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CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
It was Sally who opened the door on their return. George, ashen faced, lurked in the background, while his mother threw her arms around Sally.
‘You’re back! And just in time. The turkey is out of the oven, resting.’
Owen resisted the temptation to crack a joke about the turkey being exhausted after a hot morning in the oven. People didn’t seem to appreciate his jokes. Besides, he could tell from the look on George’s face he was in no mood for laughing.
Guiding Millie into the hall and helping her out of her coat, Sally turned to her son. ‘George. You take Millie into the sitting room and fix her a drink. You’ve both got some talking to do. Me and Owen will finish the dinner preparation, won’t we, sweetheart?’
Owen nodded and hung up his waterproof by the front door where it could drip alongside Millie’s wet coat, straight onto the black and white diamond shaped tiles.
‘What do you want me to do first?’ he asked, entering the kitchen.
‘Nothing right now. Get yourself a whisky. You’ve earned it.’
‘The Lagavulin?’
‘That’s right. Only the best for the triumphant hero.’ She smiled at him.
Here we go again, he thought. Why couldn’t people see him for what he really was? He didn’t feel triumphant, and he certainly wasn’t a hero. ‘Do you want one?’ he asked, taking two Glencairns from the cupboard.
‘Might as well. I think we should give the lovebirds half an hour, maybe an hour, to sort out their feelings, don’t you? I hope you aren’t too hungry.’
Owen shook his head. The bacon sandwich from the morning was sitting solidly in his stomach. He poured a measure of whisky into each glass.
‘How did you do it?’
‘I threatened to move into her flat on the pretext you wouldn’t let me back in here without her. Hinted that I might want to take over her bed, preferably with her in it, and told her George was no gangster, that he’s the softest guy she’ll ever meet, that he loves her, and was broken-hearted she’d gone. Basically, played Machiavelli and chucked the emotional kitchen sink at her.’
‘There! I knew you could do it.’ Sally picked up her drink and took a sip, eyes sparkling as she watched Owen over the rim of her Glencairn. ‘I bet you could charm the birds from the trees,’ she said, laughing and nursing her whisky glass close to her chest. She moved near to Owen, her free hand drifting tenderly down his cheek. Letting it rest on his shoulder, she sighed. ‘It’s such a shame I’m too old for you. Would you kiss me again, one last time?’
Owen glanced at the door behind her. ‘What about Millie and George? What if they come in?’
‘They won’t. I set up the dinner table in there while you were gone. There’s sausage rolls and mince pies on it and almost any drink they might fancy in Chas’s cabinet, so they’ve no reason to come in here. They will be too busy making up.’
They were staringat each other. Millie by the door, as if the slightest wrong move would make her run again. George in the centre of the room, feeling useless, not knowing what to say to make things right. Wishing he was Owen. Owen would know what to say.
‘Millie,’ George breathed her name again, unable to take his eyes off her.
‘George.’ She flicked her eyes at him, then stared down at the floor, remaining firmly rooted to the space just inside the sitting-room door.
‘Millie,’ he repeated. Helpless, not knowing what Owen had said to her or how he had persuaded her to come back. But she was here. Surely that was good, a hopeful sign. He walked around the table, already set with glasses and cutlery. Sausage rolls and mince pies at one end. His mother had put them there earlier, saying, ‘Just in case you get hungry. Owen might be a long time.’ He hadn’t wanted food then.
Did he want any now? His stomach churned. It felt like he’d never be able to eat again.
‘Millie, I am so sorry. I know I should have told you sooner. Right at the beginning, in fact. I…’
‘Owen told me you love me,’ she said, so quietly, he almost didn’t hear.
‘I do.’
‘Really?’ Her big blue eyes traced the contours of his face as if she were searching for proof.
‘It’s true,’ George said, taking a single nervous step towards her. ‘I’ve loved you from the very first time I saw you, but I didn’t dare say anything because how would you take me seriously? Whoever falls in love at first sight? That’s supposed to be a myth, isn’t it?’
Millie shook her head; he didn’t know why.
He went on, ‘Then, when you told me about Robert, I still couldn’t tell you, in case you thought I was just saying I love you to get into your bed.’
