Does he think he’s going to impress me with his command of Latin?
‘I’ve always considered you a good friend, but you know what? I think it could be even stronger than that, you know. All I’m saying is – perhaps we could get to know each other a little better, you know?’
If he says you know one more time, I swear I’m going to scream.
‘I’d be really honoured if you’d let me take you out to dinner one night. Is there even the remotest possibility I could get you to agree to that?’ He flashes his teeth at me again in what could almost pass for a wistful smile. Oh, he’s good at this all right.
I pretend to consider it for a moment. His smile doesn’t falter. I’m impressed. ‘OK, I suppose . . .’
His smile broadens. ‘That’s great. Really great. How would Friday suit you?’
‘Friday’s fine.’
‘Cool. What kind of food do you like? Japanese, Thai, Mexican, Lebanese?’
‘Pizza’s good for me.’
His eyes light up. ‘I know this great restaurant – serves the best Italian food round here. I’ll drive by to pick you up at, say, seven?’
I am about to protest that it would be easier to meet him there when it dawns on me that having him come to the house might be no bad thing.
‘All right. Seven o’clock on Friday.’ I smile again. My cheeks are beginning to ache.
He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. ‘You’ll have to give me your address!’
He produces a pen while I rummage through my pockets and find a crumpled receipt. I write down my address and number and hand it back to him. As I do so, he holds onto my fingers for a moment and flashes another of his high-wattage smiles. ‘I look forward to it.’
I’m beginning to think this might be quite fun, even if it’s just to laugh about him the next day with Francie. I manage a genuine smile this time and say, ‘Yeah, me too.’
Francie leaps out from behind the phone box at the end of the street. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, tell me everything!’
I wince and bring my hand up to my ear. ‘Aargh, Jesus – try and give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’
‘You’re blushing! Oh my God, you said yes, didn’t you?’
I briefly recount the conversation. Francie grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me brutally and starts to shriek. A woman looks round in alarm.
‘Calm down,’ I laugh. ‘Francie, he’s a complete twat!’
‘So? Tell me you don’t fancy him!’
‘OK, maybe I find him slightly attractive—’
‘I knew it! You were complaining just the other week you’d never kissed a guy! As of Friday, you’ll be able to cross that off your list.’
‘Maybe . . . Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m late for Tiffin and Willa.’
Francie grins at me as I begin to move off. ‘You’re gonna tell me everything, Maya Whitely. Every little detail. You owe me that much!’
I have to confess that the prospect of a date with Nico does make me feel fractionally better. Fractionally less abnormal, at least, and that’s quite something. That evening, as I sit at the kitchen table helping Tiffin and Willa with their homework, my mind keeps flicking back to the flirtatious exchange, the way he smiled at me. It’s not a lot – not nearly enough to fill the gaping void inside me – but it’s something. It’s always nice being fancied. It’s always nice being wanted. Even if it’s by the wrong person.
I’d let it slip to Tiffin and Willa. I was ten minutes late picking them up, and when Tiffin demanded to know why, in my stupidity, still a little dazed, I told him that I was talking to a boy from school. I thought this would be the end of it, but I’d forgotten Tiffin is almost nine. ‘Maya’s got a boyfriend, a boyfriend, a boyfriend!’ he sang all the way home.
Willa looked worried. ‘Does that mean you’re going to go away and get married?’
‘No, of course not,’ I laughed, trying to reassure her. ‘It just means I’ve got a friend who’s a boy and maybe I’ll go and see him once in a while.’
‘Like Mum and Dave?’
‘No! Nothing like Mum and Dave. I’ll probably only ever go out with him once or twice. And if I do go out with him more than that, it’ll still be hardly ever. And of course it will only be when Lochie’s at home to look after you.’
‘Maya’s got a boyfriend!’ Tiffin announces as Kit slams through the door and executes a whirlwind tour of the kitchen, hunting for snacks.
‘Great. I hope the two of you will have lots of babies and be very happy together.’
By dinner time Tiffin has other things on his mind – namely the football game his friends are playing loudly and unhelpfully right outside the house while he is stuck inside, simultaneously being force-fed runner beans and grilled on his times tables by Lochan. Willa is studying ‘materials’ at school and wants to know what everything is made of: the plates, the cutlery, the water jug. Kit, bored, is in one of his most dangerous moods, trying to wind everyone up so that he can sit in the eye of the storm and laugh at the chaos he has created all around him.
‘Four sevens?’ Lochan picks up Tiffin’s fork and spears two runner beans before handing it back to him. Tiffin looks down at it and grimaces.
‘Come on. Four sevens. You’ve got to be quicker than that.’
‘I’m thinking!’
‘Do it like I told you. Go through it in your head. One seven’s seven, two sevens are—?’
‘Thirty-three,’ Kit chips in.
‘Thirty-three?’ Tiffin echoes optimistically.
‘Tiff, you’ve got to think for yourself.’
‘Why did you put two beans on my fork? It’ll make me choke! I hate runner beans!’ Tiffin exclaims angrily.
‘What are runner beans made of?’ Willa asks.
‘Snake poo,’ Kit informs her.
Willa drops her fork and looks down at her plate in horror.
‘One seven’s seven,’ Lochan continues doggedly. ‘Two sevens are . . . ?’
‘Lochie, I don’t like runner beans too!’ Willa protests.
For the first time in my life I don’t feel the slightest bit inclined to help out. Lochan has said exactly five words to me since coming home two hours ago: Have they done their homework?
‘Tiffin, you must know what two sevens are! Just add them together for chrissakes!’
‘I can’t eat all this, you’ve given me too much!’
‘Hey’ – Kit cocks his head – ‘did you hear those shouts, Tiff? Sounds like Jamie just scored another goal.’
‘That’s my football they’re playing with!’
‘Kit, just leave him alone, will you?’ Lochan snaps.
‘I’ve finished.’ Willa pushes her plate as far away as possible, knocking over Kit’s glass in the process.
‘Willa, watch what you’re doing!’ Kit yells.
‘How come she gets to leave all her beans?’ Tiffin begins to shout.
‘Willa, just eat your beans! Tiffin, if you don’t know what four sevens are, you’re going to fail your test tomorrow!’ Lochan is losing his cool. It gives me a perverse sort of pleasure.
‘Maya, do I have to eat my beans?’ Willa turns to me plaintively.
‘Ask Lochan, he’s the cook.’
‘I think you’re being a bit free and loose with the word cook there,’ Kit remarks, chuckling to himself.
‘The boss, then,’ I substitute.
‘Yeah, that’s the one!’
Lochan flashes me a look that says, What have I done to you? Again, I’m aware of a fleeting sense of satisfaction.