Page 18 of Love at First Sight

‘That’s good then. I hope he’s nice too. And if he isn’t, we can make a plan, if you like. That way you’ll know what to do.’

‘What plan shall we make?’ Henry asks, and he’s slipped his hand into mine, a sure sign that he’s trusting what I’m saying, that I’ve made him feel safe.

‘Well, you and Mummy could have a special word that you can say to her if you feel scared. Likebanana-poo-heador something like that.’

Henry giggles.

‘So, if you saybanana-poo-headto your mummy, she’ll know she has to kick him out of the house immediately!’

‘Yeah!’ he says. ‘Because I’m her number-one boy, nobody else!’

‘Exactly! And maybe we could draw him a picture, and give it to him when he arrives as a way to say you’re a nice kid and you’d like to be friends, so he should be nice too.’

Henry considers this.

‘All right.’

I decide to leave the conversation there, and not to push it any further. He’s told me the problem and we’ve come up with some solutions – I feel that’s enough for now.

Out of nowhere Henry says: ‘Did you know if you hold money up to a light you can tell if it’s real or not?’

God bless kids.

We get off the bus and play two-steps-forward-one-step-back to get home. As soon as we open the front door we’re hit with the succulent smells of Ali’s bolognese sauce, an all-day affair that stinks out the whole place with its aroma. It’s an old family recipe, and one I’ve tried myself: it’s amazing. If she’s making this for Vinnie she must really like him – she doesn’t normally cook. I find myself thinking,I’ll cook for my guy one day. I’ll cook for Cal, if he ever sees those bloody posters.

Henry finds Ali in her walk-in wardrobe, deciding what to wear for the evening, after she shouts down a hello.

‘Jessie?’ Henry yells once he’s had his mummy cuddle. ‘Can you help me find my party clothes?’

I trek up the stairs and past Ali’s room, where she’s stood in matching underwear, hair in a low messy bun, make-up immaculate.

‘Tonight’s the night, then,’ I say, and she looks up with a smile and a big in-breath.

‘I just want it to go well,’ she says, voice low so Henry can’t hear. ‘I didn’t think it was a big deal, but all day I’ve been thinking,What if Henry doesn’t like him?I really need them to click, you know?’

‘I do know,’ I say. Over my shoulder I shout to Henry’s room that I’ll just be a minute, and I slip into Ali’s space. ‘Wear high-waisted jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. You’ve got an arse to die for and a waist that makes men melt. It doesn’t need to be any fancier than that,’ I counsel. ‘And Henrywantsto like this man. We’re going to put him in his party clothes and draw a picture. Everyone wants thesame thing, Ali, and if you vouch for this man I’m sure he’s perfect.’

Ali digests this. ‘Okay,’ she says, exhaling a big breath and shaking her arms, ridding herself of the doubtful feelings. ‘Thank you. Will you stay? Just until the ice is broken? He’s coming at five-thirty, so we can eat at six. Can you stay until I serve? We’ll be okay once everyone starts eating, I’m sure.’

‘Of course I’ll stay, Ali. I’m normally here until that time anyway. Now. You look amazing, get dressed and I’ll go see to Henry.’

‘You’re an angel,’ she tells me. ‘Thank you.’

I stick my head into Henry’s bedroom to see he’s gelled his hair and put on his ‘party shirt’ – a green corduroy thing he wears over a T-shirt, doing up the top button and letting the rest hang open, exactly as his (very well-dressed) dad does. When we get downstairs, Ali has beaten us to it, lighting some candles out on the garden table and leaving a red wine open to breathe. Inside the house there’s a Spotify soul mix playing. It’s lovely. At least somebody out there is living their best life, with their 2012 Tignanello and Cleo Sol beats at a garden supper. The weather is perfect too: early evening sun lowering in the sky; gentle breeze flowing coolly through the aromatic lavender bushes.

Henry gets to work on his picture, as Ali adds the finishing touches to her sauce. When the bell chimes, I offer to get it, since her hands are covered in little bits of basil.

‘Make him feel welcome,’ she says, tasting what she’s made and going to wash her hands.

‘Of course,’ I say, in my most upbeat way. I’mveryabout this promising man myself. Thom was, in so many ways, such an absolute perfect match for Ali, despite the arguments and fights, that seeing who this level-headed,niceman is for myself – not to mention he’s a ‘normie’, andnotan actor – satisfies my most nosy parts. Who has got Ali this excited? Because Thom, with his easy banter and megawatt smile, his salt-and-pepper cropped hair and bright blue eyes … Well. He’d be hard to beat …

I fling the door open with the friendliest face I can muster, and my brain instantly short-circuits.

There, stood in the doorway of Ali’s house, is Cal. My Cal.

‘What …?’ I say, in awe. He’s holding a huge bouquet of flowers. I can’t believe he’s tracked me down. This is beyond anything I could have even dreamed!

‘Hi,’ I say, beside myself, trying again at a welcome. I have vague thoughts in the back of my head about being in a baggy dress that doesn’t really show off my best assets, and it was hot today so I probably look a bit worse for wear. But … who cares! He’s here!

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