“I know. I don’t intend letting him go,” Neve replies, grinning at me behind the old lady’s back.
“Why don’t you show your young lady the garden and I’ll make us all a cup of tea.” She disappears back into the kitchen before we can refuse.
“I think she loves you.”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t?” I worry it’s too early to make such a joke. Taking her hand, I kiss our joined fingers. “I’ll get her to tell you about her husband. She’ll love the chance to tell someone else.”
“You’ve become quite the romantic, haven’t you?” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. “I’m not complaining. It’s sweet.”
“Oh, look at the two of you there. There’s nothing like young love.” Mrs Jones gazes into the distance. Into the past.
“It’s all doing well, isn’t it?” I ask, pulling her back to the here and now.
“Oh, yes. I’ve been watering the myrtle. Look how much it’s grown!” I look over and can see it has flourished since I was here last. “That was such a lovely gift, Jake.”
“It’s nothing.” It’s everything.
Mrs Jones sits down and, over tea and a slice of home-made cake, she tells Neve all about Jack. I sit back and watch the way Neve listens intently, asking thoughtful questions whenever the old lady drifts off into her memories.
When it’s time to go, we each hug Mrs Jones and I’m glad we’ve brought some happiness into her day. I promise to pop back soon and she waves us off as the van pulls away.
I drive to the house I worked on last week and show her the front garden from the van.
“What did you do there?”
“The usual tidying and planted a new hedge.” She knows.
“What’s the hedge made of?” She knows I know that she knows.
“Oh, you know, shrubs.” It’s a struggle to keep the grin in.
“And would those shrubs be myrtle?”
“Maybe,” is as much as I’m willing to say.
“You really are a romantic, aren’t you? How many gardens now have myrtle growing in them?”
“All of them.”
“All of them? Really?” Her voice is tinged with some emotion I can’t work out.
“All, except one.” I tell her the story of the lonely housewife who made a move on me. Well, most of the story.
“I think this is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Jake. I don’t know how you’ll ever top it.”
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying,” I promise, leaning over and kissing her.
“Shall we go to the park?” The weather is too nice to mean we can have a repeat of yesterday, but that’s okay. I’m happy to just be near her.
We sit on a bench, close to the play area, and watch the families making the most of the chilly but bright morning. My mind wanders to images of us as a family doing the same. There’s a little girl, with the same long, blonde hair as Neve, who runs ahead of us. I’m teaching a fair-haired boy to ride his bike. Neve is recording it on her phone and laughing at his wibbly-wobbly success. We are the perfect, happy family.
“You okay? You look miles away.”
“Yeah, just thinking.” There’s no bloody way I can admit what I was thinking about. We’ve only been back together a day. And we still need to sort things out. Clear the air so we can move on.
But not now. Not today.
I turn to face her and rest my forehead on hers.
“I know we need to talk about what happened, but I want us to have enough time to work out what the future will look like. I’ll get things covered so that I can come to yours the weekend after next. Would that be okay?”
“Of course.” Her lips lightly touch mine. “And we’ll sort it.” Kiss. “I promise.” Kiss. “I’m not losing you again.”
I kiss her back, showing her I feel exactly the same.
God, I love this girl.
“So, you’re back to playing Romeo and Juliet?” I smiled at Kema’s little dig, having spent enough time around her to know she couldn’t help her sarcasm.
“Don’t say that. They ended up dead!” Mickey cried, helping himself to another slice of pizza. We were supposed to be having a study party, but it had somehow ended up being more about gossip around the kitchen table than revision.
“Okay. Which story is it like then? All those stupid fairy tales we’re fed from birth where the only thing for a girl to do is get herself a prince and she’s guaranteed a happy-ever-after? They don’t even have a life after they get married, for God’s sake!”
“They’re not all like that,” Ruby said, quietly standing up to Kema’s strident feminism. “And those stories are hundreds of years old, from when girls didn’t have any life other than being a wife and mother. It’s different today.”
“So, tell me a story which ends differently then.”