Page 61 of Just for the Season

I greet all my old friends, and have a lovely time catching up. Every single person I speak to tells me that they really want to visit me in Milbury, which is lovely. I’m almost tempted to arrange a party for everyone to come down before Christmas, before I remember that there’s the Marcus complication, which I do not want to tell anyone else about, because, well, it’s kind of difficult to explain and presumably at some point we’ll fizzle it out and be regular friends instead of pretend-dating ones. Maybe I’ll invite them all in January, if I’m still there then, which, realistically, I will be because currently I haven’t even applied for another job.

An hour or two in, holding a glass of Prosecco in one hand and a plate of mini spring rolls and dumplings in the other, I’m looking round for somewhere to put my glass so that I can eat, when a tall, blond man with a very attractive smile says, ‘Always a tricky one at parties when you want to eat, isn’t it. If only we had three hands.’

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘And you don’t want to lose your drink, plus you feel rude putting a used glass in the middle of the food table.’

‘What about I hold your glass for you while you eat and then you do the same for me?’

‘Erm.’ I feel a little weird about this, because he has a mildly flirty air, and I don’t feel quite right about flirting back. I am hungry, though, and I am also, in fact, single. Entirely single. I’m not in the market for any kind of relationship, but there’s nothing wrong with having the occasional fling. I mean, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life like a nun. So I say, ‘Good plan. Thank you,’ and hand my glass to him with a smile.

‘I’m Dan.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Dan. I’m Frankie.’

We chat as we pass our glasses to and fro and eat, and I do enjoy myself. When we’re done with our food, and have both accepted refills of our glasses from passing servers, I realise that we must have been talking for a good half hour. And, utterly ridiculously, I feel a little grimy, kind of like I’ve been semi-cheating on Marcus. I am not cheating on him, I tell myself sternly as Dan asks me if I’d like to go and dance, because Marcus and I are not actually dating, and therefore I can’t cheat on him.

The thing is, though, I’m not feeling it at all with Dan, despite the fact that he’s friendly and interesting and has made me laugh at least three times and is really very classically good-looking.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I came with uni friends who I haven’t seen for a while, and I ought to get back to them.’

There’s a tiny pause and then Dan says, ‘Well, great to meet you. Thanks for helping me eat.’ His smile is rueful and cute and, I suddenly realise, if it weren’t that he isn’t Marcus I would find him extremely attractive.

‘Likewise.’ I consider trying to tell him somehow that it isn’t him, it’s me, and then I realise that, no, that would not help.

As I leave him and walk towards Anna and some of my other girlfriends who are sitting at a table in the corner, I feel like I have something a little unnerving to think about.

Or, more accurately, I don’t have anything to think about: I know. Somehow, my friendship with Marcus has become more important to me than it should have.

20

MARCUS

It’s Sunday evening and, while I sit at my desk in my study filling in a seemingly never-ending set of forms about Ruby’s upcoming school trip to Normandy, I’m texting Frankie to check that she’s back safely from London. I realise, as I tap my screen, that I might well be overstepping the mark because I am not her actual boyfriend, just a regular friend, and is it normal for regular friends to check up on each other? Yes, it is, I decide. Women definitely check that their friends are back safely. It’s just that I don’t happen to have had any close female friends recently.

I’ve been missing out, I realise. I had female friends in my group at uni. But then I met Astrid, and since she left I’ve been very busy with the kids. I’d definitely call Ellie a good friend, but we’re both busy and don’t chat that much. There are school mums, like Miranda, but I’m more friends with their partners. And… well, that’s about it. I suppose part of it is that, as a single dad in his thirties, you just don’t meet that many women if you aren’t in the market for a relationship.

Anyway. Frankie has immediately replied to say that yes she’s safely back in Milbury and yes she had a great weekend, thank you.

Well, good. I’d really like to ask whether she enjoyed it so much that she’s tempted to move back to London sooner rather than later but, firstly, somehow that isn’t the kind of thing we talk about, even though we talk about all sorts of topics, and, secondly, I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. If she leaves – or rather when she leaves – I’m really going to miss her. She’s been away for a day and a half this weekend and, weirdly, even though I’ve been quite busy during that time, I’ve felt slightly lonely. I like knowing that she’s there, around for a five-minute chat every so often, as well as our evenings together.

Yesterday evening, Ruby, Sam and I went to the cinema together. I enjoyed it, but I would have enjoyed it even more if Frankie had been there. I wanted to text her immediately to tell her that we’d seen another Marvel film and that being honest this one wasn’t great, but that there were a couple of funny bits that she would have appreciated. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to intrude into her London weekend and her time with her real friends. I am, of course, an interim friend. I assume – hope – that we’ll keep in touch when this is all over. When she goes back to London, though, she’ll obviously be busy and when she does make it back to Milbury she’ll be busy with Ellie and her grandmother.

Yeah, no, I’m thinking stupid thoughts. Probably brought on by the boredom of admin.

Frankie is a good friend, we have fun together, she gets on well with the kids, which is a brilliant bonus, she cooks us delicious food, and I should just be grateful to have made a fantastic new friend at my time of life and take it as it comes.

She’s very attractive, obviously. Once you get to know someone’s personality and you love their personality, you always find them very attractive, because they’re them. And, also, objectively, she is very attractive. And that is all actually entirely irrelevant. To anything.

I should really just get back on with my admin.

* * *

The next lunchtime, I decide to go to the café for a sandwich and to buy a cake for the kids for later. They’ve been on half-term for a week, and they weren’t ecstatic to be back at school this morning. This will cheer them up.

Frankie’s face splits into a wide smile when she sees me come through the door, and I feel my own lips broaden into an even bigger grin.

‘Hey, stranger,’ I say. ‘Haven’t seen you in a while.’

‘Yeah, I’ve been travelling. I visited the big smoke.’