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‘I do,’ said Helen, and stood up. They stared at each other for a moment.
‘And I turned straight around. And I’m sorry I’m late. And would you still have lunch with me?’
There was a muscle twitching under his right eye. And a slight sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sit down.’
He flashed her a grateful smile for her understanding. She felt the warmth of his cheek on hers as they exchanged a polite kiss of greeting, and it felt right. She breathed in his after-shave – something impossibly English and discreet and not overwhelming, just a faint drift of moss and ferns. They sat down and she passed him the menu.
‘I think I’m having the fishcakes.’
He didn’t pick it up. He still looked anxious.
‘There’s something I have to tell you. Before we start. I should have told you before, but there wasn’t a right time.’
Her heart sank. He was seeing someone else. That must be it. He’d met someone else on Sunshine After the Rain and had chosen them over her. Oh well, she thought.
‘Go on.’ She couldn’t quite hide the wariness in her voice.
In answer, he lifted his hands and rested them on the table.
It was all she could do not to cry out in surprise, for every finger was twisted and bent out of shape. She looked up and met his gaze, unable to hide her shock. He gave a sad smile.
‘I’ve been crippled with arthritis for five years now. Obviously, it ruined my career, though I’ve carried on with what I can. Teaching, adjudicating, composing – but not playing.’ He looked down at his hands, clawed and disfigured, then looked up again. ‘I wasn’t playing to you, all those times I said I was. But it wasn’t a complete lie. They were recordings. Of me, when I was still able to play. I’m so sorry. The first time I did it, I should have told you, but I got swept up in the romance, the idea of playing to you each night. And once I’d done it once, it was hard to tell the truth. So I kept up the pretence. But obviously now we’ve met in real life, I can’t hide it.’ He held up his hands again. ‘I understand, if that’s it. If you don’t want anything to do with me now.’
‘Oh Ralph.’ Helen lifted up her own hands and took his in hers. She rubbed them gently, every bump, every nobble, every swollen joint. ‘I am so sorry. It’s so unfair.’
‘You’re not angry?’
‘Angry?’ She looked puzzled. ‘Only that you’ve had to go through this. I’m not angry with you at all. It was still you playing. It didn’t take away from the pleasure.’
‘Goodness.’ Ralph blinked in surprise. ‘I’ve been lying awake all night for days, imagining you walking away from the table.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Helen. ‘Let’s put it behind us. There might be a million reasons you don’t find me your cup of tea. But let’s have some fun while we find out more about each other.’
‘You’re an angel.’
Helen laughed. ‘We’re too old to be judgmental about silly mistakes. We seem to get on pretty well. We’re very different but we’ve got the same values. Life’s too short to pass that up. Let’s see what happens.’
He pushed the menu to one side. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘I’ll have the fishcakes too.’
A fishcake person like me, thought Helen. That was as good an omen as any.
40
On Friday, Nikki didn’t finish work till eight o’clock. She wanted everything off her desk so she could have a clear head to prepare for the party tomorrow. Twenty-five of her nearest and dearest would be arriving from seven o’clock onwards, and although her job meant she was the queen of party planning, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done one for herself, and she was a tiny bit apprehensive as to whether she’d get everything done in time. She wondered if she was mad to put herself under this extra pressure, but this was her chance to thank everyone who had helped her with the house: Joel, of course, and Mike and Jason, and Suzanne, who’d given her endless advice. And her family. The list was endless and she was grateful to all of them.
She took with her all the candles and lanterns and fairy lights in her store cupboard that had been left over from previous weddings. Woody was coming round in the morning to help her string everything up. She wished Bill was going to be there too. She imagined him padding around in a T-shirt and boxer shorts with his tousled hair in his eyes, trying to be helpful but being endlessly distracted by his phone, his skate board, his need for food. Infuriatingly, frustratingly adorable.
On the way home, she stopped off at the supermarket to get wine and beer and tequila, and all the ingredients for the tacos. The avocados, by some miracle, were perfectly ripe. Maybe this manifesting lark did work? She felt invincible, as if everything was there for the taking, despite her minor wobble the night before. She blamed the Pecorino. Too much white wine always opened the emotional floodgates. She’d be more careful tomorrow.
Back at home, with her arms full of shopping, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Bingo! The dress she’d ordered on impulse earlier in the week was there on the doormat. She still wasn’t sure about it – it was a floaty chiffon A-line in jade and turquoise swirls. Very seventies, very sheer, very short. She thought she could get away with it as long as she wore flat shoes and not high heels. She bent to pick up the parcel and froze.
There was another postcard underneath. This time it had a picture of the sculpture on the harbour – the seven entwined hearts. She turned it over to read the message:
Twenty years this August. The perfect time for the truth to come out.
Nikki threw her shopping into the kitchen and ran back to her van. Pure panic propelled her to the pub. Woody always went there on a Friday evening. She needed to catch him before he was too many pints in. As she pulled into the car park she looked out across the boats in the harbour. She shivered, remembering that terrible night, the crowds gathered along the quay waiting for news, the driving rain, the howling winds, the foreboding sky as the next day dawned …
