Page 16 of Love at First Sight

Dad almost retorts, but seems to think better of it. Instead, we sit and eat in silence for a beat to allow us both time to calm down. Dad has changed since Simone. Old Dad would have cheered me on with this, told me to go for it and to hell with how it turns out. Old Dad wouldhave told me to try. But since Simone, he’s different. He’s more judgy of people, because her snooty way of looking at the world has rubbed off on him. A short list of things Simone has slagged off, disapproved of or insinuated is beneath her in the handful of times I’ve spent in her company: anything with hearts on it, takeaways, open-toed shoes outside of a beach setting, the colour green, people who mispronouncebruschettawithout the hard ‘ch’ sound, so they say ‘broo-shetta’ instead of ‘broo-skeh-tah’, long fingernails, tap water, New World wines, too much make-up, too little make-up, mimes. It’s as if she thinks disliking things is a personality trait. Granted, Dad has stopped wearing dress shoes with jeans since Simone, but aside from that everything is overwhelmingly negative. She’s a happiness drain, instead of somebody whoaddshappiness to the world.

I finish my food and am busy attacking my face with a napkin when the door tinkles its welcome bell and Leo the butcher walks in. He’s dressed in all black: black jeans turned up at the bottom, black Birkenstocks, black vest with a black linen shirt open over it. As soon as he takes off his sunglasses he sees me, letting his equally hipster-looking friend tell the waiter they need a table for two as he stares and issues a smile-cum-smirk. He’s very handsome – that’s just the truth – with a real boyish twinkle in his eye. Dad senses he’s lost me and follows my gaze.

‘That’s the butcher off Church Street, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, I think so.’

‘Think so?’ Dad asks. ‘I’d say you know so.’

Leo lets his friend go ahead to their table and makes a beeline for us instead.

‘I never see you anywhere,’ Leo says, when he reaches us. ‘And now I suddenly see you everywhere.’

Dad watches me blush, and I mumble, ‘Hello, you. You’re looking very dapper.’

‘Oh this old thing?’ Leo says, giving us a twirl. When he circles back he acknowledges Dad.

‘How you doing,’ he says, holding out a hand. ‘How did that brisket suit you last week?’

‘Sublime,’ Dad says, shaking his hand. ‘Best of the best.’

‘I aim to please,’ Leo replies.

‘Did you know we’re dad and daughter?’ Dad asks him, and Leo looks back and forth between us. I swear to god he’d better have clicked, and whenever we’ve been together didn’t think we were a couple or anything foul like that.

‘Yes, yes,’ Leo says. ‘I thought you were, yes. The nose. Same nose.’

Nobody knows what to say then.

‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ I say, giving him an out. ‘I can recommend the shakshuka.’

‘And the full English,’ Dad adds. ‘Are they your sausages?’

‘They are,’ Leo says. ‘Thank you for noticing. I say, before I go, could I ask you a favour?’ He’s addressing Dad, who nods and says of course he can. ‘Get your girl here to finally decide she’s ready to go out with me. Shekeeps blowing me off, but honestly, I could end up as the son-in-law of your dreams.’

Dad hoots a laugh and calls Leo cheeky, but I can tell he’s impressed. When Leo has re-joined his friend, Dad not so subtly whispers to me: ‘You see! That! That’s how a man acts when he’s interested. Says it with his chest, goes all in. I know you don’t want to listen to your old man about matters of the heart, but I have been around the block, you know, and as a man I can tell you: if we’re interested, you know it. We give you our number – that’s what I did with Simone. She said shelovedhaving somebody be so upfront. I’m sure you had a lovely and unexpected time at the weekend, and that’s great. But think of that as a practice run, a way to get good at dating. And don’t look at me like that. It’s been a while for you! I know I shouldn’t point that out but facts are facts. Anyway. You could do a lot worse than going out with that fine-looking bastard,’ Dad concludes, gesturing towards Leo. ‘But I won’t badger you about it. I’ve said my piece.’

I don’t know what it is, but I find myself welling up, hot tears threatening to spill over and humiliate me. Dad hasn’t been himself with me in so long, and then suddenly, like now, Old Dad comes out in a fit of passion. It makes me emotional, because I know that Old Dad is in there, somewhere, and he still loves me – even if he is with horrid Simone.

‘Oh love, I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ Dad says, reaching out a hand. I blink the tears back. The last thing I want is Leo to see me sobbing my heart out before weleave. I slip on my sunglasses to hide my eyes and say, ‘I just appreciate you, Dad, that’s all.’

‘I appreciate you too, Jessie,’ he says, getting up to pay, and I give Leo a shy wave goodbye as we leave. How do I explain to Dad that yes, Leo is a fun guy, but the heart eyes, the immediate fireworks, theeverything-around-us-melted-away-ness of my afternoon with Cal …thatis romance. That’s the connection I want, that instant understanding that there is a before you knew the person, and an after. And now I’ve had that with Cal, anything else feels like a consolation prize.

As I wait for Henry outside school later, I check my phone. I haven’t heard anything since this morning from the Whole Foods posters, and I’m gutted about it. India said I have to give it at least a week, because nobody goes food shopping every day, and for all we know this guy could only go every Sunday. That tracks, what with me having met him on a Sunday. Of course, Cal could well have already been in Whole Foods, seen the posters, and not been able to believe how much of a sad and desperate loser I am. If that’s the case, I need to find somewhere else to shop, because obviously to see him ever again would be horrific. Urgh! I can’t stop thinking about him! This is nuts. At this rate, I’m going to go certifiably insane.

‘Jessie!’

Henry appears at the classroom door that opens onto the playground, smile wider than the moon.

‘My main man!’ I cry out, and his teacher dismisses him so he can run into my arms.

‘I got an over and above!’ he says, holding out a small white card with the school logo on it. On the back it says:Henry, for some seriously groovy singing!

‘Oh my gosh!’ I coo excitedly. Henry is grinning, pleased as punch with himself. ‘Can you tell what this says? Do you know what it’s for?’

‘Singing,’ Henry replies, and I’m so happy he’s happy. With it being a fee-paying school, they push the kids pretty hard. Henry doesn’t consider himself clever, though, even at seven years old, because they make it clear with his reports and the notes in his homework diary that they expect more from him than he gives, which is just ludicrous. He does his best, and what more can anyone ask for from a child? From anyone? He has this insidious awareness of the hierarchy in his class, though – of who is better at maths and scores the highest marks on spelling tests every week. When I was at school the most popular kid was simply the one who could run fastest. But Henry is kind and loving and funny and comes with the jokes, plus he’s so passionate about music. So for him to be recognised for that is a big deal.

‘How was your day?’ he asks as we walk out the gate.

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