‘He will. Then before you know it, you’ll be all, “Yeah, this is my boyfriend the doctor.”’
‘Dentist.’
‘Whatever. He saves teeth. It’s still important. And it’s a free meal.’
‘No, the book says I have to go Dutch. So essentially I’m buying myself dinner and eating it in front of a dentist.’
‘Why do you have to split it? He invited you!’
‘To prove I’m not a gold-digger, skint or cheap. Otherwise I’d be likely to keep my purse in my bag and be all, “GARÇON, ANOTHER LOBSTER! HE’S PAYING!” Actually I wouldn’t get lobster anyway; it’s hard to look alluring when you’re cracking the shell and ripping meat out of a dead crustacean.’
‘Can I destroy that book when you’re finished, please? It’s turning you into a moron.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Wait, Cat, was that your phone?’ We both stare at each other for a second before I lunge for it. It’s a text from an unknown number. I throw the phone at Kerry, then bury my face in a cushion. ‘You read it. I can’t look!’
‘Fucking hell, Cat. It’s not a pregnancy test, it’s a text. Right, it says: Hi Catriona, it’s Tom. I’ve booked the Grill on the Corner for 8pm on Sat. Can meet you there? If not suitable, let me know.’
Smiling, she hands me back my phone and does a little dance. ‘Woohoo! That place rocks. Just promise me you won’t have a fucking salad or something. Women who eat salad on dates are the worst. It shows you’re shallow and empty inside.’
I enjoy salad, especially warm chicken salad with chilli dressing and croutons, but there’s no point explaining this to carnivorous Kerry, the woman who would happily devour rare steak for breakfast.
I read Tom’s message for myself, then wait ten minutes and type:
Sounds fine. See you at eight x
I stare at the message. ‘Kiss or no kiss?’
‘No kiss. He didn’t send a kiss.’
I delete the x and press Send. It’s done.
‘So this is happening then?’ I laugh. ‘What the hell am I going to wear?’ I suggest my white summer dress with the tiny flowers, but Kerry has other ideas.
‘That dress makes you look like a mum.’
‘I am a mum, Kerry.’
‘Yes, I know, but you don’t need to dress like one. Heaven forbid you remind him of his mum; you’ll never get a shag. What about your red one? Your boobs look marvellous in that.’
‘Is red really a first-date colour? I read that—’
‘Man, you’re really over-thinking this rules stuff,’ she interjects. ‘Look, just wear what you feel good in.’
‘OK.’
‘Except that white dress.’
‘FINE.’
‘Glad to be of service. I’m going to shoot off now, but I’ll meet you outside the Filmhouse tomorrow for the launch thingy.’
She leaves quietly, so as not to wake Grace, even though Grace would sleep through a stampede of singing bison. Regardless, it’s fun to watch Kerry try to tiptoe in wedges. I settle down on the couch to watch the episode of American Horror Story I recorded last night. I’m looking forward to tomorrow evening. It should be fun.
*
Grace helps me zip up my red dress and messes around with my make-up as I get ready for the Filmhouse opening.
