Relationships: Part II

For all you Orwellian voyeuristic freaks interested in my date last Saturday it was, all in all, a success. The pessimist in me, however, was sure to make his presence felt.

I awoke on the morning in question with the somatic anxiety that I had hoped would have faded from the day before when I’d had an exam. Evidently I was equally nervous about the date as I was about the exam.

On the bus journey down into town familiar fatalist thoughts crept into my mind: Would I forget her name (it wouldn’t be the first time)? Would I spill hot tea over her (again, going over old ground here)? Would she not even show up (mercifully not based on experience)?

I queued and got a table at the restaurant – a health food restaurant as she’s a self-described ‘hippie-dippie-veggie’– and after a few tense minutes, to my relief and delight, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. Smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek and fumbled seating etiquette ensued. I managed not to step on her feet but the poor lady standing behind me in the queue was less fortunate. Whoever you are, I apologise.

We ordered drinks – hot cordial for her and, tempting fate, tea for me – and settled into the conversation.

I had a thought, when the food came, that restaurants aren’t the best places to go on dates: Chatting over the (ideally, candle-lit) little table is all very well but as soon as the food arrives conversation either stops or becomes very awkward while you both try to eat and talk at the same time.

We seemed to cope, mainly by me asking questions and her covering her mouth and frantically clearing it of debris before answering. As a result I finished my fish finger sandwich long before her poached eggs were even half devoured.

After the meal I broke a cardinal rule of mine with regard to dating: we went to the cinema. I’ve never really liked going to the cinema on a date as I’ve always been conscious that the other person may not like the film we’d chosen.

As it turned out we both enjoyed it and it was a nice excuse to spend time with each other and not have to worry about conversation… or so I convinced myself later that evening, although I’m still not sold on the idea.

We parted in a bit of a rush. She was going on to meet a friend and I was catching the bus, so any urges to end the encounter with a kiss were hastily abandoned.

We kept each other virtual company by text on Sunday, expressing mutual feelings of wanting to be each other’s hot water bottle – a dead giveaway there’s something more than friendship on the cards.

Epilogue

I’ve moved back to London now (with no job and exams to revise for) and I find myself asking whether it’s all going to be worth it. London to Worthing isn’t exactly ‘long distance’ but we’ve barely scratched the surface of familiarity. She’s promised to visit, which is a comforting sign that she’s as into me as I think, and it’d be silly to abandon something that’s started so promisingly purely because of geography.

I wish we’d had more time as friends before leaping into something more. But, as a friend of mine told me: “You can’t always have it run as you think it should.” Could this be the mystery of love, that comes when you least expect it? If it’s not meant to be then it’ll fizzle out.

I keep asking myself: Why does there have to be such an uncomfortable phase between meeting someone and getting to the stage where you are entirely comfortable with each other’s company?

While we were sitting in the cinema and again walking down the street I found my hand hanging at my side in the vain hope that either she’d take it or I’d summon up the courage to take hers. How can such intimate thoughts of cuddling up on a sofa or meeting each other’s parents be running through my head when I’ve not even held her hand?

I guess it’s all part of the game…