Page 17 of Mad About You

‘I think it’s fair to say that’s the worst possible first impression I could’ve made. Like Tony Blair in 1997, at least I can say, things can only get better.’

They both laughed, Harriet with a surprised delight.

‘I work in recipe testing so I always carry a toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash with me,’ he said, slapping a canvas kit out of his pocket and unrolling it on the table by way of proof, as if he was Crocodile Dundee showing a Sheila his knives. ‘I’m still good to go if you are.’

‘Aren’t you too unwell?!’ Harriet said, in wonder.

‘Oh no. I’m used to this in my line of work, one and done,’ he paused, obviously realising that bragging about your prowess at regurgitation wasn’t very sexy. ‘Not that it happens often! But even with the best health and safety, with thenumber of factories I visit, sooner or later you encounter something a bit whiffy. The tragedy here is it was only the office fuddle to raise money for Guide Dogs for the Blind. What were you drinking?’

Jonathan went to get the round – now something of a celebrity in Alfred’s, he got them comped – and Harriet had to admire his sangfroid.

Despite this date being a total No Hoper from the get-go – and that was before the man honked up his lunch – it had an unexpected advantage: it was unburdened of any expectations. It really didn’t matter how it went. Harriet started to genuinely enjoy herself, and it was that double-plus sort of enjoyment you feel when it’s come out of leftfield.

She warmed to Jon. He wasn’t someone she’d usually find herself with, and that started to become attractive in itself.

Harriet liked how he had no qualms at admitting his sensitivities, and how he listened intently to her speak, laughing heartily and properly at her attempts at humour. She’d been taken aback by how many men would only offer a quick tight smile of appreciative tolerance, that conveyed: ‘I see what you’re trying to do, and if I had time, I would give you notes on the effort’.

Jonathan had been so badly bullied at his all-boys private school he’d moved to a comprehensive at his request, where he became popular and happy.

‘I kind of reinvented myself. It taught me a lot of life skills, a lot of coping mechanisms that have served me well,’ he said. ‘It’s possibly left me more shy around the opposite sex than I might be.’

She could see how his personality had been moulded: the impeccable manners and slightly upright, older-than-his-years bearing, the eagerness to please. Harriet even found herself feeling a whisper of protectiveness.

Inevitably, the question came from Jon: ‘What about your parents?’

‘They’re both dead.’

‘Gosh, I’m sorry. Do you mind if I ask how?’

‘They both died of cancer within a year of each other, by the time I was six years old.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘I can’t really remember it, obviously. My grandparents brought me up. My mum’s parents. In Huddersfield.’

‘Oh, that’s so hard. I’m so sorry,’ Jon said.

‘Hey, Huddersfield’s not that bad!’ Harriet said, yet Jon’s expression remained bleak.

‘Are your grandparents still with us?’

‘No, they died by the time I was in my mid-twenties.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘It was very sad but it wasn’t unexpected, they made good ages. They were grandparents.’

‘Yet you’re all alone?’

‘I have good friends. I have aunts and uncles and cousins, loads on my dad’s side in Ireland. I don’t feel alone.’

Jon shook his head. ‘Poor thing,’ he muttered.

‘Thank you, but I’m not a poor thing,’ Harriet said, in an unusual moment of being forthright. She’d tucked away quite a lot of wine on an empty stomach. ‘Please don’t look sad for me, as if I’m now a Thomas Hardy heroine. My upbringingwas different, but it wasn’t sad. It was actually a really good childhood. Pitying me feels like a bit of a value judgement on my life, although I know that’s not how it’s intended.’

‘Fair enough,’ Jon said, looking rather startled. ‘Pity certainly isn’t what I’ve been feeling this evening.’ After a long pause he said: ‘I could absolutely destroy a curry, could you?’

Harriet laughed. ‘Definitely.’

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