DATE NIGHT

People in the office did a double take when I came in.

“Have you done something new?”

“There’s something different ...”

I was wearing make-up and had straightened my hair.  Normally I didn’t make such an effort.

At lunch Max smiled broadly; “Sally, you look hot.”

“You can’t say that,” I scolded.

His brown eyes were warm; “Why not?  We’ve worked together for years.  What gives?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh dear God!”

“I have a big date lined up, been preparing for weeks.  I went on a diet after Christmas, bought a Prada dress.  I’m going to look amazing and be amazing – I hope.”

“This is with your husband, John, right?”

“Of course!” I widened my eyes, shocked that he could think otherwise, “everything’s organised.  We’re going to that French place, Truffles, but first a dozen red roses are being delivered with some champagne and chocolates, pour moi!” I giggled, “I don’t know whether to have those before we go out or ...”

“After,” interrupted Max, “definitely after.  Where is Carrie going to be?”

“Staying with John’s Mum.  All night.”

“Sounds amazing,” his voice was as accommodating as his eyes, “I have to salute John, he’s gone to such an effort.”

“Oh no,” I said, “I did it all.”

“What?  Even the flowers?” Max sounded shocked.

“And we’re not allowed to talk about work.”

Later when I left Max I thought he looked sad, maybe he was on his own this Valentine’s Day.  I rushed home, John’s Mum was collecting Carrie straight from school, the house was mine.  I danced as I got ready, music blaring.  John and I hadn’t spent time in a restaurant alone together for ages.  I hoped he wouldn’t be late.  Five minutes after I’d finished dressing his key rattled in the lock and in he came.  We looked at each other, I started to smile, but he turned away and looked at his phone; “No talking about work.  Got it,” he was referring to my earlier text, “huh, the office has e-mailed.  Be right with you.”

I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked good, my tight little dress, my hair all done.

The roses arrived with the champagne and chocolates.  I whooped with delight as I opened them.   

“Fucking hell!  How much did they cost?” John asked.

By this time the taxi had arrived to take us to our romantic destination.  John sat in the back, answering work e-mails; “I’ll be with you in a sec love,” he said at five minute intervals.

In the restaurant I had his full attention.  He muttered a compliment about my dress, then frowned at our surroundings; “It’s crowded.”

It was crowded.  Tables for two crammed next to each other so that it was impossible to have a private conversation.  It didn’t stop the determined couples though, they stared into each other’s eyes, giggled and whispered.  One couple were even kissing.  I flashed back to twenty years ago when I’d got on that train for a 400 mile journey that I didn’t come home from.  John was waiting at that cold northern station, his mouth had been hot and hungry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other in the takeaway while we waited for our food.

I looked now at a stranger opposite me, clearly uncomfortable because he couldn’t look at his smart phone, unable to think of one thing to say to me because we couldn’t talk about work.  I didn’t know what to say either.  My phone bleeped.

“Excuse me,” I said.

It was a text from Max; ‘Hope you’re having a great night.  I bet you are being amazing x’.

I stared at it and thought of his warm brown eyes and deep voice.  I looked at the x at the end of the informal text and thought of Carrie.  My hands started to shake.