Chapter 13
FRANKIE
Marcus has a great smile. Even in the midst of serious grumpiness, the first couple of times we met, he was very handsome, and when he switches the smile on he’s hard to look away from.
With that gorgeous smile and some clever arguing, he has just managed to persuade me to allow him to pay for dinner even though clearly I owe him.
‘I would happily have paid,’ I say one final time.
Marcus is right that I have next to no money – Simon is paying me one pound an hour above the living wage (he can’t afford more) plus the free use of his flat, which is a fantastic deal but does mean I’m not going to be feeling super rich, and this is an expensive restaurant, so our meal would basically have wiped out an entire week’s earnings.
I did gulp when I saw the prices, before reasoning never mind, it would just be like I started the job a week later.
‘I know you would.’ He directs that killer smile at me again. ‘But from my perspective your offer of cooking for us is amazing. We all loved the lasagne.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. What about I make you a fish pie on Monday?’
‘If you’re sure, the three of us would be ecstatic.’
‘You’re on,’ I promise him.
He grins at me. ‘See. Everyone’s a winner this way.’
He indicates to the server that he has his card ready, and then, when he’s paid, we both shuffle our chairs back and stand up to go.
‘I feel we should practise walking across a room like partners,’ he says to me, and I nod, without speaking, because my mouth is suddenly oddly dry.
He walks a little behind me with his hand hovering over the small of my back, in a very boyfriendy kind of way, and, weirdly, I find myself almost breathless.
He’s a very good method actor, and, apparently, so am I, because I’m almost fizzing in that way you do when you anticipate a very nice end to an evening with someone you really like.
By the time we emerge into the crisp evening air, Marcus’s fingertips resting lightly on my back as he holds the door open for me to pass through ahead of him, my heart’s almost racing, and I have to remind myself that this is not real.
‘That was a lovely dinner,’ I say. I suck in a deep breath of the chilly air, and try to pull myself back to a non-fizzing state by focusing on our surroundings, which are lit by soft moonlight: nearly bare trees lining the pavement in front of a three-storey Georgian stone terrace, and from somewhere a woody, autumny kind of smell.
That’s better; I can speak more normally now.
‘I’ll definitely have to return to this restaurant,’ I continue. ‘Amazing food.’
‘Yep. I love it.’
Marcus holds his arm out to me, and after a second’s hesitation, during which a billion nebulous thoughts and emotions race through my mind, I take it, remembering that this means nothing; we’re just practising for when we’re on show in front of Gran and others in the village.
We walk arm in arm back to his car, and brushing against his side with almost every step I take really does nothing to bring my heart rate back under control.
He opens the passenger seat door for me, and I take a deep breath as I settle in the seat.
It’s cold inside the car – now that autumn has set in properly, the evenings are chilly – and without the proximity of Marcus to keep me warm, the lower temperature has an excellent effect on me, and by the time he’s getting into the driver’s seat, I’ve recovered from my momentary weirdness.
‘That was excellent method acting,’ I say approvingly. ‘I think we’re going to do very well at Gran’s party.’
‘I agree.’ Marcus’s voice sounds a little odd, probably because of how surprisingly cold the car is. ‘We are good.’
‘Yep, and also I think we’ve learnt a lot about each other this evening.’
‘Yeah. A good job, well done.’
We lapse into silence as he switches the engine on and pulls out of our space.
The silence continues for a bit too long, and it doesn’t feel comfortable, so I say, ‘We should use our time wisely, and do more prep on the way back.’
‘Good plan.’
‘Yes. Erm.’ I search for a question and eventually come up with: ‘What do you usually have for breakfast?’
There’s a pause that lasts for a good couple of seconds, during which I think why did I ask that, because it feels far too intimate. It is the kind of thing that a couple know about each other, and it is not the kind of knowledge that you ever need to display in front of anyone else.
It feels too awkward to say that, though, so I plough on with: ‘I like berries and Greek yoghurt.’
‘You know,’ replies Marcus in musing tones, ‘I think we’re going about this the wrong way.
Scrambled eggs for me if I have time, by the way.
But I find it hard to imagine anyone saying, “So, Frankie and Marcus, let me quiz you on each other’s favourite colours and breakfast habits.
” I think the kind of questions new couples get asked all centre around how they met and what dates they’ve been on. ’
‘You clearly don’t know my grandmother well,’ I mutter darkly. ‘She could ask anything.’ I pause. ‘Broadly, though, you’re right.’
‘Yep. And I’m not sure we’ve covered those things. We know each other better now, but we don’t know our fake story.’
‘Hmm. Okay.’ I begin to tick things off on my fingers as Marcus drives us along the narrow country lanes.
‘We “met” on a walk. Already been through that. I think we need to decide when and how I first met Ruby and Sam. We’ve already been seen together with them, at Miranda’s, and everyone there will have assumed that we’d already met. ’
‘What about we went for a walk with them, on one of the beaches round the cove?’
‘Nice. Okay, so now we just need to think about dates. We’ve just been out for dinner. We can say we’ve had some nights in together.’
‘This is the thing,’ Marcus says. ‘No we can’t.
People really know what you’re up to in Milbury.
I think we might have to do a couple of things together, or at least with Ellie and Simon, and then tell people we both have very busy schedules but have been having a great time and are looking forward to doing more stuff together. ’
‘Perfect,’ I approve. ‘We could plan a holiday together for some time next year. When you have the kids covered.’
‘Good idea. Maybe they could stay with relatives for the weekend. We haven’t broached it yet with anyone because we’re still in the early planning stages, but we’re going to soon. Where shall we go?’
‘What about a city break? In a nice romantic city.’
Marcus nods. ‘Good idea. That sounds like a good, loved-up, new-couple kind of thing to do.’
‘Rome?’ I suggest as Marcus turns left into the road that leads into Milbury.
‘I’ve never been but everyone says it’s really romantic, with lots of great food but also loads to do.
And it would be amazing in the spring, and I think a few months from now would be the perfect time for us to take our fake relationship to the fake next level. ’
‘Rome sounds perfect. I think we should stay somewhere central and walk everywhere.’ Marcus squeezes his car into the last space on the village high street outside the café. ‘Have you – real you, not fake-relationship-you – been to Rome before?’
‘No but I’ve always wanted to go. Have you?’
‘Yes. With my…’ He pauses for a very long time and then says, ‘Ex-wife.’
From the slightly awkward way he mentioned her I’m guessing he really doesn’t want to talk about it, so I just say lightly, ‘It sounds amazing. I’m really looking forward to fake-going there. Did you see all the sights when you went?’
‘Yeah… some of them. Beautiful city. Anyway. That was a great evening, thank you.’
‘No, thank you,’ I say. ‘You moved my stuff and you took me for dinner, and you put up with me asking you a lot of questions that you then pointed out were completely unnecessary.’
Marcus laughs. ‘Yeah, when you put it like that, I’m a complete angel.’
There’s a sudden tapping on the outside of my window.
I scream, like I’m in a B-rate horror movie – utterly terrified for one split second that there’s a murderer outside the window – and then Marcus presses a button on his side to roll the window down.
‘Good evening, Mrs Bittern,’ he says to the white-haired woman I can now see standing there peering in at us.
‘Good evening,’ I say, trying hard to pretend that I wasn’t screaming like a banshee approximately twenty seconds ago.
Mrs Bittern – who I do now recognise – is very elderly, possibly older even than Gran, and lives just along the road from the café. She’s very short, which I think is what caused me to think some sort of murderous headless monster was tapping on the window.
‘Even I heard that scream,’ she says, cackling. ‘And I’m very deaf. You were scared.’
‘Ha, yes,’ I agree. ‘A little bit.’
‘A little bit a lot.’ She’s still cackling.
Marcus is now chuckling by my side.
I smile too, to humour them both.
‘Nice evening out somewhere?’ Mrs Bittern asks when she can speak again through her mirth.
‘We went to the Jade Elephant in Chartfield,’ Marcus tells her.
‘That’s a very nice restaurant for a pair of lovebirds,’ she says. ‘Well, I won’t keep you. You’ll be wanting to get upstairs to the flat and get canoodling without people like me getting in your way.’
I wince, and instinctively check how Marcus is looking. He also has an expression of pain on his face.
‘I would love, obviously, to go upstairs and canoodle,’ he says after a short pause, ‘but unfortunately I have to get back to the kids.’
‘I thought they were staying at Rob and Miranda’s tonight?’ Mrs Bittern says. It is truly unbelievable how everyone knows everything in this village.
‘You are absolutely right,’ Marcus says. ‘I forgot. Well, thank goodness. We can canoodle.’
‘Let’s do it,’ I say, very chirpily. ‘Let’s go upstairs. How lovely to see you, Mrs Bittern. Good evening.’
‘Enjoy yourselves.’ She gives us an enormous wink. ‘Remember you’re only young once. Make the most of it.’