Jemma Forte - When I Met You

To my chagrin Teresa looked neither impressed or interested, just surprised. ‘Oh really? That’s a shame. I would have sworn you’d be in some orchestra or something by now.’

‘Not going to happen,’ I said bluntly. ‘I still play for pleasure, always will, but anything else just isn’t realistic.’

She’d touched a nerve. I knew she only looked so disappointed because she cared, but it was frustrating. If it was that easy to become a professional violinist I would have done it.

Teresa looked mildly put out.

‘It would be a lovely dream but it’s never going to happen. Too expensive, too tricky, too competitive, too late. Anyway, what else is up with you? Have you got a boyfriend?’ I asked, quickly changing the subject.

By way of reply she stuck out her left hand. On her ring finger sparkled a tiny diamond.

‘Oh my god. I don’t believe it. Who are you engaged to? Not Darren?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Been engaged six months now. We’re going to get married next year, if we can afford it. I’ve been meaning to ring and tell you for ages actually but …’

‘Oh honestly don’t worry,’ I said, helping her out. We were equally guilty of not keeping in touch. ‘And congratulations. I’m really happy for you. God, so many people from our year are getting hitched now or having babies. I can’t believe I didn’t even know. I’m sorry I’ve been so … you know.’

‘I know. We’ve both been busy haven’t we?’ she said, taking her turn to help me out now. ‘So come on then, have you got a fella?’

‘Kind of,’ I say. ‘I met someone travelling recently. But no one serious.’

For the second time Teresa looked distinctly sorry for me. ‘Don’t worry babe, it’ll happen,’ she said. ‘You remember my cousin, Sharon? I’m actually here for her hen night tonight and at one point, no one thought she’d ever meet Mr Right.’

I just smiled. It was easier and probably more polite than trying to explain that her sympathy was wasted on me. I wasn’t hankering after settling down like so many people my age seemed to be. Personally I prefer to dip my toe into relationship waters without taking the plunge. Keeps things simple, prevents getting hurt. That might sound cynical, but in my experience most men are only after one thing or end up letting you down. The ‘Martins’ of this world are few and far between so, until I meet that rare thing, a man I can truly rely on, I’m happy as I am thank you very much. Only, whenever I say that, people tend not to believe me.

‘How’s Hayley?’ asked Teresa suddenly, a cheeky grin on her face.

‘Same as usual,’ I said, rolling my eyes. In the past Teresa and I had spent many an hour discussing Hayley and what a cow she could be. ‘And Mum’s mad as ever. She’s decided Hayley’s destined to win Sing For Britain. ’

Teresa’s stunned face said it all.

‘Oh yeah,’ I nodded. ‘Hayley’s actually considering going to the auditions this summer.’

‘Shit,’ said Teresa, her face creasing into an incredulous grin. ‘Still, I reckon Julian Hayes would well fancy her.’

‘True,’ I agreed. Julian Hayes is the head judge and a multi-millionaire Svengali whose production company make the show. ‘Trouble is he’s not deaf though.’

Teresa laughed. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’m going to sneak off soon and meet Darren, but I’d love to meet up some time.’

‘Definitely.’ I really meant it. Teresa was one of the best things about my life for a long time and it was sad that we’d let our friendship drift. For my part I think I’ve been waiting for something to change, something to happen, so that I had something to say. But there’s no point putting life on hold. I needed to make more effort. As I watched her walk away I vowed to do something about it.

A while later, after a particularly vigorous dancing session with the, by now very rowdy, gang from the salon, I suddenly noticed a really good-looking guy. I’m talking stand out from the crowd attractive, with green eyes and a lazy grin, which inhabited a face that all fell into place beautifully. What was even more unusual than spotting somebody so nice looking and seemingly age appropriate in this particular ‘nitespot’ was the fact that he appeared to be looking at me. Though I was only sure of this once I’d taken the precaution of looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to find a supermodel standing behind me, waving daintily at the man of my dreams.

The next thing I knew he seemed to be heading in my direction. Of course there was still a chance this handsome stranger was only on his way over to ask whether I had a pen he could borrow, or to tell me that my hair was on fire, so I stared at the barman, trying to get his attention, so it didn’t look like I was just hovering, waiting to be chatted up, which obviously I was.

‘Let me buy you a drink.’

Pretending to be terribly surprised, I turned around only to be met by the wonderful sight of him in close up. He was absolutely gorgeous. I felt like clapping my hands.

Forty minutes later and I was letting myself be seduced by a real pro. His name was Simon and, as I may have already mentioned, he was very good looking. It crossed my mind that Simon must never, ever meet my sister, for if he did he would realise that she was the sort of girl who was in the same league as him, that is to say the premiership, whereas I’ll do but am probably more second division.

Simon’s eyes searched my face as I spoke, which was very distracting and made it hard to concentrate on anything I was saying. He was charming, funny and complimentary to the point where I was beginning to feel like a bit of a sexpot. The only thing that was weird was that he hadn’t been snapped up already. There was no ring on his finger. I checked. He clearly wasn’t gay, so what was wrong with him?

I decided not to stress about it and instead enjoyed hearing him tell amusing stories, which he peppered with questions and compliments. At one point he commented on my hair. He said that only someone with great cheekbones could get away with such a strong look. I knew they were only words, but hearing them made me swell with pleasure.

Anyway, things with Simon – how grown up is that name? I can’t imagine anyone calling a baby or a toddler Simon – were going swimmingly, when out of the blue he suddenly said, ‘So listen, do you fancy leaving here? I’d like to go somewhere where I don’t have to shout at you over the music. Your place?’ As he said this he looked me up and down in a way that made my belly flip and my nerve endings tingle, for it conveyed perfectly what he had in mind.

Mind racing I tried to work out what to do. Not having built up to the question or bothered with any cheesy coffee euphemisms, he’d rather ambushed me, but the intention was implicit. Did I want him to come back to mine so that we could have sex? The short answer was, yes please. The long answer was more complicated.

The first thing preventing me from diving in with both legs open was the fact that I could predict that if something happened tonight, Simon would probably write it off as a one night stand and I’d never see him again. Whereas I would undoubtedly be left feeling bereft and desolate, having managed to fall in love with him somewhere between now and him leaving. He really was that gorgeous. I’ve probably already alluded to the rather complex issues I have when it comes to men. Growing up, knowing that my dad chose to leave has been hard, and my subsequent, fairly predictable trust issues have resulted in me acquiring a reputation as one of Essex’s most chaste girls, although Hayley’s thoughtfully made up for the two of us on that front. Pre-Gary there weren’t many people round here she didn’t sleep with – another subject I suspect might be taboo in front of Gary and his parents.