entered him into a competition for the ultimate blind date. And now, Archie remembered their conversation on that final car journey, when he had promised Jay that, if he won, he would go. He’d taken little notice of the promise at the time. It had seemed irrelevant.
Despite his despair, despite his heavy heart, despite his grief, a slow smile spread itself across Archie’s face.
‘You bugger,’ he said to the sky. ‘You absolute bugger . . .’
Five
‘ H appy birthday dear Imoooooo . . .’
Imogen looked round at the smiling faces of her closest friends. They were all serenading her as Alfredo came in bearing the chocolate and chestnut gateau he had made and laid it reverently in front of her. Every year she came here for her birthday. It was the tradition. Nothing ever changed. Well, she didn’t. Her friends sometimes did – sporting engagement rings, then wedding rings, then baby bumps. But somehow Imogen always remained the same. Except this year. This year she was just the tiniest bit different, not that anyone seemed to have noticed.
Not yet, anyway. It would be all too evident the moment he walked through the door. She had hoped he would be here in time for the cake. Somehow that was important to her. But the door to Alfredo’s Trattoria on Shallowford high street remained firmly shut.
Meanwhile, thirty candles flickered in front of her eyes. Together with the spinach and ricotta cannelloni and several glasses of Gavi de Gavi, it made her feel slightly woozy.
She bent and blew out the candles.
‘Make a wish! Make a wish!’ ordered her friend Nicky as she passed her a knife to make the first incision.
Imogen hesitated. Making a wish wouldn’t have any bearing whatsoever on whether Danny McVeigh came through that door in the next ten minutes. It was up to him entirely.
‘Please, please, let that door open and let him walk in,’ she thought as the knife cut through the sweet chocolate icing.
Earlier in the evening, she had been buoyant with optimism that he would grant her the one thing she’d asked of him on her birthday: to come to her celebratory dinner. Even though he’d told her, categorically, that very afternoon, as she lay curled into him, that he didn’t think it was a good idea. ‘I won’t fit in with all your posh mates. They won’t want a bit of rough at the dinner table.’
‘I don’t care.’ Imogen grinned at him. A little bit of her wanted to shock her friends. Imogen Russell and Danny McVeigh – the scandal would ricochet round Shallowford in minutes. They had kept their relationship secret so far. It was early days, for a start, and it gave it more of an edge to keep it clandestine. His family would be just as horrified as hers to hear they had been seeing each other. The McVeighs didn’t mix with the likes of the Russells.
But now Imogen felt ready to bring it all out into the open. It was always far better to be in control of people finding out your secrets. And somehow her birthday seemed the right time to do it.
‘Please,’ she had begged him, snaking herself around him, entwining her arms and legs around his until they were as one. ‘It would mean a lot to me. It would be the best birthday present ever.’
‘Even better than this?’ He’d given her a wicked smile as he slid her hand down to feel him.
Foolishly, she’d taken that as agreement. She had convinced herself that he’d turn up. Now, the clock on the wall told her it was twenty past ten. It seemed very unlikely.
‘So? What did you wish?’ Nicky nudged her with a sharp elbow.
Imogen longed to tell her. She could picture Nicky’s jaw dropping in astonishment. Nicky, who had married the local solicitor and drove around in her pristine four-by-four with her two immaculate children and worked in the estate agency to stop her getting bored but who didn’t need to work at all if she didn’t want to . . .
That was, Imo supposed, the sort of life she should have. By now she should have married
Despite his despair, despite his heavy heart, despite his grief, a slow smile spread itself across Archie’s face.
‘You bugger,’ he said to the sky. ‘You absolute bugger . . .’
Five
‘ H appy birthday dear Imoooooo . . .’
Imogen looked round at the smiling faces of her closest friends. They were all serenading her as Alfredo came in bearing the chocolate and chestnut gateau he had made and laid it reverently in front of her. Every year she came here for her birthday. It was the tradition. Nothing ever changed. Well, she didn’t. Her friends sometimes did – sporting engagement rings, then wedding rings, then baby bumps. But somehow Imogen always remained the same. Except this year. This year she was just the tiniest bit different, not that anyone seemed to have noticed.
Not yet, anyway. It would be all too evident the moment he walked through the door. She had hoped he would be here in time for the cake. Somehow that was important to her. But the door to Alfredo’s Trattoria on Shallowford high street remained firmly shut.
Meanwhile, thirty candles flickered in front of her eyes. Together with the spinach and ricotta cannelloni and several glasses of Gavi de Gavi, it made her feel slightly woozy.
She bent and blew out the candles.
‘Make a wish! Make a wish!’ ordered her friend Nicky as she passed her a knife to make the first incision.
Imogen hesitated. Making a wish wouldn’t have any bearing whatsoever on whether Danny McVeigh came through that door in the next ten minutes. It was up to him entirely.
‘Please, please, let that door open and let him walk in,’ she thought as the knife cut through the sweet chocolate icing.
Earlier in the evening, she had been buoyant with optimism that he would grant her the one thing she’d asked of him on her birthday: to come to her celebratory dinner. Even though he’d told her, categorically, that very afternoon, as she lay curled into him, that he didn’t think it was a good idea. ‘I won’t fit in with all your posh mates. They won’t want a bit of rough at the dinner table.’
‘I don’t care.’ Imogen grinned at him. A little bit of her wanted to shock her friends. Imogen Russell and Danny McVeigh – the scandal would ricochet round Shallowford in minutes. They had kept their relationship secret so far. It was early days, for a start, and it gave it more of an edge to keep it clandestine. His family would be just as horrified as hers to hear they had been seeing each other. The McVeighs didn’t mix with the likes of the Russells.
But now Imogen felt ready to bring it all out into the open. It was always far better to be in control of people finding out your secrets. And somehow her birthday seemed the right time to do it.
‘Please,’ she had begged him, snaking herself around him, entwining her arms and legs around his until they were as one. ‘It would mean a lot to me. It would be the best birthday present ever.’
‘Even better than this?’ He’d given her a wicked smile as he slid her hand down to feel him.
Foolishly, she’d taken that as agreement. She had convinced herself that he’d turn up. Now, the clock on the wall told her it was twenty past ten. It seemed very unlikely.
‘So? What did you wish?’ Nicky nudged her with a sharp elbow.
Imogen longed to tell her. She could picture Nicky’s jaw dropping in astonishment. Nicky, who had married the local solicitor and drove around in her pristine four-by-four with her two immaculate children and worked in the estate agency to stop her getting bored but who didn’t need to work at all if she didn’t want to . . .
That was, Imo supposed, the sort of life she should have. By now she should have married
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