I felt my cheeks redden. ‘Yes, I was just about to leave when Patrick came over.’
‘Who were you waiting for?’
‘Someone I met on an internet dating site.’ I swallowed uncomfortably. My humiliation was complete.
‘You sure it wasn’t Patrick all along? You can be anyone you want on those sites, can’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Why would he do that? That’s just weird.’
‘Well, I suppose it means he gets to check you out before you know who he is, and then he looks like a hero for rescuing you when you’ve been let down.’
My jaw dropped. ‘Seriously? People do that?’
Anthony shrugged. ‘He’s not the most honest person in the world. I’d say he’s pretty much capable of anything. I mean, to leave you dangling, waiting for more phone calls after you dumped him for standing you up is pretty rotten. That was why you broke the phone, wasn’t it?’
I sighed heavily and carried on eating. Reaching for the bread, I ripped off a chunk and dipped it into the gravy. ‘I was angry, sure, but in my head it was over anyway and nothing he could say or do was going to change that. It wasn’t like I was hoping we’d repair the relationship. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to marry him any more. I felt like I didn’t even know him. He was so secretive. He never answered any questions I asked him with a straightforward reply. It was all “oh, you know how it is, baby, blah, blah, blah, change the subject”, but I didn’t know how it was at all. I didn’t have a clue. We never even talked about where we’d live once we were married. My life is here in Chester, but he’s based two hundred miles away in London. I was never going to be willing to move to London.’
Anthony glanced up in surprise. ‘Why not? People move all the time. Look at me. I’ve lived all over the place.’
‘Where have you lived then?’
He shrugged. ‘London, Essex, Hull, Tyneside, Sheffield, Birmingham. All over.’
‘Doesn’t it get lonely moving about all the time?’
‘No. It keeps life interesting. Seeing new things, meeting new people.’
I sighed. ‘I suppose I’m just a homebird, really.’
He chuckled. ‘We’re back to the fact that your shop’s called The Birdcage. Did you have any qualms about taking on your mum’s shop?’
‘Not at all. I always wanted to work there. I love it.’
Anthony’s brow was still creased in disbelief. He pushed his plate away, the food already gone. ‘So you left school and just went straight into working in the shop?’
‘No, I went to college and then did a business degree at uni.’
‘Which uni?’
‘Liverpool.’
He laughed and sucked in air through his teeth. ‘Ooh, don’t go too far now, will you? That must be almost a whole hour away. Did you come home every night for your tea?’
‘No!’ I said, feeling annoyed with him. ‘I lived in a shared house with some friends. I had a great time.’
‘And then when you graduated you came home and just worked in the shop?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re happy?’
‘Yes.’ My voice faltered and Anthony looked at me.
‘You’re not happy?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, I’m happy. It’s just that…’ I ran a tongue over my teeth, unsure of how to put into words what I’d been feeling lately. ‘Sometimes I feel like I peaked too soon. Does that make sense? I came out of university, moved back home, started working in the shop. Then my gran died and left me her house and Mum retired and now I run the shop. So I’m twenty-six now, and I have my own home and my own shop, pretty much, and it’s wonderful, but it feels like I came by it too easily. Does that make sense?’
Anthony stroked his chin and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘It’s a lot of responsibility.’
‘Yes, but it’s not the responsibility, really. It’s what comes next. People work for years to achieve what I’ve got, but I’ve got it already. That makes me sound like a spoilt brat, and I don’t mean to sound like that at all. I love it. Most of the time I don’t think like this at all and my head is full of building up the internet side of the business and attracting more clients and offering really different and edgy bouquets. I want the shop to feel like a little boutique that has a really unique signature style. And I’d love to hold more workshop tutorials; you know, floristry classes for beginners, that sort of thing. We had one the other week, just a small one, where Bobbi and I showed people how to make their own Christmas wreaths. It was lovely. We had wine and cheese and it was such a lovely evening. I’d love to do more things like that. But then sometimes, you know, late at night, when it’s dark and I’m lonely, I get to thinking that maybe my life will always be like this. Maybe I won’t meet anyone else ever again. Maybe I won’t get married and have kids. Maybe I’ll always live in my gran’s house and run my mum’s shop. Never growing, just living the same life I’ve always lived for the rest of my days. And that would be fine, really. It’s a nice life. I’d be lucky for that to happen. You know, steady and safe and drama-free. But there’s also the worry that maybe I’ll lose everything my mum’s ever worked to build up. What if I cock it up and the business folds?’ I took a deep breath and looked at him. He was watching me closely, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Either that or he was falling asleep. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on for ages. Ignore me. The simple answer to your question is life is good, but I worry a lot.’ I took a sip of water. ‘You must think I’m mad.’
‘Not at all. I think you’re very brave.’
‘Brave? Me?’ I laughed incredulously.
‘No, really. You’ve stepped up and taken on your family business, allowing your mum to retire. That’s an honourable thing to do.’ He cleared his throat and shifted position in his chair slightly. ‘I have a family thing. It’s not exactly a business… well, sort of… but when I came of age I ran so far and so fast from it my feet didn’t touch the ground. Taking on that… stuff… tying myself down… it terrified me. Still does now.’
‘Well, you have your own job now.’ I smiled encouragingly. ‘Your parents must be very proud of you.’
He laughed. ‘Not so you’d notice.’
I frowned slightly. ‘Do you still see them?’
‘It’s just my mum now. Dad died when I was fourteen.’
‘Oh no, I’m sorry. That must have been awful.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It was at Christmas time, too. I still don’t celebrate it.’
‘You don’t celebrate Christmas? Not at all?’
‘Nope. I hate it. Everything about it pisses me off. The lights, the trees, the decorations. The way people rush about all stressed-out, spending money they haven’t got. The wasted food. The drunk drivers on the roads. That’s how my dad died. Head-on collision with a drunk driver, asleep at the wheel.’
‘Oh no, that’s horrible! I’m so sorry.’ Covering my mouth with my hands, I looked at him, eyes wide with horror.
‘I expect you love Christmas, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘My mum and brother celebrate. It’s just me who’s the miserable bastard.’
‘Well, it’s understandable. How old’s your brother? Does he remember?’
‘Sort of. He was only nine when it happened.