Page 6 of The Three of Us
Jack yawns. His working week is catching up with him, but they are in London and he wants to enjoy it, have some fun. What was the alternative? To slump in an armchair in front of the TV like a middle-aged man, picking at a plateful of pasta from a tray on his lap? Watching some soap opera or an old film he’s seen before, and nodding off by eleven? He doesn’t want that sort of a life. Not now. Not yet. Maybe never.
They emerge into a bustle of bodies crowding the pavement, people stopping to cross the road, work out their bearings, look up at some statue or other. There are big black taxis whizzing past, the constant noise of traffic, and the shops are still open, racks of curling postcards and tacky souvenirs, music and bright lights spilling out all around them. Molly looks at it all in wonder and slips her hand down his arm, gripping tightly at his hand as if she’s afraid they might get separated in the crowd and she might get lost.
‘Well, we did it, Mol.’ He bends a little and speaks close to her ear. ‘Like it or not, we’re Londoners now.’
‘I don’t know about that.’ She takes the opportunity to kiss him, aiming for his lips but just skimming his cheek as he straightens up again. ‘But now we’re here, we might as well make the most of it. Is that a cinema over there?’
‘It’s Leicester Square, Mol, so yeah, it definitely is. It’s the one where they have all the big opening-night premieres, I think. Shall we go and see what’s on and if we can get a ticket for later?’
‘Do you think we might see anyone famous?’
‘I doubt it. They may turn out in force for a premiere, but I don’t suppose they hang about here on a normal night. But you never know. Even film stars and pop singers go out on the town, and they have to eat, don’t they? And London’s the place to be. We might find ourselves sitting next to Beyoncé!’
‘Doesn’t she live in America?’
‘Well, someone British then. Ed Sheeran…’
‘Who?’
Jack drops a kiss on the top of his wife’s head. ‘You do make me laugh sometimes.’
‘So long as you’re not laughing at me.’
‘Of course not. I just love how unaware of things you are sometimes. As if you still live in a little village bubble that the big wide world can’t touch. And I wouldn’t change that – or you – for the world.’
‘Good.’ She squeezes his hand. ‘I love you too.’
They walk on in silence, but Jack knows he didn’t actually say that he loves her. He feels a little stab of guilt about that, but the moment has passed and it’s too late to say it now. They stop outside the Odeon and look at the films on offer. He’s lucky that she has agreed to move here with him, not put up a fight or make things difficult. She is doing her best to support him, let him have what he wants, even though he knows none of this is her dream. His stomach rumbles, and he realises just how hungry he is. There are restaurants everywhere, so much choice, so much life, and it’s all here for the taking. He knows he owes Molly so much more than a burger and chips.
Chapter 6
Carly
‘Got yourself a nice young man yet?’ Mum looks up from her crossword as I let myself in through the back door, as I do most Saturday mornings, and head for the kettle.
‘Mum! A hello first might be nice.’
‘Hello, Carly. Got yourself a nice young man yet?’ She puts her pen down and I can see that she’s teasing me, but underneath the banter I’m pretty sure she means it. A single Carly is a disappointing Carly, as far as she’s concerned.
‘There’s more to life than men, and you know it. Now, do you want tea or shall I just go straight out again?’
‘Don’t be silly, love. When have you ever known me to say no to a cuppa? And your brother will be back from the allotment soon. I know he’ll want to see you.’
I drop teabags into two cups, add three sugars to hers and pour the water on. ‘Got any biscuits?’
‘Of course. Not that I should be encouraging you. We don’t want you putting on too much weight, do we? All that sugar…’
‘Says the woman who has three spoons of it in her tea.’
‘Ah, but I don’t have to think about my figure so much these days. Now that your father’s gone… not that he was bothered by things like that. Had more interest in the size of his beetroots than the size of my waistline.’ She forces a laugh but it doesn’t hide the loss I can still see in her eyes, even now, almost six years after he died of cancer, in his mid-fifties. He was far too young to die, and she’s far too young to be a widow, I think. They should be enjoying their life together now, going on cruises and holding hands on some foreign beach, now that the two of us are grown-up and can take care of ourselves, but instead she’s diverting all her romantic aspirations in my direction. Nice young man, indeed!
I locate the biscuit tin, bypassing the Rich Teas and helping myself to two chocolate-chip cookies.
‘How’s work?’ she says.
‘Okay. The usual.’ An image of Jack Doherty flashes into my mind, reminding me that things are suddenly far from usual, but I push it away.
‘And the flat? Is Frances behaving herself?’