‘Doubtful!’ I call back, and I make a mental note to avoid the Filmhouse for the rest of my life. Thirty minutes later I’m home, in bed, asking myself just one question:
What in the name of fuck just happened there?
It’s nearly 3 a.m. but I text Kerry anyway because I’m full of bewilderment, annoyance and a variety of words which I must share with her immediately:
MEN ARE WEIRD. Great flat, incredible sex but then he turned into a cold, arrogant prick because I write stuff. HE HATES COUNTRY MUSIC. What was I thinking?
I plug my iPod into Grace’s bunny speaker and turn on Johnny Cash, silently berating myself for going home with the wanker of the week.
Chapter Eleven
Despite feeling worse for wear after my night with Dylan, I take Grace for breakfast as planned. As I step outside into the morning the light dazzles my eyes and I slip on a pair of sunglasses, not caring how pretentious I look. We pop across the road to Fee’s Cafe where I grab a table in the corner and Grace happily plonks herself down on the comfy brown sofa.
‘I want sausages, Mum. And some toast. But not the toast with the seeds. Real toast. The white kind.’
I don’t protest. Instead I call the waiter over and let a delighted Grace order for herself, before I ask for all the caffeine with an extra shot.
Grace swings her legs, eats her sausages and tells me important things about Lego ninjas while I nod and nurse my coffee. I know it’s not only the effect of the wine last night that’s making me tired – it’s the fact that I haven’t gone three rounds with anyone and crawled into bed at 3 a.m. for a very long time. This is a young woman’s game; what am I playing at? I’m not twenty-two any more; I’m hurtling towards forty at breakneck speed. And what the hell was Dylan all about?
‘Mum? MUM.’
‘Sorry, Gracey. I was, um . . . thinking about your Lego men. What did you say?’
‘I was asking if I can have a muffin to take to Dad’s.’
‘Sure – one of the small ones though. You’ve just demolished a grown man’s breakfast.’
‘Can we go to the big toy shop after this? Marie from school said they have about a million loom bands.’
‘Yes, OK, for a wee while, but we have to get to your dad’s by three. I’m going out later.’
‘Aunt Helen told me you have a date.’
‘Your Aunt Helen has a big mouth. It’s just dinner.’
‘You should wear your white dress. You look pretty in that.’
‘Kerry told me not to.’
‘Kerry is kind of weird.’
‘You’re a very smart girl.’
She agrees and skips off to choose a muffin while I text Peter to let him know what time we’ll be there.
*
Peter is pottering around in the garden when we get there, wearing cargo trousers and an overly tight T-shirt. Grace immediately gravitates towards the garden shears as if she’s being pulled there by a tractor beam.
‘Do not touch them, Grace,’ Peter says, without even turning around. ‘They’re sharp.’
She changes course and instead runs inside with her blueberry muffin. We all live to see another day.
‘Jeez, you look rough,’ he says, now looking directly at my dark-circled eye sockets. Cheeky bastard.
‘Oh, I’m fine, but never mind me – have you been working out?!’ I ask him in my best ‘astounded’ voice.
‘Me?’ he asks, surprised. He looks down at his stomach. ‘No . . .?’
