Page 48 of Just for the Season

Oh sorry, I thought you LIKED the p-a sex. They all have it. I discarded any that didn’t.

I say:

Ha. What’s your preference?

She replies:

Well, the romcom sounds too improbable – I like them to be realistic. The war drama – all the critics cried and they are HARD to upset and I don’t want to be TOO sad. The biopic – not keen on his music. So if I were choosing I’d go pensioners and Pope.

I tell her:

Okay, but if I don’t love it (and if there’s no p-a sex I almost certainly won’t) I’m choosing our next one.

She responds:

Deal.

And now, even though a film about OAPs making off with the Pope doesn’t entirely scream watch me now, I’m looking forward to seeing it because I know that if I watch it with Frankie I will enjoy it.

15

FRANKIE

Work drags a little less than usual on Thursday, for several reasons.

I have Wednesdays off, so yesterday I had a break from the monotony of being behind the counter. Obviously that helped. I had a long lunch with Gran and helped her deadhead some plants in the garden, which was very relaxing and a world away from, well, everything else in my life. She mentioned Marcus once and said that she’d heard that we were out together the other evening (so obviously we’re doing a good job of convincing the grapevine that we’re in a real relationship). The mention made me feel a little tense, because no-one likes lying, but once that was done, things felt exactly like they usually do between Gran and me and we had a lovely, chilled few hours together.

I think the main reason, though, that work feels better than usual on Thursday might be that I have plans for both the next two evenings, Friday and Saturday. I’m discovering fast that when your days aren’t super full and you live alone, you do kind of need to have social things arranged.

I already had plans with Ellie for Saturday, and now I’m going to the cinema with Marcus tomorrow. I have to say I’m really looking forward to it, because I feel like we’ve somehow morphed into proper friends. It’s a date but it is also absolutely not a date. There’s none of the pressure you feel when you’re on one of your first dates with someone new, because this is never going to be a real romance.

At the end of the weird film we watched the other evening, I had a strange moment where I thought briefly about kissing him, but we didn’t kiss, in fact we didn’t get anywhere near kissing, and we obviously never will.

And, yes, he’s very attractive, and, yes, maybe little thoughts – wonderings – about what it might be like to kiss him – and other stuff – might on occasion pop into my head. But I’m not going to act on them. I mean, he obviously doesn’t want to, and nor do I.

So this is a genuine platonic friendship with a nice person, at a time in my life when I’m happily welcoming new platonic friends.

And if we could enjoy watching that terrible film together, I think we can enjoy watching any film.

Looking forward to the weekend has me in a happy enough mood that I smile my way through the early morning rush and the dead bit from nine thirtyish to eleven, during which time I have one table of people to look after and that’s it.

During the dead time, I get an email from my mother telling me that, yes, she’d love to join Gran’s party and she’s sorry she didn’t reply earlier (it’s actually nearly two weeks since I emailed her) and can I book her plane ticket and she’ll pay me back.

I book the ticket (which as always with all the different airlines and flight options is quite time-consuming, so that kills a good half hour) and then I spend the rest of the time trying to work out ways to have the café busier for longer and also make sure that we don’t ever have to throw any food away.

I’m interrupted by Mrs Bittern coming in.

‘What can I get you?’ I ask her.

‘Oh, nothing, thank you.’ She waves a dismissive hand in the direction of all our wonderful cakes.

‘Not even maybe a gorgeous cinnamon latte?’ I suggest. ‘All the oranges and browns outside with the leaves falling are making me crave lovely autumn food and drink, and I’m guessing you might feel similarly.’

‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t like modern drinks.’

‘Cup of English breakfast?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head firmly. ‘I don’t want any food or drink. I just came in to ask how you and Marcus Brooks are getting on. I’ve got bridge club this evening in the church hall and all the ladies were asking about you last week.’