Chapter 12
ALICE
‘Does this look OK?’ Spence asks, pulling at the collar of his blue shirt and sitting down at the table.
It’s new. Pale wood, grey chairs slotting in neatly around it.
Spence’s house has changed over the years.
When he first moved in, with a three-month old newborn, this place was every bit the ex-council house that he’d got at auction with the help of his parents.
Loud carpets, chipped skirting boards, electric fires and not a hint of a central heating system.
Every room had the lingering smell of damp and old furniture.
But now, each room has been battered and bent into the house that he always knew it could be.
‘Lose the tie. You’re going to dinner, not parents’ evening,’ I say, slamming a pizza in his double oven. He’s being cagey about who this mystery woman is, but I’m guessing it’s one of the swim mums.
‘Oh God, Dad, you’re not actually wearing those shoes, are you?’ Georgia asks from beneath the rim of her grey baseball cap, as she reaches into the cupboard for a packet of crisps.
‘What’s wrong with them? And put those back, your dinner is in the oven.’ She rolls her eyes but returns the packet. ‘Shoes and a tie? You look like Grandpa.’
He catches my eye and I grimace. ‘She has a point. What about your Sambas?’ He unlaces his shoes, leaves the room, and returns carrying his trainers.
‘Tomato sauce?’ I ask, opening and closing various doors. There was a time where I knew the contents and whereabouts of everything in this house. Georgia opens a cupboard and passes it over while he ties his shoes in place then stands.
I put the sauce on the table and step towards him.
‘Maybe undo the top button?’ He frowns but then does as I say. ‘Your collar is…’ I go to correct it, but he moves back a fraction, his hands already working. ‘Much better.’ I smile, giving an exaggerated sniff. ‘You smell nice too.’
‘Don’t I usually smell nice?’ He quirks an eyebrow.
‘Well, yeah, but… Is that new aftershave?’
‘No.’
‘No?’ I ask raising an eyebrow.
‘Not that new.’
‘Come on, spill the beans. Who is she?’
He glances at Georgia and gives me a minute shake of his head. Right. So it is one of the other mums.
He fidgets with the cuffs of his shirt. ‘Up or down?’ he deflects, rolling up his sleeves, revealing the tattoo of six swallows flying towards the crook of his elbow. I think back to Michael and wonder if this could have been a derivative of one of his designs. I’ll ask him in my next letter.
‘Up.’ I bite back a smile. ‘Much better. No grandad vibes at all.’
He looks around the room and scratches his temple.
The beeper on the oven interrupts and I go over, open the door and avoid the blast of the heat.
‘Hadn’t you better be making a move?’ I ask, placing the pizza onto the chopping board and searching the drawers for the pizza cutter.
He gets up, opens the correct drawer and hands it to me. ‘I’ll be early.’
‘You’ll be on time. Go!’ I say, wafting him away with my hands. ‘Me and George are going to gorge ourselves on this and a tub of cookie dough while we watch the new Timmy Challet film.’
‘Right.’ He grabs his car keys from the hook by the door. ‘I won’t be late.’
He bends down and kisses Georgia on the head. ‘Make sure she behaves!’ he adds from the hall on his way out.
‘She’ll be as good as gold!’ I shout back.
‘I wasn’t talking to you!’ is his reply before the door closes behind him.
* * *
It’s after eleven when Spence returns, shaking me awake from the large grey sofa. ‘Hey…’ I say sleepily. ‘How’d it go?’
He sits at the other end, a small smile playing on his mouth. ‘Good.’
‘Yeah?’ I shift up. ‘And…?’
‘And nothing…’ He trails off, glancing at the screen where Madonna is Desperately Seeking Susan, a small frown forming. ‘It’s complicated. I need to tread lightly…’
I yawn and sit up. ‘So, you’re going to see her again?’ I reach over for the controller and lower the volume.
He rubs his chin as though that will rub off the smile dimpling beneath his hand. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I think so.’
‘Get you, first date in Christ knows how long, and you’ve hit it in one.’
‘I didn’t hit it.’
‘First base?’ I ask playfully.
He reaches over and takes a Dorito, chewing it slowly.
‘Second?’
‘Jesus, Al.’ He shakes his head at me.
‘What? I’m just glad you’re getting back on the horse!’
He takes another Dorito and nods but then scratches the back of his head. ‘It’s still early days. We’ll see.’
‘I’m really pleased for you, Spence.’
He needs this. Spence is the best of people, and it’s good to see him stepping back out into the world of dating.
For too long his studies, his responsibilities to Georgia, and making his way up the ranks of the local secondary school has meant he’s put dating on the backburner.
He’s had a few relationships over the years, but nothing serious enough to warrant introducing them to his daughter.
Jude Law’s The Holiday rules I called it.
‘So… she could be your Cameron Diaz, then?’
He ignores me, nodding towards the TV instead. ‘What’s with Madonna?’
‘Research!’ I enthuse. ‘I’m trying to imagine what it must be like for Michael, you know? With all the denim, girls in lace gloves and big hair and…’
He looks questioningly at the screen. I haven’t told him about the way writing to Michael makes me feel. That strange connection.
‘Oh God. You fancy him, don’t you?’
‘What? No! Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know what he looks like. I just like the way he writes. He’s funny, yet—’
‘Vulnerable?’ he says, fluttering his eyelashes.
I whack him with a cushion.
‘You know he’ll be in his seventies now, right?’
‘So? Pierce Brosnan’s still got it and so has Kevin Costner.’
‘Do you know what else they’ve got? Arthritis.’
We’re quiet for a moment. I watch the chemistry between Madonna and Aiden Quinn. Dark hair, big blue eyes… I mentally add him to my image of what Michael might look like.
‘Fancy a cuppa?’ Spence asks.
‘I’ll get going…’
‘It’s late, you may as well stay over. The spare room is made up.’
‘You sure?’ I ask tentatively, pushing aside the last night I stayed over in Spence’s spare room with a shove. That is not what I need to be thinking about right now.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, but he avoids my eyes as he pulls himself up and makes his way towards the kitchen. ‘So, cuppa?’
‘OK. Thanks.’ He pops his head back around the door. ‘Biscuits?’
‘Perfect. I’ll pause it so you don’t miss anything.’
We watch the rest of the film. I’m scribbling down details that I notice, things to add to my article to give it texture.
‘You know… we could always go and see if he still lives there?’ Spence suggests as the credits roll and I fill him in on all the things Michael mentioned in his last letter, explaining my golden rule: get to know them first.
He folds his arms. ‘You’re making excuses. You want the dream version of this guy, what you need is the reality. It’s like that wanky poet guy from school all over again.’
‘That’s not what this is.’
‘That’s exactly what this is.’
I tuck my hair behind my ear. ‘You really think I should? Just turn up?’
‘What have you got to lose?’
My throat is tight, my eyes drawn to the credits scrolling up the screen.
Everything.