Our first official date was in a pretentious restaurant that was basically a pizzeria with candles, though I’ve nothing against pizza and admit that I rather liked the romantic feel the candles brought to the whole thing.
Anthony was looking good in a dark blue suit with an open-necked shirt. He was polite, chivalrous even, standing behind me to take my coat and then lingering long enough to slide my chair in for me as I sat down. I had never seen anyone actually do that before – well, not outside of a black-and-white film, at any rate. He talked about himself quite a lot, I remember. He told me about growing up in Warrington, and how he was ‘making a killing’ in property development, which seemed a bit of a brash, bragging thing to say on a date, but being so shy I was basically just happy that he was doing all the talking.
Our second date was in The Millers Arms, and we sat in front of the flickering open fire. Once again, Ant was chatty and animated. Because he was driving back home afterwards, he refused to drink alcohol and that certainly ticked a few boxes as far as I was concerned.
The third date was in Alberrys wine bar, and this time I watched him drink (reasonably) and, understanding the implication that he wasn’t intending to drive home afterwards, allowed him to ply me with slightly less reasonable quantities of Chardonnay. I watched him walk me home, then invite himself in for coffee. I noticed the gentle presence of his hand on my back as I boiled the kettle to make it.
I was so nervous that I felt as if I had stepped out of my body and was watching what was happening from the outside – watching myself being seduced.
I was surprised, shortly after the coffee, to find myself lying down beneath his tall, slender body; shocked, too, as he entered me, then relieved, I remember, when I grasped that he had managed to fit his not insignificant-looking organ inside me. I’d feared that I was too out of practice to manage it. I thought about asking him to use a condom, but couldn’t summon the strength to interrupt something that was, by then, already very much a work in progress. If something happened as a result, I’d just have to deal with it afterwards.
It was all a little faster than I would have preferred, and just as I was beginning to relax into the moment, I understood that it was over. But I couldn’t honestly say I had a problem with any aspect of it. In fact, I liked the sensation of his body, enjoyed the way his vastness so inevitably dominated my tiny frame.
From that point on, we were a couple, and that surprised me as well.
I’m not quite sure what I expected, but I suppose I thought there would be a moment when we’d have to decide whether we were going to go out together or not. I thought there would at least be a moment of conscious decision, a question asked, a reply given, whereas, in fact, our relationship just seemed to happen, like a snowball gathering size as it rolls downhill. It turned out that it was questioning, refusing, or trying to change direction that required effort, and I remember thinking, It’s that easy, huh? Who knew?
I finally managed to pronounce the word condom one evening, but when Ant claimed he couldn’t hold an erection while wearing one, I found myself too embarrassed to pursue the subject any further.
I decided I should probably go to the doctor and get a prescription for the pill, but continually forgot to book the appointment in that special way you forget to do things that make you feel uneasy. Each time we had sex, I’d reassure myself by thinking about Sheena, who’d been trying, and failing, to get pregnant for the best part of a decade. It wasn’t, it seemed, something that necessarily happened that easily.
A second toothbrush appeared in my bathroom mug. I stared at it as I sat on the loo one morning and wondered if Anthony should have asked me first. Leaving a toothbrush seemed like a definitive marking of territory, like a dog peeing against a lamp post just to show you that it can. But I reminded myself that I was seriously unpractised at this whole dating lark and so I said nothing when a spare shirt appeared in my wardrobe, as socks and underpants and then a tie materialised in the bottom drawer.
About three weeks into what I was finally accepting might be what people call ‘a relationship’, I woke up to the sound of moving furniture.
‘It’s better like this,’ Ant declared as I entered my lounge. He’d moved the TV to the opposite wall and turned the sofa through ninety degrees. ‘You don’t get the reflection on the TV screen any more.’
I considered the new layout and decided that I didn’t like it at all. But just as I opened my mouth to say so, Ant said, ‘I thought we could go out to mine later on. It’s about time you saw the place. What d’you think?’
‘Oh?’ I said. ‘Oh, all right then.’
‘Yes?’ Ant asked, and I realised I’d sounded uncertain. In truth, I’d been beginning to doubt the existence of Ant’s ‘little cottage’ in Sturry, but here it was, an official invitation to visit. I decided I could probably cope with the new furniture configuration for the moment, at least.
‘Yes, I’d love to!’ I said, correcting my tone of voice. ‘That would be great!’
Anthony’s car – a spotless grey BMW convertible that looked as if it had never been sat in, let alone driven anywhere – was a shock, but this was as nothing compared to his house. In fact, when he pulled up on the driveway, I assumed we were visiting someone else en route.
‘So? What do
