Loving Danny (9 page)

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, trying to gauge my emotions from my perplexing expression.

‘What do you think?’ I laughed. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

Reassured, Danny then opened the enormous picnic basket, taking from it two large, green floor cushions, which he placed side by side within the gazebo. ‘Now, if Madame would care to
sit,’ he suggested, bowing and waving his hand like a courtier. I stepped into the gazebo and sat myself down cross-legged, while he continued to unload the basket. He took from it two
plates, two cups and two sets of plastic cutlery, which he spread out on a tartan blanket. Then he brought out the food, the majority of it in tiny portion-sized containers, which I recognised from
the posh delicatessen on the high street. He must have spent a fortune. There were giant olives, feta cheese, a pasta salad, stuffed vine leaves, asparagus spears, sun-dried tomato bread, lemon
hummus, rocket salad with parmesan shavings, Kettle Chips and honey-roasted almonds. For dessert there was an exotic fruit salad and strawberries dipped in chocolate. It was all my favourite food,
everything I’d mentioned liking on our first date. There was even – somewhat incongruously – a bag of dolly mixtures, because I’d told him they were my favourite sweets when
I was a child. I was so overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail that I couldn’t speak.

‘Is everything OK?’ asked Danny, looking slightly anxious. ‘Or would you rather we’d gone to McDonald’s?’

‘Very funny,’ I said, resisting the urge to hug him again. ‘It’s gorgeous. Incredible. I just don’t know what to say.’

He beamed. ‘Don’t say anything. Eat.’

As we enjoyed the food, Danny told me about The Wonderfulls’ most important gig ever, which would take place in February at the 142 Club in town. ‘There’s going to be an A
& R guy – a talent spotter – there from Excite Records,’ he said. ‘Word on the street is that they’re looking to sign a band like us.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘It is, but we’re going to have to get a hell of a lot of practice in between now and then.’ He saw me looking downcast. ‘Oh God, Omi, that didn’t come out right. I
didn’t mean I won’t be able to see you again. I want you to be part of it all and, with your extensive musical knowledge, you can give me feedback on some new songs.’

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Won’t the others mind? I don’t want to become some sort of Yoko Ono hate figure.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the songwriter and the lead singer – it’s my band, really. Don’t worry about it. They’re great guys – you’ll like
them. And they’ll love you. As far as I’m concerned, from now on you’re permanently on the guest list.’

We smiled coyly at each other, acknowledging that each of us saw a place for the other in our future, but not wanting to spell it out for fear of appearing too forward.

While we’d been in the park the sky had darkened considerably, and the clouds had brought with them an icy, damp wind. I didn’t want to put my cardigan on properly because, suddenly
self-conscious, I was sure the chunky wool made me look fat. Instead, I draped it over my shoulders and chided myself for not wearing a coat. Danny noticed me shivering. He was only wearing a
T-shirt and thin leather jacket, yet he appeared immune to the cold, as men often seem to be. ‘I’ve brought another blanket along,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we wrap it
around us?’ He clambered up and went over to the basket, pulling out a soft, cream alpaca throw. I raised my eyebrows. If there was one thing I knew about, it was fabrics, and this was no
picnic blanket.

‘This is my mum’s, actually,’ Danny explained. ‘She’d go mad if she knew I’d brought it, but she never uses it herself. Why waste it, eh?’ He sat down
next to me and draped the throw over us. It was only then I realised how much I’d been longing for this contact again. He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his body, and the
anticipation of another kiss began to grow within me. I would have been happy to sit there with him like that for hours, but, within minutes, it had begun to drizzle, then to rain heavily. Fat
droplets of water trickled through the sides of the gazebo, causing the ribbons, which Danny had so artfully arranged, to bleed red, blue and yellow.

‘Shit!’ he cried, as a globule of yellow water stained the throw. ‘We’d better make a run for it! This rain is practically horizontal. There’s a shelter over there.
I’ll come back for the picnic stuff later. Are you ready to go?’

‘OK,’ I said, picking up my bag and holding my cardigan together at my neck. He grabbed my hand and started running. His legs were so much longer than mine that I was being dragged
along, my feet barely touching the ground.

‘Stop a second,’ he said, laughing at me. ‘I’ve got an idea. Climb on my back.’

He bent over and I jumped on his back, flinging my arms around his neck as he grasped for my legs. I was aware that it was a long time since anybody had given me a piggyback and, the last time,
I’d been rather smaller and lighter.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m a heifer
, I thought. As we moved, I was half on, half off, pulling Danny’s T-shirt from his shoulder
and accidentally kneeing him in the small of his back. Despite my discomfort, the sensation of his strong, muscular body beneath mine was tantalising. We were both giggling hysterically, becoming
wetter and wetter and more bedraggled, and no longer caring.

Danny tipped me off his back at the entrance to the shelter. For a minute we just stood there laughing at each other. ‘Whose stupid idea was it to have a picnic in October?’ he said,
raising his eyebrows in self-mockery. ‘Now what do we do? We’re both dripping wet, the food has gone swimming and I don’t think there’s much chance of getting served in
here.’

We looked around us. The shelter was like a bus stop – a small metal hut with no front and a bench inside – except no buses would ever stop there.

‘Hang on,’ I said, as a realisation struck me. ‘I’ve got a towel! See?’ I pulled the towel from my bag and handed it to Danny. He took it gratefully, rubbing it
over the top of his head and then across his face. He looked so cute wet, with his hair sticking out in all directions.

‘Here, let me,’ he said. He delicately pressed the towel to my face, wiping the droplets of water from my nose and my chin. The feel of his fingers on my face, even through the
roughness of the towel, was thrilling and I stifled a sigh. Then he gathered my hair together at the back and wrapped the towel around it like a headdress.

He chuckled. ‘Now you look like a nun,’ he said. ‘Which wasn’t really my intention. Anyway, Naomi Waterman – an apt name if ever there was one, today at least
– what sort of girl brings a towel on a date?’

‘I used to be in the Brownies,’ I said. ‘You know, always be prepared.’

‘I always am,’ he said with a cheeky smile, as he moved closer.

What do two people on a second date do, alone in a shelter, while they wait for the rain to stop? They pick up where they left off at the end of the first date, of course. And so, at last, while
the rain clattered on the roof, we kissed – for far longer and more ardently than the first time. It didn’t seem possible, but it felt even better than I remembered. Our kiss on Friday
had been a goodbye kiss to end our date. But this was a kiss that didn’t have to end, a kiss full of expectation, of the promise of things to come. There was no awkwardness, no first-time
nerves or fear of clashing teeth. We just fitted together, mouth on mouth. While we kissed, Danny stroked my neck and the small of my back, sending tingles down my spine. I had my hands up the
sleeves of his jacket, caressing his strong arms and shoulders through his T-shirt.

Nothing mattered when I kissed Danny – not the fact that I was still damp and cold, or that the hard, wooden bench was bruising my bottom, or even that, from time to time, other people
walked past us and stared. (In fact, I rather liked that. I felt proud to be seen with such a gorgeous guy.) When I closed my eyes and kissed him I was as warm and as comfortable as I could ever
hope to be. We were alone together in our own little bubble.

Occasionally, we would break off to hold each other silently and gaze into each other’s eyes, as if we were trying to see far beyond the iris and the pupil to somewhere deeper, to a place
that was secret and hidden. Once, Danny said, ‘You have the most beautiful eyes, Naomi. I’ve never seen eyes that green before.’ And I, never very good at accepting a compliment,
had to ruin the moment by looking away.

By the time it started to grow dark, shortly after five, the rain had virtually stopped. With his arms still wrapped around me, Danny said, ‘Why don’t you come back
to my house? It’s a lot warmer and drier there and I make a mean hot chocolate.’

‘That sounds divine,’ I said, looking up at him. I was still damp and my mouth was dry and sore from kissing. ‘Is it far? You’ve never actually told me where you
live.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s just the other side of the park, and then a bit. And I’ve brought the car.’

I was expecting Danny to drive a beaten-up old Ford or, perhaps, a Mini. But the only car in the car park was a red two-door, convertible sports car. I know barely anything about cars, but even
I could tell it was expensive and very flash.

‘I apologise for the car,’ said Danny, in advance of any comment. ‘My dad got me this when I passed my driving test. I think it was some sort of tax dodge for him. I loathe it
– it’s pretentious and brash and totally not me. I’d rather take the bus than drive this. I only brought it today because that picnic basket – which I
will
go back
for later – is so bloody heavy.’

First Yellow, then the swanky restaurant, and now this car? And yet Danny said it was pretentious and brash. But he still drove it? I was confused. Was he worried that his wealth would put me
off him? But then why had he taken me to those places? He was nothing if not contradictory. But, then again, I liked his air of mystery, the challenge of putting the pieces of the puzzle
together.

He held open the car door for me and I climbed in. I’d never been in a fast, expensive car before and just sitting there made me feel special, older and more sophisticated. I imagined
myself arriving at a film premiere, flash bulbs popping from every angle. But, after what he’d just said, it didn’t seem prudent to share my fantasy with Danny. Instead, I said,
‘Yes, it’s a bit over the top. I can see why you don’t like it.’

If the car had surprised me, Danny’s house was an even bigger shock. I knew his dad was a successful businessman and therefore, by implication, wealthy, but I had still imagined that his
house would look like mine: a three-bedroom, semi-detached, with a front and back garden and a small garage. Pretty much everyone I knew lived in houses like that – suburban town houses built
for mums and dads and their two-point-four kids. The hedges, doors and windows may have differed slightly, but the homes of all my family and friends were variations on a theme.

Danny’s house was built to a different tune altogether. It was on one of the most exclusive streets in the area, where the residents hired private security guards and put up electric
fences and surveillance cameras. It was set back from the street, at the end of a drive with electronic gates, which opened when Danny’s car approached. I tried not to gasp when his house
came into view. It was huge – at least four times the size of mine – and three storeys high, with a garden almost as big as the park. There were at least four cars parked outside, one
of them just like Danny’s, but in electric blue.

‘Don’t say anything,’ said Danny sharply. ‘I know what you must be thinking – that I’m some spoiled little rich kid who doesn’t know he was born. I
don’t like living here; I’d rather be in a bedsit any day. It’s just convenient, till I make The Wonderfulls a success. I don’t want anything else to do with my parents or
their filthy money!’

It was the first time I’d seen Danny so defensive. ‘It’s OK,’ I said nervously. ‘I’m not going to judge you. I like you for you. I don’t care about
where you live or what car you drive. Honestly.’

That seemed to reassure him. He squeezed my hand and smiled. ‘All right, Naomi,’ he said, in a calmer, gentler voice. ‘Come in and get warm and I’ll make you a hot
chocolate.’

Danny had his own kitchen, in his own ‘granny flat’ at the side of his parents’ house. It was entirely separate from the rest of the house, except it
didn’t have its own front door – you had to go through the main hall to get to it.

While he made the chocolate, he sent me off to look around his flat. He also had his own living room, bathroom, study (which he used as a storage room for his guitars) and a very messy bedroom
(he must have forgotten he’d neglected to tidy it). His studio, which I didn’t see that day, was in the basement, accessed by a flight of stairs from the kitchen. I gave each room a
cursory glance; I didn’t enjoy looking around on my own because it felt intrusive.

‘How long have you lived in here?’ I asked, coming back into the kitchen.

‘Since I was sixteen,’ he said, without looking up. He was stirring vigorously. ‘My parents got sick of my noise and having my friends traipsing through their house and getting
mud on their cream carpets. So they set me up in here and left me to my own devices.’

‘You’re lucky,’ I said. ‘I don’t have any privacy.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

We sat close together on Danny’s leather sofa and sipped our hot chocolate in blissful silence. It was delicious – nothing like the powdered stuff I had at home, but thick and creamy
like warm, liquid chocolate mousse. I dreaded to think how many calories it contained. When Danny had cleared our cups away he asked if I minded if he played his guitar. ‘I want to play you a
few songs,’ he said. I told him I’d love to hear them.

For the next couple of hours, he serenaded me, playing a mixture of his own compositions and some covers – Bowie, Nirvana, Oasis and Coldplay. It was good to hear stark, acoustic versions
of The Wonderfulls’ songs, without the frenzied guitars and heavy drums. Some of them were actually quite beautiful and tugged at my emotions with their aching melodies in minor keys. Where I
could, I joined in, singing the harmony parts. Danny said he was impressed, that I had a sweet voice.