‘Poor Nick,’ she said. ‘If only I’d known he’d be the one playing Robbie, I would have written him differently. Other than for that photo, I had a free pass when it came to the boys’ appearances. Unsurprisingly for a man of his generation, Tim didn’t bank the finer details.’
He did, however, remember that Iris’s eyes were hazel. Mine are too, but that’s never felt like too big a coincidence, not like our shared birthplace. Plenty of people have hazel eyes. 18% of all Americans, in fact. (I’ve googled it.) But to me, the fact that Tim mentioned such a thing to Imogen – that herecalledthe colour of a woman’s eyes, seventy years after he lost her – feels like further proof that he was in love with her.
Don’t we all remember those eyes we stare into?
I glance to Nick’s, such a bright blue, then turn back to Tim, because he talks to me.
‘So, you’re Iris,’ he says, and it gives me a shiver, just hearinghim speak her name. The easy way he says it, his deep voice dropping on theis, you can tell he’s done it thousands of times before. I think he must be picturing her in his memory, and wish so much that I could see her face that he’s seeing, and discover whether it does – as I half hope, and half fear – bear any resemblance to the oneI’veseen, standing before her mirror.
‘And you’re Rob,’ he goes on, nodding at Nick. ‘And you,’ he switches his attention to Felix, ‘you’re me.’
‘I am, sir.’
‘Couldn’t they have found someone more handsome?’ he says, a glint illuminating his eyes.
‘He’s teasing,’ says Roger.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Felix with a grin. ‘I already assumed as much.’
And Tim laughs – a low, rolling laugh that’s fun, and good – and blindsides me by being as instantly familiar as his stare, triggering a rush of such strange, instinctive affection in my heart.
Then pain, when I see how rapidly Tim’s laughter exhausts him. Within seconds, he starts wheezing, and Roger goes to him, helping him back into his chair.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ Tim tells us, once he’s settled, waving at the room’s single settee, ‘then I won’t feel so conspicuous doing it.’
So, taking off our jackets, we sit, cramming together on the settee’s cushions, our jackets stuffed between us, me ending up in the middle.
‘Comfy?’ Tim enquires.
‘Yes,’ we all lie, ‘thank you.’
In an effort to distract myself from both Nick’s and Felix’s legs, touching mine, I glance around the room. It’s very snug, with a thick carpet, and roaring gas fire. In front of us is a coffeetable, laden with our promised afternoon tea, and next to the fire is a sideboard that bears several framed photographs.
‘If you’d come a bit sooner, you’d have seen your birthday card there,’ says Tim, following the direction of my stare. ‘Someone’s taken it though, Taken them all … ’
‘We haven’t taken them,’ says Roger, soothingly. ‘We’ve put them away in your bedroom, remember?’
‘Oh yes.’ Tim’s brow furrows. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I’m glad you got mine,’ I say.
‘I was very glad to get it,’ he says. ‘Thank you.’ He nods. ‘Good, I wanted to say that.’ He looks to Roger. ‘You won’t need to remind me.’
‘No,’ agrees Roger, ‘I won’t.’ Then, to Nick, Felix, and me. ‘Will you have some tea? Chef won’t want to see leftovers.’
Thanking him, we help ourselves to the spread on the table, exclaiming on how incredible it all looks as we load up our plates (whatever, really; I’ve long since given up on the calorie counting and body-watching that made me so miserable in my twenties), and wedge ourselves back onto the settee.
‘Iris had a sweet tooth too,’ says Tim, as I take a forkful of torte. ‘When we were little, and my mum used to take Rob and me to the pantomime, Rob would save his chocolates for her.’
Silently, I nod.
Neither Felix nor Nick say anything either.
We already knew about the interval chocolates, of course. They’re in the novel. But it really is …surreal… to be hearing about them from Tim. It’s amazing to be sitting here with him at all,Tim Hobbs, talking about Iris and Robbie as real people, not characters in a book.
‘I wish I’d worked harder at making my mum ask Iris along to those pantomimes,’ he continues. ‘She said it wasn’t proper, having a girl out with us, but what she really meant was she didn’t want to be seen with a scruffy girl.’ He sighs.‘I hope Iris can see you all, making a film about her. I hope her mum and gran can. And Rob.’ He considers that for a moment. ‘He wouldn’t be surprised. He always knew Iris was the cat’s pyjamas.’ His eyes meet Nick’s. ‘You understand that I think.’
‘I do,’ says Nick, but not without a pause.
