Page 58 of Just for the Season

‘And new.’

‘And new,’ I agree, thinking immediately of Marcus, obviously, because he’s the new friend I’ve been spending so much time with.

‘Your fake relationship has convinced everyone.’ Ellie plonks a large scoop of salted caramel ice cream on top of her crumble. ‘Especially Gran. Have you… got an exit plan?’

‘Not totally,’ I say. ‘But given that I’m basically done with men, maybe we can just carry on like this as good friends until Marcus gets a real girlfriend.’ I ignore the strange twinge of discomfort that shoots through me at that idea; I know that if he got an actual girlfriend I wouldn’t like it because it would obviously mean we wouldn’t be able to spend much time together. Unless she and I became good friends too. No, it still wouldn’t be the same.

But whatever. That’s a problem for the future. We haven’t known each other for long anyway. Maybe we’ll get bored with hanging out.

I realise that Ellie’s waiting to see if I’m going to say anything else.

‘And then we can fizzle it out,’ I conclude.

Ellie nods. She nods quite a lot. Clearly there’s something she’d like to say. I wait. Nope, she isn’t going to say it now. I think about asking her what she’s thinking and then decide that I probably don’t want to hear it right now (or at all) and that she knows that and that’s why she isn’t saying it.

‘So, yes, I’m happy here for the time being,’ I say eventually, interrupting the nodding. ‘And I feel like right now I’m not ready to think about going back. So I’m just going to carry on working in the café and thinking about what I might want to do for the future. And in the meantime I’m ready to get going with my Wednesday evening potluck suppers. I’m going to go for it this week.’

We talk a fair amount about the café and then Ellie asks about Simon’s new boyfriend, who he wants to introduce us to on Friday evening, and then we move on to final party prep discussions.

‘There’s actually a lot going on at the moment,’ Ellie says. ‘I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of time to think about future career steps or anything else.’

‘No,’ I agree, ‘and I think that’s a good thing. I’m enjoying just being busy with nice things far away from my old life for the time being. If I get bored, then I’ll start thinking.’

* * *

I have this sense that thinking is actually a bad thing at the moment, as is boredom full stop, obviously, so I throw myself fully into the final party preps as well as for my Wednesday evening potluck, and I’m busy all day on Monday.

It’s torture finalising my mum’s travel details for the party: she’s very specific about a car that she wants me to rent for her (automatic, five-door, an Audi or BMW, no other make will do). Another problem is that I’m paying – she’ll pay me back later – which would be fine if I didn’t have a small cashflow problem and hadn’t already forked out for her flight, which she will also pay me back for in due course. I mention my short-term money issues to her by email – she doesn’t like texts – and she tells me not to be silly and of course I will be able to book her the exact car she wants, I just need to keep looking.

I cannot in fact afford to pay upfront to rent a car that I think she’s going to deem acceptable, so in the end, after much online searching, I give up and decide that I’ll go and pick her up myself. And, actually, even though I probably shouldn’t, because there’s every chance she’ll spend the whole party snogging someone (I really, really, really hope it isn’t anyone I actually know), I’m looking forward to seeing her. I mean, she is my mum, and I haven’t seen her for nearly three years. She was going to come over two years ago, but got sick at the last minute and had to cancel, and then Rick and I went out to New York last summer, but there must have been a miscommunication on dates, because it turned out she was in fact away when we got there.

To complete my preparations for her arrival, I unpack my final two boxes so the spare room in the flat (where I’d been keeping them) is sorted for her and, even though my bank account is quite empty, order a couple of cushions and a vase to brighten it up. (The room is very nice but also very minimalistically entirely white, and Mum likes colour.)

* * *

Tuesday, despite being the day before the potluck, is a little emptier for me during the day – I have the morning off and then do a lot of cooking in the café during the afternoon for the supper, which does allow quite a lot of thinking time – but I do have dinner with Marcus, Ruby and Sam to look forward to.

I’m there with them at six thirty, bearing a Thai green chicken curry that just needs to be heated up.

Marcus presents me with a very wide smile when he opens the front door, and Marcus smiling is a sight to behold. Gorgeous. He’s so handsome when he smiles like that you almost feel your heart cracking when you look at him. Not in a love kind of way, just in the kind of way you do when you look at something like the Sistine Chapel, or a beautiful beach (like Milbury Bay) or a stunning snowy mountain. Just an appreciation of beauty. I do jump when his hand brushes mine when he takes the curry dish from me, but it’s always a little odd when your hand brushes another adult’s. I mean, not if it’s family, or a close girlfriend. But generally you don’t go round touching other adults’ hands. And that is why I feel so weird from the touch. That. Is. All.

When we get into the kitchen, Ruby and Sam are both in there, and, like Marcus did, they both smile broadly when they see me, which is extremely lovely. I’m so glad that the fake-relationship thing hasn’t upset them in any way.

Soon, I’m simultaneously helping Sam with his English homework and discussing with Ruby what she should wear for a friend’s Halloween party she’s going to at the weekend, and I’m struck again by how all-consuming single parenthood must be. Marcus is a deeply impressive man.

The four of us talk nineteen to the dozen throughout dinner and time passes fast. When we’ve finished eating choc ices after the curry, Marcus says, ‘Frankie and I played Scrabble the other evening. Who fancies a board game now?’

Ruby and Sam take a fair amount of persuading but give in fast when Marcus tells them that for every minute they don’t play a game with us he’s going to remove access to every single device in the house for five minutes.

Marcus suggests Monopoly. Ruby and Sam are unenthusiastic at first, but get heavily invested surprisingly quickly. We play very strict rules on having to say Rent before the next person rolls the dice, and things soon get very heated.

I was a little reluctant myself at first, I have to admit (although I obviously didn’t say so because I am not a teenager), but it’s really good fun. Ruby and Sam’s mum is missing out on so much not living with them; they’re amazing. So much fun, so funny, just nice kids.

Midway during a serious dispute with Marcus over mortgaging Mayfair, I notice that it’s nine o’clock.

‘Oh my goodness,’ I say. ‘This is late for a school night.’ I almost make the mistake of pointing out that Sam’s only eleven and should presumably be going to bed very soon, but remember in time that he probably wouldn’t appreciate me mentioning that, and also it is of course nothing to do with me. ‘I think you should admit defeat, Marcus, because I need to leave you all to the rest of your evening.’

‘I cannot admit defeat,’ he says, ‘for the sole reason that I am not defeated.’