Loving Danny (5 page)

Emily looked defeated. ‘Don’t blame me when you wake up tomorrow and you realise you’ve blown your chance with him,’ she said, refusing to look me in the eye. She turned
and made for the exit, not caring if I was behind her. I paused for a moment, and then began to follow.

‘Naomi!’

I stopped dead. It was Danny’s unmistakable voice.

‘Naomi, wait!’ he shouted. Before I could turn round his hand was on my shoulder. ‘You’re always rushing off, aren’t you?’ he said, smiling. His face
glistened with sweat from his performance and his eyes were bright with exhilaration. ‘Am I going to have to chase after you all the time? You do know, it’s really not my
style.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I stuttered, unsure what to say or do. I was paralysed, my body still headed for the door, my neck twisted round so my face could meet his. Emily had disappeared
up the stairs and would be waiting for me outside, annoyed and impatient.

Danny’s eyes bore into mine with an intensity that thrilled me, but at the same time made me uncomfortable. I felt vulnerable, as if I was naked, and I had to look away, momentarily. When
I looked back Danny’s gaze was unbroken.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ he said, gently removing his hand. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, awkwardly moving my body so that I was standing straight in front of him. He was unbearably close and my heart was beating rapidly, my face glowing red. ‘You
were great, really great.’ I instantly regretted using the word ‘great’. Like ‘nice’, it was just a meaningless platitude. But my entire vocabulary seemed to have
vanished into a chasm in my brain.

He didn’t appear to notice. ‘Why didn’t you come and find me? I saw you standing there with your friend. I thought you’d come over.’

‘She’s my sister,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘You had so many people around you . . . your band . . . all those girls.’

He looked as if he was about to laugh. ‘Ah. But none of those girls has my number in their phone.’

I felt an involuntary smile spreading across my face at the memory of what he’d done. ‘Really? Oh.’

‘It was hardly subtle now, was it, Naomi?’

‘No.’ I laughed. ‘You’re lucky I had to call someone beginning with ‘D’, or I might never have found it.’

There was an uncomfortable silence, as we both fumbled for something to say next. I was aware that Danny’s drummer had come up behind me and was motioning to his watch. Danny brushed him
off; he wouldn’t take his eyes off me. ‘Hang on a second, Pete,’ he said. He smiled at me again. ‘Listen, I’ve got to help the guys pack up our stuff. What are you
doing tomorrow night?’

Nothing
, I thought, with absolute certainty. A few months ago it would have been a very different story. Back then, my schedule was so full with parties and shopping trips and study that
I had been forced to become an expert at juggling times and people.

‘I think I’m free,’ I said, looking up to the ceiling as though I was picturing a full diary and wondering if I could fit him into it. I didn’t want him to know about my
nonexistent social life. ‘Yes, I’m free,’ I repeated.

‘Well, if you fancy a drink – just me, no groupies – meet me at Yellow at eight. You know it?’

‘Yes,’ I said, trying not to sound surprised at his choice. Yellow was a trendy and expensive wine bar quite near to my house, frequented by City slickers and C-list celebrities.
I’d never actually been inside, but I couldn’t imagine Danny there. ‘Yes, I’ll meet you.’

He grinned. ‘Guess I’ll see you there, then, Naomi.’

With that, he turned and was gone. I stood motionless for a second, trying to compose myself. I wanted to jump up and down and scream. Then I ran up the stairs, my body suddenly so weightless
that it felt as if my legs were floating above each step.

Emily was waiting for me outside. She was grumpy. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.

‘You’re not going to believe it, Em!’ I was as excited as a small child, my voice high-pitched and breathless. ‘I’ve got a date. With Danny!’

‘Oh my God! That’s fantastic!’ She grasped my hand and beamed at me. ‘Oh my God!’ Suddenly, the smile vanished and she looked crestfallen. ‘But I never even
got to meet him.’

D
anny was late. Twenty minutes late. I didn’t know then that it was his trademark. Our relationship was still a blank slate, like a brand new
diary on January First, clean and smelling of freshly milled paper. And, like every new diary, within months it would become a mess of torn edges, smudged writing and scratchings out, its pages
filled with adventures and secrets not yet imagined. Beginnings are always perfect: ripe to be spoiled.

I, of course, was ten minutes early. I’d left myself far too long to get ready and had found myself sitting on my bed with nothing to do but stare at my bedside clock and endlessly
re-powder my nose in a vain attempt to quell my nerves. What had made it worse was that my parents were downstairs, circling like sharks. They were after information. It was my fault – I
hadn’t told them where I was going. It wasn’t because I thought they would disapprove, or because I was afraid that they would try to stop me, I simply wasn’t ready to divulge
anything about Danny. Talking about him would bestow the date with a significance it hadn’t yet earned. What if the evening turned out to be a disaster? I’d want to keep the details to
myself.

Typically, Dad wouldn’t let it drop. He was a born worrier – Mum sometimes called him ‘an old woman’. He couldn’t rest until he was sure he knew every detail of
everybody’s schedule. It irritated all of us.

‘I’m eighteen,’ I’d said earlier, when he’d pressed me. ‘I could be at university now, in another city, and you wouldn’t have a clue what I was doing.
I’m sure Debbie doesn’t ring her parents every Friday night to give them a breakdown of her evening ahead.’

He couldn’t argue with my logic, but he didn’t like it. ‘But you’re not at university, Naomi,’ he had argued. ‘You’re still at home, living under our
roof – and we want to know who you’re with and that you’re safe.’

‘I’ll be safe,’ I’d promised. ‘Just trust me, for once.’

‘It’s not you we don’t trust,’ Dad had said, perhaps visualising a world full of con men, rapists and murderers out to hurt or maim his daughter.

‘Then trust me to use my judgement,’ I’d barked. ‘I’m not stupid.’

So, at seven-forty, I’d run downstairs, shouted goodbye through the living-room door and let myself out before Dad could start questioning me again. Now I was sitting at
Yellow’s bar, wondering if Danny would show. It wasn’t a bad place to wait alone; Yellow’s patrons were too trendy and self-obsessed to hit on a single girl they didn’t
know, and I had plenty to read. All the day’s newspapers were piled up in front of me and there was an extensive wine list and food menu to peruse. My stomach growled as I contemplated the
merits of a Thai curry or a goat’s cheese salad. I hadn’t eaten dinner at home – I was too nervous and I didn’t want my tummy to look bloated. My black pencil skirt was far
too tight already. And, if I’m honest, I was hopeful that Danny would ask me to eat with him later. The food at Yellow was supposed to be good, if rather overpriced. Would he want to pay or
would we go Dutch? Would he stay for just one drink, then tell me he had to leave? What would we talk about? Would I bore him? Would he, for that matter, turn up at all?

For God’s sake, chill out, Naomi
, I said to myself.
He’s been chasing you since you met – why would he suddenly go off you?
I wished I could reach into my brain
and stop the cogs from grinding round and round. I ordered a glass of wine and a bowl of olives to keep my hunger pangs at bay. As I popped a couple into my mouth I realised they were marinated in
a dressing that tasted strongly of garlic.
Great start, Naomi
, I thought. I rummaged for a mint in my bag. It was covered in fluff, but it would have to do. I swirled it between my teeth
until it dissolved, then took a swig of wine. The combination tasted foul.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ asked the barman politely. It was now ten past eight and I was beginning to look conspicuous, perched on my bar stool, silent and alone. People
don’t go to Yellow on their own, they go in big, air-kissing groups.

‘No thanks, I’m just waiting for someone.’

The barman smiled.
Poor love
, I read in his eyes.
Have you been stood up
?

I’ll give Danny five more minutes
, I thought.
Or maybe ten . . .

When Danny walked in, I didn’t notice him. I’d given up on the menu and was now thumbing through a newspaper, devouring a kiss-and-tell story about some footballer. Dad only got the
Financial Times
at home, so reading the tabloids felt like a guilty pleasure.

‘Has he been at it again, then?’ said Danny dryly, over my shoulder. Flustered, I dropped the paper on to the bar, losing the middle section beneath my stool. Danny bent down to pick
it up, pausing a little longer than was necessary as he took in my patterned tights and kitten heels. Smiling cheekily, he handed it back to me. ‘Hello, Naomi,’ he said. ‘Sorry
I’m late. Have you been here long?’

‘No,’ I lied. ‘It’s fine.’ Sitting on the bar stool lent me almost an extra foot and my face was at the same level as his. He looked amazing. His hair was freshly
washed and less messy than I’d seen it, curling gently into the nape of his neck. He’d obviously just shaved and, for the first time, I noticed a cute dimple in his chin.

He leaned in towards me and kissed me on the cheek. His musky scent and the warmth of his breath on my neck made me tingle. Then he smiled again and delicately touched my top lip with his thumb
and forefinger. The intimacy of this gesture made me feel uncomfortable, until I realised he had merely removed a piece of fluff, which had stuck to my lip-gloss. Seeing me blush, he chose not to
comment on it. Evidently, he was a gentleman.

‘What are you drinking?’ he asked, picking up my wine glass and taking a sip. ‘Mmm, I’ll order a bottle, shall I?’

I nodded. Danny’s confident manner made me feel shy and nervous, and I worried that if I spoke I might say something stupid.

‘Hey, John,’ he called out. The barman came over. He winked at Danny, then glanced at me with renewed respect. So Danny was a regular, then? It still seemed incongruous.

‘All right, Danny, mate. What can I do for you?’

‘Can I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio, please?’ he asked. I could have sworn that the posh element of his curious, hybrid accent became a trifle more pronounced. ‘Put it on my
tab.’

I hadn’t expected Danny to know about wine – it didn’t fit in with his scruffy, rock-and-roll image. I’d simply ordered one of the few wines that came by the glass in
Yellow.

‘Why don’t we go and sit somewhere more comfortable?’ Danny asked when the wine had been brought over. He held out his hand to help me off the stool. I took it, shyly, aware
that the feel of his skin on mine was making my heart beat faster and that sparks of electricity were shooting up my arm and into my body. I was conscious too that my own hand was clammy and that I
wasn’t able to pull down my skirt. Danny didn’t appear to notice. He led me through the bar to a table and some plush brown sofas, only letting go of my hand when I sat down. The
cushions were softer than I’d expected and I fell back into the sofa, jarring my back. He waited until I’d rearranged my clothes, then sat himself down next to me. His leg touched mine,
expectantly.

‘That’s better,’ he said.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I replied, unsure what to say next, and terribly aware of the proximity of Danny’s leg. I hoped he couldn’t tell that my legs were trembling.
Think,
Naomi, think
, I repeated to myself like a mantra. ‘The gig was good,’ I volunteered. ‘You were good.’

‘I’m glad you liked it,’ he said. ‘We were trying out some new material. It seemed to go down all right.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘Anyway, enough about
me. Tell me about you, Naomi.’

My insecurities came flooding back. I was no good at small talk and, it now transpired, neither was he. His question highlighted the fact that he knew nothing about me, nothing at all. He was
out with me because he liked the way I looked, because I’d dared to turn up to his gig and said I liked his music. What was there about me that would interest him?

‘What do you want to know?’ I managed, buying myself time to think. Danny’s motive was genuine – to get to know me – but his question had made me feel
self-conscious, anxious that my personality would be scrutinised for flaws. Whatever I said now might make or break our potential relationship.

‘I want to know everything.’ He laughed, leaning in towards me. ‘The name, I’ve got. How old are you? What’s your shoe size? What music do you like – apart
from mine, of course? What do you care about? What do you dream about? What do you want to be?’

‘OK,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop me when I bore you. My full name – which you don’t know – is Naomi Jessica Waterman. I’m eighteen, I have one
sister – whom you’ve seen – called Emily. She’s sixteen going on twenty-five. My shoe size is a very average five; I’m five foot five and,’ I paused for breath,
deciding not to draw attention to my figure by giving him my dress size, ‘and I like good music: pop, soul, folk, R & B, indie, jazz, classical, country–anything, so long as
it’s good. My mum’s a music teacher, so we’ve got about a million CDs at home. She says there are only two types of music: good music and bad music. I have to say I agree with her
on that one.’