Page 59 of Me and Mr. Darcy

Oh. My. God. I’m staring at Ernie across the table as he proceeds to put a thumb against each nostril to demonstrate how his septum has been irreversibly damaged, despite two operations, but his voice has become a sort of blurry noise, as if I’m underwater, and all I can hear is the hammering of my heart against my chest.

Spike punched Ernie.

Nice, jovial, pensionable Ernie who eats bacon sandwiches despite doctor’s orders, drives about twenty miles an hour and showed me pictures of his grandchildren. My mind is whirling.

‘But why?’ I finally manage to stammer.

In the middle of giving a graphic description of his rhino-plasty, Ernie looks at me, astonished.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘I courted his mother.’

Surprises are being fired at me thick and fast. I’m reeling over my cod and chips.

‘His mother?’ I repeat.

Shit. I’m back to that again.

‘I used to work as one of the drivers at the Daily Times, that’s how I met Iris. She came a few times to visit her son, and we got chatting and, well . . .’ His voice trails off. ‘We were very much in love.’ He sees me looking at him in astonishment and obviously misinterpreting my dropped jaw and wide eyes, adds, ‘People my age can still fall in love, you know.’

‘Oh, of course,’ I say hurriedly.

‘Just because you get to my age, doesn’t stop you being a romantic,’ he says sadly.

‘I know, I’m a romantic too,’ I gasp in solidarity. ‘My friend Stella even calls me a hopeless romantic’

Ernie smiles weakly. I don’t know what’s happened, but he seems to have suddenly shrunk in his tartan shirt and his eyes look suspiciously moist.

‘And then her son decided I wasn’t good enough.’

Suddenly I get really angry. ‘Jesus. How dare he!’ I cry, slamming down my knife and fork. I’d suspected Spike was a snob, but this? This is so much worse than I’d thought. Suddenly I understand Maeve’s sudden change of heart after talking to him. No wonder she’d seemed strange. God only knows what lies Spike told her about Ernie. ‘I had no idea. What a bastard,’ I hiss, my voice low.

Ernie chews thoughtfully on his mouthful of baked potato and tuna.

‘Told me I had to stay away from her, or else.’

‘He threatened you?’ I’m aghast. This is getting worse and worse.

‘But I couldn’t. I loved her. That’s when he hit me.’

‘What? Without provocation?’

‘Well, I guess I did provoke him by being in love with Iris.’

I can’t believe it. This is terrible. Beating someone up because he’s in love? I’ve got a good mind to punch Spike I’m-a-bully Hargreaves myself. And trust me, I am not a violent person. I can’t even kill the spider that’s been living in my bathroom for the past year and a half, terrorising me every time I get in the shower.

‘Provoke him? Of course not!’ I cry. ‘I bet he was jealous of the attention his mom gave you.’

‘I suppose it’s just a son being protective of his mother,’ Ernie says kindly.

Suddenly I like him even more than before.

‘There’s being protective and then there’s being a great big bully,’ I admonish. ‘You must be twice his age.’

‘Well, not quite—’