Page 61 of The F*cking Fabulous Forties Club
‘As I was saying,’ Niamh continues, ‘you are far too gorgeous to be hiding from the world and you deserve to be loved, and loved well and often.’
Robyn lets out a peal of laughter as loud and dirty as her mother’s used to be at the same age, while Laura cringes. ‘You’re on a warning, Cassidy!’ she scolds.
Before she can say any more, my doorbell rings and Daniel decides it’s his time to sing the song of his people loudly and ferociously as if warding away evil spirts, and potential love interests.
‘Go get your man,’ Niamh says. ‘We’ll tidy up and lock up here when we’re leaving.’
‘But you will be meeting us for breakfast in the morning to fill us in on all the gossip?’ Laura asks.
‘Unless she’s otherwise engaged,’ Niamh replies with a wink.
‘Girls, pack it in!’ I tell them, my heart beating at twice its usual rate. I’m so glad I put on an extra spray of deodorant as the nervous sweats are already on me. It has been more than twenty years since I have been on a first date. In fact, it’s closer to twenty-five.
It’s been at least a decade since I have been kissed – properly kissed. I can’t allow my brain to think about all the other things I haven’t done in at least a decade because I will freak out entirely if I do.
Kissing is enough to make my knees feel weak and my skin tingle and… what if I’ve forgotten how? What if I do it all wrong? Maybe it’s changed in the last decade?
With shaking hands, I open my front door and see him. Tall, handsome him.
His dark hair, speckled with the occasional grey, is just long enough to fall in soft curls across his forehead. It’s the perfect length of hair for running my fingers through when I pull him close for a kiss, I think before blinking and doing my best to focus on what is happening now and not just what I very much want to happen later.
‘This isn’t at all really weird and awkward,’ Conal says, with a slight grimace and I freeze, wondering if I’m about to get dumped before we’ve even got going. ‘Picking my wee sister’s friend up for a date,’ he continues. ‘Who’d have thought it would happen?’ He smiles and the way his eyes crinkle and how he tilts his head makes me weak with relief and longing.
‘Not weird or awkward at all,’ I say, with the same faux grimace. ‘The big brother who was always telling us to get out from under his feet and to turn our music down.’
‘In fairness, you three had the worst taste in music,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘Excuse me, but how very dare you!’ I mock. ‘Every single Take That song was an absolute banger.’
‘The constant replaying of “Deep” by East 17 was something I could’ve lived without though,’ he says, and his eyes meet mine. Who knew this chemistry between us was fizzing away deep under the surface all this time?
‘Will we go?’ he asks before nodding his head towards the currently closed living room door. ‘I know my sister, and probably Niamh too, are in there and most likely listening in to every word…’
‘Hi, Conal!’ they call in unison and he rolls his eyes.
‘We’re leaving now,’ I call to my friends and they call their goodbyes back as Conal O’Hagan takes my hand in his and leads me out of my front door and on to my next adventure.
Sixteen-year-old Becki Burnside would be so delighted.
40
TEN DAYS LATER
It’s quite nice to have the house to myself for a bit. The boys have headed out with their friends for the evening, taking their noise and mayhem with them.
It has been non-stop since they’ve been home, between doing their washing, refilling the fridge (over and over again) and picking up soggy towels from the bathroom floor. I know I should make them do it all themselves but I’m enjoying feeling needed again. That said, I’ll be glad when they go back to Manchester too.
The boys being at home has enforced a taking-things-slow approach to my burgeoning romance with Conal. It’s probably a good thing. I don’t want to make a mess of this and I think Conal is nervous too. Going slowly is giving us time to adjust and really get to know each other. But getting the chance for a good snog isn’t easy and I really do enjoy snogging Conal. Our first kiss was everything I hoped it would be and I’d been delighted to find out I hadn’t forgotten how to do it after all. We’d had a lovely meal together, followed by a couple of drinks and we laughed and chatted as if we were always meant to laugh and chat together. We’d touched on tougher times – talked of his grief and mine but it didn’t feel like we were wallowing in it. We were just sharing the experience of having lost a parent. Conal and I, it seems, have a lot of shared experiences. We’re both divorced. Both of us have two children. We both have dogs that have larger-than-life personalities and we both want to see more of the world.
By the time he’d walked me home, my heart felt lighter than it had done in years and I’d remembered what it was like to really, really want to be kissed by someone. What it was like to feel the hairs on my arms rise up when he took my hand. How the warmth of him beside me made me feel safe.
He didn’t come in that night. We were determined to do this right and give us the best chance. But he did kiss me, on my doorstep, his breath warm, his hand tilting my face towards him. When his lips first brushed against mine I’d realised that even if the Waltons had fifty children, I’d be unable to talk my body out of wanting and needing more of him.
The next morning I’d started to write another column – Ten Ways to Take a Chance on Love in Your Forties. I was just saving it onto my desktop when my phone pinged with an email notification. Grace Adams at Northern People had emailed me back. She liked my column ideas. She wants to discuss my writing after the Christmas holidays. ‘I think you could be just the voice we’re looking for,’ she’d written. ‘I love the pitches. They need a little finessing but I’ve no doubt you’d be more than able for it. I really appreciate you sending these to me.’ I had been practically radioactive with the glow of a woman who felt valued and visible for the first time in years. I’m so excited about it that it drowns out the nerves I feel at the thought of a proper face-to-face meeting with an actual magazine editor.
But even with my nerves there is no Christmas present I could want more. Apart from my boys being back under my roof, of course. With them here, the house feels alive again.
Saul is delighted to be back on familiar territory and has been enjoying living it up with his old school pals – all of whom have congregated back in Derry for the holidays. Adam, who would normally have been one of this gang of friends, has been much, much too distracted by his romance with Jodie. There’s no shortage of snogging going on there.