Leonora was frowning in just the same way, so I must have got it right. She shook her head, obviously astounded that I was doing so well, and took Patrick off to find a drink.
It’s amazing how you can play a role once you’ve got the costume. Dressed up as Leonora, I was that serious girl. During the starter I regaled them with my views on the Health Service. As we ate our terrine of duck, I canvassed opinions on the Middle East. Pudding was enlivened by a discussion on Chinese orphanages. Leonora was staring at me open-mouthed. I knew she hadn’t thought I could do it. Patrick was clearly stunned. He hardly said a word all through dinner, presumably mulling over the serious issues I had raised.
Soon after Leonora had served coffee, Patrick excused himself, saying he didn’t like to leave his elderly mother at home alone. The others seemed to find that they had to leave, too, and very shortly we had the place to ourselves.
‘That’s funny,’ said Mike, as we helped Leonora pack the dishwasher. ‘I thought Patrick’s mother lived in Brighton.’
Leonora sighed. ‘I suppose it was silly to think a sophisticated man like Patrick would ever go for someone who just can’t help playing the fool.’
It was a relief to change back into my own clothes and brush my hair into its wild and woolly self. I’d shown that I could do Serious, but it was nice to see Gina again in the mirror. It was still only about ten o’clock when I set off on the short walk home. For some reason, I felt a bit depressed. As I passed the pub on the corner, it occurred to me I could do with a drink. I’d held back on the rather serious wine that Mike had provided, wanting to keep a clear head for the task in hand, but there was no need to stay sober now.
I’d bought myself a rum and blackcurrant and was just looking round for a seat when…No, it couldn’t be! Elderly mother, indeed!
I was about to hide and then thought, why should I be the one to be embarrassed? Instead, I went over and greeted him with a bright, ‘Hello there!’
Patrick looked up from his pint and I saw puzzled panic cross his face as he desperately tried to work out where he’d met me before. Oh, this was going to be good!
‘You look pretty miserable,’ I observed, sitting down beside him in a friendly manner.
‘Do I?’ He edged away nervously.
‘Yes. Anyone would think you’d just been to a dreadful dinner party and had come in here to cheer yourself up.’
‘Ah!’ One could hear pennies dropping. He eyed my lurid drink. ‘I could say the same about you.’
‘Well, there’s a coincidence.’
‘I don’t know what yours was like, but there was this terrifying girl at mine,’ Patrick confided. ‘She seemed to have spent her life reading miserable newspaper articles and watching gloomy documentaries.’
I smirked, as one who’d got full marks in the exam. ‘A serious sort of girl, you mean?’
‘Yes, very.’ He pulled a face.
‘Oh!’ I was rather taken aback. ‘Don’t you like being serious, then?’
‘Not in the least.’ Patrick sighed. ‘Just because I’m a lawyer, everyone expects me to be solemn and stuffy but I get quite enough of that in my job. I’d much rather be with someone who can see the fun side of life. Someone who’d drink strange purple concoctions instead of dry wine, for example. Now, I can tell that you’re not serious at all.’
‘I can be, if I try.’
‘Yes, I know you can.’ That was definitely a twinkle. ‘But maybe it’s a talent you should save for when you’re with serious people.’
‘Unlike you?’
‘Unlike me. I really prefer being quite silly.’
So Leonora had got Patrick all wrong. But she had been right about one thing. And he was even more gorgeous when he smiled. I could see that my new challenge would be to make him do that as often as possible.
‘Speaking of jobs, you should hear about the place I used to work. You’ll never believe what they made…’
Hardly a challenge at all. He was laughing already.
Sue Moorcroft
Sue Moorcroft has managed to wriggle out of all ‘proper jobs’ and works full-time as a writer and a creative writing tutor. As well as her novels, Uphill All the Way and Family Matters, she has sold over one hundred and thirty short stories to magazines in the UK, Norway, Australia, South Africa, Ireland and Sweden, three serials, the occasional article and has written courses for the London School of Journalism. She won the Katie Fforde Bursary Award in 2002. She likes reading, yoga and Pilates and scuba dives in a bimbly kind of way. She’s an armchair formula one addict and hates anyone trying to talk to her when she’s watching a race. Her latest book, Love Writing—How to Make Money Writing Romantic or Erotic Fiction is available in January. For more information about Sue and her writing, visit www.suemoorcroft.com
The Malta Option
‘I want to talk!’
Alicia angled her white lacy hat against the glare of the sun. ‘We’re talking.’
‘Only because I followed you to Malta!’ Grant, unwisely for one who disliked hot countries, wasn’t wearing a hat. His dark hair lay damp against his forehead.
‘We could have talked when I was in England,’ she observed reasonably. She fixed her eyes on a bright orange bus chugging through lots of other orange buses and past the horse-drawn carriages called karozzini. Hordes of people milled around the Triton Fountain in the centre of the terminus and the air rang with voices.
The sun was a demon in Malta in July and no one with any sense stood out in it like this. She fanned herself with the big soft-cover book about the history of the Malta Railway. She’d bought it to read this afternoon in the gardens. She kept herself af loat financially at the moment by writing articles about Malta: travel, historical, profiles of Maltese opera singers and snooker players. Her father had been Maltese; she was fascinated by the rocky island, so it was a labour of love.
‘But you were having a hideous time,’ she allowed, softening.
He gazed down into the Great Ditch over the metal railings that edged the bridge to the city gate. Here and there shrubs had seeded themselves into crevices in the mighty ramparts of Valletta, the honey-coloured citadel. ‘What’s going on, Alicia? You’ve abandoned your life, your family, your friends. You’ve been here for weeks—how long before you come home?’
‘Months, probably. But I hope for even a year or two.’
The shadow of stubble hollowed his cheeks and his eyes were very blue. He clenched his fist. ‘A year? I’ve been wrapped up in myself, I know, but I thought you’d understand why. That you’d wait.’
Between them hung the memory of that ghastly day when everything had changed, when he’d arrived at her door, red-eyed and desperate. ‘The doctors say Robbie hasn’t got long. It’s just a matter of time.’
Even now, she wanted to stroke his face, to kiss the sad lines from his mouth. Place her cheek against the hardness of his chest and hear his heart beat. ‘I did understand! I do. Having to watch Rob—you must’ve been out of your mind with grief when the diagnosis was leukaemia. I realise it became impossible for you to leave as you’d promised. I waited as long as I could.’
Grant touched the hot skin of her arm. ‘When Rob died I was in hell. In a black place inside myself. Michelle and me didn’t even pretend that the marriage was worth saving once he’d gone.’ His voice