Page 87 of Just for the Season

‘Yep. You’re my dad. I love you. I want you to be happy. She’s a really nice person. I think you can love us and her. Think about it.’ And then she stands up and leaves the room.

And I sit staring at the door she just disappeared out of.

I wish things were as simple as Ruby just made out. But are they? And does she really mean it?

29

FRANKIE

‘I want to say “Cheer up; it might never happen”,’ says Simon, ‘but clearly it already has.’

‘Yeah.’ I stare morosely into my hot chocolate.

It’s Monday morning and we’ve just finished making a shortlist of people to interview to fill my position in the café.

‘None of them will be as good as you,’ Simon tells me.

‘I’m sure they will,’ I say, still morose.

‘You don’t have to leave?’

‘I do. I want to live somewhere where I don’t feel as though I’m avoiding someone. And, honestly, it’s going to take me a long time to be happy around Marcus. And, also, how else are we going to tell Gran and Roderick that we’ve fizzled out if I don’t move back to London? I’m going to tell them I’ve had a great job offer that I couldn’t refuse but not to worry on the relationship front, Marcus and I will do long distance. And then, like many long-distance things, our romance will fall apart. And Gran and Roderick will be a bit sad for us but they’ll see that we’re both very happy with our single lives.’ I sniff.

The bell on the door tinkles as someone opens the door and I vaguely look up, only to immediately stiffen. The person who has walked in is Marcus.

‘Hi,’ he says, looking straight at me. ‘I wondered if there was a moment when you’d be free to go for a walk this afternoon.’

‘Erm, I’m very busy today,’ I say. ‘And generally, actually.’ I really don’t want to have another miserable conversation and go back to square one Marcus-related-despair-wise.

‘No you aren’t,’ Simon says. ‘She’s extremely free this afternoon. Is half two at the stile good? I’ll cover here.’

I give him a death stare and whisper-hiss, ‘Sorry, why are you betraying me?’

‘Great,’ says Marcus, and turns to leave.

I can’t really think why he would want to talk. Oh. Maybe, in fact probably, he wants to formally end our fake romance now instead of fizzling it out in due course. That is not an in-person conversation I want to have.

When the door’s closed behind him, I say, ‘I don’t want to talk to him.’

‘Mm.’ Simon’s phone has buzzed and he’s busy texting. He puts it down. ‘Sorry, sorry. Business message. Right. Let’s decide what you’re going to wear.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, come on,’ he tsks. ‘You obviously want to look your absolute best.’

‘In order to be made even more miserable?’

Simon shakes his head. ‘Frankie. You do have to do the classic “remind him what he’s missing”. You can’t not.’

‘No,’ I say.

* * *

Four hours later, wearing my most flattering jeans and a very nice new jumper under my favourite coat, my hair and make-up done to Simon’s satisfaction, I’m trudging towards the stile to meet Marcus, thinking he could just have texted me.

He’s there before me and, as always, even that very first time in the café, when I thoroughly disliked him, my breath catches at his handsomeness. He’s in dark jeans and a navy jumper under a wool blazer, surprisingly formal for a country walk. He’s probably on his way to a meeting and doesn’t have much time to spare.

We walk up the hill behind the High Street, not speaking as we go.