When I Met You. Jemma Forte

to go off again.’

      ‘Right,’ says Ray, still nodding, only I can’t help but notice, he looks a bit bemused.

      ‘What?’ I say, feeling defensive.

      ‘No nothing. It’s just … you know, I’ve never really heard of anyone describing “going on holiday” as what they do.’

      There’s so much I could say back to this. I have to sort of wrinkle my entire face in an effort not to reply back too forcibly, though what I say still packs a bit of a punch. ‘Well, it’s probably more worthwhile than spending half your life in prison.’

      ‘Fair point,’ Ray agrees, fists planted squarely on the table. He’s wearing the same black leather coat he was wearing the other day and his shoulders are so broad in it, he’s practically the same width as the table. He’s slim though. Despite his big build he certainly couldn’t be described as a fat bloke. He’s just very tall. He’s wearing a gold cygnet ring on the little finger of his right hand and everything about his presence is big, in a way that could be reassuring or menacing, depending on how you viewed him I suppose.

      Another silence follows, one that definitely couldn’t be described as comfortable. Feeling deflated I start fiddling with the packets of sugar that are on the table in an aluminium pot. I realise in that moment that I want so much from this man, want him to be so much, the reality can’t possibly measure up. Then he says, ‘You like your music then?’

      I nod, feeling immediately defensive and inexplicably like I might be about to cry. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I swallow hard and stare at the table.