We all agree and make our way back to the changing area before heading into the main section of Winter Wonderland. Alfie drags Matt straight towards the popcorn stand, while Sarah and I grab some drinks and get a table.
‘She seemed nice,’ Sarah mentions, sipping her lager. ‘Really pretty. Good for you.’
‘I wouldn’t get overly excited,’ I reply. ‘Number one, she has no idea what I do for a living yet, and number two: see number one.’
Sarah rolls her eyes. ‘Not every woman is as shallow as your ex. She’d be lucky to date you.’
I thank Sarah for the compliment, but as I text Juliette the following day, it’s still playing on my mind. While it might not bother Sarah, who is decidedly good-natured and non-judgemental, I still fear that the majority of women aren’t as generous as she is. I decide the best course of action is to be upfront and save everyone time.
I text her:
Would love to take you for a drink soon but you should know that I’m an out-of-work lawyer, currently employed as Santa in a local shopping centre. This is obviously not a long-term position and I intend to be employed again in the corporate sector as soon as possible.
Then quickly delete it. But instead opt for:
I currently work as this guy in a shopping mall. It’s not cool or well-paid, but if you’re still up for it, would love to take you for a drink.
She replies twenty minutes later:
Would love to. Just leave the sleigh at home.
Chapter Twelve
Three nights later, I meet up with Juliette again at a new Portuguese place in Shoreditch that Matt recommended. It’s cosy and rustically pretentious, with wooden-beamed ceilings and specials boards scribbled in a secret language even the waiters have trouble reading. She’s a little late, so I grab myself a beer to calm my nerves.
Jesus, Nick, it’s a date not a police interview. You’re literally just having some food and a chat with another human being. Behave yourself.
I never used to get nervous on dates but the repeated battering my confidence has sustained recently seems to have taken a toll.
Juliette finally arrives, ten minutes late but looking just as pretty as I remembered, only this time her red hair is down; it’s extremely wavy when it’s not hidden under a bobble hat.
‘Glad you could make it,’ I say, rising to meet her. ‘You look nice.’
‘Thanks, you too. Sorry I’m a bit late.’
She sits at the table and takes off her coat, while the waiter asks what she’d like to drink.
‘White wine spritzer,’ she replies, ‘cucumber, not orange, thanks.’
She takes out her phone and quickly checks her mascara on her camera.
‘God, that rain is coming down in buckets,’ she says. ‘Thought I’d look like a panda by now.’
‘Don’t worry, you look great. How’s your day been?’
‘Good,’ she replies, still flicking her lashes against her finger. ‘Busy time of the year, so it’s hectic most days.’
I grin. ‘I feel you. I must have seen over a hundred kids today.’
‘So, you’re really Santa? I wasn’t sure whether you were messing with me or not!’ She picks up the menu and starts browsing. ‘I thought those jobs were exclusively for retired grandpas with too much time on their hands!’
‘Yeah, I thought so too,’ I reply, my stomach growling over the menu. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since my last selection box of the day. ‘But here I am. I probably wasn’t their first choice. . . I think I’ll get the chicken. Do you want to get a sharing platter to start?’
‘I don’t really have a huge appetite,’ she says. ‘I’ll just have the gnocchi, but get what you want!’
I want the sharing platter.
‘No, I’m good with just a main,’ I respond, deciding that watching me pig out on a first date might not be the best look.
