laughing but walking while I did it.
‘It isn’t? What could be worse than that?’
‘At some point, you’re going to hear your story again but it’ll be a million times worse as it’s told back to you. Your bad date stories – being told by someone else – always come back to haunt you.’
‘Ah, great, thanks for that.’
‘No problem.’
‘You have to promise to tell me if I become boring though, OK? Don’t just dump me at the table and leave – tell me I’m being boring.’
‘You could never be boring.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said as we came to a road where I could see LC, my white automatic Micra. (LC was short for Little Car.)
After I dropped the material off at Medina’s, he and I had a quick drink before closing time because he had to rush to get his train back to Essex.
‘It’s Evan, by the way,’ he said as he brushed a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’m Evan, not Ewan.’
‘But I’ve been calling you Ewan all night. Why didn’t you say?’
‘I’ve already had one woman walk out on me tonight, I didn’t need to ruin things with another woman.’
‘OK, Evan, I’m sorry I got your name wrong. But I had a fabulous time and you’re not boring at all.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and cupped my chin in his hand, then leant towards me and kissed the end of my nose. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Yeah.’
As I lay in bed that night, I knew it was going to work out with Evan. Fate had brought us back together. And he was gentle. Good looking, nice, funny, but also gentle. I had teased him and he hadn’t slapped me in return. He hadn’t shouted at me or sulked or made me feel afraid. People I knew often told me that was what men were really like – my sisters told me, too, but I never completely believed them. How could I, when the only man I knew in that way was not like that? He was not tolerant, he was not gentle, he had a very limited sense of humour.
Evan wasn’t like him . Even when I got his name wrong he didn’t seem to mind. He could laugh at himself, he could laugh at me, he seemed like one of the gentlest men I’d ever met. That was why my conscience was unsettled. My conscience knew that with a gentle man that Fate had returned to me, I could probably be happy.
With a gentle man, I could start to dig my way out of the prison I had been living in.
Verity is quiet and nervy the whole drive home. Her eyes keep looking in the rear-view mirror and the wing mirror and out the back window just to be sure there aren’t any more police around. That’s the problem with age: you start to see more things to worry about. If Conrad had been in the car, he would have thought it was cool to be stopped by a police officer, it wouldn’t occur to him until it actually happened that it could end with me being thrown in prison. And even then he wouldn’t take it that seriously until he was told that he wouldn’t be seeing me at home again for a very long time. Verity, unfortunately, knows what the police mean and she can also decipher the nuances of conversation. Which is why Evan and I now row – mostly – in the car when the kids have gone to sleep. Even sarcasm upsets her because she can tell there’s something going on.
As soon as we get home, she kicks off her trainers and leaves them scattered under the coat rack, wrenches off her burgundy denim jacket and slings it on top of the trainers and runs upstairs. Probably to write in her diary, maybe to cry, definitely to find an outlet for what happened. I would go after her if I didn’t suspect it would cause more harm than good. I don’t know what to say to her that would make her feel any better about what happened.
Con and Evan are in the kitchen, eating ice cream over the island.
‘I can’t believe you eat that stuff,’ I say to Evan, feeling my stomach turn as I watch the white mounds on their cones slowly disintegrate. ‘It’s basically just sugar and lard.’
‘Oh yes, I know,’ he says.
‘I can’t
‘It isn’t? What could be worse than that?’
‘At some point, you’re going to hear your story again but it’ll be a million times worse as it’s told back to you. Your bad date stories – being told by someone else – always come back to haunt you.’
‘Ah, great, thanks for that.’
‘No problem.’
‘You have to promise to tell me if I become boring though, OK? Don’t just dump me at the table and leave – tell me I’m being boring.’
‘You could never be boring.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ he said as we came to a road where I could see LC, my white automatic Micra. (LC was short for Little Car.)
After I dropped the material off at Medina’s, he and I had a quick drink before closing time because he had to rush to get his train back to Essex.
‘It’s Evan, by the way,’ he said as he brushed a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’m Evan, not Ewan.’
‘But I’ve been calling you Ewan all night. Why didn’t you say?’
‘I’ve already had one woman walk out on me tonight, I didn’t need to ruin things with another woman.’
‘OK, Evan, I’m sorry I got your name wrong. But I had a fabulous time and you’re not boring at all.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, and cupped my chin in his hand, then leant towards me and kissed the end of my nose. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Yeah.’
As I lay in bed that night, I knew it was going to work out with Evan. Fate had brought us back together. And he was gentle. Good looking, nice, funny, but also gentle. I had teased him and he hadn’t slapped me in return. He hadn’t shouted at me or sulked or made me feel afraid. People I knew often told me that was what men were really like – my sisters told me, too, but I never completely believed them. How could I, when the only man I knew in that way was not like that? He was not tolerant, he was not gentle, he had a very limited sense of humour.
Evan wasn’t like him . Even when I got his name wrong he didn’t seem to mind. He could laugh at himself, he could laugh at me, he seemed like one of the gentlest men I’d ever met. That was why my conscience was unsettled. My conscience knew that with a gentle man that Fate had returned to me, I could probably be happy.
With a gentle man, I could start to dig my way out of the prison I had been living in.
Verity is quiet and nervy the whole drive home. Her eyes keep looking in the rear-view mirror and the wing mirror and out the back window just to be sure there aren’t any more police around. That’s the problem with age: you start to see more things to worry about. If Conrad had been in the car, he would have thought it was cool to be stopped by a police officer, it wouldn’t occur to him until it actually happened that it could end with me being thrown in prison. And even then he wouldn’t take it that seriously until he was told that he wouldn’t be seeing me at home again for a very long time. Verity, unfortunately, knows what the police mean and she can also decipher the nuances of conversation. Which is why Evan and I now row – mostly – in the car when the kids have gone to sleep. Even sarcasm upsets her because she can tell there’s something going on.
As soon as we get home, she kicks off her trainers and leaves them scattered under the coat rack, wrenches off her burgundy denim jacket and slings it on top of the trainers and runs upstairs. Probably to write in her diary, maybe to cry, definitely to find an outlet for what happened. I would go after her if I didn’t suspect it would cause more harm than good. I don’t know what to say to her that would make her feel any better about what happened.
Con and Evan are in the kitchen, eating ice cream over the island.
‘I can’t believe you eat that stuff,’ I say to Evan, feeling my stomach turn as I watch the white mounds on their cones slowly disintegrate. ‘It’s basically just sugar and lard.’
‘Oh yes, I know,’ he says.
‘I can’t
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