No one from the Post Office had come either, which was no surprise. To Gabriel’s amusement, Vera had installed a cardboard cutout of Postman Pat. Someone was filming the meeting and planning to put it on YouTube. Very droll.
‘Have I missed anything?’ Marianne whispered.
‘Only John Silent’s fight ’em on the beaches speech,’ said Gabriel.
Vera had now got up and was thanking them all for coming again.
‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ she began. ‘The good news is that we have nearly 15,000 signatures on our Downing Street petition,’ (this raised a cheer) ‘the bad news is that I can’t get hold of anyone from the Post Office to come and meet with us and discuss a compromise. So we’ve decided to take the issue to them. And we’re planning a trip to London to visit the Post Office headquarters, as well as presenting our petition at 10 Downing Street. We’d like as many of you to sign up for this as possible, of course. Thanks to Ralph Nicholas, who has several friends in the media, we’re hoping to get some national coverage to raise our campaign further.’
‘Blimey,’ said Marianne, ‘that sounds impressive.’
‘Good for Vera,’ whispered Gabriel. ‘I never knew she had it in her.’
‘Well, you know what they always say about the quiet ones,’ said Marianne. The room was so packed her and Gabriel’s chairs were so close together their knees were nearly touching. She shifted a little in her seat to move away from him. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.
The meeting soon broke up, with people going to sign up for the London trip and promising to write more letters of protest. Marianne found herself agreeing to take minutes of the next meeting, while Gabriel, having confessed to an interest in Photoshop, discovered he was now going to be running an entire poster campaign.
‘Honestly, this village is hopeless,’ said Gabriel. ‘Give an inch and they take a mile.’
‘That’s what public service is all about,’ sniffed Miss Woods, as she stumped by with her stick. ‘We need more altruism in this world, not less.’
‘True,’ said Marianne, laughing. She picked up her coat and started heading for the door.
‘You’re not staying for a drink?’ Gabriel felt a sudden stab of disappointment.
‘Oh, um,’ Marianne looked awkward.‘I hadn’t really given it any thought.’
‘It doesn’t matter if you’ve got plans,’ Gabriel said in a rush. ‘It’s just everyone else is going and I thought—’
‘No, I don’t have any other plans,’ said Marianne, ‘a drink would be lovely.’
They made their way into the Hopesay Arms, the friendly local, which was cram-full of regulars and so busy it was three-deep at the bar.
‘I’ll get these,’ offered Gabriel. ‘What’s your poison?’
‘Half of lager,thanks,’said Marianne.‘I’ll look for a table.’
‘This is cosy,’ said Gabriel when he arrived eventually at the fireside table that Marianne had found.
‘Oh, I didn’t want you to think…’ Marianne blushed. ‘This was the only place I could find.’
‘Here’s fine,’ said Gabriel. He sipped at his beer, and there was a momentary awkward silence, before he said: ‘So, how does Hope Christmas compare to London, then?’
‘I love it,’ said Marianne. ‘Even though I grew up in London, I’ve never really felt like a city person. From the moment I came here I felt like I’d come home. Does that sound odd to you?’
‘Nope,’ said Gabriel. ‘I moved to London for work originally, then stayed for Eve’s sake, but my heart was never there. Not really. I always felt I was living in the wrong place, having the wrong life. Now…’ he paused for a moment.
‘Now?’ she prompted.
‘Well, even though Eve’s gone and everything,’ said Gabriel, ‘at least I feel I’m living the life I’m meant to be living. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Perfect sense,’ said Marianne.
The evening flew by, and, before Gabriel knew it, it was nearly eleven.
‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the teenage daughter of my neighbour babysitting and she’s got school in the morning. I’d better let her get home.’
‘Oh, I assumed Pippa must be babysitting,’ said Marianne.
‘She couldn’t. She and Dan were meeting a possible new supplier tonight.’
‘I’d better be off too,’ said Marianne. ‘It’s way past my bedtime.’
‘I’ll walk you home,’ offered Gabriel.
‘There’s no need,’ protested Marianne. ‘Honestly, I’m a big girl.’
‘And I’m a gentleman,’ said Gabriel. ‘And, as your fellow Lonely Heart, I insist on walking you home whether you like it or not. I have to protect you from any potential lotharios out there intent on breaking your vow of chastity.’
‘All right then,’ said Marianne, ‘if you insist.’
They got their coats on and made their way down the High Street towards Marianne’s cottage. It was a bright starlit night and the moon was full, the kind of night that was made for lovers, Gabriel suddenly thought. And whereas in the pub the warmth of the fire had led to a kind of cosy intimacy with Marianne, out here in the cold he was suddenly pulled back into the reality of both their situations. They really were two Lonely Hearts offering one another companionship. That was all. They walked the short distance back to her cottage in near silence. The intimacy from the pub seemed to have vanished somehow.
When they got there, Gabriel felt suddenly awkward. Suppose she thought…?
‘Must get in, early start and all that,’ Marianne gabbled. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening.’
She almost dived into her cottage. Gabriel was relieved. She clearly hadn’t been expecting anything. Which was good. As he had nothing to offer her. Nothing at all.
‘More wine, Angela?’ Catherine waved the bottle in front of her mother-in-law almost with bated breath. So far this was the first meal since her arrival that hadn’t been peppered with snide comments and sharp asides to Noel. It helped that Magda had gone out for the day, so Angela couldn’t harp on about why Catherine had to work and needed an au pair (especially such a lousy one) anyway. Thankfully, though Sergei had outstayed his welcome by two days, Catherine had managed to chuck him out before her mother-in-law’s arrival. Seeing as Angela had yet to forgive Cat and Noel for the year they’d lived in sin, she’d have been horrified to discover Magda cohabiting with her foreign boyfriend in the same house, corrupting her grandchildren, even if she appeared to heartily dislike said grandchildren.
‘No, thank you, Catherine,’ sniffed Angela. ‘I don’t like to overindulge in the middle of the day.’
But it doesn’t stop you knocking back a bottle of sherry in