Page 123 of Secret Paths

“It was the best I had.”

“That was the best?”

“I was holding knickers.”

She laughs harder, and the sound does something reckless to me. It fills the sitting room. It warms the air. It makes the whole awful errand feel worth it, right down to the unexpected item in the bagging area and Alexandra’s expression when I said guest care.

Mandy wipes beneath one eye. “What did Alexandra say?”

“That I was lying.”

“She is not wrong.”

“No.”

“And?”

“That whoever she is, I can tell her.”

Her laughter fades.

Not all at once.

Enough.

The room changes with it.

I move and sit properly in the armchair opposite her. I do it deliberately. Space, because if I sit beside her, I will touch her, and if I touch her, we will both have somewhere easier to look.

“She is not stupid,” I say.

“No.”

“And I am tired of hiding.”

Mandy looks down at the bag in her lap.

I keep my voice even. “I am not asking you to move in. I am not asking you to marry me, share a toothbrush, abandon your independence or let me rearrange your cupboards.”

“That is quite a list.”

“I have been rehearsing.”

Her mouth twitches, but her eyes stay wary.

“There is the harvest festival next Saturday,” I say.

“I know.”

“Come with me.”

She goes still.

I let the words sit there. No joke. No escape hatch.

“As a date,” I add. “An actual one. In public. With terrible bunting, raffle tickets and Bernard committing crimes near the cake stall.”

“Peter.”