‘Hey, Mark, I’m just back from the hospital, and I was thinking about you.’
‘Oh, right okay.’ He sounds hesitant. ‘How’s your dad?’
‘He’s feeling great.’
‘Good. I had a quick chat with the surgeon, who’s very happy with his progress.’ There’s a pause. ‘I wanted to apologise for last night. I was short with you, and that was out of order.’
I stop him before he can say anything more. ‘Please don’t apologise. I get it. I really do.’ Except, I’m not sure I shouldadmit just howmuchI get. It’s not a subject I want to broach over the phone.
‘The good news is he should be released tomorrow,’ says Mark, after a pause.
‘Someone should have told my mum, who made me take him enough food to feed a regiment.’
‘That was very sweet of her.’
I stop myself mid-sentence. Itwassweet of her. Why do I always ridicule her for showing love through food?
‘So,’ Mark continues, ‘I was hoping you were free tonight. Theo wants to come round for one last tango lesson before we head up to Leeds. He’s got a two-hour window between six and eight. I know it’s short notice, but I’ll make it worth your while – I’ll cook us dinner afterwards.’
‘You don’t need to, I’m happy to help.’
‘I’d like to.’
I check the time. It’s almost four. ‘Okay, then. I’ll bring dessert.’
‘Deal.’
I retrace my steps and go to the corner shop, grabbing bits and pieces and hoping Mum has the rest of the ingredients I need at home.
I’ve never madegalatobourekobefore and I had to cheat with shop-bought filo pastry, but hopefully it’s edible.
As I’m waiting for it to bake, Mark texts:wear those red heels tonight.
My first thought is: does he want to do the lesson somewhere formal?
Actually, that’s not true. My first thought, courtesy of my reptilian brain, was, HE WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU.
Or maybe that text was meant for someone else? Was another woman coming overafterthe dancing and dinner?
I’m still overthinking Mark’s text when a second one arrives.Wear whatever you like – but bring heels so Theo gets used to dancing with someone your sister’s height.
Okay, that’s good. That means the textwasmeant for me, and itwasn’tabout sex.
I’m an idiot.
A short idiot.
I arrive five minutes late because after a text exchange with Yan wherein I discover he’s staying over at ‘Ned’s’ tonight, Reptilian Brain had rubbed its hands in glee and demanded I wear something either VERY TIGHT or VERY REVEALING, preferably both if we wanted to maximise my chances of getting some tonight.
I tried to ignore that voice and sternly reminded myself that Mark and I are just friends, and all we’re doing tonight is helping – aspals– another pal learn to dance.
There is no ‘some’ to be got.
So I ignored the slinky black dress that leapt out of my wardrobe and plumped instead for black capris, (flattering rather than tight), paired with a gingham peasant top that only resembles the get-up of a buxom tavern wench if you had sex on the brain. Which I don’t.
The low-cut top meant I had to dig out one of those uncomfortable bras that usually only gets an outing on Valentine’s and birthdays, and because I needed a big bag to carry thegalatoboureko, I threw in some extra bits and pieces because it looked weird half empty.
Mark is shower-fresh when he opens the door – damp hair and pinkish just-shaved face. He clocks my shoes but doesn’t say anything. He kisses me on the cheek and I follow him upstairs into the living room, enjoying how well he wears low-slung jeans.
