I didn’t want to see him again but I owed him one after our first date

It was my first date since emerging from the trenches of a turbulent breakup (Picture: Getty Images)

‘When can I see you again?’, my date asked.

We were standing outside a pub, sharing a Lost Mary on a cold December night, a true modern day romance.

It was the end of my first date since emerging from the trenches of a turbulent breakup and, in all honesty, I hadn’t had a chance to figure that out whether I fancied a second date. He was nice. The date had been nice.

‘I don’t feel great,’ I said.

Then, for the first time in my life, I passed out. All not-particularly-waifish 5’11” of me felled like a tree.

We’d met on Hinge, he was handsome, we got on well, standard procedure.
We started with a walk before going to a pub for a pint. The standard date for two people with functioning central nervous systems.

After he asked when he could see me again, my brain suddenly felt like it was fizzing (Picture: Getty Images/Westend61)

We talked about school and The Odyssey, which is something I always talk about on dates because it makes men think I’m smart. I liked talking to him, I just wasn’t sure if I felt ready, still recovering from my last emotional casualty.

By the time we went outside for a vape, I was still trying to distinguish between ‘I don’t know if I love this man’ and ‘I have known this man for three hours.’

After he asked when he could see me again, my brain suddenly felt like it was fizzing. Unrelated. I told him I felt sick and, because nothing about the evening so far had suggested I was seconds away from a medical emergency, he laughed.

Darkness.

I made absolutely no attempt to break my fall. My face did that. The bridge of my already beakish nose, the first thing to touch tarmac.

When I momentarily regained consciousness, the lovely man I had just spent an entire evening getting to know was leaning over me.

I looked directly at him.

‘Who are you?’

Then I passed out again.

At some point, I was inside the pub and staff were involved. My nose and eyebrow were split open, I’d knocked part of my tooth out and my face was already beginning to swell.

The patrons of the pub continued with their roast dinners as if my entire life wasn’t spilling out of my once inoffensive face.

I made absolutely no attempt to break my fall. My face did that (Picture: Getty Images/fStop)

Amid all the chaos, my brain suddenly remembered something important; I have a Penguin bar in my coat pocket!

One of my only lucid memories from the whole incident is sitting there while a barmaid wiped blood from around my eyes, reaching into my pocket, producing the Penguin and eating it in a single mouthful.

My date was like ‘are you diabetic?’, which obviously is the most logical explanation.

At the time, I was temporarily living with my parents, which meant somebody needed to tell my mum that I was maimed.

So, on our first date, this poor man had to ring my mum, introduce himself and say: ‘You don’t know me, but I’m with your daughter. She’s … passed out. Does this happen a lot?’

My mum was like ‘no; it’s never happened actually,’ but she’s a seasoned professional when it comes to receiving calls about me being in unusual situations.

I hurriedly said goodbye to my date and my dad drove us to A&E (Picture: Getty Images)

She turned up to the pub pretty calm, but with a look of real concern.

‘Mum, have I cut my face or something?’ I asked, confused, desperately holding her hand at the grand age of 25.

‘Yes darling,’ she said.

I hurriedly said goodbye to my date and my dad drove us to A&E; possibly the least conclusive ending to a first date imaginable.

At the hospital, I discovered the full extent of what I’d done and we waited nine hours for my nose to be glued back together. Both of my eyes were starting to blacken. I had recently started a new medication for a long-term health condition, and the doctor explained that it may not be entirely agreeing with me.

By the morning, my brother had visited and was sending photos of George Foreman after 10 rounds with Alex Stewart to the group chat. The swelling resemblance was remarkable.

The concussion ended up lasting for a couple of months, which was particularly convenient because I was due to start a new job on the Monday.

The second date was a coffee, because I was off drinking due to the concussion (Picture: Getty Images)

The following few weeks were a blur of headaches and exhaustion.

The boy messaged and asked to hang out again. It felt almost rude to decline. He’d watched me collapse. He’d seen me with my face split open.

I’d never traumatised a man this quickly. Either he really wanted a girlfriend, or my charisma is absolutely unparalleled.

How was I supposed to say, ‘Thanks for rescuing me when I nosedived onto the pavement, but unfortunately I’m not ready to date’?

So I went out with him again. The second date was a coffee, because I was off drinking due to the concussion.

I’d gone into that first date worrying about all the usual things (Picture: Getty Images)

I think by then I knew what I’d probably known before the incident; I really liked him, but not really in the way I wanted to. Which felt deeply unfair, as he’d given an unbelievable performance as a potential boyfriend during a crisis.

Eventually, I told him I thought we should just be friends. He was very cool about it. I guess for him, a good story to tell the next woman.

My nose, five years on, leans to the right and is still prominently scarred. My tooth never got fixed, but I think it gives me character. The new job recovered from my entrance too.

I’d gone into that first date worrying about all the usual things. Would we have anything to talk about? Would I fancy him? Would he fancy me?

At no point did I consider: will this man have to witness me covered in my own blood, a piece of my tooth on the pavement outside a village pub?

Add as preferred source