Page 35 of Just for the Season

‘No. In case anyone expects me to know that about you at Gran’s party.’

‘Oh. Really?’ He shakes his head. ‘That is not the most likely question we’re going to get asked. But, no, I don’t.’

‘Okay. Me neither. Any food you don’t eat?’

‘Not really?’

‘Same for me,’ I tell him. ‘Although, saying that, I don’t like lamb. And I cannot stand peanuts. And also mango. Hate it.’

‘So we won’t be ordering lamb satay with extra mango chutney?’

‘Correct.’ I smile at him. ‘What’s your favourite takeaway?’

‘Thai. Every time.’

‘Okay, cool.’ I get my phone out. ‘Where do you usually order Thai from?’

‘No idea. I’m not sure there is a Thai takeaway within striking distance.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ I frown. ‘But you just said… Oh, you thought that was another prep question. No, it was a genuine one. So for our real takeaway, do you prefer pizza or curry?’

There are only two takeaway options in Milbury as far as I know, both from Chartfield, the nearest town. Deliveroo and Uber apparently don’t find the residents of Milbury rich enough pickings to be bothered to send anyone out here, so we’re reliant on servers driving out on mopeds.

‘On that subject, I’ll tell you something really exciting,’ Marcus says. ‘I was excited when it happened, anyway, because as we know I am not a great cook but I do enjoy my food. Not relevant to today, and maybe not relevant to you generally given that you are a good cook. But…’ He pauses for effect and I wait expectantly, and then with an air of fanfare, he continues, ‘The pub now does takeaway burgers, fish and chips, all your typical pub food, Sunday to Wednesday.’

‘Really.’

‘Yep. New management.’

‘Well I did not know that. Big news. I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Yeah, but not on Saturdays, so curry?’ He grins at me, and I find myself smiling back, because, basically, it’s impossible not to. ‘Or pizza?’

‘Curry’s good.’ I get the (short) menu up on my phone and, when we’ve made our choices, phone the curry place.

‘Oh,’ I say a minute later. ‘They’re too busy to do delivery this evening.’

‘Pizza it is then.’

Another minute later I’ve discovered that they’re too busy too.

I have to admit, I do feel a little dismayed. In summary: my life’s a joke, I’m toasting my new flat with the man I’ve basically forced to be my fake boyfriend, and we can’t even get a takeaway.

‘Please don’t feel that you have to stay if you’re hungry,’ I tell him.

‘Oh, yes, good idea, I’ll go home and have a lovely meal there and leave you to… hunger?’

‘Fasting’s good for people,’ I say. ‘I read that recently.’

‘Yeah, okay, I’ll leave you to fast. No. Better idea. Let’s go out for food. I’ll drive. I’ve only had half a glass.’ He nods at his champagne. ‘We can go to Chartfield.’

I text Ellie to let her know that we’re going out for dinner.

And then Marcus and I set off on our first proper fake date.

12

MARCUS