Page 69 of Five Things I Love About You

‘So, I want to do something to thank you for helping me out,’ he says, as we start strolling. He’s limping slightly.

‘Don’t be daft, I was happy to help.’

‘Well, you didn’t need to, so I’d like to thank you. I thought I could take you out for dinner.’

‘Oh!’ It sounds distinctly like he’s asking me out. I should be over the moon that this has happened so quickly, but the echo of Matt’s words is still ringing in my ears and it’s hard to shake off.

‘Only if you want to,’ Jay says. ‘I don’t want to force you into it.’

‘No, sorry. That would be really lovely, thank you. I’d love to.’

He smiles again and I notice how it changes his face, softening the edges. The stubble he’d started to grow in the hospital has gone, his chin clean-shaven now and he looks younger. I try not to stare at the lines of his face, but it’s hard. I want to try and ignite some memory, jolt my brain into feeling the spark that I’ve always felt during my dreams.

I need to be patient. These things take time.

‘So, tell me more about your skydiving,’ I say.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘I don’t know. How long have you been doing it? What do you love about it? I mean, I did it once but that’s only made me more terrified of trying it again because I know what to expect.’

He smiles again. ‘I was only eighteen when I did my first skydive and I think that helped. You’re pretty fearless at that age. You think you’re invincible.’

I nod in acknowledgement, thinking of Kirstie, who still thinks she is.

‘When the kids were born my ex wanted me to give it all up, said it was selfish of me to keep putting my life at risk when I had children who depended on me. But what she didn’t understand was that it’s not that dangerous. I mean, there are so many safety precautions put in place for each dive you’re more likely to get run over by a bus than to die skydiving.’

‘Is that actually true or just what people say to convince themselves they’re not crazy?’

He gives me a sideways glance and ducks his head in acknowledgement. ‘Okay busted. I don’t know for sure if that’s entirely true, but Idoknow it’s true that skydiving is relatively safe.’

‘I guess it’s hard to understand if it’s not your thing. I mean, until the other day I would have said I’d rather poke red-hot needles into both eyes than throw myself out of a plane, but actually it was pretty good fun.’

‘So what made you do it, if it wasn’t something you fancied?’

‘I…’ God, what do I say? I should have expected this question, planned an answer other than ‘I was looking for you’. ‘My friend Kirstie wanted to try it so I went along for moral support.’

‘Does she live around here then?’

‘No, she lives in London, but she was visiting so…’ I trail off, aware my explanation is lame. To my relief, he doesn’t question it any further.

‘Well, perhaps I can get you up there again one day,’ he says.

‘Maybe,’ I mumble, knowing full well it’s not going to happen.

We walk along in silence for a few moments and I try to work out what to talk about next. I’d like to find out more about him. I’d always hoped that, if I ever found Jay, there would be such an instant spark between us it would be enough to run the entire National Grid for a day. But while Jay seems lovely, is undeniably attractive, and I’m enjoying his company, that spark is yet to ignite.

I’m sure it will happen though. Maybe it’s just a slower burning flame that, in time, will burn as brightly between us as it did in my dream.

Patience is not my forte.

Over the next half an hour or so I find out a few more things about him – that he loves football and supports Chelsea, that he plays golf regularly (I try not to shudder at the thought of it) and likes going on holidays with his friends – or ‘boys holidays’ as he calls them, despite the fact they must all be at least in their forties. None of the things he tells me fires up any memory or feeling of déjà vu, and I can’t help feeling a little disappointed.

‘So, are you free for that dinner tomorrow night?’ he says, as we approach the bench where we started.

‘Free as a bird.’

‘Good. Shall I pick you up about seven?’

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