The Dates.

Work was tiresome and I yawn into my fist as I pull up outside my girlfriend’s house. I have a part time job in a corner shop and I spend way too much time talking to customers, mostly the older generation. They insist on telling me about their day, their families, the neighbour's dog that won't stop barking. Why can't they just buy their crap and get out? I'm all for a chat but when the queue starts to go out of the shop door, you have to draw a line.

Forcing another yawn back, I step out of my car and stretch my arms over my head, feeling the cool breeze against the exposed skin on my stomach. The lights are on in the front room of the house, so I guess her mum is back from work early. I don’t mind though; her mum likes me.

With the knowledge of it being Friday, I have a spring in my step as I make my way to the front door. Whistling through my teeth, I ring the doorbell and wait patiently in the steadily darkening street. The sun has almost vanished over the nearest block of houses, casting an orange glow across the whole sky. I feel like I'm in a Disney film. Where are the singing birds? The dancing mice?

The door opens and I grin, ready to burst into song. That might make Gemma's family think I'm weird though.

“Oh, hello Andrew.” greets her mother. Her face looks shocked and she blinks hard at me a few times. Nervously, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “What brings you here?”

I frown slightly. “I always come around after work, Mrs White.”

She looks like she is still having trouble trying to work out why I am on her doorstep, enough to worry me and I pointedly look behind her into the house. “Is Gemma in?”

Maybe she’d hit her head recently at work and suffered a bout of amnesia? That would explain why she is home so early, I guess. It definitely explains the fact that she seems to have forgotten I'm dating her daughter. I consider announcing my name, to see if it will jog her memory; Name: Andrew Dawes, Profession: student and part time shop worker, also dating you're sole child. Have been coming to your house for the past two years.

“Yes…yes, she's in. Would you like me to get her?” she asks uncertainly, glancing over her shoulder to the stairs.

This is too weird. She's acting like I don’t belong here anymore and I shift uncomfortably in front of her as she scrutinizes me. After a minute, she shakes her head and her expression clears. She gives me a dazzling smile.

“I’m sorry, dear. I think I might have misheard what Gemma told me earlier. She’s upstairs in her room, if you want to go up.” she says, moving away from the doorway to let me in. “And how many times have I told you to call me Jane?”

I apologise to her, calling her 'Jane' to please her as I start to ascend the stairs. Behind me, I hear Mrs White shut the front door and ahead of me, I swear I can hear giggling - definitely Gemma. I look back over my shoulder to see Gemma’s mother still watching me questioningly, like she's putting a jigsaw together and she doesn't like the final picture.

Grateful to turn the corner on the landing so I can escape Mrs White’s stare, I start towards Gemma’s bedroom; it's the one at the very end of the hall so I have plenty of time to start to wonder why she keeps laughing. Is she sitting in there watching Friends reruns or something? I can see from here that the door is ajar, the light spilling from the crack and onto the shadowy floor.

When I reach it, I give it a gentle push, softly rapping my knuckles against the wood as another one of Gemma’s laughs mingles with music playing in her room. Not television then. The door swings out in front of me and reveals Gemma. Now, I can see why she is laughing and it feels like someone has dumped my entire body in an ice bath. I find my voice before she even notices I'm standing there.

“What the hell?” I hiss, frozen in the doorway as Gemma pulls back from the guy she was just playing tonsil tennis with. She has to flick her red hair out of her eyes, an overwhelmingly familiar gesture that my heart feels like it's being squeezed.

“Andrew!” she gasps, fumbling on the bed, trying to untangle herself from the sheets and the guy’s arms. “This…this isn’t what - ”

“It isn’t what it looks like? Don't insult me, Gemma. After two years going out, you owe me that at least.”

The boy next to her, not even bothering to put his shirt back on, pushes his fringe from his eyes and pins his gaze on me. Pouty mouth, jagged dark hair, cheekbones freaking sharp enough to cut through steel - this is who she decided to cheat on me with? God, I feel insulted. I raise a hand and cock an eyebrow up, an 'I-dare-you' gaze at its best.

“You have no right to speak. I don't even know who the hell you are!” I bark at him, focusing all my attention away from the scene, directing my eyes to the window instead. Outside, there are half a dozen moths batting against the glass. The jump like sand on a drum against the surface, unable to resist the pull of the light.

I can hear Gemma whimpering nearby, the boy's breathing loud and annoying. I close my eyes for a second and scrub a hand over my face. This explains everything. Why her mum was so hesitant when she answered the door and saw me. The puzzlement in her face when I said I always came around after work. Why she told me she must have misheard whatever Gemma had mentioned to her earlier. Had Gemma told her not to let me in? It seems like I'm the last person to find out that I've been cheated on.

“What happened, Gem? Did you get bored of me? Did you tell your mum we weren't going out anymore?” I mutter, tilting my head to the side.

She doesn’t reply. I deserve an answer, for christ's sake. I look at my feet, my hands clenching into fists, my knuckles turning white.

“I don’t want to see you ever again. Don’t bother calling, don’t try and get in contact with me in any way.” I whisper, my voice breaking a little. I roll my eyes up to the ceiling and blink away the stinging feeling. “I didn’t think you would do this to me after everything I told you.”

“Please, Andy, I...I never - ” she stutters. There's movement from the bed and I glance up when she comes stumbling towards me, just in her bra and jeans. My face twists with disgust and, embarrassingly, desire as she clutches my shirt, one of her hands finding my neck.

“Don’t go. Please? We can - we can sort this out?” She suggests, blocking my view of the guy still sat immobile on her bed. Like, mate, where's your dignity? Are you cool with her pleading with me like this while you're sat right there?!

I take a deep breath and slide my hands over hers. She smiles weakly at me, thinking I'm going to give her another chance. Instead, I pry her fingers from my shirt and away from my neck, pushing her back as carefully as I can. The smile fades, her cheeks glowing pink.

I stare into her teary eyes, making myself lean in as close as I can to make my point absolutely clear. It's almost as if I'm going in for a kiss.

“I never want to see you again.” I breathe, turning my back on her pathetic, remorseful face.

As I lurch back to the stairs, Gemma starts squealing at the boy, wailing and hiccoughing. She always hiccoughs when she cries. I remember that she still has my favourite jumper, given to her last Wednesday when we were walking back from school and it had started raining. She forgot her jacket and I'd been chivalrous enough to peel it off from my own back, pulling it over her already drenched head. She'd stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against mine. Damn. I'm never seeing that jumper again.

I take the stairs three steps at a time, steadying myself on the hand rail as I reach the bottom. Just as I'm about to wrench the front door open, Mrs White calls out to me, her head poking out from the living room.

“Are you leaving so soon, Andrew?” she says, surprised.

I turn and somehow manage to smile at her, even if it is a little manic. “I’m afraid so, Jane. Goodbye.” You've raised the she-devil, congratulations.