‘It’s perfect,’ Azim tells her. ‘The perfect little girl’s party.You’reperfect.’
And then they exchange a quick kiss and a hug and then stand with their arms round each other’s waists and I realise that I really, really, really want that with Emma. Forever.
Right now, though, we are two entirely separate people who happen to be at the same child’s birthday party. We’ve only interacted for one conversation and could easily not speak to each other again today and will then have no reason to interact again until the next time we’re at a party of Azim and Becca’s. I have really messed up.
The party drags while I try to be as natural as possible chatting to different people (but not Emma because she’s extremely busy the whole time with other guests). Eventually, several small and not-so-small children enter various states of meltdown, which I’m really not surprised about because the amount of sugar that’s been eaten is insane – I remember Thea on the occasional sugar rush when she was younger and it wasn’t pretty – and people start to make a move.
I’m talking to Azim’s parents, as always with half an eye on Emma (I do not like this version of myself), when I see her hugging Becca and making for the door.
‘So great to see you again.’ I pump Azim’s dad’s hand and kiss his mum’s cheek and turn and almost sprint across the hall to the exit.
There are two routes out of the churchyard, one straight ahead and one to the right. I just catch a glimpse of Emma’s swishing ponytail as she disappears through the gate maybe twenty metres ahead of me. I run up the path and see that she’s halfway along an alleyway to the left.
I begin to speed-walk until I’m fairly close to her, and then say, ‘Emma, hi.’
‘Oh, hi,’ she says over her shoulder, not slowing down.
The alleyway isn’t wide enough for us to walk side by side. She carries on walking, fairly fast, and I obviously don’t want to overtake her because I’d like to speak to her. I’m not going to bar her way because that would be ridiculous, so I carry on walking just behind. It doesn’t feel comfortable.
When we emerge onto the street, she says, ‘Goodbye, then.’
‘Which way are you going?’ I ask.
‘That way.’ She points left. My car’s parked to the right.
I passed my driving test last month; something about being with Emma on the trip made me think that now was the time to do it, so I took a few lessons and then regained my licence. I wanted to message her to tell her but obviously couldn’t, since I’m the one who walked away. Now isn’t the time, either.
‘Me too,’ I say and turn left with her.
Emma doesn’t speak, and fair enough; we don’t have to pretend now because there isn’t anyone from the party in sight.
All I can think about is how much I love her.
I’d love to spend time with her. I hope she feels the same way. I don’t want to rush things, though, make any more stupid mistakes.
There’s a big silence between us and I’m beginning to panic that we’ll reach the main road too soon and she’ll just hop on a bus and be gone. I mean, I could take the bus with her, obviously, but I can hardly follow her all the way home. So I should say something.
Suddenly, words just fall out of me. ‘Can we go on a date?’
I can’t believe I just said that and am terrified that she’ll say no, but I’m also so pleased to have asked.
Emma stops dead in the middle of the pavement and looks at me.
A young couple with a baby in a buggy dodge round us, and then Emma says, ‘Sorry, what?’
‘I’d love to go on a date with you if you’d like to.’
I don’t feel encouraged by the expression on her face, which is kind of shocked, and maybe annoyed, definitely not a big yes-I-love-you smile or anything else positive.
‘I… No.’ Emma shakes her head. ‘No, I can’t.’ She sounds pretty decisive.
‘Could I ask why not?’ I say, because in for a penny, in for a pound, and having asked, I’d like to know.
‘I am…’ She pauses and then continues, ‘Never going to be able to go on a date with you.’
‘Could I possibly ask why?’ I repeat, promising myself that I’ll have the dignity not to ask a third time.
She starts walking again, very briskly, and then after a few paces says, ‘Because I got back with my ex. In Paris actually. We got engaged and so that’s that really. It’s over between you and me. Forever. End of. I mean, not that I’m suggesting that we ever started again. But if we had done. We’d be over. Because I’m engaged.’
