Six of Hearts(36)

Her expression sours. “Right, well, I apologise for interrupting.”

There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence after she leaves, so I occupy myself by unfolding my napkin and placing it on my lap. When the quiet becomes too much to bear, I make a joke. “You know what, single men should crash these things all the time. It would be the perfect hunting ground.”

“Yeah,” says Jay, but he doesn’t seem much in the mood for conversation.

I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his. “Are you okay?”

He turns his hand palm up then before lacing his fingers through mine and giving them a tight squeeze. He still hasn’t responded, but he’s giving me some kind of meaningful eye contact. Tingles rush through my veins. A moment later the food arrives, and I quickly pull my hand away.

I spend the next while focusing on eating my salmon salad, at the same time berating myself for ever agreeing to let Jay come here. Not only has it been a cringe-fest, but it’s also been a bit of an awkward-fest, too.

The second half of the day is less about role-play, and more about sitting and listening to Simon drone on and on. Along the way, I come to the epiphany that I’m never going to become the best version of myself like Simon wants us all to do. The best version of myself got lost somewhere in the past, destroyed by a whole range of experiences.

Number one would be seeing my own mother killed in front of me.

Number two was spending an entire year as a confused child trying to pull my father out of his grief.

Number three was meeting my teenage boyfriend, a boyfriend who then dumped me out of the blue by text after two years together because he decided he was in love with someone else.

And the constant underneath all of that is an ingrained fear of taking chances. I’ve lived my entire life at home, with the comfort blanket of my dad as my constant companion. The funny thing is, Jay’s recent presence in my life has made me start to want to take a chance, break free and do something crazy. Consequences be damned.

When the day finally draws to a close, I’m exhausted and can’t wait to get home to my bed. It seems that’s not to be, as Jay convinces me to come have a drink with him. He brings me to a pub called the Gypsy Rose, where there’s an old rocker sitting in the corner, strumming a guitar and crooning into a microphone.

“So,” I say as I hitch myself up onto a barstool, “this is where you like to spend your time.”

“Yeah,” says Jay. “It’s got character.”

“Oh, so that’s they’re calling it these days.”

The bartender, a surprisingly young and attractive rockabilly type, comes over, and he and Jay do this suave little handshake.

“What can I get you two?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Jay replies.

“And I’ll have a vodka and orange,” I say, avoiding the wine because it will probably be more like vinegar.

“So, did you enjoy yourself today?” Jay asks once we’ve been served our drinks.

“Uh, yeah. It was very helpful,” I reply, lying through my false teeth. In all honesty, I’m really embarrassed that I paid so much money and came away with nothing but a goodie bag filled with pat advice.

Jay chuckles softly as he lifts his beer and takes a long, thirsty swig, his mouth curving in a smile. “So, basically, you thought it was a load of horseshit.”

“What? That’s not what I said!”

Jay twists on his stool so he’s facing me head on. “Watch me carefully.” He clears his throat before repeating my exact words back at me while shaking his head. “That’s what you did, Watson. Your mouth was saying yes, but your body told me no. Mouths lie, bodies tell the truth.”

I groan. “Okay, so I was bored out of my mind for the most part. The role-playing could have been useful if I had been paired with someone better than Miss Paisley Shirt. Even I could pretend to flirt better than her.”

“All right, how about we try again now? Pretend I’m some dude you’re into, and you want to chat me up. Go on.”

Pretend? Sure, Jason, I’ll pretend I’m into you.

“I think I’ve suffered enough for one day, thank you very much,” I reply.

Jay tuts. “Chickenshit.”

“I’m not chicken — I’m just not in the mood.”

“You’re chicken. Come on, Matilda, I’m waiting.” He starts to drum his fingers on the bar to emphasise his point. I know he isn’t going to let up until I do this, so I sit there for a minute, trying to think of an angle. I get up, walk over to the corner, and then walk back, slipping onto the stool again. Jay stares straight ahead, nursing his beer.