Chapter Thirty-Three
I went to bed alternating between excitement and terror.
When I opened the bedroom’s blinds on Sunday morning, those two emotions were still see-sawing through my body; excitement at seeing Dylan without any dogs in the equation, and terror because… well, without our dogs, did this mean it was a date?
Dylan’s last text had said it was, but had he meant a date date, or had those words been a casual throwaway comment? After all, I frequently used such a phrase with my kids and my parents.
Why are you trying to put a label on it? said Greg, inside my head.
‘Morning, darling.’ I smiled at one of the photographs on my dressing table. ‘I guess I’m over-thinking the matter.’ I turned and made the bed while continuing the conversation. ‘It’s probably nerves.’
I arranged the pillows and then overlayed the duvet with several decorative scatter cushions.
‘Anyway, it likely isn’t a date. Not in the romantic sense. After all, there was another woman on the scene at the wedding. Jemima. You know who I mean. But Jemima aside, I can’t help feeling thrilled about seeing Dylan. I feel… fizzy. Bubbling with excitement. Ha! How weird that I should, in this moment, understand the literal meaning of that expression.’ I finished making the bed, then blew Greg’s portrait a kiss. ‘I’m going downstairs. See you in the kitchen. I must give Bess her breakfast and let her out.’
Downstairs, I greeted my dog – along with another snap of Greg smiling from the kitchen windowsill.
Bess didn’t seem to mind my chatter as I continued to prattle away to my absent husband. Instead, she gently wagged her tail, which sped up when I spooned a rather whiffy tin of tripe into a bowl.
As I opened the back door for Bess to go out and do her doggy business, I noted the sky had changed from yesterday’s beautiful blue to an intimidating gunmetal grey. Rain was due.
In that moment, I made up my mind to give Bess a quick walk along the lane. We’d head towards the dairy farm, then about turn and get back before the heavens opened. I had some old towels to dry her off. Although wiping down a huge dog was something I’d prefer to avoid if possible.
Forty minutes later, having neatly avoided a downpour, I set about getting ready to meet Dylan. He’d texted again while I’d been out with Bess, this time to ask that I meet him at The Swan in nearby West Malling. Good choice. Expensive, but no matter. I was at a stage of my life where I was comfortably off. Going Dutch wouldn’t be an issue.
Despite the rain, it wasn’t cold. However, British weather is notorious for being temperamental. It was prudent to be prepared.
I pulled on a pair of white jeans and teamed it with an electric-blue body and co-ordinating dog-tooth box jacket. What I’d have given to instead wear one of my daughters’ crop tops. How lucky were the girls to show off taut bejewelled navels. Sadly, my sixty-one-year-old torso bore testament to not just a loss of collagen, but also the gift of three pregnancies. On the upside, I didn’t have a muffin spilling over my waistband. One had to be grateful for small mercies.
Every now and again, my eyes flicked to Greg’s photograph on the dressing table. This portrait of him was a little disconcerting. Just like the portrait of the Mona Lisa, no matter where I stood in the bedroom, Greg’s eyes followed me.
I spritzed some perfume behind my ears, then checked my handbag. Made sure my reading specs were inside. The menu would be a blur without them. Footwear next. What to wear? Boots or sandals? In the end I chose a pair of raffia wedges. Sod the rain.
‘Right, darling,’ I said to Greg’s portrait. ‘I’ll be off. I wish it were me and you going out together.’ For a moment my mouth drooped. ‘But it isn’t.’ I picked up my bag and slung it over one shoulder. ‘Keep an eye on Bess for me. I feel a bit guilty going out and leaving her on her own for a couple of hours. But then again, she seems happy enough snoozing in her basket. Meanwhile, the kids are coming over later. We’ll be together again. All of us. That includes you.’ I smiled at the photo. ‘So, see you later.’
I walked across the landing and, as I did so, a netful of butterflies took off in my stomach. Interesting. Since when had I felt so nervous? And then I remembered. It had been on my first date with Greg.