Evelyn continued with her flower arranging. Henry looked past her to the open door that led to the back yard and the large storage shed. He wandered out and called for his wife but there was no sign of Imogen. He stretched his neck from side to side to release the tension before walking back inside. Where could Imogen be? An open diary lay on the counter next to Evelyn. The date read 18th September. In big bold black letters were the words ‘Henry’s funeral 2.30 at St Andrews’.
‘No,’ he cried, his heart pounding.
Evelyn didn’t turn around but continued with the flower arrangements and Henry, with a jolt, realised that the lilies were for him. Evelyn turned the volume knob on the radio and began singing. Evelyn was preparing his funeral flowers while drinking tea from a tea-stained royal mug and singing along to Cutting CrewsI died in your arms tonight.It didn’t make Henry feel good, at all.
Frustrated, he left the back room and entered the shop again. He ought to try and buy the apples but what was the point? No one would see him. Instead, he took two on his way out and then began a slow walk back to the supermarket, hoping against hope that he might meet Imogen on the way. He scanned every face but disappointingly, none of the faces belonged to Imogen. They were just nameless, faceless people who neither knew nor cared that Henry had died and was stuck in no man’s land. Thankfully, the smokers had gone when Henry reached the supermarket entrance and he was able to take several deep breaths to calm himself. He hovered by the trolleys and waited for Rita to appear. He considered going inside the store. He had no idea what the time was, and it was chilly standing at the entrance. Before he could make a decision, he saw Rita walking towards him. He went to pull out the apples to offer her one, but they were no longer in his pocket. She was wearing a dark raincoat with a fluffy hood. She seemed nervous and fiddled with the small handbag that hung over one shoulder.
‘Hello,’ she said shyly on reaching him. ‘Where would you like to go for coffee?’
‘Do you know Pansies?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she said.
‘Let’s go there,’ he said.
Chapter Nine
Pansies was packed. Office workers were rushing in for their lunchtime sandwich. The queue for takeaway was almost out the door. Henry stepped back for Rita to enter. What a gentleman she thought. She couldn’t imagine Billy ever doing that. She wished she could stop thinking about Billy.
Inside, the café was warm and cheery.Framed Monet prints adorned the walls and light jazz music played in the background.
‘Where would you like to sit?’ Henry asked.
So considerate of him, thought Rita. Except she saw there was nowhere to sit apart from the shabby couch in the dark recesses of the café. No one ever wanted to sit there. Still, it would be cosy, she thought, just her and Henry hidden away.
‘Over there in the corner,’ she said, leading the way, her head held high.
She would excuse herself to the loo while Henry ordered. The wind had blown her hair and she couldn’t be sure how it looked She didn’t want to sit in a packed café with her hair all messed up.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ Henry asked.
‘I wouldn’t mind a toasted teacake,’ said Rita.
She was rather partial to a buttered toasted teacake.
‘I’ll have a breakfast tea,’ she added.
That sounded much better than just saying, ‘a cup of tea,’ thought Rita.
‘Yes, I will too,’ said Henry.
‘I’m just going to the ladies’,’ she said, standing up.
‘Yes,’ he said, as if he had expected her to do just that.
She walked to the toilet and once inside she hurried to the mirror and studied her reflection thoughtfully. Her hair was okay after all and she sighed with relief. The waves were not as tight as earlier, but she hadn’t expected them to be. Her face was flushed, the skin glowing. The lipstick had faded a little, so she carefully reapplied a small amount and then went back into the tearoom. She didn’t want to keep Henry waiting too long.
‘I can’t order,’ Henry said miserably. ‘No one can seem to hear me.’
‘Oh,’ said Rita, looking around ‘They are very busy.’
Waiters bustled about but not one of them spotted Rita and Henry in the corner.
‘They probably think you’re waiting for someone,’ said Henry.
Rita didn’t really care about the tea and buttered teacake. It was exciting enough, being in a café and sitting on a tatty sofa next to Henry. Henry leant closer as if they were conspirators. He’s close enough to kiss, thought Rita and her cheeks grew hot at the thought.
‘I can’t believe you can see me,’ he said.
