Page 40 of Just for the Season

‘Mmm.’ She smiles over at our server who leaps straight to attention and is with us within seconds. ‘Could we get the bill please?’ Then, after he’s told her of course and leapt away again to get straight on it, she turns to me and says, ‘I’m getting this. I have a lot to thank you for.’

‘No, no, no,’ I say.

‘Yes, yes, yes.’

‘The thing is…’ I frown, not sure exactly how to word this. ‘Basically. When you were drunk and we were talking in Miranda’s utility, you mentioned that you had no job, no home and no money. And, um, I don’t wish to be crass, but currently I’m in a perfectly good financial position. And therefore I cannot possibly allow you to pay for my dinner. Especially since this is not a cheap restaurant and I chose it. So I’d love you to allow me to treat you.’

Frankie shakes her head. ‘But I owe you big.’

I shake my own head. ‘No. You made the lasagne for me. And I’ve enjoyed this evening. I’d just have been sitting at home doing work admin otherwise.’

‘You mean spying admin?’

‘Exactly. And it’s a lot less interesting than it sounds,’ I say. ‘Anyway. Back to the bill. I would like to pay.’

‘But I need to recognise the entirely one-sided benefit of this fake relationship arrangement.’

‘I do get that because no-one likes to feel beholden,’ I say. ‘But bankrupting yourself would not make me feel good and therefore you would in no way be doing me a favour.’

Frankie sits and thinks. ‘It is true that I don’t have a lot of money at the moment. What’s also true is that I’m going to have quite a lot of time on my hands. What about if I make you a lasagne – or other dish of your choice – every week? Or twice a week? For you, Ruby and Sam? I’d like to. If you’d like me to.’

‘I will very happily accept that offer if you let me pay for dinner now.’

Frankie sits and looks at me for several seconds and then says, ‘I feel like my arm has been severely twisted but maybe we have a deal.’

I grin at her. ‘Good. I’ve enjoyed this evening and now the kids and I are going to get a couple of good home-cooked meals a week without any effort whatsoever from me. I’m almost pleased about the fake relationship.’

Weirdly, that’s kind of true.

13

FRANKIE

Marcus has a great smile. Even in the midst of serious grumpiness, the first couple of times we met, he was very handsome, and when he switches the smile on he’s hard to look away from.

With that gorgeous smile and some clever arguing, he has just managed to persuade me to allow him to pay for dinner even though clearly I owe him.

‘I would happily have paid,’ I say one final time. Marcus is right that I have next to no money – Simon is paying me one pound an hour above the living wage (he can’t afford more) plus the free use of his flat, which is a fantastic deal but does mean I’m not going to be feeling super rich, and this is an expensive restaurant, so our meal would basically have wiped out an entire week’s earnings. I did gulp when I saw the prices, before reasoning never mind, it would just be like I started the job a week later.

‘I know you would.’ He directs that killer smile at me again. ‘But from my perspective your offer of cooking for us is amazing. We all loved the lasagne.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. What about I make you a fish pie on Monday?’

‘If you’re sure, the three of us would be ecstatic.’

‘You’re on,’ I promise him.

He grins at me. ‘See. Everyone’s a winner this way.’

He indicates to the server that he has his card ready, and then, when he’s paid, we both shuffle our chairs back and stand up to go.

‘I feel we should practise walking across a room like partners,’ he says to me, and I nod, without speaking, because my mouth is suddenly oddly dry.

He walks a little behind me with his hand hovering over the small of my back, in a very boyfriendy kind of way, and, weirdly, I find myself almost breathless.

He’s a very good method actor, and, apparently, so am I, because I’m almost fizzing in that way you do when you anticipate a very nice end to an evening with someone you really like.

By the time we emerge into the crisp evening air, Marcus’s fingertips resting lightly on my back as he holds the door open for me to pass through ahead of him, my heart’s almost racing, and I have to remind myself that this is not real.