Page 44 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

‘Were you a member of the Gestapo in a former life?’

‘I knew it! You’re going to that woman’s shop, aren’t you? Good grief, David, aren’t there enough women in this city for you to be chasing rather than running after one that point-blank said no?’

‘Patti, you’re my wife and you’re not being very supportive at the moment.’

I snatched a serviette from between us to wipe my mouth. ‘As your wife, I’m also meant to tell you when you’re doing something stupid.’

‘Okay, let’s talk more about that.’ He dabbed his mouth with his own serviette and smudged ketchup up on his face in the process. ‘How can I stage this so it looks like an entirely accidental run-in, and not like I’m doing something stupid? Should I rehearse my reaction, do you think, or will that make it less natural when the time comes?’

I licked my thumb, reached forward, and rubbed at the sauce on his cheek. ‘I don’t know that rehearsing your reaction to accidentally running into a woman that you’re planning to run into is going to be the thing that prevents this from being a stupid thing to do.’

‘That’s a terrible sentence.’ David jumped down from his stool and put his rubbish into the Tilly’s bag. ‘Are you finished?’

‘With my lunch or with this conversation?’

‘I’ll take that as a yes to both.’ He collected up my things then, too.

‘David, I’m not trying to be unsupportive–’

‘No, you’re trying to be sensible, which is very… Patti of you,’ he said with a warm tone, but there was something cutting about the remark and my expression must have shown it. ‘It’s not a criticism, sweetheart, don’t look so downtrodden about it. Besides’ – he was heading for the door – ‘you not being an idiot is precisely what makes this marriage work. I’ll see you at home later, and I’ll tell you all about how stupid I’ve been.’

David blew me a kiss in the same moment that the door chimed open to announce an incoming customer. She held the door open for him – ‘Thanks, love’ – and I had to hard swallow to keep my lunch down.

‘Patti, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Sheila laughed as she lessened the space between us, and I had to hard swallow for a second time. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Sorry.’ I forced a laugh. ‘That must be my resting expression when I’m at work and not handling a Victorian sex toy.’ The humour was forced and from Sheila’s expression, I thought she could tell but was too polite to say anything.

It had been four days since the flea market trip and Sheila had been too busy for anything – including sending the same number of messages that she normally would. Though she had checked in daily still, to see how I was and what I’d been up to. I was still editing David out of my life and my messages alike. So when I’d replied to tell her I was having dinner, I was always having dinner alone. When I replied to say I was drinking and listening to music, I was doing so, alone. She knew that I had a flatmate, of course, but I was mindful of David being a flatmate I spent too much time with, lest the inevitable happen and Sheila suggest that she meet him – a prospect that was sure to make my head explode or my heart give out. But now it had happened, they’d met – sort of. It’s just she didn’t realise it – and David was too focused on his quarry to have noticed either. Arse.

The anxiety spike was dreadful. If it hadn’t been for me trying to uphold some sense of normalcy, I would have been kneading at the centre of my chest and breathing into a paper bag. Without those telltale signs, though, the only thing I could do was feign fine and dandy.

‘Anyway, this is a lovely surprise,’ I said as she leaned across the counter to kiss my cheek. She reached for my hand as she moved away and gave me a soft squeeze, too. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

Sheila shrugged. ‘I was in the neighbourhood and I missed you.’

‘Well that’s something a girl likes to hear.’

‘It’s also a whopping lie,’ she added. ‘Oh gosh, no, wait, I realise how that sounded there. I was missing you, I wasn’t just in the neighbourhood.’ Sheila pressed her fingertips to her forehead. ‘Did I fix it?’

I laughed. ‘Yes, I think you did. It’s even lovelier if it’s a purpose journey.’

‘It’s about to get lovelier still.’ She held out her hand for me to take. ‘Can I steal you for a moment? It’s only outside, so you’re not really leaving the shop unattended.’

I felt the twist of happy nerves low in my stomach as I put my hand in hers. ‘Oh-kay.’

‘You’re so suspicious, Patti.’ Sheila led me to the door. ‘Now, I’m going to need you to cover your eyes.’

‘I’m only getting more and more suspicious by the minute,’ I said as I put a palm over each eye. ‘You’re going to need to–’

‘I’ve got you.’ She cut across me, setting her hands on my waist and nudging me forwards another step or two. ‘Hang on a tick while I get the door.’ Then her hands were back in place, encouraging me step by step by– ‘Okay, you can open your eyes now.’

I uncovered my eyes and first saw Sheila’s car, then the trailer, then–

‘Oh my God…’

–the rocking chair.

Fixed to the back of Sheila’s trailer was the same rocking chair from the flea market. Only now, it clearly had a new kick of life. If I had to guess, I’d say it had been sanded and stained; the one rickety leg no longer caused an off-balance wobble when I softly touched the chair; and on closer inspection I saw that the seat, which had originally been covered with an aged, crushed velvet fabric, had been replaced with something new as well. The cushioned centre was dressed with a turquoise base, over the top of which was a print of small, what looked like hand-drawn birds. A robin, a swallow, a wren. All of them no bigger than a coin, placed evenly apart from each other.

‘Is the seat too much? I can always–’

I interrupted Sheila by pulling her to me and kissing her square on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around my neck and time blurred, as it so often did when we kissed now.

‘If I tell you that I designed that print myself, do I get another kiss?’

I answered with a kiss on the corner of her mouth this time. ‘You are an incredibly talented woman, and this is an incredibly kind gesture.’

Sheila shrugged like it was nothing, and I wondered whether this was something she did often for people in her life. But when she said, ‘Craft is my love language,’ I thought perhaps the chair might mean something more.