The Last First Date, page 3
But you know what’s the weirdest thing?
He asked me to meet him at KYNANCE Cove!!
Elle: Is that a restaurant? Or a beach thing?
Helen: No, it’s this really beautiful place (well, yes beach) but here’s what’s really weird.
Earlier I was speaking to my nan, and she had her first date with her one true love there.
Isn’t it funny that she just mentioned it?
Elle: With your grandad? That’s weird!
Helen: Actually, he wasn’t my grandad but anyway, I just thought maybe it’s a sign.
Elle: That there’s not that many date locations in Cornwall?
I don’t know babe! He sounds great but be careful meeting someone from an app somewhere remote …
Helen: I really think he seemed so nice!
And anyway, now you have his screenshot you can track me down if you don’t hear back.
Elle: Yeah, he’s cute.
Though not sure about men who own small dogs!
Oh, did I tell you I went on a third date with that Israeli guy today …
He’s so keen, he was already talking about going on holiday later this year.
Helen: Wow, that sounds great! Nice to see a man who knows what he wants.
Elle: I would NEVER go of course, but I’ll take the compliment ;-)
Sophie: Sorry to be late to the party here!!
@Helen that’s great news!!!
Gorgeous picture and sounds like a really thoughtful date too!
Maybe quite nice to date a fellow Cornishman?
And you know I believe in the universe, so maybe the whole Kynance Cove thing is A SIGN!
Would you be able to see him when you get back to London?
Helen: He actually lives in London most of the time. Just doing some charity work down here
#swoon.
Sophie: Even more perfect then! So whatcha wearing?
Send pics xx
Elle: You can’t go wrong with the black halterneck, skinnies and those ankle boots!
Helen: Maybe a bit much for Cornwall.
But don’t worry I’ll send options.
Thanks for the support!
LU guys xx
Chapter 4
The easiest way Helen could describe what she looked like, would be to say that she didn’t look like anyone at all. She certainly didn’t have a celebrity lookalike. She had never once in her life had someone run up to her and gush, ‘Has anyone ever told you? You look just like …!’
With medium-length, thick, brown hair, pale blue eyes, and pear-shaped hips, she looked like an English woman in her early thirties, maybe twenty-eight on a good day. She emphatically did not look like someone you would cast in a movie or who you would see on a catwalk.
She was not attractive, beautiful or striking. At best, she was cute, or pretty – and that was fine by her. She could rest safe in the knowledge that she was never being judged positively or negatively because of her looks: she just was.
Helen actually thought there was a lot to be said for not standing out; it meant you didn’t get picked to star in the school play, and could hang out towards the back of the chorus, safe from scrutiny. You weren’t disliked for being either too attractive or unattractive; women who had never met you didn’t cling protectively to their boyfriends in your presence, and whilst Helen had still had a few sleazy comments in her time, she didn’t feel like a magnet for them. She actually quite liked the fact that if they were ever on a night out, men would flock towards Elle, and she could avoid the awkwardness of flirting. Being really ‘hot’ seemed like a lot of pressure: a lot of spin classes, balayage highlights, and time spent on Instagram.
She was about to go out on a very important first date though. A first date … how long had it been? Well, you couldn’t really count that French guy who had weirded her out by asking her why she was still single. So, it had been, well, at least a few months? She couldn’t even say she was rusty, more like she was never polished. She’d never felt beautiful, or powerful, or adored on a date. Dates with Jonathan frequently didn’t happen, or involved him needling her about past boyfriends, future career plans, and if she really thought the dress she was wearing was appropriate. In hindsight, they felt more like an intense interview process than a romance, one that had perfectly tapped into her desire to please everyone, and made her jump through hoop after hoop in the hopes he would fall as madly in love with her as she had done with him. Tomorrow would be different. She would be herself, but a polished, grown-up, (whisper it) sexy version of herself that Brody would fall head over heels in love with. If it was meant to be of course; you couldn’t force these things.
Helen picked up a simple black vest and folded it away again. Having packed to visit her parents she had precisely no clothes that were date worthy: the halterneck Elle had mentioned was hanging safely in her wardrobe in London, and had been trumped by a selection of oversized pastel sweaters and three pairs of leggings.
She sent a picture of herself in cropped skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder knit to Queens xoxo.
Sophie: I like that jumper on you!
Elle: Cream is a nice and girlfriend-y colour … but are you sure about the Converse?!
Sophie: Ofc @Elle would never be caught dead in Converse ;-)
Elle: Just not my style @Sophie
Babe wear whatever makes you feel confident: it’s *just* a first date!
‘Sis, you ready to go?’ Henry was outside her door again.
Despite being four years her junior, he was one of the only members of her family to understand the concept of tact. He never burst through her door uninvited, and instead dutifully knocked every time he wanted to speak to her. He had always been the steadier one of them both. Helen was aware that she had a tendency towards being a little anxious; Henry, on the other hand, had rock-like qualities. He said very little, but always turned up on time, often just where you needed him to be. It was no surprise to Helen that he had found a nice girlfriend who doted on him.
Helen was due to meet her later today; she could tell Henry was quite taken with Nessy because he wouldn’t be introducing her over a family dinner otherwise. He was a true stoic and the total opposite of a guy like Jonathan, who’d been all talk and no action. Or if there were actions, they didn’t mean anything, and if they did mean something, it was always the total opposite of what you thought they meant.
She remembered how Jonathan had once invited her to see Cirque du Soleil. He told her to dress up, and she had spent nearly £300 she didn’t have on a new beige mac for the occasion. She felt like this was Jonathan’s way of showing her off and taking a big step towards being officially his girlfriend. Only later on did it transpire that she was in fact not the first person he’d invited, that he’d won the tickets in a raffle and his gesture had a lot more to do with his inability to go to any event alone, than his feelings towards her …
‘Yep, yep – coming!’ Helen yelled back through the door. After a second glance in the mirror, she put down her Converse trainers and grabbed her black ankle books instead.
They trundled over to Kynance Cove, the sky oscillating between bleached yellow sunshine and hail showers. Helen kept reflexively checking her phone, just in case Brody cancelled. Not that he was going to. She really shouldn’t manifest that.
‘Here, okay?’ Henry asked, slowing his battered maroon Land Rover (or as you would say in Cornwall ‘Landy’) down into the car park.
‘Yes, looks good.’ Helen was already distracted scouring for any signs of Brody, somewhere in her mind it was embarrassing if your younger brother was dropping you off.
‘So, I’ll see you around three?’
‘Thanks Henry –yes three is good …’ Helen leaned distractedly against the cool car window.
‘Okay well … have fun.’
Helen hopped out of the car: why was she so nervous? It would probably be awkward. He may look nothing like his picture, like that last guy she met from Connex in London who she didn’t recognise in the pub and then had to make two hours of polite conversation with. But then again, she could walk through that café door and into the rest of her life. In a few short moments, single life could be behind her, and she would be swept into something new and different.
‘I need to chill,’ thought Helen. She really had to try and not have any expectations. Especially about falling in love. She rolled her eyes at herself, and straightened up, trying to squash the nerves that she was sure would make her say or do something stupid later on.
Helen also recognised that stepping outside of her comfort zone wasn’t exactly a strong point for her. Whilst most other children loved being picked up and swung around by adults, Helen had always preferred her two feet safely on the ground. As she grew older, her natural trepidation turned into a fear of heights, then rollercoasters, and finally surfing. If you grew up in Cornwall, a surfboard, a wardrobe full of Rip Curl, and bleached blonde surfer waves was your passport to popularity, but, unsurprisingly, Helen’s fear of waves had definitively outweighed her desire to be cool. So, rather than hanging with the ‘in’ crowd at school, Helen had kept her few good friends, and had watched the surf break from the safety of the sand dunes with a copy of Sweet Valley High instead. She did that a lot even then: standing back, observing, dreaming up a thousand ways that she would be recognised or chosen. Like a princess in a fairy tale. None of which actually happened, probably because most of the time people didn’t even realise she was there.
Kynance Cove was a small sandy beach ensconced by rocks jutting out at odd angles from the headland. The sunlight made the shingle beach silvery luminescent, receiving the heavy waves thumping onto the beach at low tide. The rain had cleared and left a fresh spring day, shrunken patches of clover and gorse were emerging misshapen on the cliffs, and for the first time in months the sun felt warm.
There was one ramshackle café on the beach: The Boat Shed. Instead of housing fishing boats, the wooden hut had been transformed into a trendy wood-framed café. The walls were painted a soft yellow with teal awnings, plant tubs were dotted around the entrance, but whatever inhabited them had failed to grow back since the winter storms. Inside were five small, mismatched tables that had clearly been thrown together from neighbours’ clear outs and car boot sales. Only one was occupied by a mother and her two small children: a tot dressed in blue dungarees was stabbing the table top with a blue crayon, and a baby started to emit a low grumble, until its mother produced a bottle of milk from her backpack.
Helen made a beeline to the loo for a nervous pee: no sign of Brody yet.
Maybe she was going to get stood up after all?
If so, she wasn’t going to own up to it: she would get on the Wi-Fi, eat a large piece of cake, and when Henry picked her up, she would make up some shaggy dog story about how Brody was perfectly nice but just not her type … then cry in peace and quiet at home over yet another failure. Maybe she would be honest about it with Sophie, but would have to hush it up from Elle; she was sick of her dating ‘advice’.
Helen ordered an iced latte with almond milk (was that sustainable??) and opened Instagram. Jonathan and Katy stared back at her, surrounded by Maasai tribesmen in an open and shut case of cultural misappropriation. Urgh. She put her phone down on the table: must appear serene when Brody arrives, she thought drumming her fingers on the table. If Brody arrives: he was five minutes late.
‘Should have been fashionably late,’ Helen cursed inwardly. ‘Elle would have never turned up on time …’
Staring out the window there was no one else in sight, just a mile of shingle beach and foam coming off the sea. Helen tried to imagine what the beach would have been like that night, when The Boat Shed was still just a boat shed. She could imagine Nanny G striding across the beach, her shawl wrapped around her, hair pinned close to her head in tight curls, a splash of cerise lipstick on her lips that were still full and youthful, her drawn-on stockings smudging in the mist …
Vernon, who would have looked a little like Aidan Turner, with brooding eyes, and his shirt … No, his shirt would be done up. He was a real gentleman. They would have strolled along the sand, and as they sat down, he would have draped his jacket over Nanny G’s slender shoulders. They would have had one of those conversations that engulfs you for hours, as they sat under the clear night’s sky, the air unnaturally warm. Lit just by moonlight, Nanny G was more beautiful than ever with perfect translucent 1940s skin. Then, when they kissed, it would have looked like a scene from an old-fashioned movie, pressed against one another before she had to break free …
‘Helen?’
‘Brody!’
Brody lifted up his hands in a ‘guess so’ gesture. He was tall, with day two stubble and fine wrinkles around smiling eyes. He had a fading tan, and a firm, lean body made from long days sat ‘out back’ in the sea on his board.
‘You looked like you were daydreaming so I almost didn’t want to interrupt you …’
‘I know – I was just thinking …’
‘Thinking …’
‘My nan told me that she once went on a date on this beach – so I guess I was thinking about that …’
‘Your nan is making quite the impression on me: you’ll have to tell me the story. But first I’ve got to say sorry for being late …’
‘You’re late?’ Helen feigned ‘as if I even noticed’ nonchalance.
‘Yep. I had an important call and didn’t want to lose signal by driving down here. Anyway, I’m glad to see you are still sitting there and that I haven’t totally lost my chance,’ Brody smiled radiating warmth and sincerity. ‘So, to say sorry I’d really like to get you some …’ he flicked through the menu, ‘… no banana bread, how about some avo toast, or whatever you want?’
Helen tried to think of what she could order that would demonstrate how healthy and eco-conscious she was.
Brody touched her lightly on her forearm, sending a shiver of possibility running through her body. ‘You’re also going to need to swap seats.’
‘Why?’
‘So you can get a good view of the beach.’
‘Oh, okay, but what about you?’
Brody smiled again. ‘Well I get to see you …’
As he spoke Helen became more aware of her heart pumping. His eyes wandered over her face. She needed to concentrate. Her blood sugar was probably low. Helen ordered avo toast. Then hot chocolate. Then carrot cake as daylight sunk lower in the window, and she became less self-conscious about her menu choices.
She surreptitiously checked the time on her phone: Henry would be here in twenty, it was all happening too quickly. Helen felt like Nanny G then on her night with Vernon, clinging on to the minutes as they raced by. There was definitely a spark: a distinct, unusual, fizzing, exciting feeling that made her feel light-headed. Partway self-conscious, like she wanted more, but the intensity almost felt too bright.
‘So, I have a confession to make,’ Brody smirked. ‘In fact I’m kind of hoping it hasn’t been too obvious so far …’
‘Errr no! What is it?’ Helen’s stomach did a rollercoaster flip. She braced herself for him to tell her that he was actually in some open, polyamorous triad that he’d like her to join. Or something equally disappointing.
‘You know … I’ve never ever been on a date from a dating app before.’ Brody paused and waited for Helen’s reaction.
‘No way!’
‘Way. I had a couple of long-term relationships, and when I broke up with my last girlfriend eighteen months ago …’
No recent exes – tick! Eighteen months is the perfect amount of time to get over someone –just like Jonathan … Wait, was she actually starting to believe that she was over Jonathan?
‘The business was growing a lot and I just refocused on that. I’m also on a personal crusade to not use any form of social media, we have to do a bit for the company, but for me, I’m all about real life. So, I’ve been working, doing some personal growth stuff, trying to be more present, that kind of thing …’
‘I remember you telling me you like to focus …’
‘I do! It must be a man thing: I’m more of a mono-tasker than a multi-tasker … Anyway, I saw an old friend yesterday who asked me if I was seeing anyone and I realised that I hadn’t even thought about meeting someone for a long time. Long story short, she really arm-twisted me into going on the app, even chose my lead photo. Then after five minutes you pop up: it was really weird. Good, but weird …’
‘Just like me. Except it was my nan doing the arm-twisting!’
‘Now you’re really selling her to me!’
Helen’s heart rose like a balloon in her chest. Brody must have noticed the slight pink flush that had come onto her cheeks.
‘So, you decided that this was your time to get back into the whole dating thing?’
‘Actually …’ Brody looked down into his plate and scratched the back of his head. ‘I wouldn’t say dating. I think something’s changed lately; I’ve been thinking that it’s been too long just focusing on my business, I’d like to meet someone. Someone I can share things with, you know?’
Brody had picked up his fork, and pushed the crumbs around on his plate.
‘Like your profile said, your last first date …’
Brody shrugged coyly, his eye just catching Helen’s and she felt his knee touch hers beneath the table. She drew her breath in quickly, as the atmosphere sparkled between them.
‘Well, I wouldn’t have thought you’d have too much trouble finding that.’ Helen smiled, folding her hands in her lap to stop them pushing across the table towards him. She was being surprisingly composed. Acting like what Brody had just said had absolutely no relevance to her whatsoever.
‘How about you?’ Brody leaned back in his chair, green eyes looking at her, his knee still touching hers with a heat and energy she hadn’t felt in a long time. ‘Are you looking just to date?’
‘No, I’m looking for my last first date too. Definitely.’ Elle would probably have told her not to say that, but it felt good to be candid. Why couldn’t all dates be like this? None of the guessing what a guy was looking for? No decrypting his messages for hidden clues? Just a real man, who knew what he wanted. This is exactly what it should be like. The more she looked at Brody, the more her heart sang, and the image of Jonathan and Katy became pixelated, washed from her mind.
