Page 47 of Just for the Season

‘Sounds great. At the risk of interfering or trying to teach a grandmother to suck eggs, have you considered thinking about a different kind of career rather than going back to your old one? Maybe a career portfolio initially? Some event planning while still working at the café for the time being?’ I pause for a moment, and then, when Frankie nods, like she’s considering my words and doesn’t think I’m overstepping the mark, I ask, ‘Have you thought yet about how long you’d like to stay in Milbury?’

‘I’ll definitely go back to London. I mean, I should. My whole life is there and I own a flat there; it’s just rented out at the moment. All my friends, apart from my Milbury friends, obviously, are there. I’ve been living there since I left uni, and that’s quite a long time now. But, yeah, I’m starting to feel as though I’m in no rush. And, you know, my friends are all coupled up and several of them have babies, and I’m clearly not in that phase of life, so things have changed a little anyway. So, yep, basically I’m going to take my time and make sure I don’t make a mistake.’

‘Sounds very wise.’ I’m pleased that she’s going to be around for a while, I realise. Although that does mean that this fake relationship could get a little complicated – how will we fizzle it out due to distance if there is in fact no distance? Well, whatever. That’s a problem for another day.

‘I should go.’ Frankie stands up and puts her empty mug next to the sink. ‘That was a very good cup of tea.’

‘And that’s smelling like a very good fish pie.’ I stand up too. ‘Thank you again.’

‘Er, no more thank yous?’

‘Very good point. I apologise.’

‘As you should.’ Her smile is gorgeous. Her ex was clearly an idiot.

‘Hi, Frankie.’ Ruby has just come into the room. ‘Wow, that’s a nice smell.’

‘Another home-cooked meal courtesy of Frankie,’ I tell her.

‘Wow, this fake-relationship thing is a big benefit to us,’ Ruby says. ‘Awesome.’

‘Ha,’ Frankie says. ‘Pleased to be of assistance. Right, I’m going to leave you to your evening.’ She whisks herself out of the room and is at the front door almost before I’ve had a chance to react.

I don’t really know how to say goodbye to her – are we going to see each other again soon for example – and I think Frankie feels the same way: we both just kind of say, ‘Bye, then,’ and then off she goes.

‘She’s nice,’ says Ruby when I go back into the kitchen.

‘Yep,’ I agree.

* * *

Frankie makes us a bean chilli on Wednesday and suggests that she make a beef stroganoff for us at the weekend. The kids love her for her cooking. I’m loving the whole home-cooked food situation too.

When she comes over on Wednesday to drop the chilli off, I wait until the kids are out of earshot and then say, ‘Should we be getting together at some point? For illusions of growing relationship purposes. Are you free on Friday evening? Pretty sure Ruby will babysit Sam if I bribe her with a takeaway of her choice and money.’

Frankie’s lovely smile peeps out. ‘Friday’s very good for me,’ she says. ‘We could go to the cinema and try to watch a better film?’

‘You mean Star Wars.’

‘Of course.’

‘Great. Shall I book?’

‘Eek,’ she says. ‘There isn’t an actual Star Wars out at the moment is there?’

‘Ha ha ha. Sadly not. Maybe let’s both check the listings and text to agree the film?’

‘Perfect.’

Frankie texts within fifteen minutes:

Four options. A romcom. Or a very good but very sad First World War drama. Or a rock star biopic. Last one an English film about two pensioners kidnapping the Pope.

I reply:

They all sound GREAT, but maybe we should investigate so we don’t end up watching a weird post-apocalyptic sex equivalent. Romcom plot? HOW sad? Which rock star? What do they do with the Pope (please don’t tell me there’s any post-apocalyptic sex in that one)?

She says: