Page 113 of London, Can You Wait?

Thirty-One

Three and a half weeks later

“Are you sure you only need one more session?” Michael leaned forward in his chair, the comfy basement dining room of Annie’s restaurant still bustling with its Saturday lunchtime crowd at five minutes to two.

“Yeah.” Alex nodded. “Catriona and I agreed—I’m ready. I mean, this is the longest spell I’ve gone without an attack in a year: five weeks.”

“No, six.” Joan smiled. “I logged it in my phone. There was no way I was letting this milestone pass.” She waved her debit card at the server, who returned with the handheld payment machine. “My shout.”

“Thanks, Joan.” Alex swirled her spoon in a pool of chocolate ice cream. “I’m definitely coming back here for that cheese and onion pie.”

“I’m surprised you wanted to come into town.” Joan inserted her card into the debit machine. “You’ve been eyeing up that Italian place near the pottery studio for weeks.”

“We can go there any time. I’ve missed Manchester city centre.”

“Ooh, does this mean you might stay?” Helen scooped up the last spoonful of the jam roly-poly she was sharing with her husband. A hopeful smile raised her chubby cheeks.

Alex glanced from Helen to her dad, her eyes resting on Joan beside her. “I love being here, but…”

“It’s not home.” Joan winked, punching in her PIN.

“Lucy and Freddie will be happy to hear that,” said Michael.

“I’ll have to tell Freddie myself—Lucy’s still not speaking to him.”

“She’ll come around. God love her, that girl has a big heart. She won’t be cross with Freddie for long.” Joan raised her eyebrows. “Mark, though…”

Helen looked at Michael, who became suddenly interested in the framed Grand Theatre poster that hung beside their table.

Alex breathed deeply. “Joan, it’s okay. Just say it.”

“I promised I wouldn’t.” The server handed Joan her receipt, which she slid into her wallet a little too carefully, buying time before she had to say another word.

Michael’s eyes bore into his mum.

“Promised who? Dad?” Alex’s stare travelled from Joan to Michael. “I know you guys made a pact. So obvious.”

Michael blew out his cheeks. “We didn’t make a pact—”

“Dad, I’ve seen the looks you’ve shared. I’ve been here almost two months, and you haven’t mentioned Mark once. That takes a scripted effort.”

Joan wrapped her arm around her granddaughter. “When we saw you blocking social media, love, we realized you were doing everything you could to move on and feel better. We just followed your lead. Us having a bloody great whinge about how terrible he behaved—well, it wasn’t going to help you, was it?”

“Believe me, whatever you were thinking would have paled in comparison to what I’ve already thought or said to Lucy. I don’t need to be protected in bubble wrap. What I do need is for you to be honest. I won’t shatter if you tell me the truth.”

“It’s just with the panic attacks…” Helen looked at Michael. “We would do anything to make them go away…”

“We didn’t want to undo the good Catriona was doing, that’s all.” Michael patted Helen’s arm.

“Mark was a lovely lad,” Joan blurted out, staring at the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. “But he’s made me so angry. I just want to deck him.”

“Join the club,” said Alex. “I think Lucy has first dibs.”

“I’m not naïve.” Joan tilted her head. “Every actress has seen affairs begin behind the scenes. Back in ’56, my best friend fell for the lead in our musical. They both had sweethearts at home, but maybe sneaking around was exciting? I don’t know. I don’t understand why people do it. And Mark, he had you, a pretty, talented girl, and a family here who loved him like our very own…I feel like he cheated on us, too.”

Helen nodded.

Joan leaned in. “I’ve been so close to telling you exactly how I felt, but I bit my tongue because, well, like those Cosmo articles say, if you two got back together, I’d regret everything I said—”