He had pointed out the winged Venetian lion carved onto buildings, shown me the old market house where there had been a stall selling honey. He had been easy company, he had made me laugh and, unlike Fred, he didn’t go striding off at his own pace, and then wait, barely concealing his impatience when I hurried to catch up.
‘Seafood risotto,’ he said, ‘that’s what I would like. How about you?’
‘I’ll have the same,’ I said, putting down my menu with a smile.
Fred had been funny about seafood. Unless it was something recognisable, he had said it was just a collection of ‘disgusting things’, and if I ordered scampi – which I loved – he had sneered, warning me I had no idea what I was eating, to prepare myself for food poisoning, and, worse, he was being overcharged. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
I sat back in my chair, enjoying the feeling of being in good company and about to have a lovely meal. Life was getting better by the day, not just because of Jack, but because I could feel myself changing, allowing myself to be at ease with myself, able to have an opinion.
‘What about some white wine to go with it?’ he said, and when I agreed that was exactly what I would have chosen, he ordered a carafe to share between us.
‘Tell me about your granddaughter,’ I said once the wine had been poured.
‘Which one? I have three,’ he said. ‘Jess, who is twenty-one and at university, Katie, who is nineteen and at the moment I think is in New York with her boyfriend, and the little one, Ivy, who is thirteen. And yes, she is the one who bought me Mickey Mouse socks. They went to Disneyland a couple of years ago. My daughter told me it would probably be their last proper family holiday before the two older ones went off into the world, but it hasn’t been like that at all. They have all been to Italy and Paris together since then.’
‘Funny that,’ I said, ‘my son and his ex-partner were always asking me to go on holiday with them, and I think apart from my sparkling company, they were hoping I would also pay for it.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course. I just haven’t been in the right mindset to do it just for myself, not since Fred and I split up. But now – well, this has made me feel that perhaps I can do more travelling than I thought I would.’
‘Was the train travel with your friends enjoyable? I was quite envious that you had someone to share it with. I’m always on my own when I am travelling these days, and I know it’s work and I don’t need a companion, but it’s more fun with someone, don’t you think? Someone to share the experience and see things with rather than doing it alone. Or does that make me sound very pathetic?’
‘Not at all,’ I said, ‘and in answer to your question, yes, it was fun, but there were a few issues as well. A bit of power play, some sulking, mistakes and problems. I guess it would have been easier on my own, but I needed to get my confidence back first and this has helped. Next time I will feel better about it.’
It was true, I realised. A few times I had wondered if the train trip had been a mistake, but now I could see it had all been a part of bringing me to this new attitude about things. I knew what I wanted and, more importantly, I knew what I didn’t.
Although it hadn’t been the journey I had expected, we had made it without anything going terribly wrong, no one had got lost, we had won a very surprising trophy, there had been some laughter and new experiences. Nothing was ever wasted, everything good and bad went into the person you become.
‘And where do you want to go?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
We were interrupted then by the waiter bringing us two massive white china bowls filled with our risotto. The scent of the warm butter, herbs and fresh seafood were divine.
Jack held out his wine glass to me.
‘Here’s to us,’ he said, and we clinked glasses.
Us. I hadn’t been part of this sort of ‘us’ for a long time.
What had I wanted? Companionship. Someone to share things with. A person to talk to. Well, he was all of those things and more. How could I feel so comfortable with a man I had known for only a few days?
We were there for a long time, while the sun dipped lower in the sky and the heat of the afternoon cooled a little.
That was one of the things I liked best about that meal. Neither of us was in a rush. We didn’t have to hurry, eat quickly or worry about the time. So often in the past I had been guilty of bolting my food, eating it on the go while I did something else at the same time. Eating a sandwich while I did the ironing, or an unsatisfactory tea in front of the television. I had not taken the time to savour my food or appreciate the textures and flavours. Not that there had been much to appreciate.
Food to me in the last few years had become fuel and nothing more, and quite often I had eaten the same things day after day simply because I couldn’t be bothered to cook anything complicated or time consuming.
Which I had been a bit sad about because there was a lot to be said for spending a few hours in the kitchen, baking or stirring something. Ben always said I was a feeder, and once he had come home to stay for a while, I had made a bit more of an effort, but then he was out at work all day, and quite often in the evenings he went out with friends or people from work. His ex-partner and her two daughters had been semi-vegetarian and also overly weight conscious, so didn’t really appreciate the big Sunday lunches for which I had once been famous.
‘You’re very pensive,’ Jack said. ‘Are you worried about something?’
‘No, not really worried,’ I said, ‘just thinking how things have changed. I used to be part of a family which was growing. Ben had been with Stephanie for years and I got on quite well with her. I suppose I assumed they would get married one day. She had two daughters from a previous relationship and of course I loved having them to stay; they were just like family. But then I got divorced, and Ben and Steph split up and he was single again, so that meant Fred and Stephanie were out of the picture. My almost-granddaughters had already started to have after-school activities to do, and sports at weekends, so they had been busy with their own lives. So suddenly my family seemed to be shrinking. Gosh, this sounds like a pity party for one, doesn’t it?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I felt the same thing. My wife died, my daughter and her husband are busy with work and their own lives, and so are the granddaughters, who are starting to go out into the world. I suppose it’s what happens, and that’s all there is to it. But then people are not generally complete loners, are they? I know I’m a bit of an introvert, and people always have something to say about that, don’t they? I know my daughter does. She is always nagging me to find a new hobby, go to classes, learn a new language. But introverts are not simply broken extroverts who need to be fixed. I like my own company; I don’t like huge gatherings. I’m not very good at small talk.’
‘Nor me,’ I said.
