Page 29 of Just for the Season

‘Kind of lonely and purposeless during the day and I’m used to being in my own place.’

‘I have a proposition,’ Simon says. ‘I really want to set up an interior design business, spend a lot of time on it. I need someone to run the café for me. And there’s the top-floor flat. I don’t like it being empty. I’d love you to stay in it rent-free in exchange for being there, keeping an eye on it and cleaning it.’

Simon lives in a very gorgeous and luxurious flat above the café, and created a self-contained flat on the floor above it and tried renting it out but then decided he didn’t like sharing a front door with people he didn’t love. ‘For me, it would be the perfect solution. And I feel like it could be for you too. Obviously I’ll pay you for working in the café, but not necessarily a lot more than living wage, because I can’t really afford it. But you’ll be living rent-free. And your gran will be happy that you do have the job I pretended you did at Miranda’s party.’

My jaw is nearly on the floor at both the suggestion and the utter perfection of the timing of it.

Then I frown. Is it too perfect?

‘Are you just being nice?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘Do you really need someone to help in the café? And are you really keen to have someone in the flat?’

‘Hun. I am never nice for the sake of it.’ He actually looks offended I would think such a thing. ‘I mean, you know, I’ll rescue a wounded puppy as much as the next person, but I would not go so far as to have the wounded puppy on my premises twenty-four-seven. I’d farm it out to someone who liked puppies more than me.’

‘Am I a wounded puppy?’

‘Yeah, no, I don’t really know why I started down that route. You are not a wounded puppy. You are my gorgeous very good friend who has just been shafted by her dickhead ex and in offering you a helping hand I will – if you accept – be doing myself an enormous favour. Pleeeeease accept. I love the café but I want the freedom to do other stuff but I have the problem that I don’t trust most people.’ He isn’t lying; he really doesn’t. ‘And think how much late-night fun we can have together with the amazing bonus that at the end of it we can separate off into our own flats and close our front doors on each other.’

‘You’re talking a lot of sense,’ I say slowly. I’ve realised over the past ten days that I really would like to spend a few weeks or perhaps months in Milbury while I work out my next steps in life but I do need some independence, and this does sound like the perfect solution.

‘As much free cake as you like,’ Simon says.

‘Okay, now you’re basically bribing me.’

‘As you know,’ he says, very seriously, ‘I will always bribe people if I need to.’

I tell him I’m going to think about his offer, because I don’t want to mess a good friend (or anyone) around, so need to be sure of my decision before I reply, but I have a very strong feeling that I’m going to accept.

10

MARCUS

It’s Wednesday lunchtime. I’m busy doing work admin, and Ruby has just texted me from school. I don’t think she’s allowed to text during the school day but clearly there are worse things she could be doing. She’s invited Libby and a couple of other girls over later today and she wants me to make a lasagne for them and buy one of Simon’s chocolate cakes.

There are so many times when I’d like to have a co-parent, and this is one of them. I have a lot of work to do this afternoon and I’m not great at making lasagnes – I’ve tried a few times but I just can’t make a smooth bechamel sauce of the right consistency – and it’s actually our amazing cleaner/housekeeper, Victoria, who makes the lasagnes that we eat. Victoria is, however, on an extended holiday for the next month.

I don’t want to let Ruby down. So I’m going to have to find a lasagne somewhere.

Okay. I’m going to ask Simon for help when I go and get the chocolate cake.

A few minutes later, I’m in the café. And there – behind the counter – is Frankie, not Simon.

‘Hi.’ I’m surprised to see her, and I’m even more surprised by the fact that she’s signalling at me with her eyes, in a slightly insane-looking fashion, swivelling them hard between me and the corner of the café.

I look towards the corner and see an elderly woman I vaguely recognise. She’s looking directly at me, and smiling and waving, so I return the smile and say hello to her.

Frankie then says, ‘Could I have a quick word with you in the kitchen?’ before beckoning me round the end of the counter.

‘Basically,’ she hisses, as soon as we’re in the kitchen, the door pulled closed, ‘until I’ve told Gran that our relationship has fizzled out, we have to behave as though we’re in the relationship in front of anyone and everyone.’ She pauses and then adds, ‘If that’s okay with you. Sorry. Assuming. I mean, I know it isn’t. But also… The thing is, already today four customers have referred to our “romance”. I mean it’s mad. I didn’t even recognise three of them. But everyone knows everything.’

‘Yep. Got it. No problem. Although.’ I feel myself frowning. ‘What do you mean exactly?’ I can’t believe she’s suggesting that we should go down the PDA route, but I feel I should check.

‘Oh my goodness, no. No, er, hand-holding or… anything. Obviously. No not at all.’ She pauses, and wrinkles her nose. ‘I’m babbling. I’m sorry. Just, you know.’

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘Not the most usual of situations.’

‘Oh really? This is the first time you’ve been in a fake relationship while living in a very nice but possibly the most gossipy village in England?’

‘Oh no, I’ve done dozens. Just not for the past few months. Out of practice.’