Loving Danny (6 page)

Danny smiled. He had been nodding, approvingly, throughout my monologue. ‘You mum sounds like a very wise woman. Continue.’

Excellent. I’d won a few brownie points. My confidence was growing and I even managed to smile back at him. ‘All right. What was your next question? What do I care about? I care
about people, my family, my friends, people I don’t know. I care about not hurting anyone. I care about animals – I’m vegetarian. I care about the environment. Yes, I know, I
sound like a cliché now.’ I looked at Danny, expecting him to have grown tired of my rambling. He was concentrating intently, his turquoise eyes wide and piercing.

‘Go on . . .’

‘I dream about the most bizarre things. Doesn’t everyone? I dream about places I’ve never been, where I meet people I don’t know. I dream about being on ships, at
fairgrounds, things I’ve read about or seen in films. I dream in colour, usually, and nearly every night. Sometimes I dream about shoes. Shallow, I know, but I am a girl.’

He laughed again. Now I was starting to relax and enjoy myself.

‘What do I want to be? That’s a tough one. I thought I wanted to be a lawyer, but now I think that’s just what my parents want me to be. I’m on my gap year, working for a
law firm and I’m hating every minute of it. All I know is that I want to be somebody, to do something special and important, something that people remember me for. Not tabloid famous –
history book famous. God, now I sound like some kind of megalomaniac. Please make me stop before you have to get the men in white coats to carry me out!’

‘They’ll be coming for me too, then,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘I want everything you want. The fame, the glory – plus a bit of adulation too. Of course, when
I’m a famous rock star the tabloids will be full of me, but that’s part of the job these days, I’m afraid.’

‘From what I saw you already have the adulation,’ I teased. ‘All those girls at The Bunker?’

‘No.’ He frowned. ‘Not the groupies. They only care what I look like and they want to tell their mates they’ve met me, just in case I make it. I could stand on stage and
howl like a wolf and they’d still tell me I was wonderful . . . until the next band comes along. I want respect, I want people to quote my lyrics, I want people to play my records in years to
come. Oh God, now who sounds like a megalomaniac?’

‘No,’ I reassured him. I was smiling automatically now, liking Danny more and more. ‘It’s good to be ambitious. I hate people who are apathetic and don’t have any
passion.’ I felt a twinge of guilt – wasn’t that just how I had been behaving lately? I pushed it away and continued. ‘That’s what’s wrong with my dad.
He’s so happy being mediocre, going to work every day, like just another ant.’

‘Sounds like my dad,’ said Danny. ‘Except he’s got all the ants working for him. Pardon the mixed metaphor, but he’s the big cheese: Mr John Evans, MBE, head of
Evans Inc, purveyor of plastics to the world.’

‘Wow,’ I said, ‘I’m impressed. He sounds important.’ So that was where the posh vowels in Danny’s voice came from! Nobody in my family had letters after their
name. The more I found out about Danny, the more of a mystery he became.

Danny shrugged. ‘Don’t be. He’s not important to me.’ He voice sounded flat and his body seemed to crumple inwards. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed noticeably. It made
me feel uncomfortable, like I’d intruded on something private.

‘Hey,’ I said, brightly, trying to lift his spirits. ‘You know loads about me now. What about you, Danny Evans?’

‘Daniel, ahem, Hector, ahem, Evans,’ he said, with a mock-bashful look. I decided it was all right to laugh.

‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘I was named after my grandfather. That’s how people with bad names get back at the world – they pass them on to their descendants.
It’s a cruel trick.’

‘It could have been worse,’ I ventured.

‘Not much,’ he said.

‘Actually, you might be right,’ I teased.

‘Enough now,’ said Danny, playfully slapping my leg. I felt the jolt of electricity again and found myself wishing he would leave his hand there. ‘You don’t know me well
enough to take the piss.’

The funny thing is, I felt like I did. We’d only been chatting for fifteen minutes or so, yet it seemed as if I’d known him for years. I’d never felt so comfortable, so
quickly, with anybody. With Danny I could be one hundred per cent myself.

Apparently fearing he’d offended me, he qualified his remark. ‘Yet,’ he stated.

‘Does that mean you’re planning to stick around?’ I asked, surprised at my boldness.

‘Absolutely, Naomi. I’m not going anywhere. Are you?’

The next hour passed in an instant. I was never any good at physics at school, but things like time travel and black holes in space have always made a kind of sense to me. Time is a strange
concept – it’s divided neatly into seconds, minutes and hours, but they’re purely artificial; they don’t really mean anything. A few minutes can seem like an eternity when
you’re a small child desperate to arrive at your destination, and likewise when you’re grown up and unhappy or in pain. But whole hours can vanish inexplicably when you’re
immersed in conversation, drunk or enjoying yourself. When old people say they don’t know where the years have gone, I genuinely understand what they mean.

I learned that Danny was twenty and an only child. He had gone to Oxford straight after A-levels to study English literature, but had dropped out, disillusioned, at the end of his first year.
Presently, he was concentrating on The Wonderfulls, determined to make his band a success. He had done odd jobs for pocket money – waiting at tables, a stint behind a bar and in a record
shop. Now that The Wonderfulls were regularly playing paid gigs he spent most of the week rehearsing and recording in the studio he’d built in the basement of his parents’ house. His
mother, an ex-model, filled her time organising charity functions and lunching with her friends. She left him to his own devices. He said she was cold and distant – like an icy blonde in a
Hitchcock film. I didn’t dare to ask about his father again.

‘Do you fancy some food?’ he asked, when I came back from a visit to the Ladies and there was a natural lull in our conversation. It was a quarter to ten and I was starting to feel
weak and dizzy. While it’s true that I hadn’t eaten for hours and my empty stomach was now swimming in alcohol, I can’t deny that my giddiness was in no small part due to the
sheer adrenaline rush of being with Danny.

‘Yes,’ I said, with rather more enthusiasm than I’d intended. ‘I’m starving. They do food here, don’t they?’

‘They do, but I know somewhere much nicer. Trust me.’

‘OK.’ I smiled as he helped me put on my coat. I was all thumbs and elbows and, once again, his touch made me quiver. He stroked the fake fur collar, smoothing down the pile with the
palm of his hand. ‘Nice coat.’

‘Thanks. I got it in a vintage shop. It’s from the 1950s, I think.’

‘You have great style, Naomi. Very individual. That’s just one of the many things I’m beginning to like about you.’

He linked his arm through mine and took me to an Italian restaurant about half a mile up the road. La Casa Nostra was newly opened – it still smelled of fresh paint – and I’d
read about in the newspaper. Its proprietor was an ex-footballer and it attracted the local celebrity crowd, those who didn’t want to make the trip into central London. People went there to
be seen, rather than to eat – although the chef was supposed to be excellent. It was the last place I had expected Danny to take me. Like Yellow, it didn’t fit with his scruffy,
musician’s persona. I wondered if he was trying to impress me or whether this was the sort of place he went to all the time. And how could he afford it? Even regular gigs and stints behind a
bar couldn’t bring in that much.

I’d never have gone there without him; just walking through the front door was an intimidating experience. Even though I was ‘nicely’ brought up, posh, trendy restaurants make
me feel insecure and clumsy. I don’t know which cutlery to use or when to thank the waiter.

Danny must have noticed the anxiety in my face. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘They’re really nice in here. I used to work in a pub with the guy behind the bar –
he’ll see you’re all right.’

We were shown to a small table by the window, decorated with a thin glass vase containing a single orchid. As the waiter pulled out my chair he discreetly removed a ‘Reserved’ sign
from the table. Danny saw that I’d noticed and smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I was optimistic about tonight.’

‘How did you know we’d get on?’ I asked.

‘I just knew,’ he said, looking directly into my eyes with an intensity that seemed almost like sadness. ‘There was something about you. Even on the bus, I just
knew.’

I stared back at him, speechless. If anyone else had given me this line, I’d have laughed at loud. But it wasn’t corny when Danny said it because
I
knew too – because I
felt exactly the same.

Even if I’d known how to respond, I didn’t get the chance – the waiter arrived to take our order. When we received our meals, the portions were small, but the food was
delicious. We each had a taste of one another’s courses and Danny bemoaned the fact he hadn’t ordered the same pasta dish as me – with asparagus, wild mushrooms and a saffron
sauce. He insisted that we both have dessert, daring me not to agree that the chocolate mousse was the best I’d ever tasted.

‘You win,’ I conceded, as the last spoonful of creamy sweetness melted on my tongue.

‘In that case,’ he teased, his eyes twinkling, ‘I get to choose my prize.’

‘Yes . . . ?’

‘Um,’ he said, scratching his head comically. ‘Let’s see. I know . . . you let me take you out again.’

‘What a cruel and unusual punishment!’ I cried, playing along. ‘OK, but I must let you know how painful it will be for me.’

‘I know exactly how to torture a woman,’ he said in a terrible imitation of a German accent. He laughed at himself. ‘How about Sunday? Sunday daytime. I know just the place.
But I’m not going to tell you where yet. You’d better give me your number so I can text you tomorrow . . . in code, of course.’

‘I’m definitely free on Sunday,’ I said. ‘You’re making it sound very mysterious, Mr Evans.’

He took out a chewed-up biro from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to me. ‘Your number?’ he asked. I rummaged inside my bag and found an old receipt, turned it over and wrote
my details on the plain side. When I passed it to Danny he studied it intently, as if he was committing the digits to memory, before putting it away.

‘Tell me,’ I asked, ‘What would you have done if you’d lost the bet?’

‘I never lose,’ he said, his tone unexpectedly serious. Then he winked and I laughed, but I still wasn’t convinced that he’d said it in jest.

By the time the waiter had cleared away our coffee cups and brought the bill it was well after midnight. Danny insisted on paying, which was fortunate, as it came to almost my week’s
salary.
How can he afford it?
I asked myself, for the second time that evening.
I must not get used to living like this
, I noted.
Next year I’ll be a student living on baked
beans and pot noodles.

As we were handed our coats I wondered what Danny had planned for Sunday – the excitement was rising within me and I didn’t know how I’d get through the next day. Only a few
hours before, Danny had been a virtual stranger. Now I couldn’t imagine a full thirty-six hours without him. See, time
is
a crazy concept, isn’t it?

Danny walked me home, slowly, with his arm draped around my shoulders. The difference in our heights meant that I fitted neatly into his side and I felt safe, as if I belonged there. Whenever we
stopped to cross a road he’d take my hand, sliding each of his fingers between mine. Every time he did it I felt my cheeks flush and I hoped that in the darkness he couldn’t tell. We
talked all the way, learning more about each other’s CD collections and swapping stories about our travels. I’d never been further than Europe, but Danny told me he’d spent the
previous summer travelling in Sri Lanka with a friend. He said it was the most beautiful place on earth and the people were the most friendly and hospitable he’d ever met. He’d promised
himself he would go back one day, but first there were many other places to see, like Thailand, Australia and India.

He described his pride and joy to me: a Fender Telecaster guitar, which he’d received as an eighteenth birthday present. Just thinking about it made him animated. He was like a small child
– bright-eyed and breathless – unselfconsciously imagining it in his arms and stroking it as if it were a treasured pet. His enthusiasm for it was so sweet, so infectious, that I had an
urge to stop and hug him, right there in the middle of the street.

We were already beginning to create our own shared language, our own in-jokes. It seemed to happen organically. At some point in the evening, I don’t remember when, he had re-christened me
Omi and then I became Omi Wan Kenobi, after the character in
Star Wars.
On cue, I’d done my finest Alec Guinness impression, reciting, ‘May the Force be with you.’ Although
I didn’t particularly like the moniker, I loved the fact that Danny had given it to me. We laughed about a woman in the restaurant whose skirt was so tight that she could barely sit down.
Danny did an impression of her struggling into her chair and then I, rather more used to negotiating clingy skirts and high heels, showed him how to do it properly.

All the way home I was aware of what was coming: the inevitable kiss, our first kiss. The anticipation was almost unbearable and at the same time, intensely pleasurable. Each time he touched my
fingers, dwarfing my hand in his, I felt electric currents course throughout my body. I wanted the kiss to happen and I wanted it to be over. It hung over me like a cloud heavy with nerves; a good
kiss would be a flawless ending to a wonderful evening, a clumsy one might spoil it all.

‘This is me, then,’ I said, hesitantly, as we arrived at my garden gate. My pulse was thundering in my ears and my teeth were chattering, even though I wasn’t cold. All the
lights in my house were off and, in the poor lamp light, I could barely see Danny’s face. We stood silently for a second, looking at each other and then Danny took both my hands in his. I
could feel him trembling too.