Loving Danny Read Free Page A

then?’
    ‘God knows. I haven’t given it any thought. Maybe my black halter neck, if,’ I hammered home my point, ‘if it’s still in one piece!’
    ‘Let’s face it, Nay. If he liked you in your work gear he’s gonna be pleasantly surprised whatever you wear next time.’
    ‘Perhaps I’ll borrow something of yours,’ I teased. I never borrowed Emily’s clothes. Aside from the fact that most of them were too tight, I didn’t much like her
style. She dressed to show off her midriff and her legs – neither of which were my best features – and she wore lots of slogan T-shirts in bright colours, which I thought looked
cheap.
    ‘If you want,’ she said, without irony.
    Downstairs, the front door slammed shut. Dad was home. I knew that in exactly two minutes Mum would be calling us down for dinner. I could have set my watch by it. Emily pushed herself up.
‘Suppose we’d better go down,’ she said, sighing. ‘Get it over with.’
    I rolled my eyes at her. ‘OK, but don’t mention anything about the gig. I’m not in the mood for an interrogation tonight.’
    We went downstairs together. Dad was already sitting at the kitchen table. He’d taken off his glasses and was rubbing his eyes with the side of his hand. His bald scalp gleamed under the
fluorescent strip lighting.
    ‘Hello, girls,’ he said, without looking up. ‘Did you have a productive day?’
    His question wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, so we both muttered affirmatively.
    ‘I’m just going to help Mum,’ I said, sensing an opportunity for escape. Emily screwed up her face at me. She hadn’t been quick enough, this time.
    Mum was juggling steaming pots and pans at the other end of our L-shaped kitchen. ‘Ah, Naomi,’ she said, gratefully. ‘Would you help me serve the food and take it
in?’
    She had cooked spaghetti, with bolognese sauce for herself and Dad, and a vegetable sauce for me and Emily. I’d been vegetarian since I was eleven; Emily was just a fussy eater and
didn’t like mince.
    Dinner passed without incident. Between mouthfuls, Dad told us what he thought was a funny anecdote about a man in the accounts department at work who’d left his travelcard on the train
and had been fined, or something like that. I’m afraid I wasn’t listening properly, so I can’t repeat the story. Mum told Emily off for getting a C in her maths test and informed
her she wouldn’t be allowed out the night before a test again. She also told us she’d got a new piano pupil, whom she’d be teaching on Tuesday evenings at six. Dad asked after Mr
Stevens, my boss and his occasional golf partner. I said I hadn’t spoken to him that day, as I’d been left in the photocopying room on my own with a waist-high pile of folders to work
my way through. I moaned that I could still see the flash of the machine every time I closed my eyes and now probably had radiation poisoning. Dad tutted, ‘Well, we all have to start
somewhere.’
    My mind kept drifting to Danny. I wondered if he was eating dinner somewhere too, and with whom. He seemed too self-assured to live with his parents. Did he live on his own or did he share a
flat with mates? I pictured him sitting in a bedsit, surrounded by guitars and CDs. I wished I hadn’t been so keen to rush off. Perhaps he would have asked me if I fancied a coffee, there and
then. We would have gone to the greasy spoon on the corner of Murray Street and talked till it closed. Then—
    ‘Naomi, I said did you want some fruit? Naomi!’ Mum looked exasperated. I shook my head.
    ‘Don’t worry about Naomi, Mum,’ Emily said, smiling cryptically. ‘She’s got a lot on her mind. Isn’t that right, Nay?’
    ‘Shut up, Em,’ I muttered, under my breath. I felt foolish. Danny probably hadn’t given me another thought. I was merely a potential audience member for his gig, a clumsy girl
who couldn’t even manage to get off a bus without forgetting her phone. He almost certainly had a