‘I suppose you’re young. If it doesn’t work out, you can always come home,’ she conceded, taking another sip of her drink.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I raised my eyebrows in disdain.
‘Sorry, Lucy, if I’m not overjoyed at the prospect of losing you again. You’ll know yourself one day when you have children.’ I absolutely hated it when she used that line.
‘Look, Mum, it’s not like I’m going to Australia. It’s an hour flight away. And like you said, if it doesn’t work out, I can come home. I need to go, to try. Or else I’ll never know. Maybe you’re right, maybe the whole thing will blow up in my face, maybe that’s exactly what I deserve after leaving Rob. Who knows? But if I don’t go, I will wonder for the rest of my life. I can’t lose him.’
She seemed to get the message for now as she sat back in her chair, the immediate tension slowly dispersing.
‘When am I going to get to meet this mysterious man of yours?’ She resigned herself to the fact that it was going to happen, and knowing her, she was already planning on keeping the enemy close. That was exactly what John would be, if he ever hurt me. He was already sailing close to the wind by being Irish.
‘This weekend,’ I said, mentally hoping I could persuade him to come this way for once. It was important she met him. Hopefully, it would put her mind at ease once she saw how amazing he actually was.
‘Wonderful.’ Her clipped tone did not match her words.
Chapter Thirty
FRIDAY 16TH NOVEMBER
I couldn’t get out of work quick enough, it was becoming a bad habit on a Friday afternoon, but I was beyond excited to have John on my turf. The day had dragged. I checked the clock fifteen thousand times, much to the annoyance of poor Helen, my nurse for the day. She had to put up with my impatient huffing and puffing.
Eventually I finished, fled and parked up my little BMW on one of Winchester’s backstreets, where I could abandon it for the entire weekend, if necessary. I left my little red case in the boot for now, having booked us into the hotel round the corner for two nights for a bit of privacy away from my usual lodgings at Ruth’s house.
Straightening my black dress, I flung a cream-coloured scarf loosely round my neck, grabbed my handbag, and crossed the street into one our local haunts, a pub called The Bishop on The Bridge. The name spoke for itself; a beautiful spot with a beer garden overlooking the river. Inside, it was spacious and bright; one of the nicer pubs we frequented.
I pushed the door open, spotting John right away. He sat in the corner, with a bottle of Heineken, flicking through the local newspaper. I took a minute to admire him, drinking in that redhair, pale skin, and beautiful blue eyes. He dressed casually in a navy pullover, jeans and Timberland boots. The all too familiar butterflies partied in my stomach, and my heart raced in his presence.
He glanced up, sensing he was being watched and I couldn’t prevent the grin that ambushed my face. It was surreal to see him here, in one of my favourite haunts. I’d wanted to show him off for so long.
‘How are you, gorgeous?’ He stood to greet me and I literally flung myself at him without any shame.
‘It’s great to have you this side of the water.’ I kissed him fully on the mouth with zero concern for my recently applied Mac.
‘Easy, girl.’ He winked at me and squeezed my butt. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘Sit down, I’ll get you one.’ It was the least I could do when he’d come all this way.
‘Don’t be daft.’ He ushered me into the seat next to his. ‘Prosecco?’
‘Thank you.’
He returned swiftly from the bar, with another drink for himself as well.
‘What kind of pub is this you sent me to? No Guinness or Heineken on draft. Your man behind the bar tried to flog me some home brewed local shite, but I can’t say it sounded particularly appealing.’
‘How was your journey?’ I snuggled in, enjoying the warmth of him, and the smell of him, fully able to appreciate his accent again this side of the water.
‘Don’t get me started on that.’ A crease formed on his forehead as he remembered. ‘I honestly don’t know how you do it every week. It was an eyeopener.’
‘That bad?’ It had become so routine for me. I’d learnt to get on with it. Organisation was key, and I was grateful to be able to do it.
‘Three feckin’ changes on the train. And each one more wedged than the previous. Sardines in a tin, literally. A total invasion of privacy. There were mums trying to shove buggies in crevices that they really shouldn’t have. People pushed against my front, back and side. It was wall to wall; the smell was rancid and the humidity from all of those jostling bodies was disgusting. I thought I might vomit at one point.’
I tried to stifle a giggle.
‘How do people live like that?’ he asked disdainfully.
‘They know no other way,’ I said simply. ‘If your commute is like that every day, you get used to it; grateful if the train arrives on time, grateful for that tiny space because all you want to do is get where you have to be.’
