‘There are a few things in The Eighties Mix I could live without.’
‘You better not be talking about this,’ she said, swaying along to Duran Duran. ‘Or you can stop the car, and Dylan and I will walk.’
‘No need.’ He smiled. ‘This is one of the better ones. And you’ll be pleased to hear I like nearly all the soundtracks stuff.’ He threw another smile at her, took a left turn, and glanced at her a second time. ‘Becky?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you have glitter on your face?’
‘Oh sugar!’ She pulled down the sun visor to look in the mirror as Dylan chuckled at her non-swearing. ‘I hate greetings cards with glitter on.’ She rubbed her cheek with her coat sleeve. ‘You brush against the stuff once and your face sparkles for a week. It’s worse than sand after the beach.’
‘Nothing’s worse than sand after the beach.’
‘I know, right? And everyone always talks about going to the beach as if it’s the Promised Land. I’d prefer to be by the pool.’
‘Me too.’
They returned their eyes to the road and sat smiling to themselves, bathing in the enjoyable stew of mutual grumpiness which was also a regular feature of their Thursday movie nights. Over a bowl of popcorn they would share their lists of increasingly middle-aged things which ticked them off. Becky had come up with a few things which had made Charlie almost choke with laughter and Charlie’s peeves had a snarly originality which made Becky smile every time she recalled them.
Charlie followed Becky’s directions to the centre of Barnsby and parked next to the post office. In an unspoken division of labour, he went to pay for the parking while Becky scooped Dylan and the nappy bag out of the car.
She had just got Dylan positioned on one hip to counterbalance the weight of the nappy bag, when Charlie stepped in. ‘I’ll take him. You lead the way.’
‘Thanks.’ As she handed Dylan over she looked Charlie up and down. ‘You should have left your glasses on. You might miss something. I’d still have glitter on my face if you could drive without them.’
‘I only need to see you two. Stay close and I’ll be fine.’
Charlie smiled and held her gaze long enough for Becky to feel a flush creeping into her cheeks. She was glad when Dylan started squirming and Charlie had to look away to adjust his grip on the wriggling toddler. Not for the first time, she wondered how a man of so few words could leave her struggling to put her own thoughts together.
She cleared her throat. ‘OK then. It’s not far.’
They walked shoulder to shoulder down Barnsby High Street, Becky attempting to stop herself overthinking Charlie’s last comment by staring at the shop window displays. Christmas had already come to most of them, held in check temporarily by the ghouls of Halloween.
At the end of the street was their destination: the town hall, an unfortunate child of a post-war era when the concrete Mayan temple was the ultimate in architecture. Having arrived early, they killed time in the lobby. Becky put down the bag and took off her coat. Compared to the sunny freshness outdoors, the environment inside was a greenhouse with condensation clinging to every windowpane.
They soon discovered that Dylan found the revolving door enchanting, and Charlie patiently accompanied him round and round the alternative carousel until the toddler slipped out of his coat to make a run for Becky. Dylan flung himself into his mum’s arms and she swung him into the air, kissed him and fussed over his hair. Looking up, she caught Charlie’s eye. ‘We should get going,’ she said. ‘The lift’s down there.’
Dylan bolted through the lift doors, rushing to the back to stare at himself in the mirror. Waiting until the doors were fully open, Charlie and Becky stepped in together.
‘Which floor?’
‘Third,’ she said, sucking in her tummy as he reached across her to jab the button.
The doors closed and the lift rumbled into life.
Nearing the first floor, Becky sneaked a glance at Charlie. He was staring at the floor number display, running a finger around the inside of his collar. He shifted slightly and his arm brushed against hers. The hairs on her arms prickled. They hadn’t been in such a small space together since August at the train station.
Charlie coughed and Becky whipped her gaze down to her shoes in case he should catch her peeking at him.
They reached the second floor.
He coughed again. ‘That dress is nice.’
‘Really?’ She was wearing a short dress in her favourite bright blue. A swirl of white butterflies floated over its surface, dancing around its pinched waist and up to the high neckline. She looked up and into his eyes. ‘Thanks. I wasn’t sure about it. Ever since having Dylan I’m not sure anything looks good on me any more.’ She gave his jacket cuff a tug. ‘Your outfit’s great. How are you coping with the noose?’
He raised his hand to the tie. ‘I’m getting used to it.’
The doors opened onto the registry office’s characterless waiting area. The one thing in its beige favour was a basket of miscellaneous toys in the corner. Dylan headed straight for the plastic phone, eager to start his important calls.
Becky looked at her watch and waved Charlie over to the seats. He took the chair next to hers and tapped his thumbs together while staring at the sheen of her shoes. ‘Becky, I already have a good idea, but are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?’
‘Sorry for all the mystery, but I was sworn to secrecy.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Charlie, you are here to witness something which doesn’t happen often enough: things turning out well for a good person.’ She grinned as she launched into the whole story, keeping it as brief as possible.
When she had finished, he contemplated her for a few seconds and then said, ‘You’re beyond pleased about this, aren’t you?’
‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am. I deal with so many people I would secretly love to slap; days like today are a relief.’
‘Ah. You don’t slap all your clients, then?’ His lips curled. ‘Does that make me special?’
She blinked but kept her mouth shut. So he did remember! And after his brain had been so thoroughly marinated in whisky too. She dropped her gaze and played for time by fiddling with her watch, hoping they wouldn’t have much longer to wait. While she would have liked to know if he could recall the words which had accompanied the slap, now wasn’t the time to take the top off that can of worms.
Refusing to be goaded, she matched his teasing tone. ‘Too right you are. I’ve said it before, but I should charge you extra.’
Becky was saved from having to get further into what was likely to be an awkward conversation by the arrival of the lift. With a jaunty bing! the doors opened, revealing the bride and groom. Seven months pregnant, Clarice was blooming in every sense. She swelled into her knee-length white gown, proudly presenting her bump under a sweetheart neckline. Towering protectively at her elbow, Steve was all lanky jitters, but beaming nonetheless.
The registrar showed them into the ceremony room, which would have held a congregation of forty. As it was, the two and a half witnesses stayed at the back until they were called to sign the register.
When proceedings were under way, Charlie edged closer to Becky. ‘So she’s managed to keep her pregnancy hidden from everyone back home, they get married, disappear, and then move back to the Comptons when the baby is old enough that few people will bother asking whether it was born in wedlock?’