Page 17 of A Clean Sweep
Before she could continue, Tabitha had manoeuvred her chair right next to her and engulfed her in a massive hug.
‘Oh Mum, if he likes to dye his hair then that's fine! As long as he sticks to his natural colour, none of that artificialblack or garish red-brown so many older guys seem to think looks good. Yuck! Better a few grey ones than something that looks like a dead animal perched on the head!’
Against perhaps her better judgement – or simply because of sheer cowardice – Emily decided now was not the time to share Joe's youthfulness. She wasn't surewhenwould be a good time but she sensed right now wasn't it. She couldn't imagine Tabitha being thrilled at the thought of her mum getting up close and personal with someone born in the same year as the Live Aid concerts.
‘Sorry darling, but I really have to dash. I'll pop into the shop another time if that's OK? Give my love to Meryl and I promise I'll ring you and let you know how the evening went.’
Emily kissed Tabitha on the cheek and they went their separate ways, Emily silently vowing to provide only the scantiest of details when they next spoke. Where they ate, what they ate, how he escorted her home and … the rest would remain her secret alone. If she allowed her imagination to take flight then there was absolutely no way she would be sharing those details with her daughter.
One houruntil Joe arrived and Emily was seriously nervous. She'd poured herself a glass of wine and knocked it back in a matter of minutes. Reaching for the bottle she'd paused then purposefully rammed the stopper back in place. Being greeted by a slightly sozzled dining partner was probably not the ideal start to a first date. She'd checked her appearance at least twenty times and was not displeased with her efforts. A simple black dress, not too revealing but emphasising her good bits. Hair reasonably groomed, make-up subtle yet designed to enhance her features. She'drecently bought some contouring pencils – a bit Kardashian, but what the heck – and learned through trial and error how to emphasise her cheekbones and highlight her browbone and other key areas. Once she'd mastered the art of blending the various colours she looked less Coco the Clown and more potential sex bomb. At least, she hoped she did.
Still half an hour to go. Or had all the clocks in the house conspired to grind to a halt? Nope. Emily checked both her watch and her phone and it was seven o’clock on the dot. She'd brushed her teeth again and given herself another squirt of Jo Malone perfume. Probably a squirt too far as she positively reeked of Pomegranate Noir now. Poor Joe would probably need a face mask if he got too close. What to do now? In the end, Emily decided a blast of music was what was needed to pass the time. She popped the latest Now album collection in her CD player and shimmied her way around the kitchen.Now 92. It pained her to admit it but she could remember when the first one came out. Obviously not on an annual basis or she was a whole lot older than she thought.
Emily was just busting a few moves to Justin Bieber when the doorbell rang. She quickly turned off the music and hurried to answer it. There he stood, all gleaming manliness dressed in cream chinos and a light denim shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal taut and tanned forearms with just the right amount of body hair. Emily had always had a thing about forearms. And calves. The latter she'd just have to hope matched the upper parts. Which she had little doubt would.
‘Hi Emily. You look fantastic. And I love your perfume. Ready to go?’
Joe had leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek, thankfully not asphyxiated by her overzealous scent application. She refrained from gushing that he looked utterlyedible, instead smiling at the compliment and locking the door behind her.
‘Your carriage awaits. I thought you'd prefer something a little more upmarket than the van.’
Joe was now gesturing towards a very nice VW Golf convertible with its roof already down. It was an unseasonably mild evening and luckily not a windy one, otherwise Emily might have suggested putting the roof up for fear of an epic hair disaster.
It was a short drive to the restaurant, Joe and Emily chatting amicably on the way about mundane matters. The weather, what they'd been up to that day, who would be the next James Bond. Trivia but the conversation was easy and relaxed.
Chez Jacques was owned and run by a slightly eccentric Frenchman with a hint of Scottish blood. He greeted them like long-lost kinsfolk, clad in a tartan apron and with an accent that was two parts Gallic to one part Highlands. Emily found herself struggling to understand as he explained the menu choices in his unique vernacular, like Charles Aznavour crossed with Billy Connolly. They seemed fairly limited. Sizzling steaks on hot slate slabs with a variety of sauces and a side of chips. Salmon with mixed vegetables. A few pizza options. Or a couple of salad choices, goats' cheese or chicken. All the wines were the same price and were mainly South American. Emily nodded her agreement when Joe suggested a Chilean cabernet sauvignon with a large bottle of sparkling water as well.
‘I believe the steaks are pretty awesome, Emily. They come partially cooked then you slice them up and they keep on cooking on the stone. But if you'd rather have something else. I know the menu's not huge but …’
Emily was not the biggest carnivore on the planet but the steaks did sound good. She nodded and Joe placed theirorder, their waitress arriving to pour the wine and water. She also popped a couple of paper bibs over their heads – ‘the meat spits out a bit of fat, you know?’ – which had Joe and Emily gaping in bemusement then spluttering in laughter at the image imprinted on their chests.
‘It's a chef's hat! Honestly, that's what it's supposed to be!’
‘Then why does it look like a penis? Seriously, I am wearing a picture of a man's tackle on my bosom. Please take a photo so I can share this with my friends.’
Joe duly obliged, snapping a couple of shots with Emily's phone. She uploaded one to her Facebook page, with the caption 'Is it just me or does that look downright rude?' She was still giggling when their platters arrived, exuding heat and spattering fat as predicted. They both proceeded to carve up their hunks of meat, dipping deliciously chunky chips into the salsas and flavoured butters that accompanied them. Emily took a satisfying mouthful of her wine to wash it down. Joe had barely touched his but as he was driving that was understandable. The meat now looked suitably cooked, still pink in the middle but that was how she liked it. Speared a piece on her fork, plunged it into her mouth and … wow. If sex wasn't on the cards tonight she could at least lay claim to a virtually orgasmic dining experience.
‘What do you think, Emily? I hope you're enjoying it. I know I'm enjoying being with you. It just seems so … easy, if that's the right word.’
Joe looked apprehensive and utterly adorable, despite the phallic symbol emblazoned on his manly chest. Emily wanted to retort that she was completely easy, a total pushover in fact, but thought it best to keep her lack of willpower to herself. The night was young, maybe she wasn't, but things were going swimmingly for now.
‘I'm having a lovely time, Joe. Thank you for asking me out. The food's amazing and the company even more so. Ihaven't had this much fun since … ooh, I had my chimney swept!’
Joe raised his glass with a smile that would have made glaciers melt, and gave Emily some serious reverberations in the nether regions. She clinked hers in return and took another bite of meat. A little overcooked now but … oh, shit … why wasn't it passing through her throat? She tried to swallow but it was wedged firmly in place, effectively blocking her airway. She attempted a discreet cough but it budged not an inch.
‘Are you OK? Emily, is something wrong?’
Joe was looking extremely concerned, although it was hard to tell as Emily's vision was beginning to blacken around the edges. The meat plug refused to shift and she felt both dizzy and nauseous. She tried to cough again but to no avail.
As if in slow motion Joe had materialised behind Emily and was wrapping his hands around her. One, two, three squeezes and the offending lump of steak was propelled on to the table in front of her. The other diners looked on in grim fascination, Emily wishing she could just disappear in a puff of smoke. How not to inject romance into an evening, part one.
‘Christ, Emily. You really scared me there! I did a first aid course a few years ago, learned the Heimlich Manoeuvre, but never thought I'd actually have to use it. I'm so sorry. Maybe we should have gone for salads? Are you sure you're OK? Maybe I should get you home.’
Emily shrugged on her jacket as Joe settled the bill, her cheeks still burning at her near-death experience. Ah well, a lesson learned. Never bite off more than you can chew. Applicable to more than just dining experiences. Her throat still ached slightly but her humiliation far outweighed any physical discomfort. She had daydreamed wistfully of beingencircled in Joe's well-honed arms but not while she was half choking to death.
‘I'm fine, really. Just a bit embarrassed. Not what you want to happen on a first date, eh?’
And probably the last one, Emily pondered sadly. Oh well, it had been fun while it lasted. Admittedly not very long but when she was dribbling away in an old folks' home in the future she could think wistfully of the time a gorgeous young man took her out for a meal. Unless dementia had taken hold and she didn't even know who she was and wore her cardigans inside out.
