Free Loving Danny by Hilary Freeman Page A

silk – across my face, slipping over my ears and
around the back of my head. He tied it loosely, smoothing down my hair with his palm. ‘OK, now take my hand.’
    We walked, awkwardly, for a few minutes, the picnic basket bashing into Danny’s legs with each step. I humoured him by acting disoriented – it made him grasp my hand more tightly
– but I could actually see the grass and the path through the bottom of my blindfold.
    ‘We’re here now,’ he said, sighing with relief as he put down the picnic basket. ‘You can stop.’ He untied the blindfold, letting it drop to the floor at my feet.
There, in front of me, was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. The park’s ancient gazebo had been decorated with multicoloured flowers and ribbons and tinsel. There were even
bunches of grapes hanging from its poles. It looked like something you’d see in an epic movie set in Roman times.
    ‘Oh my God!’ I exclaimed. Had Danny really done this just for me? When had he done it? I’d had no idea how thoughtful he was, how inventive. Worried that I might begin to cry,
I hugged him, a little too tightly. Then, embarrassed, I pulled away.
    ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, trying to gauge my emotions from my perplexing expression.
    ‘What do you think?’ I laughed. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
    Reassured, Danny then opened the enormous picnic basket, taking from it two large, green floor cushions, which he placed side by side within the gazebo. ‘Now, if Madame would care to
sit,’ he suggested, bowing and waving his hand like a courtier. I stepped into the gazebo and sat myself down cross-legged, while he continued to unload the basket. He took from it two
plates, two cups and two sets of plastic cutlery, which he spread out on a tartan blanket. Then he brought out the food, the majority of it in tiny portion-sized containers, which I recognised from
the posh delicatessen on the high street. He must have spent a fortune. There were giant olives, feta cheese, a pasta salad, stuffed vine leaves, asparagus spears, sun-dried tomato bread, lemon
hummus, rocket salad with parmesan shavings, Kettle Chips and honey-roasted almonds. For dessert there was an exotic fruit salad and strawberries dipped in chocolate. It was all my favourite food,
everything I’d mentioned liking on our first date. There was even – somewhat incongruously – a bag of dolly mixtures, because I’d told him they were my favourite sweets when
I was a child. I was so overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail that I couldn’t speak.
    ‘Is everything OK?’ asked Danny, looking slightly anxious. ‘Or would you rather we’d gone to McDonald’s?’
    ‘Very funny,’ I said, resisting the urge to hug him again. ‘It’s gorgeous. Incredible. I just don’t know what to say.’
    He beamed. ‘Don’t say anything. Eat.’
    As we enjoyed the food, Danny told me about The Wonderfulls’ most important gig ever, which would take place in February at the 142 Club in town. ‘There’s going to be an A
& R guy – a talent spotter – there from Excite Records,’ he said. ‘Word on the street is that they’re looking to sign a band like us.’
    ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s amazing.’
    ‘It is, but we’re going to have to get a hell of a lot of practice in between now and then.’ He saw me looking downcast. ‘Oh God, Omi, that didn’t come out right. I
didn’t mean I won’t be able to see you again. I want you to be part of it all and, with your extensive musical knowledge, you can give me feedback on some new songs.’
    ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Won’t the others mind? I don’t want to become some sort of Yoko Ono hate figure.’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the songwriter and the lead singer – it’s my band, really. Don’t worry about it. They’re great guys – you’ll like
them. And they’ll love you. As far as I’m concerned, from now on you’re permanently on the guest list.’
    We