by Maria Realf
She turned the brass handle and stepped inside, causing a bell to jingle overhead. The place was largely empty, apart from a man in a paint-splattered T-shirt tucking into a bacon sarnie and an elderly gentleman enjoying a plate of gammon and chips. Lizzie and Alex headed for a table in the far corner and plonked themselves down on two red plastic chairs, like the stackable ones Josh put out at school when the kids performed their Christmas play. She tucked her bag underneath the seat.
‘I hope this is OK,’ she said. ‘It was either this or the hospital canteen.’
‘This is fine,’ said Alex. ‘We’ve got food, we’ve got good company – what’s not to like?’
‘Great.’ She picked up the plastic menu. The smell of grilled meat made her mouth water, and she reminded herself that she still had a wedding dress to get into in five weeks. Not that it looked like the kind of place where there were many slimline options.
The pregnant waitress waddled over, resting her pad on top of her baby bump. ‘What can I get you?’
Lizzie summoned every last bit of willpower. ‘I’ll have a poached egg on toast, please,’ she said. ‘Wholemeal, if you’ve got it.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Alex. ‘I’ll have the all-day breakfast, with extra-crispy bacon.’
‘You’re so mean!’ said Lizzie. ‘Now I’ll have food envy.’
‘Well, there’s still time to change your mind,’ he said.
Ah, screw it. At least I went swimming. ‘Go on, then,’ she told the waitress. ‘I’ll have the same.’
The waitress nodded and crossed out the earlier order. ‘Any drinks with that?’
‘Tea, please – no sugar,’ they both said at the same time, then smiled at each other in bemusement.
‘Well, that’s an easy order.’ The waitress trundled back to the kitchen, her ponytail bobbing as she went.
Lizzie leaned in, resting her elbows on the table. ‘So, how are you feeling now?’
‘I’m OK. Better for getting out of the hospital. There’s something about the smell of them I can’t stand, like they’re almost too clean.’
‘I know what you mean. When do you have to go back?’
‘Not for a couple of months, as long as I don’t have any more seizures.’
‘Is it painful?’
‘The tumour? No, not really. It’s not like I can feel it or anything. Half the time I forget it’s there, but then …’ His voice tailed off, and he fiddled with his paper napkin.
Lizzie wished she hadn’t brought it up. ‘I’m sorry about all the questions. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘No, it’s OK. Maybe it’ll help.’ He set his napkin down. ‘Ask me anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘Yeah, go for it.’
‘Alright.’ She gestured to his crewcut. ‘When did this happen?’
‘About two months ago.’
‘Did you have to do it for the scans?’
‘No. But I figured it would have to go at some point, so I shaved it off for charity. I made, like, £800 in the end.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing. Do you miss it?’ She had loved his thick hair, the way it used to feel between her fingers. Although she had to admit, he looked surprisingly good with it short.
‘Not as much as I miss my driving licence. It’s only hair.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘What else do you want to know?’
‘Who have you told?’
‘Just the family, and then you, Dev and Sam. That’s it.’
‘Should I tell Megan?’ Trying to keep something so momentous to herself all week had been torture, helped only by the fact that Megan was on holiday with Lily. The one time they’d tried to phone from Ibiza, Lizzie had ashamedly ducked the call.
‘Can we leave it a couple more weeks?’ he said. ‘I’d like to see her at some point, but I don’t think I’m ready for everyone to know just yet. I don’t want people treating me differently.’ He raised his brows ruefully. ‘Besides, we both know Megan hates me.’
‘She doesn’t hate you,’ lied Lizzie. ‘She’s just protective, that’s all. But if you told her what you’ve told me, I know she’d want to see you. She still cares, deep down.’
Alex gave a thin smile. ‘How is Megan, anyway?’
‘She’s brilliant. Kind of the same, really. I still see her a lot.’
‘That’s good. Did she find Mr Right or is she still, er, auditioning?’
‘No, she’s not seeing anyone at the moment. Strangely enough, though, we bumped into Gareth at the ball and she seems to have her eye on him now. I think they’d make a cute couple.’
‘That’s hilarious,’ said Alex. ‘Is he still into his Barry Manilow?’
‘It wasn’t Barry Manilow,’ she laughed. ‘It was Tom Jones. And if they ever hook up, I’m going to be afraid to ask her, because she will tell me in detail.’
‘No, you’ve got to,’ he said. ‘That’s so funny. Poor Gareth – she’ll have him for breakfast.’
As if catching the perfect segue, their waitress suddenly reappeared with a tray carrying their drinks and fry-ups. The plates were piled high: fried eggs, fat sausages, well-done bacon, juicy tomatoes, fried mushrooms and fluffy hash browns, slathered with a generous helping of baked beans. The aroma was incredible. Lizzie wished she could bottle it and spritz it round her kitchen.
‘Here, let me get that,’ said Alex, jumping up to help.
‘Thanks, darl,’ said the waitress. She smiled at Lizzie. ‘You’ve got a good ’un there.’
‘Oh no, he’s not … I mean …’
‘She means we’re just friends,’ finished Alex with a grin. ‘Friends in need of bacon. And maybe a little ketchup.’
‘Ketchup’s in there,’ said the waitress, pointing to the bright red dispenser shaped like a giant tomato.
‘Right. I probably should have noticed that. Thank you.’
She returned to the kitchen and Alex tucked into his fry-up, a dreamy smile on his face. ‘Damn, that’s good. It’s been ages since I had a full English.’
‘That’s probably not the worst thing,’ said Lizzie, not sure what to eat first. She took a sip of tea and prodded the food with her fork. ‘This looks like a heart attack on toast.’
‘Well, I’m a bit more relaxed these days,’ said Alex amicably. ‘I don’t think it’s the cholesterol that’s going to get me.’
Lizzie’s hand flew up to her mouth. ‘Oh no, that was totally insensitive of me, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.’
‘Stop being sorry. I don’t want you walking on eggshells.’
‘Alright, sorry.’ She caught it a second too late. ‘Now I’m sorry for saying sorry.’
Alex laughed, lifting a large forkful of fried egg to his lips and washing it down with a mouthful of tea. ‘Apology accepted. Anyway, enough about this. How’s your writing going?’
She felt a flicker of embarrassment. ‘Er, about as well as a decade ago,’ she said, taking a bite of salty bacon.
‘Really?’ Alex seemed surprised. ‘You shouldn’t give up on it.’ He looked at her expectantly. ‘I want to be the first to buy your books someday – as long as you promise to sign them.’
‘Don’t hold your breath.’ She gave a shrug. ‘I’m hardly Emily Brontë.’
‘Was she the Jane Eyre one or the Wuthering Heights one? I get those Brontë sisters mixed up.’
‘Wuthering Heights. Did you know that was the only novel she ever wrote? But it’s my favourite.’ She cut her tomato in half, juice spilling across the plate. ‘Who’s your favourite author these days?’
‘Well, I’m hoping it’ll be you.’ He smiled, and she blushed. ‘You just need to keep going. That short story you let me read was brilliant.’
‘You remember that?’ Even she’d almost forgotten. It was probably long recycled by now, or languishing up in the loft somewhere.
‘Of course. Great twist. Have you shown anything to the people you work with?’
‘Not yet,’ she admitted, cutting
into her sausage. ‘I was thinking about having another stab at it, but something always seems to get in the way.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Life. Work. The wedding.’
‘Ah, yes. The wedding.’ He chewed his bacon for what seemed like an eternity. ‘So, what’s his name, anyway? Is he a good guy?’
Lizzie sipped her drink, unsure of how much to tell him. ‘You really want to talk about this?’
‘Sure, why not?’ His voice sounded light, but his eyes turned a shade darker.
‘Alright.’ She shuffled uncomfortably on her plastic seat. ‘His name’s Josh.’ He’s different to you, she almost added, but that sounded kind of rude, which wasn’t the way she intended it. ‘He’s … nice.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s a teacher.’
‘I can sort of see you with a teacher,’ said Alex slowly, pushing his mushrooms around his plate. ‘I bet you sit there reading through the homework, spotting all the terrible spelling and grammar. Right?’
‘Actually, you’re wrong,’ she said with a grin. ‘He teaches PE. So most of the time he’s outdoors with the kids.’
‘Stop. I hate him already,’ said Alex. ‘Please tell me he at least wears a shell suit?’
‘Only for special occasions …’ She speared a single baked bean with her fork. ‘What about you? Are you seeing anyone?’ The café seemed eerily quiet as she waited for his reply. It felt strange talking to him about this sort of stuff, but if they were going to be friends she would have to at least try.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was seeing a girl in Thailand for a while, but I had to call it off.’
‘Why?’
‘Because one day she told me that she loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.’
‘Oh.’ She finished the dregs of her tea, suddenly feeling calmer. ‘That must have been tough.’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t great. She cried a lot.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she’ll be OK.’
‘Like you, you mean?’ He mopped up the last of the beans with his hash brown. ‘You seem like you’ve got everything sorted.’
‘Hardly,’ she winced, not quite sure what he was getting at. ‘I can’t even sort out my own wedding. It’s turned into this huge big thing and I hate the best man and I didn’t invite my boss and now I’m worried maybe I should have and …’
‘Whoa,’ said Alex. ‘You’re going to have to rewind a bit. Fill me in on everything.’
‘Alright,’ she said, screwing up her serviette. ‘But we’re going to need more tea.’
Lizzie slid inside her car and pulled the door shut, slinging her bag onto the passenger seat. She couldn’t believe it was 6.30pm. The past few hours had flown by, as she and Alex traded amusing tales from their uni days in the way that you could only do with someone else who’d lived through them. She’d never heard the one about Connor throwing up in Alex’s airing cupboard after drunkenly mistaking it for the bathroom. He didn’t know that Megan had leant on a statue in the park, only to find she’d pushed over a mime artist. Neither of them noticed the time until Sam had called Alex to say he’d arrived at the hospital.
It had been fun hanging out again, chatting about nothing and everything, from the Thai weather to his mum’s newfound interest in social media (‘apparently once she even tweeted Clarence House to ask who does Camilla’s hair,’ he said). She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed his company; how easy he’d been to talk to before it all went wrong. Just because they weren’t meant to be together didn’t mean they couldn’t still have a laugh together.
It did mean, though, that she would have to talk to Josh.
There was no point postponing the inevitable: if she wanted to keep seeing Alex, then she needed things to be out in the open. Josh will understand, she reassured herself. He’s not the jealous type.
She started the engine, turning on the radio. The anthemic chorus of Wonderwall soared out through the speakers. That’s weird timing. She hadn’t been able to listen to the song again after she and Alex broke up, switching it off swiftly if ever it caught her unawares. But now, her hands resting on the steering wheel, she was able to let it play to the end, a small smile crossing her face. She felt sure that the two of them had finally turned a corner, and could forge a real friendship after all.
Turning the radio down, she pulled out of the car park and indicated left, joining the queue of traffic snaking out of London.
I’ll talk to Josh tonight, she decided, as long as Freddie’s not around. I should have told him about Alex sooner, but better late than never.
Megan’s voice rang in her ears. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Lizzie turned the radio back up and tried to drown her out.
An hour later, Lizzie pulled into her drive and walked up to the house. The first thing she noticed was that all the blinds were drawn and the lights were off. Is Josh still out? She opened the front door and flicked the switch on the wall, but nothing happened. Have we had a power cut? That would be annoying; they had a large chicken in the freezer for tomorrow’s roast.
She fished around in her bag for her mobile, using the screen to gently illuminate the hall. All of Josh’s trainers had vanished. Shit! Have we been burgled? She held her mobile higher, trying to see up the stairs. Then she realised that the hall lightbulb had been removed.
What the hell? Surely even burglars aren’t taking bulbs now?
‘Josh,’ she whispered, confused and a little alarmed. ‘Are you there?’
There was no answer, so she set her bag down quietly on the console table and rummaged inside for the fiercest weapon she could find. The best she managed to come up with was her umbrella, so she held it upside down and extended the handle like a baton. Gripping it tightly, she nudged forward and gently pushed open the lounge door, noticing a strange glow coming through the crack. Her heart was trampolining into her throat.
She could hardly believe what she saw inside.
The living room was immaculate, with not so much as a beer can in sight. At the far end, beneath the beam of a tall candle, their small dining table was set for two. Josh was standing behind a chair, uncorking a bottle of wine. She noticed it was a decent bottle of Chablis, not that £4.99 crap he normally came back with.
‘What’s this for?’ she said. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d forgotten some special occasion.
‘It’s for you,’ he said simply. ‘I know we’ve both had a lot on lately, and I suspect I might have overdone it last night. So I wanted to do something to spoil you.’
‘Josh, this is amazing.’ She was genuinely touched. ‘You didn’t have to do this.’
‘I know, but I thought it might be nice. We haven’t had a proper date for a while.’ He caught sight of the upturned brolly in her hand. ‘What’s with the umbrella?’
‘Oh, this.’ Lizzie put it down on the sideboard and slipped off her shoes. ‘Long story. Never mind.’ She surveyed the room again, stepping forward to give him a big kiss. ‘It looks great in here. This must have taken you ages.’
‘Yeah, a while. I was feeling slightly fragile so I decided to watch the tennis at home instead. Then I thought I’d clean up and surprise you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘You were just starting to get me a bit worried, though. I suddenly had a horrible feeling that maybe I’d got the date of your hen do wrong, and then all my good work would have gone to waste.’
A shot of guilt jabbed at her again. ‘Sorry – I thought you’d be down the pub, otherwise I’d have called. How long have you been sitting here in the dark?’
‘Not long. I heard your car coming up the road. You’ve really got to get that exhaust fixed.’
‘I know. What happened to the bulb in the hall?’
‘Oh, that. I unscrewed it this afternoon for a bit of mood lighting,’ he said, looking pleased with his ingenuity. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll put it back later.’ He pulled out a chair and gestured for he
r to sit down. ‘You relax while I check on the dinner.’
‘What are we having?’
‘Homemade chilli con carne. I just need to get it off the hob. Back in a sec.’
She took a seat and poured herself a glass of Chablis, admiring Josh’s handiwork. He’d managed to find the good cutlery – even if he had put out the teaspoons instead of the dessert spoons – and the wine was beautifully chilled.
If this is what married life’s going to be like, bring it on.
Josh stepped back into the room, carrying a bowlful of chilli and a plate of boiled rice. Lizzie wasn’t starving after her late fry-up, but she helped herself to a large spoonful of each and tucked in enthusiastically. She knew from experience that Josh would probably polish off the rest anyway.
‘What a great idea,’ she said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I’m very impressed.’
‘So I’m not in the doghouse after last night, then?’ he said.
‘No, it’s fine, I’d already forgotten about it.’ By now it felt like a week ago. ‘It’s been a busy day.’
‘So what did you get up to?’
She set her glass down slowly as she debated how to answer that question, though Josh seemed oblivious to her hesitation. He shovelled a small mountain of food onto his fork and scoffed it happily, a bit of mince spilling down his Superdry T-shirt.
‘I went to the pool for a swim,’ she said, taking a bite of chilli and nervously chewing a kidney bean. ‘Then I had lunch with a friend.’ Tell him now, she urged herself. The sooner you bring it up, the sooner you can stop stressing.
‘Is Megan back?’
‘Oh, right. No, actually, I went to meet …’ She paused as he sprang up from the table. ‘You OK?’
‘Yep, I just forgot the sour cream.’ He bounded back out to the kitchen, returning moments later with it in his hand. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’
He looked down at her, his eyes wide and trusting like a giant puppy. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words refused to budge.