Page 27 of Seen
“Are you sure?” I check. “You can change your mind if it’s too much. I heard what you said about keeping things steady.”
“I know. But I won’t. Listen, I should go.”
He doesn’t. The phone line hums between us.
“I should too.”
I don’t. The pause stretches.
“Great. So you need to tell me what films you like.” I scroll through my phone. “Actually, I can do better than that. I’ll tell you what’s on at the Odeon and you tell me if you fancy it.”
“Oh, okay. No horror, though. They wreck me. I’m panicking now, just thinking about it. I’ll be a screaming mess in your lap before the opening credits have ended.”
God, he’s easy to flirt with. A million slutty responses form on the tip of my tongue, I manage to bite them all back. “Horror it is, then,” I tease instead. I swear the heat of his blush reaches all the way to here. “I’ve got a comfy lap.”
“Oh, God. Please ignore the last ten seconds of my existence. I’m…someone asks me on a date, and I have no idea how to behave.”
I laugh. He’s cuter by the minute. “Relax. I was actually thinking more thriller. I don’t like horror, either. Benedict Cumberbatch has a new spy film out.”
He sighs with relief. “That sounds more my thing.”
“And do you like popcorn or chocolate?” At this point, I’m just keeping him on the line, the next best thing to having him here in the room, a screaming mess in my lap. Even my dick might start playing ball if he comes out with more innocent lines like that.
“Chocolate. I work for the NHS. This place practically runs on good will and cheap chocolate.”
And there we go again, discussing our favourite chocolates, the merits of salted versus sweet popcorn, the universal, unmistakable smell of cinemas, films we’ve both seen. Words spill out, swallowing up the next twenty minutes as if we’ve been rehearsing this dance of aimless conversation our whole lives. When I finally sign off—and he’s a minute late to his meeting—I’m left smiling at my blank phone screen like a bloody teenager.
CHAPTER 12
LUKE
Neillikesme.
I stare into the mirror, trying to decide what feels wrong about my shirt. Too plain, maybe. Too much like a work shirt. Too loose. And if I wear this shirt, then what do I wear over the top? It’s cold out. My big ugly coat with the hood? A sweater and a cap?
Maybe I should sack the whole thing off. Neil will sniff out my nervousness from fifty paces. Maybe I’m misinterpreting. Maybe it’s not actually a date. Though he said he likes me and wants to take me out. Is that a date?
Of course it’s a fucking date.And you’re going to the cinema, fuckwit.It will be dark and it’s…Neil. His eyesight is shit in the dark.No one’s going to notice, never mind judge, what fucking shirt you’re wearing.
I slip into my shoes, heartbeat bouncing out of my throat. I can do this. I can do this, and I won’t pull my hair. I won’t, I don’t need to. I’m stronger than that.
Who cares if I turn up all shaky-handed and twanging my bracelet? I’m human, not perfect. And so is Neil. I check themirror one last time. Then check I have the right cinema for the hundredth time, the only one within walking distance for both of us, as if he’d accidently have selected another. After that, I tear off the shirt and throw on a clean navy hoodie.
I can do this. Neillikesme.
Outside the cinema complex, Neil’s peering up at one of the big screen hoardings as if the film titles and theatre numbers are written in Mandarin. When he sees me, he laughs and my tension ratchets down a notch. “That was a close call. I nearly bought tickets for Zombie Fright Night. This sign is so fucking dazzling. I did successfully purchase a box of Maltesers, though. Hope you like them.”
Fluffy honeycomb clouds of chocolatey happiness. “Who doesn’t?”
“Oh, there’ll be some pretentious wanker out there who doesn’t appreciate aerated synthetic chocolate perfection. Who only eats 85% cacao sourced from the volcanic slopes of Peru. They’re welcome to it.”
I’m chuckling as we head towards our seats. He’s barely tried, and already I’m calmed and charmed. “Where’s the best place for you to sit?”
“Um…” Neil considers the remaining available spots. The film trailers have already begun, which helps. “I reckon slap bang in the middle of a row, so I don’t have to turn my head. But not too close to the front so I don’t have to scan left to right.”
Near the back suits me fine. I soon discover the darkness of the auditorium is both a comfort and terrifying. As the screening is only half full and with no one either side of us, we’re in our own private bubble. We’re both facing forwards, but as far as I’m concerned, the real action is going on in the few inches separating us. I’m hyperaware of the not quite touchingof elbows, the subtle shift when Neil’s knee brushes mine and neither of us readjust.
As the film starts, he leans in, his voice low and close. “You okay?” His breath is warm on my cheek.
