“I only meant, not about work,” Simon said with a rakish grin. “I want to know about you. Where did you grow up?”
“Middlesbrough. Not exactly the garden of England.”
“Respectable enough. Happy families?”
“Yes, if not the usual one. My dad scarpered when I was two.” She spoke matter-of-factly, slightly offhand, as she always did when people asked about her father.
Simon grimaced, a look of sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. My mum did the job for both of them.”
“Which makes what’s happening now all the harder.”
“Well, yes.” She’d told him something of that before, and of course he’d remembered. “I suppose it would feel a bit different if I were married,” she said, and then realised how that sounded. “I mean…that’s what Mum said. She doesn’t want to burden me when I’m on my own, the only one to cope with what’s happening.”
“That’s understandable.” Thankfully Simon didn’t seem fazed by her marriage comment. Hopefully he hadn’t thought the subtext was she needed to snag a man so she could deal with her ailing mother. What a way to kill a first date. “Have you ever come close?” he asked lightly.
“To what?”
“Marriage. Kids. All that.”
“No, not really.” She hesitated, wondering how far she wanted to delve into her decidedly uninteresting romantic history, and then decided why not? At her age she should put all her cards on the table, and really, there weren’t that many. “I had a serious boyfriend for a few years about ten years ago. We talked about it, but it never felt right. And after that everything was pretty casual.” Which made her sound as if she hooked up all the time, which was so far from the truth it was ludicrous. “I mean, a couple of dates here and there. Mainly there.”
Simon gave a rueful laugh. “I suppose I’m the same.”
“No one serious?”
“Similar to you. I was engaged about fifteen years ago, in my twenties, to another musician. We met in uni and then she got a gig travelling the world with an orchestra. It was for eighteen months, and I thought we’d survive it, but then I got a ‘Dear John’ email from Singapore. It wasn’t meant to be.”
“No, that’s how I’ve always thought. If I’d really want to get married, I would have done. I wouldn’t have been so picky.”
“And now?” Simon asked, his gaze serious enough to make her squirm a little. “How do you feel about all that now?”
Gulp. Was this really the kind of question to ask on a first date? But of course it was; neither of them were getting any younger. No point in wasting time if they wanted different things in life.
“Honestly?” Olivia rotated her wineglass by its stem as she considered his question—and her answer. “I don’t know. In London I was always happy enough, being the honorary auntie, the godmother, the best friend.”
“All supporting roles.”
She was gratified he got it so quickly. “Exactly. And that really suited me fine. I liked having my freedom—my own place, Saturdays to do with as I chose, always able to decide what I want to eat or watch on telly.”
“There are definitely some perks to the single life.”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m turning forty in a few months and things are starting to feel different, I suppose—with my mum and also my friends all having kids and busy lives. Living in Wychwood isn’t actually a swinging singles paradise, not that I’d want that scene.”
“True. So what do you want out of life now?”
“Wow, deep question.”
“No point pussyfooting around, is there? We don’t spend enough time pondering the deep questions, in my opinion.”
“No, I don’t suppose we do.” Olivia took a sip of wine, considering. “I suppose I’m a little scared,” she admitted, surprised at how vulnerable she was being—and yet Simon had already seen her vulnerable, back in the hospital and afterwards.
“Scared of what?”
“The future. Living the rest of it alone. I’ve got Dr Jekyll of course, but as you know he’s a changeable creature.”
“There’s still time, though, isn’t there?” He smiled wryly. “I’m forty-one in April and I’m still hoping there is.”
“Time for what, exactly?” Olivia decided to be direct. “Because in terms of the whole bumps-and-babies thing, there probably isn’t, for me.” Which perhaps was too much information, but she knew some men set a lot of store by these things. Back in London, she’d seen far too many men her own age preferring a younger, more fertile model.
“I suppose it depends. I can’t say I’m an expert, but in any case I wasn’t speaking so much of kids as life partner. Love, marriage, that sort of thing.”
“Ah. Well, here’s hoping.”
“Yes.” His voice dropped a notch, taking on a not-so-subtle meaning that made Olivia’s insides fizz. “Here’s hoping.”
Thankfully then they kept the conversation lighter, talking about village life and art and music, and then Simon fetched a pair of menus in case they wanted any food.
Olivia realised she was enjoying herself; she’d let go of her nerves and worries and was simply revelling in being with someone who was witty and interesting and attractive, and more importantly, interested in her. She loved how Simon gave her his full attention, his gaze both warm and alert, so clearly listening to everything she said. It was a rare gift in any person, to be so fully present and involved.
They ordered a couple of starters and shared them; Olivia didn’t even mind gnawing at a buffalo wing in front of him, getting sauce on her chin in the process, and no doubt shreds of meat between her teeth.
“So, do you think you’ll stay in Wychwood long-term?” she asked after they’d polished off a plate of wings as well as another of nachos.
“I think for the time being, yes. It’s good to be close to my sister, and I was getting priced out of London anyway.”
“You live with your sister?” Olivia asked, and that surprised, slightly guarded look came into Simon’s
