The front door shut with a bang, and there was noise then on the stairs, Tom’s footfalls winding up and up towards her, and with a sudden rush of blinding desire Juniper forgot about the past, she turned away from the garden, from the stray cat with his leaves and the sad old lady crying for Coventry Cathedral, the war outside the window, the city of stairs that led to nowhere, portraits on walls without ceilings, and kitchen tables of families who no longer needed them, and she flitted across the floor and back to bed, shedding Tom’s shirt on the way. In that moment, as his key turned in the door, there was only him and her and this small, warm flat with a birthday dinner laid out.
THEY’D EATENthe cake in bed, two enormous slices each, and there were crumbs everywhere. “It’s because there’s not a lot of egg,” said Juniper, sitting with her back against the wall and surveying the mess with a philosophical sigh. “It isn’t easy to make things stick together, you know.”
Tom grinned up at her from where he lay. “How knowledgeable you are.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
“And talented, of course. A cake like that one belongs in Fortnum & Mason.”
“Well, I can’t tell a lie, I did have a little help.”
“Ah, yes,” said Tom, rolling onto his side, stretching as far as he could towards the table and capturing the newspaper-wrapped parcel—just—within his fingertips. “Our resident cook.”
“You know he’s not a cook, really, he’s a playwright. I heard him speaking with a man the other day who’s going to put on one of his plays.”
“Now, Juniper,” said Tom, carefully unwrapping the paper to reveal a jar of blackberry jam inside. “What business does a playwright have making anything as beautiful as this?”
“Oh lovely! How heavenly,” said Juniper, lunging for the jar. “Think of the sugar! Shall we have some now with toast?”
Tom pulled his arm back, holding the jam out of reach. “Is it possible,” he said incredulously, “that the young lady is still hungry?”
“Well no. Not exactly. But it isn’t a matter of hunger.”
“It isn’t?”
“It’s a matter of a new option presenting itself after the fact. A sweet and glorious new option.”
Tom turned the jar round in his fingers, paying close attention to the delicious red-black spoils inside. “No,” he said at length, “I think we should save it for a special occasion.”
“More special than your birthday?”
“My birthday’s been special enough. This we should keep for the next celebration.”
“Oh, all right,” said Juniper, nestling in against his shoulder so his arm contained her, “but only because it’s your birthday, and because I’m far too full to get up.”
Tom smiled around his cigarette as he lit it.
“How was your family?” said Juniper. “Is Joey over his cold?”
“He is.”
“And Maggie? Did she make you listen as she read the horoscopes?”
“Very kind of her it was, too. How else am I supposed to know how to behave this week?”
“How else indeed?” Juniper took his cigarette and drew slowly. “Was there anything interesting, pray tell?”
“Marginally,” said Tom, sneaking his fingers beneath the sheet. “Apparently I’m going to propose marriage to a beautiful girl.”
“Oh, really?” She squirmed when he tickled her side and a smoky exhalation became a laugh. “Thatisinteresting.”
“I thought so.”
“Though of course the real question is what the young lady is forecast to say by way of reply. I don’t suppose Maggie had any insight into that?”
Tom pulled his arm back, rolling onto his side to face her. “Unfortunately, Maggie couldn’t help me there. She said I had to ask the girl myself and see what happened.”
“Well, if that’s what Maggie says …”
