Oliver had waited, flicking through the prints folder, as she took the customer’s details, then stuck a red spot on the label beside the picture. As she returned to her desk, he looked at his Rolex and asked if, at five to six, she was closing. Thrilled to have made the sale, she had had to phone Caroline first to tell her the good news, then happily agreed to go for a very quick drink before she had to rush home to cook the children’s supper.
She smiled as she got on the bus, remembering those magical days of snatched encounters: coffee in the gallery, a walk round the local park, lunch, a drink in the pub. Oliver was funny, concerned and, most importantly, interested in her life. Despite her half-hearted attempts at resistance, she had felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, unable to stop herself, simultaneously curious and alarmed about what might happen next. At last, three weeks after they’d first met, the moment had come when she had turned to him as they stepped out of Bistro Pepe and he had taken both her hands and leaned towards her. She had pulled back, aware of and unable to believe what was coming, but he had pretended not to notice. It didn’t matter to him that they were in a public place and that people might look askance at a younger man kissing a definitely middle-aged woman. As his lips touched hers, she felt as if she’d come home at last.
That night he’d accompanied her home and she’d invited him in for coffee. The day before, she had put the children on the train for Cornwall where, as always, they were spending the last five weeks of their long summer holiday with Simon’s family just outside St Mawes. Without them, the emptiness of the house bore down on her.
One kiss had been all that was needed to puncture the ten years of overwhelming numbness she’d felt since Simon’s death. Left on her own with two small children, then aged only five and three, she’d had no alternative but to batten down her emotions and concentrate on helping them cope with the lack of their father. What was important was that she kept Simon alive in their minds, making sure above all that they knew he’d loved them. To do that, she couldn’t include another man in their lives, however frequently her friends and family said that was exactly what the children, and indeed she, needed. Until now. At first the sex was awkward, unfamiliar, embarrassing, but Oliver’s confidence and consideration drew her out of herself until she relaxed and moved with him. Since that first night together, Oliver hadn’t left except to go to pick up a few clothes and check out of wherever he’d been staying. And she had never wanted him to.
Ellen couldn’t remember when she had felt so indifferent to what her neighbours thought of her. The net curtains of Oakham Road might be twitching as she and Oliver came and left together – let them! The only people, apart from her family, whose opinion she particularly cared about were Kate and Bea. She could imagine their faces when she told them about Oliver. After so many years of knowing her as a devoted widow and committed single mother, they would be completely taken by surprise. But keeping Oliver to herself made their relationship all the more precious, all the more intense. She didn’t want that to end by going public, even though she knew that, once the kids came home, she would have to. If not sooner.
When she did, Kate would listen to her without interrupting but Bea would probe, making Ellen give away details before she was ready. Up until now, Ellen had treated Bea’s own endeavours to hook a man with some scepticism, but suddenly she understood something of what her friend must be looking for. The discovery of Oliver had thrown a switch inside her that she had forgotten existed. That was all Bea wanted to experience. Ellen saw that now. With the menopause beckoning, they might have only a last few throws of the hormonal dice.
Musing on that unpleasant truth, she unlocked the door to the gallery, pushed up the security shutters and sorted her papers, ready for the usual steady flow of Saturday customers. She was in the back, looking at Starship, considering whether to buy the picture for Oliver as a memento of their meeting (so what if he didn’t have anywhere to hang it?), when the bell rang. Perhaps it was too soon to make such a big gesture, but she had the rest of the morning to think about it. In the meantime she would put her back into some work and go through the programme for her next exhibition, making sure everything was on track.
She went through to see her first customer of the day, and was surprised to find Kate standing there, the only woman she knew who was over fifty and could get away with a skimpy pale pink T-shirt and white linen trousers. Suddenly she felt self-conscious about the old cotton dress she’d yanked off its hanger that morning. What they said about a moment on the lips was true. All those consolatory biscuits that she’d packed away over the years had made their home very comfortably on her hips.
‘Kate! Good to see you. It’s been ages.’
‘That’s why I thought I’d drop by. Where have you been hiding yourself?’
Ellen’s mobile rescued her from having to answer. ‘Just phoning to tell you I love you.’ The sound of Oliver’s voice transported Ellen into her garden where she imagined him sitting.
‘Don’t be silly. You’ve already said that once today.’ Ellen laughed with pleasure.
‘Three times if I remember right,’ he corrected her.
‘I’ll see you later. Can’t wait.’ Ellen was anxious to cut the conversation short in front of Kate, who was staring at her open-mouthed. ‘I’ve got a customer with me.’
‘’Bye, darling. See you soon.’
‘Who on earth was that?’ Kate was watching Ellen’s face with amazement. ‘You’re absolutely glowing.’
Ellen couldn’t stop a grin spreading across her face. ‘I wanted to tell you,’ she began, ‘but I wasn’t ready or it wasn’t the right time. Look, sit down and I’ll fill you in before the gallery gets busy.’ An intense feeling of relief came with this unlooked-for opportunity to spill the beans as she launched into how she and Oliver had met.
When Kate heard that Oliver was only forty at most, she exploded: ‘Does he know that you’ve got at least eight years on him?’
‘Well, no. In fact, he hasn’t mentioned age at all. I thought that was so tactful that I decided to go along with it.’
‘But what will he think when he finds out?’
‘He won’t. Not yet anyway. He did ask me what my HRT pills were but I just told him they were contraceptives – if only – and I pretended the thread veins on my legs were scratches from the roses in the garden. And I told him I’d been grey since my early thirties! One of the drawbacks of having jet-black hair as a kid.’
‘Ellen Neill! I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Neither did I. At least, I’d forgotten. But white lying’s not the only thing I haven’t forgotten how to do.’
‘Not the only thing?’ Kate was so absorbed in the story that the exhaustion Ellen had noticed disappeared as her face grew more animated. Suddenly she cottoned on to what Ellen meant. ‘My God! How long have you known him? Four weeks? You don’t hang around, do you?’
‘I know. It does seem ridiculously quick but I haven’t felt like this since . . . I can’t remember when. Honestly, I feel like a teenager with a first crush. I think about him all the time, wondering what he’s doing, if he’ll phone. Do you remember that feeling? I’m as surprised as you are,’ she said, watching Kate’s expression. ‘I never imagined anything like this would happen. I never wanted anyone coming between the kids and Simon but I don’t think Oliver will. He’s so kind and considerate. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be wanted by someone and to share all those endless day-to-day tasks that otherwise you deal with on your own. It’s all happened so fast and – I know this sounds silly – I feel really happy for the first time since Simon died.’