‘And an up-for-it expression.’
‘Always. He’s currently sniffing around Charlotte the King Charles Spaniel, who has a coquettish eye patch and a cute little nose. He can’t wait to get his paw over.’ His eyes crinkled. He hadn’t shaved and the stubble accentuated the hollows of his cheeks.
Diane snorted inelegantly. ‘How sad – you have a prurient interest in the imaginary sex life of a painted beagle.’
James settled more comfortably on the bench and sank the first half of his pint efficiently. ‘OK, let’s talk about your nephew, George – as he’s taken my fragile daughter out tonight.’
Diane lowered her glass. ‘They were getting on brilliantly the other day. I was pleased to see her cheerful and doing something as normal as taking an interest in a boy. Aren’t you happy?’
He waited as his lamb tikka was placed before him, ripping into an oval of naan bread before replying. ‘Of course I am, because, as you say, it’s normal for a twenty-year-old and Tamzin hardly ever behaves like a normal twenty-year-old. But I have this urge to charge round to George’s house, pin him against the wall and tell him the boundaries.’ His jaw hardened. ‘I hate it that he does drugs. It just needs her to fall for this clown – if he treats her like rubbish, she could be right back at square one. Depression, starving, self-injuring–’
‘Whoa!’ Diane’s voice emerged loudly in the still evening air and two little girls with bunches paused in their game with a toy horse to gaze, wide-eyed. She lowered her voice to a fierce growl, her words rushing over one another in irritated little leaps. ‘George is all right. He sings and plays guitar in a band, he goes to Anglia Ruskin uni, he’s pleasant and polite. He’s been very close to Bryony and has never acted like “a clown” with her. And. He. Does. Not. Do. Drugs.’
James brought his face close to hers. ‘I’m afraid he does,’ he whispered. ‘I heard Tamzin on her phone ask him what was so special about an E and why he had to have one.’
Slowly, Diane relaxed. ‘Don’t be such an arse.’
James hesitated. ‘What?’
She felt the corners of her mouth begin to curl. ‘The only E he uses is hisharmonicain the key of E. The key of E is his favourite vocal range. But you might have heard her talk about C or G, too.’
‘Oh ...’ Slowly, James’s smile crept across his fine lips. ‘That is such a relief. I didn’t even know that harmonicas were in specific keys.’ His grin widened. ‘All right, I’m sorry. You can stop your scary voice.’
Laughing unwillingly, Diane pulled a face. ‘Sorry. But George has a special spot in my heart.’
He began to eat. ‘So I see. Quite reassuring, the way you jump to his defence.’
Diane struggled with her conscience. Presently she said, ‘Of course, he’s not a saint. He’s a nineteen-year-old boy and I can’t pretend that he won’t …’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, they’re young adults – ’
‘I get the picture,’ he said, shortly. ‘Testosterone will kick in.’
Diane reached out and pinched a piece of his naan and a plump cube of lamb to go with it. ‘Like you?’
His eyebrows almost flew off his face. ‘What?’
She picked up his fork and stole some more lamb, with rice this time. ‘I said, “Like you?”’ She pointed his fork at him. ‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Judge not lest ye be judged. If you’re the pot, don’t call the kettle Burned Arse.’
‘Oh.’ He picked up his beer and stared sightlessly at the tubs of flowers losing their colour in the twilight.
She took up the dessert menu. Chocolate fudge cake.Very pub grub. Probably sticky toffee pudding, too. Yes, there it was near the bottom. Ooh, cherry crumble … Mmm, summer pudding … Lemon meringue, ice cream sundae. ‘What’s dime cake, do you think?’
‘No idea.’ James balled his napkin and tossed it onto the table where it unfurled and hung in his tikka. Diane flinched automatically at such a waste but her mind had turned to dessert. ‘Would you like –?’
‘No, thanks.’
She wiggled her fingers to catch the attention of a waitress who was clearing nearby tables, ordered, then sat back and awaited the arrival of her dime cake, while James scowled into his beer.
The dime cake arrived – chocolate biscuit base, chocolate mousse, marshmallow, meringue and chocolate sauce. Slowly, she dug her spoon through the squidgy mousse and broke into the base. And groaned. The first mouthful was orgasmic. She shut her eyes the better to concentrate on the mousse’s contrast with the biscuit and meringue and the rich chocolate that pervaded them all.
She opened her eyes ready for the next bite to discover James’s gaze fixed on her. She offered him a spoonful.
For a moment he did that thing where his eyes smiled but his lips didn’t bother. Then he leaned forward to close his mouth gently around the spoon. His eyes widened. ‘Mm.’ He signalled a thumbs up. ‘Mm-mmm.’
She agreed with a, ‘Mmmm,’ of her own. His hand closed over hers to guide another load between his lips.
When the last skerrick of mousse and crumb of biscuit had been scraped from the thick white plate by the surprisingly intimate act of taking turns with the same spoon, James sighed. ‘So. Now you’ve had some time to think about it, what’s the state of our relationship?’
Heart thumping suddenly, she blinked, licking crumbs of chocolaty meringue from around her lips. ‘You’re my husband’s brother-in-law?’
