We were meant to, in the words of another book I drank in and whose title I sadly can’t remember, .The guys would then flock to us, presumably multiplying like loaves and fishes since single women vastly outnumber single men in the British church.)To say that a guy must only ask a girl out when he is ready to court her is to put unbearable pressure on both of them.
We needed the freedom to be together one-to-one without the niggling thought that this had to go somewhere, or without the frisson of the forbidden, which is its own kind of pressure.
I’d already had my teenage fun, my first snog and many subsequent ones.
Let’s call him Dan, since that was his name, and there are a million Dans, and the chances of his reading this are, at best, minimal.
(Dan, Dan, Toasted Cheese Sandwich Man, my friends called him, and now you can see why I wanted to tell you his real name.) We prayed together in his room.
We went to see and I – oh, how I cringe at this memory – used this as a golden excuse to put my head on his shoulder and cry like a baby through most of it.