Chapter Eighteen
‘So you fell out of love?’ Alice prompted.
Her voice propelled me from the past to the present at warp speed.
‘Yes,’ I nodded.
I took my tea and perched on a tall stool beside her, then helped myself to one of the chocolate cookies.
‘It’s funny how quickly you can go off someone,’ Alice mused. ‘I’ve gone off Liam Lancaster just like that.’ She clicked her fingers by way of demonstration.
‘No you haven’t,’ I countered.
I bit into the biscuit. Mm. Delicious. Just like the man that had ruffled Alice’s feathers.
‘I mean it,’ she sniffed. ‘And anyway’ – her shoulders momentarily drooped – ‘I think it’s you he likes.’
‘Me?’ I spluttered, almost choking on the cookie. I chewed frantically while trying to clear my throat, then hastily gulped some tea to wash down the offending crumbs. ‘Don’t be daft, woman.’
‘I’m not,’ she insisted. ‘You obviously haven’t noticed the way he looks at you.’
I pulled a face – the same one reserved for moronic motorists.
‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean.’
‘Oh, Jen,’ she gushed, deepening her voice in a parody of Liam. ‘I’m sooo sorry I gate-crashed your husband’s wake. Let me make it up to you by taking you out for a drink.’
‘Which he’s since cancelled,’ I pointed out.
She rolled her eyes.
‘Mark my words, he will rearrange it. Except it will be done in a way that conveniently excludes me and his architect pal. Take it from me, Jen, the guy fancies you. And actually’ – she gave me a considering look – ‘if my name was Hetty Cartwright, I’d be so bold as to say that you like him too.’
‘Now you’re being absurd,’ I hooted. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re about as accurate as a politician delivering a promise, I can assure you that Liam Lancaster does not feel anything for me. In fact, I know so.’
‘How’s that?’ Alice frowned.
‘He mentioned that he recently met someone.’
‘When did he say that?’ Alice’s frown deepened. ‘I don’t recall him saying that when we were all together.’
‘You must have been in the loo,’ I lied. No way was I telling Alice about bumping into Liam at Susie’s Café. ‘He definitely said that another lady was on the scene. Well, words to that effect anyway.’
Alice made a face.
‘The womanising git,’ she growled.
‘He’s divorced and a free agent.’
‘Well’ – Alice sniffed – ‘if there is another woman waiting in the wings, Liam should not be making goo-goo eyes at you. He’s a bounder.’
I shook my head.
‘There have never been any goo-goo eyes,’ I said firmly. ‘Here.’ I pushed the plate of biscuits towards her. ‘Have another one. Then show me some of the men on your dating app.’ Distraction was required. ‘Who knows, maybe one of them will be the man of my dreams too.’
‘I thought you weren’t bothered about men right now,’ she said sulkily. Nonetheless, she accepted another biscuit, then reached for her phone.
‘I’m not really interested,’ I confessed with a grin. ‘But it’s fun to view – so to speak – from a safe space.’
‘In other words, from the shelf that you’ve put yourself upon,’ she pointed out.
We then spent a happy half hour assessing several men who did indeed look like serial killers. All they needed to complete the illusion was a mugshot board.
‘He looks nice,’ I said, as Alice lingered over a fair-haired forty-something with an earnest expression.
‘More pained,’ she said dismissively. ‘Like he’s constipated and given himself haemorrhoids.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ I gave her an eyeroll. ‘He looks… shy. The poor man was probably quaking in his boots when he uploaded that pic.’
She peered at the image again and considered.
‘You could be right.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Benjamin Fromings. At least he hasn’t got an unfortunate name. I once went out with a guy called Dick Twocock.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I gasped.
‘Straight up. Although his wasn’t.’ She looked pensive for a moment. ‘It bent to the left.’
‘Alice, sometimes you’re outrageous.’
She shrugged.
‘Okay, I’ll give Benjamin Fromings a go.’ She tapped the screen. ‘There. A thumbs up from me. Nothing to lose, eh!’
‘That’s the spirit,’ I said, giving her an encouraging smile.
She closed the tab on the dating app, momentarily revealing another open tab and the image of a dog.
‘Aww,’ I cooed. ‘Whose pooch is that?’
It was a photograph of a sweet dachshund, but upon closer inspection I realised it was a painting.
‘That’s Wilbur,’ said Alice. ‘He’s a recent commission.
I always photograph my work. I’ll be printing some images and bringing them along to the fete this Saturday.
I also have a few oils and watercolours to bring along.
They’re mainly of local landscapes. But it’s the commissions of pets and kids that are my real bread and butter. ’
She tapped the screen again. Suddenly I was looking at a green and yellow budgie, then a tabby cat, and then a fat Peke.
‘They’re amazing,’ I said, genuinely impressed.
‘Talking of which, I’d better get home and finish a drawing of a poodle.’ She slid the phone into her back pocket, then drained her cup. ‘Thanks for the tea and listening to my moans.’
‘Anytime,’ I assured.
‘If I don’t see you beforehand, we’ll catch up at the fete on Saturday. I’ll make sure our stalls are next to each other. Then we can gossip at the same time and giggle over Oracle Hetty’s turban.’
‘You’re on,’ I laughed.