A Little Love (7 page)

‘Us? Is there an “us” already? That uncle of mine is a fast worker!’ William held up his raised palm for Bobby to high-five.

‘Sod off, both of you!’ It was the best Pru could come up with.

‘Pru, I do believe you are blushing!’ William sniggered.

‘Well, I am now, because you are saying that!’

‘Pru and Christopher sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’ the two shouted before collapsing in laughter against the fridge.

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Bobby, you are so childish! And anyway we didn’t do any kissing and there were certainly no trees involved. We did however have a quick whizz around the dance floor, which is quite different to a smooch.’ With that she swept from the room, leaving them to whoop and holler as she walked away.

Delightful!

She knocked on Milly’s door and walked into her bedroom. Her cousin was in her bed, with her glasses perched on the end of her nose and
EastEnders
on quietly, with the subtitles.

‘What’s all the bloody noise out there? I can hear those two squawking away!’

‘Oh, they’re having a field day, teasing me.’

‘Teasing you about what?’ Milly drew her knees up under the duvet.

‘What do you think? My new hair-do? Christopher, of course!’

The day after the party, Pru had finally cracked and told her all about their rather lovely afternoon. She had then fired questions at her perplexed cousin. Did Milly think he liked her? What might happen next? Milly had tried to answer but eventually, exasperated, had held a cushion over each ear and watched the news, ignoring her.

Now Milly nodded and removed her specs. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve only met him once, and so logically I don’t know how I can like him! But this doesn’t feel very logical, not at all.’

‘That’s not a yes or no.’

Pru sighed. Milly knew her better than anyone else, knew what she was thinking, was familiar with her every mood. ‘Yes. Yes I do. I like him a lot. It’s weird, Mills. We just clicked and I can’t get him out of my head, not for a second, and that’s never happened to me before.’

‘You’ve got to enjoy it, every minute of it.’ This was Milly’s blessing. It conveyed so many things, but primarily she was saying, don’t worry about me, and go grab your chance.

‘D’you think so?’

Milly nodded. ‘I don’t think, I
know.
’

‘Well, if you
know
, Mills, then I’d better just go with it, hadn’t I? It’s funny though. I was chatting to Alfie—’

‘As you do.’ Milly found her cousin’s interactions with her deceased brother a little bit bonkers.

‘As I do. I was telling him about Bobby, how beautiful she looked, and ping! There he was.’

‘Alfie?’

‘No, of course not Alfie! Christopher! But it was odd, almost as if Alfie sent him to me, like a gift. Does that sound a little bit mad?’

‘No, love. It sounds a lot mad. Anyway, I thought you were still hanging on for Tom Jones?’

‘No, I gave up on Tom a while ago.’

‘I bet he’ll be gutted, poor Tom.’ Milly sniffed.

‘He’ll get over it.’

‘It’s funny, isn’t it. There was you having a go at me for eating gone-off chicken, but if I hadn’t, I’d have been glued to your side and you might not have met him. You should be thanking me.’

Pru slid off her cousin’s bed and opened the door. ‘You’re right. Thank you, Mills, for nearly poisoning yourself. You silly moo.’

‘You’re welcome, you daft cow.’

And the two laughed, in that way that they had since they were little.

But a week passed and Christopher still hadn’t called. Pru’s mood soured and she snapped at Guy, which she never did. Spying a batch of bloomers that were blackened on one side and fit only for the bin, she had yelled, ‘For every tray that is allowed to spoil, we lose money! Why don’t I just get a handful of fivers and put them straight in the bin? Save us both the time and effort!’

He looked mortified. She pinched her nose and whispered her apology. ‘I’m sorry, Guy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

But, actually, she did know what was wrong with her. The joy at meeting Christopher had buoyed her up for the first few days, filling her with energy and a new optimism for life that took her by surprise. This had now been replaced by self-doubt and something close to embarrassment, a feeling that she might have horribly misjudged the situation. She regretted confiding in Milly and not having been more indifferent about the situation to Bobby.

The day after the party she had checked her phone every few minutes. Having exchanged numbers, she expected a call or a text. The thought of having to text a response, however, worried her. She wasn’t that speedy on the little keypad and could take minutes to respond; and what if he used text speak, of which she knew very little? Eventually she reassured herself that the Government Chief Whip was fairly unlikely to pepper his written communication with LOL or C U L8R – these two abbreviations she had gleaned from Bobby. But this quickly became a moot point anyway: after three days she had received neither call nor text and she was more than a little fed up.

Pru sat at her dressing table and took a deep breath. Steeling herself, she decided to take the bull by the horns and initiate communication. After all, this was the twenty-first century: she could send the first text without being considered brazen! If he didn’t respond, she would be no worse off, but if he did, then it would have been worth this excruciating awkwardness.

‘This is ridiculous, Alfie. I’m so nervous! Look, my hands are sweating.’ Pru held out her palm. ‘I feel sick. I don’t want to mess it up, but I’m worried that if we don’t have contact soon, there won’t be anything to mess up. What’s the matter with me?’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘Normally I can talk to anyone, stroll into any house, however posh, and talk cake until the cows come home! And yet I can’t send a simple message. I know, I know, just get on with it.’

She twisted her blouse in her hands until finally she exhaled. With her finger poised, she considered what to put.

After ten minutes, she had erased both
Hi there!
for sounding too much like a teen catching up with someone she had snogged on Prom night, and
Just wondering…
for being both too formal and too familiar. It was a minefield. Pru slammed the phone down on to the wooden surface and placed her head in her hands. ‘Just give it up, Pru,’ she muttered aloud. ‘If he liked you, he’d have called you. Simple as.’

Her finger hovered over the delete button. She figured that if she removed his contact details, it would be easier to ignore the fact that his name wasn’t flashing on her screen.

Pru and Milly were in the sitting room. It had been rather a long day and both were looking forward to an early night. It was only late April, but the unseasonably sticky London night air was so thick you could stir it with a spoon. Milly had thankfully ditched her tiger suit and was wearing cool cotton PJs. The sash windows were open and the French doors in Pru’s bedroom that led to the little Juliet balcony were thrown wide, yet hardly a breeze crept in.

Pru stood and fanned her face with a copy of a glossy bridal magazine that Bobby had left on the floor. ‘I think I’ll turn in, Mills.’ She stretched her arms over her head, instantly regretting the pull on her shoulder muscles. ‘Oh I’m getting old!’ she grumbled, and arched her back and dropped her chin into her chest, trying to fix her aches.

The front doorbell buzzed in their hallway.

‘Who’s that at this time of night?’

‘How do I know, Milly? What am I, psychic?’

Pru trod the pale, carpeted stairs and slid the bolts, untwisting the double lock before opening the door on to its security chain. This happened on occasion. Living on a busy street meant they were prey to the occasional drunk and prank doorbell ringer, both of whom she found particularly unhilarious. Through the crack beneath the door chain she saw neither a drunk nor a dandy in a dinner jacket with grinning mates standing behind. Instead, she stared, wide-eyed with surprise, into the face of Sir Christopher Heritage. He stood close to the door; the toes of his shoes rested on the polished brass step and his hands were buried in his trouser pockets. Pru fumbled with the chain and released it.

‘Actually, I lied to you,’ he said.

‘What?’ Pru’s heart thudded as much at seeing him again as at the prospect of an unpleasant revelation.

‘I
do
know why I talk to my late wife. I talk to her because I’m lonely and it makes it slightly better to think that I can still tell her about my day and what’s going through my head. There’s no one else for me to talk to. And you’re right, it makes me feel that she’s still around in some way.’ He was almost gabbling now. Pru had to concentrate hard to keep up. ‘And when you left, I wasn’t wondering about your route home, I was wondering if I could see you again, but I lost my nerve and I’ve been kicking myself ever since. It’s been over forty years since I’ve had to say something like that and I’m rather out of practice.’

Pru beamed. She’d caught every word. ‘Well, for someone that’s four decades out of practice, you seem to be doing rather well.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled.

‘So, what I wanted to say was, can I see you again, Pru Plum, Chief Whip?’

‘Are you asking me out?’

‘Yes. Yes I am.’ This time he sounded confident.

‘When?’

Christopher sighed and looked up and down Curzon Street. ‘Now. Right now. Let’s go wandering in the park and continue our chat. That is if you’re free. It’ll be nice and cool in the park.’

Pru exhaled. ‘Well, there
is
a cup of cocoa with my name on it, a plate of hazelnut shortbread and a pillow awaiting my tired head, but I guess they’ll keep.’

She wished she hadn’t rubbed at her eye make-up and removed her lipstick while she’d watched the telly. It was too late to reapply; he would just have to take her as she was. She felt a swell of excitement rush through her, banishing the tiredness that had gripped her only minutes earlier.

‘I better go and get some shoes!’ She wiggled her bare toes.

‘Yes, sensible walking shoes, not those silly high ones you carried around for half the day; they were more useful as gloves! And you might want to lose that magazine, could give a chap the wrong idea.’ He loosened his collar with his index finger to let out imaginary steam.

She giggled at the
Brides
magazine in her hand. It felt rather like he was being bossy, looking after her, and she liked it.

Christopher barely had time to admire Guy’s latest window display before Pru reappeared beside him, suitably shod. They walked along Curzon Street, keeping at least a foot of pavement between them. Christopher gripped his hands behind his back as they strolled and Pru wondered if this was to stop him reaching for her hand. Her stomach lurched at the idea.

‘I didn’t expect to see you,’ she offered.

‘Oh, really? I knew I’d see you.’ He winked.

‘Did you?’ She felt her chest cave with anticipation.

‘Yes, definitely. We had such a lovely time in Oxford. I would have come sooner had I been in London.’

Would have come sooner…
‘Have you been away then?’

Christopher stopped and turned to look at her. ‘Yes. Do you not listen to or watch Parliament?’

‘No. It’s not really my thing.’ She smiled.

‘Not your thing? Well it should be your thing; it should be everyone’s thing! If you don’t listen and watch how your country is being governed, you might miss something of great importance.’

‘Ooh dear, I don’t want to miss anything of great importance.’

‘Exactly. Plus it’s my job and I have a regular speaking slot. So it might be nice for you to take some interest.’ He feigned hurt. ‘I mean, can you imagine if I said cakes were not my thing?’

‘Are cakes not your thing?’

‘Dammit!’ he boomed. ‘Yes, cakes are my thing. I love them! However, had you been tuned in, you would have known that I have been up to my neck in beer, cold sausage and debate in Berlin.’

‘And not avoiding me.’

‘
Avoiding
you? Perish the thought.’

The two chuckled into the warm night air. Their conversation and demeanour were so relaxed that no onlooker would have guessed it was only the second time they’d met. They crossed Piccadilly and meandered through Green Park and across The Mall, until they found themselves in St James’s Park. They strolled along the winding path, disturbing ducks that hovered on one leg trying to sleep, and ignoring lovers who sat entwined on benches. They found themselves on the bridge, where they leant on the pale blue railings. The sky had started to lose its colour and the trees took on ominous shadowy shapes. They heard but could barely see the swans that broke the surface of the water with beating wings and honks of arrival. Other couples, indistinct in the half light, walked arm in arm without giving them a second glance. Pru beamed into the encroaching darkness. She felt connected to these dreamy-eyed couples, like they were all in the same secret club.

‘This is my favourite place in the whole of London.’ He inhaled a deep, appreciative breath.

‘Mine too!’ And if it wasn’t before, it would be now.

‘We’re lucky, aren’t we, to live in the middle of a city and have this green space on our doorstep.’

‘We are. I’ve never lived anywhere else, mind, always London, so I haven’t really got anything to compare it with.’

‘Have you ever wanted to live anywhere else?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. A snapshot from the day she’d moved to Kenway Road flashed into her head. Relocating from her childhood home in Bow to Earls Court had felt like a big adventure, another world. As if she had crossed oceans and not in fact less than ten miles, door to door. She remembered looking out from the sixth-floor window at the washing lines, hidden windows and secret gardens that were only visible at that height; it had felt peculiarly intimate. In this vast city, she’d thought to herself with a little jolt of pleasure, where millions of strangers co-existed without ever interacting, she would know who washed their bed linen and when because she would see it arching against the breeze.