Joe

God, I'm shitting a brick here. I have no idea what she's going to ask and that terrifies me. But if I want anything to happen here, I'm going to have to go along with this.

And I do want something to happen.

"Okay, first up: what's your surname?" She asks.

That's easy; I can do this one. I don't think she'll recognise me immediately from that. "Quinn."

She nods. "Cool. Mine is Norton." She makes a self-mocking face. "Maybe I'm a bit old fashioned but usually I like to know a guy's full name before I even consider heading off in cars with them. I really should have checked that sooner in case you were a serial killer or something."

"Fair enough."

"What do you do for a living?" is her next question.

Once again, easy enough to answer but it could raise her suspicions. "I'm a freelance journalist." I want to gloss over this one though. I add hurriedly. "You?"

She waves a hand dismissively. "I work in HR. Pretty dull. I'm definitely work to live, I don't live to work." Her eyes light up suddenly, as if something has struck her. I'll welcome anything that changes the subject. "Have you looked up your birthday number one yet?"

I nod. "It's 'Respectable' by Mel and Kim," I tell her reluctantly.

She, of course, immediately starts singing the chorus - "we are never going to be respectable" - while I cringe again at the song choice that according to Sienna Norton, self-proclaimed birthday number one specialist, could say a lot about me.

She of course doesn't realise the irony of it, given she knows fuck all about my past. She's now looking thoughtful, I guess doing calculations in her head. "'87, right?"

I grin. "I'm not that old," I joke.

"Nineteen eighty seven." She narrows her eyes at me. "Yes?"

"You got me," I reply, holding up my hands.

"We're the same age then, give or take," she smiles. "I'm 34, I think you'll already be 35?"

"You're good," I admit.

"Yep, when I actually get it right I'm quite impressed with myself," she laughs. She pushes her chair back. "And now I've impressed you, I need to pop to the loo." She winks at me and wanders off in search of the bathroom.

The couple at the next table are getting ready to make a move. The guy hesitates as he passes the table and then stops completely.

"Sorry, man, this is so not cool of me, but I just wanted to say I'm a massive fan," he says. "Your book has always been one of my favourites."

I look blankly at him. It's been a long time since I've been recognised. But he seems convinced he knows who I am.

I give in. "Thanks, that means a lot," I say. And it does.

So here's my big secret. Well, a part of it . . .

Once upon a time, so long ago now that it feels like it must have been another lifetime, I wrote a book. Which got published. And sold a lot of copies.

At the tender age of 21, I was a bestselling author. And I also found myself with the 15 minutes of fame that went along with it. In fact, I probably got way more than 15 minutes and I don't think I deserved that at all.

Don't get me wrong, it's always nice hearing praise for the book. It was something I put a lot of work into, something I channelled my loneliness into when I felt like I had nothing else. It's just the other stuff, that ended up going hand-in-hand with it all, that I wish I could forget.

Because I definitely let that temporary fame go to my head for a while, started to believe my own hype. Made a few mistakes along the way.

Some of which were in the public eye.

I wince at the memory.

"So, I have to ask, did you ever see any of those girls again after . . . ?" My new pal asks me, as if reading my mind, viewing my own memories.

I don't want to have to remember this shit again. But I smile ruefully and shake my head, cutting off the end of his question as politely as I can.

"Nope, never again. Which I completely deserved."

"Shame," he says. "That Leesa girl was hot." He holds out a hand. "Anyway, it was good to meet you."

He leaves and I look up to see Sienna walking back towards the table, looking puzzled. "What was that all about?" She asks. "Was he apologising for them eavesdropping?"

I laugh, but it's forced. "Something like that," I say lightly.

She lowers herself into her chair. Suspicion flickers in her eyes but she can't prove anything so it doesn't have anywhere to go. She picks up her fork again. "So whereabouts in Glasgow do you live?" She continues her questioning.

"Southside. Shawlands, actually."

"What a weird coincidence, me too." It turns out we only live three streets apart. "Your bit is a lot fancier than mine though," she comments. "You either must have won the lottery or be really good at your job."

"Well, I definitely didn't win the lottery," I shrug.

Sienna watches me speculatively again, obviously trying to decide what she wants to ask next. Every time it makes me nervous.

"What were you like when you were younger?" She asks finally. "At school?"

"What do you think I would have been like?" I can't help but ask in return. Somehow eager to see if her expectation meets reality. I'm fairly sure it won't.

She laughs. "I find it hard to imagine folk I've met only as adults as kids, don't you?" She takes a sip of wine. "I can only imagine you being like the way you are now, only 20 years younger. Probably cute though, rather than handsome. Maybe you hadn't quite grown into your looks yet. But confident. Friendly. Popular." She smiles bashfully. "I feel like I probably would have had a massive crush on you."

I can't help but snort at her many assumptions, although her last comment warms me. "I wasn't popular, and I certainly wasn't friendly," I reply. I try to keep the edge of bitterness out of my voice, attempt to keep my voice light. "I was definitely a nerd, although I didn't have the glasses back then. I was arrogant. And I was angry all the time."

She actually giggles at that, and the sound of it actually soothes me slightly. I don't think she meant to though, and she makes an apologetic face immediately. "Suddenly, teen you has just became even more attractive. I was always partial to a weirdo... I probably wouldn't have admitted that crush to my friends though." She hesitates. "Why were you so angry though?"

I shrug, looking away. "My parents were never happy. They took it out on us a lot, me and Jack, I think they'd thought having kids would make them complete somehow. Then it didn't and that was our fault too. Jack was always more popular than me, I don't think it bothered him as much because he just distracted himself with his friends. I was more sensitive and took it more personally. It's . . ." I bite my lip, take a deep breath before I continue "It's not nice feeling like your parents didn't really want you."

Her eyes soften and well up. She reaches over and puts a warm hand on top of mine. "That really sucks, Joe," she whispers. "I'm sorry they made you feel that way."

I've never told anyone this before. Not someone who wasn't a mental health professional, anyway. Me and Jack don't even talk about it- not that we're particularly close. I don't know why I've chosen to open up to Sienna.

I think she senses I'm done with baring my soul for now though. "Let me get the bill," she says. "I did promise to pay for once, after all."

After she's paid, we stand up and walk back out onto the street. It's dark now, and fairly quiet, what with it being relatively early on in the season. We've been walking, both in silence, for a couple of minutes, before I realise something.

At some point, since leaving the restaurant, I've slid my hand into hers.

So now we know part of Joe's secret . . . But what's the other part?

And don't even get me started on the hand-holding . . . 😍

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