I feel so ashamed. I was thinking about Siobhan while I was on my way to see Emily. And I’m starting to wonder now if I should be writing this stuff. What if Emily sees it? Luckily I have this file password protected. I was worried before that maybe Si or Nat would come in and try to read my words. But I need this outlet for my feelings.

So, anyway: yesterday.

I got to the wine bar about ten minutes early. Emily wasn’t there, but I didn’t want to go in and buy a drink because then I’d have no money by the time she arrived. I hung around outside, smoking a cigarette and drawing snooty looks from the staff inside. I was really hungry. I’d felt so sick with nerves that I hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon. And breakfast had consisted of two pieces of toast and marge. I really wasn’t in the right state to be going on a date.

I looked at my watch. Emily was five minutes late. Maybe I should go home. I looked up and down the road, suddenly aware of how badly I wanted her to turn up. I didn’t want to go home alone. Not again. Perhaps if Emily stood me up I could go round to Siobhan’s so she could tell me I was a stalker and get the police to arrest me, throw me in a cell where I wouldn’t be made to suffer by women any more. Maybe in prison I would discover the joys of…

‘Hi! Am I late?’

‘No. Well, not really.’

She had arrived in a cloud of Issey Miyake. The first thing I thought was, That’s the same perfume Siobhan wears. I had seen the bottle in her bedroom, and the smell had stayed with me. Then I looked at Emily’s smile and thoughts of Siobhan disappeared in a puff of Issey Miyake-scented smoke.

‘What will you have?’ Emily said, once we had gone inside. ‘Shall we get a bottle?’

I hoped she couldn’t see the panic in my eyes.

‘What do you prefer?’ she said. ‘Red or white?’

‘White.’

‘Oh. That’s a pity, I fancied red.’

Phew. ‘Well, let’s just get a glass. I’ll have the house white.’ I had already checked out the price list, and a small glass of house white was only £3.50. I was paying my way.

We sat down and Emily removed her coat. She wore a red sweater that stretched tightly over her breasts. Her large breasts. Actually, I had already noticed that most of Emily was quite large. She was the kind of woman that people describe as voluptuous; kind of like Kate Winslet when she isn’t starving herself. I liked it. She looked soft. The only thing I didn’t like about her appearance was that she was wearing quite a lot of make-up. I could see flakes of foundation on her cheeks, little blobs of mascara on her eyelashes. But she still looked good. Realising how good she looked made me feel more anxious.

‘Are you okay?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit nervous, I guess.’

She smiled again. ‘Me too.’

We both examined the tabletop, embarrassed, but when I looked up she was still smiling. We lifted our glasses and took a sip.

‘So how’s Natalie? Is she okay?’ She looked at me over the top of her glass.

‘She’s alright, yeah…I think. She and Simon have gone away for the week. He’s taken her to Greece.’

‘Oh. That’s a good idea. It must have been…’ She trailed off, shaking her head. Her hair fell over her eyes and she brushed it away. She smiled, as if to say, let’s change the subject, and I strained to think of something to say.

‘What do you do?’ Emily asked before a fascinating subject had sprung to mind. ‘I mean, for a job?’

I wondered what Natalie had told her. ‘Hasn’t Natalie already filled you in about me?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. She told me you used to work for an internet company.’

‘That’s right. But I…quit. To concentrate on my writing.’

‘You’re a writer?’

‘Well. An aspiring one.’

And a skint one. Who got chucked out of the local creative writing class. I could feel my cheeks burning.

‘That’s a coincidence.’

‘You’re a writer too?’ I couldn’t believe it. I’d just had my heart broken by one writer and now…

‘No, no. God – I’m not that creative. No, I work for a publisher. I’m an editorial assistant.’

‘Sounds cool.’

She smiled and I noticed little dimples on her cheeks. ‘Yes. It’s a nice job, most of the time. It can be a bit…’ She screwed up her face. ‘I don’t know. It’s very competitive and there’s a lot of bitchiness and backstabbing. I’d rather work somewhere where everyone got on. Where people were nice to each other, y’know?’

I nodded, thinking about my old office. Those bastards. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ I said.

We drank our wine and made small talk: I can’t remember exactly what we talked about. But after a little while, Emily said, ‘Oh, I feel a bit tipsy already.’

‘Really?’

‘I’m such a lightweight. It only takes one glass.’

‘What would happen if you drank another?’ I asked, temporarily forgetting that I only had 26 pence (and an out-of-date coin; I left the dead spider at home) in my pocket.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure.’

I immediately felt myself stiffen. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had flirted with me, and the way Emily was looking at me was actually making me feel nervous – but also very excited. I heard Simon’s voice in my head: She likes you. It was such a powerful feeling – or, rather, an empowering feeling. To have somebody want you. I was sure I was reading the signals correctly this time.

‘Look, Emily,’ I said, suddenly feeling the urge to be honest. ‘I’ve got a confession.’

She looked worried. Some of the colour faded from her cheeks; her eyes lost a little of their sparkle.

‘I’m skint,’ I said. ‘I came out tonight with less than four quid. I’m really sorry.’

And although I was expecting her to be appalled, she grinned. ‘God, Alex, I thought you were going to say you had a girlfriend. Or that you were gay.’

‘Well…’

‘Of course you’re skint. All writers are skint. Don’t worry about it – I got paid today. Come on, let’s have another.’

So Emily and I sat there and had another glass of wine, and we talked about... well, all sorts of stuff. Films. Music. Books. Normal stuff. This, I kept thinking, is exactly what Siobhan was talking about when she gave me that lecture about how relationships are meant to proceed. That night she stuck a serrated knife in my heart and went riiiip. I looked at Emily’s soft, friendly face over the table and realised that this woman would never knife me in the heart. She would never use such cruel words. She didn’t think I was a freak or a weirdo or a creep. She liked me.

She really liked me!

And after we’d been talking for a while, she leaned across the table and said, ‘So... Natalie and Simon are away?’ And the next thing I knew, we were walking back to my place.

We didn’t hold hands, but as we talked she kept bumping into me, leaning against me and touching my arm. I felt as if my blood temperature had just shot up ten degrees; I felt vertiginous, heady. Everything seemed bright and sharp, as if all my natural senses were heightened: the streetlights dazzled me; I saw a fox dart from an alley into a garden, fur shining, eyes glinting.

When we stepped into my flat it seemed impossibly quiet. We stood in the hallway, breathing loudly.

‘Do you want a coffee? Or tea? Or… water?’

‘No wine?’

‘Not unless you can perform miracles.’

She laughed and said, ‘Water would be fine.’

She followed me into the kitchen and stood behind me while I rinsed and filled a glass with water. When I turned around she was standing really close. She moved forward, her face tilted upwards. I kissed her, and spilled water down her as my arms went around her.

‘Oh, shit, I’m really sorry.’

She shook her head, frowning. ‘Look what you’ve done!’

‘I’m so sorry…

She smiled, letting me know that her frown was a trick. ‘I guess I’m going to have to take this off now.’