‘Yep,’ Theo replies. ‘Mind if I have a go?’ he asks me.
‘Watch your fingers; the tines are sharp,’ I warn as I hand the brushes over.
‘Shall I put the bunnies back?’ George interrupts.
‘Sure. Ta,’ I reply.
He picks up Annie and walks out.
I get the feeling he wasn’t expecting to spend his Friday afternoon like this. He returns to collect Theo’s rabbit a couple of minutes later.
‘Why were you laughing?’ Theo asks when George has walked out of the barn again.
He’s asked me this question every single day over the last fortnight, still keen to know why I cracked up in hysterics on the bus.
‘I am not telling,’ I repeat with a grin.
There’s no way I can admit to what I wanted to make out of his hair. He’d think I’m barmy.
Theo tuts and shakes his head.
‘I would show you how to spin this into yarn, but I think George has had enough bunny fun for one afternoon,’ I whisper when George reappears, purposefully saying it loudly enough for him to hear me.
Theo grins over at him. George raises his eyebrows, and rocks impatiently on his heels.
‘I need a smoke,’ Theo declares bluntly. ‘Is there anywhere we can go that’s safe from your parents?’
‘My parents won’t bat an eyelid.’ I get up and push my chair back in.
‘Still, I’d rather not flaunt it in their faces.’ He catches sight of himself as he stands up. His lap is covered in white fur.
‘That’ll teach you not to wear an apron.’ I laugh at the look on his face.
‘I can’t wait to explain this one,’ he mutters.
‘What did your family say about your lip?’ I ask.
He shrugs. ‘They didn’t notice.’
I stare at him as he pats his pocket for his cigarettes. I turn to gauge George’s reaction, but he doesn’t seem at all surprised.
I realise then and there that Theo may, on the surface, seem as if he has it all, but he’s damaged like everyone else who comes here.
Chapter 13 Now
‘Thanks so much,’ I say to Robin as I reach for my door handle.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies in his baritone Canadian accent. ‘Call me if you need a lift home, okay?’
‘No, no, we’ll definitely catch a cab,’ I hear Becky assure him as I step out onto the pavement. ‘You should get an early night.’
Through the window I see my old friend lean across the centre console to peck her husband on his bristly cheek.
I like Robin – I always have – but I don’t know him well. This journey into Ripon has helped me get to know him a bit better, although I still couldn’t tell you what he does for a living. Something to do with computers and finance, but Becky cut him off before he could grant my request to explain in more detail.
‘Don’t, we’ll be asleep before we get there.’
He laughingly brushed off her ribbing.
I thought Robin was still abroad when I rang to ask Becky if she fancied going out for dinner. When I discovered he’d only returned from his business trip to Canada this morning, I expected her to turn me down so she could spend the evening with him. But she jumped at the chance to have a girls’ night out.
Robin insisted on driving us. He’s lovely: tall, dark and handsome. Tonight is one of the rare times I’ve seen him in casual clothes, and he seemed more approachable somehow: more of a cuddly giant than an imposing businessman.
He drives away and Becky and I grin at each other.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt excitement.
I actually enjoyed the process of getting ready this evening and Becky has made an effort too. She’s wearing black jeans and a long-sleeve black lace top and has blow-dried her dark chin-length locks to shiny perfection.
As for me, I dug out my curling tongs and now my previously limp ’do has a bit of a kink to it, falling in tousled dark-blond waves to a couple of inches free of my shoulders. I’m wearing heels for the first time in ages – suede ankle boots – with a thigh-length navy shirt dress. I’ve put on a little weight thanks to Mum’s home cooking over the last few weeks, but I know I’m still too thin. The dress helps to disguise my slight frame.
Robin has dropped us off near the cathedral and it makes for a spectacular view as we click-clack along the pavement beside the towering beauty. The setting sun is hitting the warm sandy-coloured stone of the building and making it shine a golden orange, while its myriad of tall arched windows are reflecting the light and sparkling back at us blindingly.
Across the road is the Cracked Teapot. Festoon lights hang from the leafy tree outside, making the place look inviting even though it’s dark and empty and the outdoor furniture has been packed away for the night. Twinkling fairy lights are suspended from the window frames inside too, along with a blackboard propped up against the glass, revealing the day’s specials. Tomorrow’s cakes will be banana and caramel, coffee and walnut and a classic Victoria sponge – I know because Mum was baking them earlier. She also made animal biscuits for Emilie with brightly coloured icing: yellow giraffes, pink hippos and green crocodiles.
I should say ‘with’ Emilie, but I know that my daughter was more of a hindrance than a help. Still, they looked as though they were enjoying themselves.
The warm summer air is perfumed with the scent of the roses growing in nearby garden beds as Becky and I cross over the road to the high street. The road slopes down and curves away to the right, and bunting zigzags between the old terraced buildings on either side, fluttering in the breeze.
I’ve booked us a table at the pub where George works, but the fact that it’s my favourite place to go out in Ripon doesn’t alleviate my guilt. The sad truth is, I’m itching to see him.
My butterflies spiral into a frenzy at the sight of him behind the emerald-green panelled bar. He’s pulling a pint, his dark eyes cast downwards, but then he looks up and sees me, doing a double take. His initial surprise transforms into genuine pleasure. I smile at him, feeling very edgy indeed, and then Becky reminds me of her presence.
‘Is that George?’ she asks with surprise.
She saw him at the wake and we’ve spoken briefly about his return, but she didn’t know he worked here at this pub.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
She helped pick up the pieces after he left, but she never fully understood why I was so destroyed. The spring that George came to live with us coincided with Becky contracting meningitis, and in the summer, she got her first boyfriend, so she wasn’t around much. If she had been there, I doubt George, Theo and I would have got so close.
‘Eh up,’ George says as we walk up to the bar. He finishes with one pint glass and reaches for another. There’s a man waiting.
‘Hi.’ I smile and prop my elbows on the polished mahogany bar top.
‘Are you here for dinner or drinks?’ George asks.
‘Dinner, but we’ll have a quick one at the bar first, shall we?’ I check with Becky.
‘Why not?’ she replies, dragging a stool over the weathered stone floor and perching.
Natalie is down at the other end of the bar. She sees us and comes over. ‘What can I get you?’