when the door opened, and in walked Dad with Lisa. Crap. I completely forgot to ask Dad if I could go out tonight.
“Hi, Dad. Hi, Lisa,” I said, masking my internal panic.
“Ah, hello, Helen! On your way out? I thought we could have dinner together,” Dad said, unravelling his scarf. Yeah, right. He probably only remembered I existed because I was standing in front of him.
“I’m going to the cinema with Daphne, Noor and Yas, remember?” I asked.
Obviously I couldn’t tell him the truth. How would he react if I told him about the date with Marco? Demand his full name (which I still didn’t know), blood type and a reference check, probably.
“Sounds fun! What are you going to see?” Lisa asked. Uh-oh. What was I going to see?
“You know, that new romcom with that actor who’s in everything these days,” I said. “Anyway, I’m running late. See you both later!” I ran out of the door before Dad could object.
“Helen, wait!” Dad called out the front door. Please, please, please let me go!
“Get yourself some popcorn,” he said, stuffing a tenner in my palm. Yes! The night was off to a good start.
I made my way to the tube station where we arranged to meet. The grubby, noisy main road wasn’t the romantic reunion spot I had in mind, but whatever. Meeting at a station meant that wherever we were going wasn’t in my neighbourhood. That made discovery by Dad even less likely.
I hoped that my outfit would fit in wherever we ended up. I sent a picture of my final look (black ankle boots, skinny jeans and an off-shoulder purple jumper with my favourite hoop earrings) to the group chat. They all agreed that it struck the perfect balance between casual and dressy.
It didn’t compare to the priceless vintage dress and inch-thick face of make-up I wore the first night we met. Would Marco be expecting a perfectly coiffed, ultra-confident glamazon? Would he even recognize me in my normal clothes?
Maybe it was for the best that I wore something more my style. If he truly wanted to date me, he’d have to date my windswept hair (seriously, it was smudging my lip gloss) and un-glam parka coat too.
I spotted him as I approached the station from across the road. He had his earphones in and was reading something on his phone, but I recognized his black coat. I waved to get his attention but it didn’t work.
My tummy did somersaults as I crossed the road. I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Marco,” I said. He turned around and I nearly died.
It wasn’t Marco. That was obvious the second he turned to face me. Just another guy with brown hair and black coat. Why why why.
Not-Marco pulled out his earphones. “Can I help you?” he asked. I shook my head and willed for the earth to swallow me up. At least Marco wasn’t there to see me embarrass myself.
Or so I thought.
“You were close, we do look alike,” a voice behind me said. It was him.
Seriously?! Why did I have to embarrass myself every time I left the house?
I opened and closed my mouth, unsure of what to say. Marco ignored my goldfish impression and gave me a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek.
“I mean it, Helen. We have the same coat and everything. It’s uncanny!”
Marco was kind enough not to laugh in my face. Not only that, but he insisted it was an easy mistake to make. We hopped on the tube and he soon forgot about it (at least, I hoped).
I fancied him so much it was hard to concentrate, but we managed to have a good conversation on the tube. We talked about everything on our way to the surprise date destination: family, school, our favourite toast toppings. Y’know, the essentials. But it seemed to be me doing a lot of the talking. I’m usually nervous about revealing too much about my immortal family, even when I’m with my friends. But it was unavoidable with Marco. He asked so many questions.
“So is the Greek side from your father or mother?” he asked, shouting over the sound of the tube rushing through the tunnel.
“Dad’s the Greek one. My mum’s family are Jamaican.” I said. Then I blurted out, “She died when I was ten.”
I just wanted to get it out of the way. Telling people your mum died always makes them awkward.
“My mother is alive, but I haven’t seen her since I was twelve. She may as well be dead,” he said.
That was not the reply I was expecting. It’s not often someone replies to “my mum died” with something besides tuts, sad eyes or even an unwanted hug. It was kind of refreshing.
I wanted to know more, but the tube pulled into South Kensington station. “We’re here!” Marco said, tugging at my coat sleeve.
We hopped out of the station, busy as ever on a Saturday night, and walked up the stairs leading out into the freezing night. “Glad I told you to wrap up warm?” Marco said, squeezing my arm. My skin tingled.
We were walking towards the Natural History Museum. I recognized the huge, churchlike building from days out with Dad. Thanks to his obsession with all things ancient (and cheap), I knew all the free museums in London.
Were we having a night at the museum? I guess that could be romantic, minus the fossils.
It was still decorated with fairy lights from Christmas. As we got closer, I heard the sounds of people laughing and yelling. Then I remembered. The ice rink!
I turned to Marco. “We’re going ice skating?”
“Damn, you guessed it! Yes, we’re going to skate. I hope that’s not too clichéd?”
Ice skating! It was so romantic. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends. The date hadn’t properly begun but already Marco was racking up points. He was too adorable.
“It’s completely unexpected,” I said.
He looked pleased by that. “I must warn you, I am a terrible skater. There wasn’t much ice in the Greek village I grew up in!”
“Which village was that?” I asked, but he’d already turned away to pay for our tickets.
Once we had our skates on, we edged towards the rink. Luckily, my after-school lessons came flooding back as soon as the skates hit the ice. I got my balance and jetted off, leaving Marco skating against the edge of the rink. After a few rounds of the rink, I decided to help Marco along, so I skated in front of him, holding his hands to keep his balance.
It took me exactly 0.2 milliseconds to clock that we were staring directly at each other while holding hands. It felt even more intimate than our kiss together, and I was tingling all the way to my toes (OK, maybe it was the too-tight skates).