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‘I’m Billie,’ I tell him, introducing myself, eager to make a friend.
‘I’m Sid,’ he replies. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
‘Oh, that’s okay, I’ve just got this one,’ I reply.
Sid gestures to the bar man.
‘Two Dirty Donnies, mate,’ he says. Then he turns to me. ‘It’s not a drink, it’s a shot.’
‘I am not great with shots,’ I insist politely.
‘It’s sweet, I think you’ll like it,’ he insists. ‘And you’ll need it, to get through one of these events, with some of this lot. They can be majorly dull. Everything is easier with a drink in you.’
‘Oh, hello,’ a male voice interrupts us.
I turn around to see that the man is talking to us – talking to me.
‘Erm, hi,’ I reply.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ he replies through a big smile.
I don’t, but I’m pretty sure I would remember him, if I had met him before. He’s tall, at least six foot three. If I stepped down off this stool, with almost a foot between us, my head would probably only just pass his shoulders. His brown hair is long on top, blown back, but not perfectly, and he has that trendy, attractive style of facial hair where you can’t quite figure out whether or not it’s a short beard or just overgrown stubble, but it’s definitely intentional. He’s got a little bit of the Andrew Garfields about him, apart from the fact that underneath his thick dark eyebrows he has the greenest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. The more I look at him, the more certain I am that I would definitely remember him.
‘Erm…’ I stare at him for a moment, then back to Sid, to see if he has any idea, then back to the mystery man.
‘It’s Rocco,’ he tells me, holding his hands out to the sides, as though the revelation of his name is going to click everything into place. ‘You went to school with my sister, Angela.’
I honestly would welcome any sort of link to this man. He’s gorgeous, instantly charming, and clearly very friendly. But I don’t remember going to school with anyone called Angela.
He must realise I have no idea what he’s talking about because he takes his phone from his pocket. He taps the screen a few times before holding it up for me to see.
‘Here’s a photo of her,’ he says.
I notice his marked effort to hold the phone in a way that I can see it, and Sid can’t, before I realise that he isn’t showing me a photo at all, it’s a message typed in his notes app.
Every night this guy tries to get girls drunk so he can take them home.
My first feeling is a sick, twisty sensation in my stomach. I’ve been out of the dating game for so long, being with Declan for years, and then keeping myself off the market ever since we split, that I forgot what it’s like out here. I didn’t even consider that not all men’s actions are completely genuine, and that some might even be acting maliciously – even if they don’t see it that way, but surely that makes this guy even more dangerous? Imagine if I’d accepted his drink, then had another, then another. I would have thought we were getting on like a house on fire – I might even have gone home with him, willingly or without even realising. It’s scary, and it kind of makes me want to go home, but this gesture from a stranger quickly calms me down, enough to encourage me to stay. Not all men are up to something.
‘Oh, my goodness, yes! Angela!’ I say enthusiastically. ‘How is she doing?’
‘You know what, not great,’ he replies. ‘It’s a long story, if you’d like to hear it before we start bowling? I’m sure she would appreciate you reaching out, actually. It’s been a really difficult time.’
‘Oh, no, that sounds awful.’ I turn to Sid. ‘Sorry, I’d better go find out.’
‘But your shot is coming,’ he protests.
‘I’m really not a shot person,’ I insist. ‘You have it. Thanks anyway.’
I grab my cocktail, hop down from my stool and follow Rocco. I wait until we’re far enough away from Sid before I say anything.
‘Oh, my God, thank you,’ I tell him. ‘If you hadn’t stepped in, who knows what could have happened?’
‘I’ve been keeping an eye on him,’ Rocco replies. ‘He’s tried a few times now, I’m wise to his tricks. These aren’t private events, for the most part, so there’s no actual way for me to stop him being here. All I can do is keep a close eye on him, and warn anyone off him, who he starts to play his games with.’
‘Well, I really can’t thank you enough,’ I tell him.
We naturally gravitate towards a sofa, back over where Leila and the rest of the Matcher gang are busily sorting teams, ready for the bowling to begin.
