Page 71 of Five Things I Love About You

‘Your carriage awaits, madame,’ he says, opening the door and letting me slide in first. He climbs in beside me and speaks to the driver, then sits back.

‘I hope you like the restaurant I’ve chosen,’ he says. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

‘I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I say.

The taxi ride isn’t far and in no time we’re pulling up outside a restaurant on Grey Street, one of the main roads down to the quayside. This city is already beginning to feel familiar to me and I wait for Jay to pay the taxi fare, watching a woman stagger down the steep hill in heels far too high and precarious for the job. I hope she doesn’t fall.

‘This place hasn’t been here long,’ Jay says, appearing beside me. ‘But it serves delicious tapas and it’s never let me down yet.’

He opens the door and stands aside to let me through first. The restaurant is already full, and the waiter hurries up within seconds.

‘James,’ he says, leaning in to give Jay a hug and a back pat.

‘Hello, Jorge,’ Jay says in a perfect Spanish accent as they pull apart. ‘Where have you put us tonight?’

‘We were quite busy but I’ve got you the small table by the window,’ Jorge says, and Jay beams.

‘You’re a star, thank you.’ He turns to me. ‘Jorge is married to my ex-wife’s sister. He usually tries to get me a good seat but he’s clearly doing too well and doesn’t always have one free.’

That explains the over-familiarity at least. I wonder how often Jay comes here. Whether he brings other women.

I wonder why it matters.

Jorge leads us to our seats and Jay pulls out my chair for me to sit.

‘The food in here is to die for,’ he says, after Jorge has handed out the menus and left us to it. ‘I always get the octopus and the tortilla, but of course have whatever you like.’

I’m starving, and the aromas coming from the kitchen are making my mouth water. We order wine – a good, heavy red – and a few dishes between us, then Jay threads his hands beneath his chin and turns to me, the candlelight picking out the contours of his face. I feel a shiver of excitement.

‘So, thank you again for looking after me. And Alan,’ Jay says. His teeth are so white, and his lips full. ‘I’m not sure why you bothered, but to be honest I don’t know what I’d have done without you so I’m very grateful.’

This is my moment to tell him it was my fault he crashed his car; that it was me who was riding the bike that caused him to swerve and crash. But the last thing I want to do is ruin the evening before it’s even begun. So I don’t.

‘I only did it for Alan,’ I say, smiling to show I’m joking.

‘Ah, well, he is pretty special,’ he agrees. Our drinks arrive in record time and Jorge pours a splash of wine for me to taste. I have no idea what I’m meant to be tasting for, so I nod and say, ‘Lovely,’ and let him pour proper glassfuls.

Jay takes a sip of his and rolls it round his mouth. ‘God, that’s delicious,’ he says. ‘It’s always worth paying a bit extra for decent red wine I reckon.’ I wouldn’t know my £100 bottle of Chateau-Neuf du Pape from my ten-quid bottle of supermarket Merlot, so I just agree and take another appreciative sip.

I’m suddenly nervous. It feels as though a lot is resting on this meal. I left behind my home and my friends to move three hundred miles away on a whim to look for the man I’d fallen in love with in my dreams. Now I think I’ve found him, and I have to hope that he’s everything I imagined he would be.

No pressure.

My pulse thumps in my throat as Jay leans towards me.

‘So, tell me a bit about you. You said you came up here for work, didn’t you?’

I feel my face burning.

‘Yes, sort of,’ I say, gulping down a mouthful of wine. ‘I got made redundant and fancied a change and just thought, why not?’ I say. It sounds weak even to my ears but he doesn’t seem to notice.

‘Very brave. Why Newcastle though? I would have thought there were much more exciting cities than here to have a bit of a change.’

‘I guess I thought, if I’m going to go, I might as well go far enough to make a difference. Otherwise it would have been too easy to just give up and go home.’

He studies me for a moment as though trying to read my mind. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me? A sorted, mature, interesting woman who likes to be spontaneous – or a slightly unhinged middle-aged crazy-lady who hangs around talking to strange men in hospitals because she’s so desperate to meet someone?

I don’t think I really want to know.

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