Million Love Songs(45)

On Wednesday morning, when my phone rings again, I’m about to leave it unanswered then I glance at the number and it isn’t Mason. It’s Joe and my heart pitter-patters a bit even though I don’t want it to.

‘Hi,’ I say when I pick up.

‘Hi Ruby. It’s Joe Edwards. Sorry to bother you, but I’m calling to say that I can’t make our lesson tonight.’

‘Oh. I thought Bob was teaching me now.’

‘He’s not able to make it either. We’re short-handed so we’ve had to cancel the session. It doesn’t happen often and normal service should be resumed next week. I’m sorry.’

‘I hope nothing’s wrong.’

‘Work-related issues for me. We’re doing our first film show for the public at the centre – I managed to raise some funds. My colleague was due to be on duty, but she’s sprained her ankle and is laid up for a few days. I’ve stepped into the breach.’

‘That’s very noble,’ I say. ‘I hope you enjoy the film.’

‘I’m not sure it’s my bag,’ Joe laughs. ‘We decided to let the residents choose what we show. This one’s going to be Love, Actually.’

‘Oh, that’s a great movie. One of my favourites.’

There’s a pause which goes on a bit too long, before Joe says, ‘Would you like to come along? As my guest. I’d be glad of your support.’

Before my brain has time to process the invitation, my mouth already says, ‘Yes. That would be lovely.’

‘Are you happy to come along by yourself? I’ve got to get there early to set things up and I’m sure you don’t want to hang around, otherwise I’d pick you up. The film starts at eight o’clock, but we’re serving drinks in the bar beforehand.’

‘I’m working until seven, so I’ll come along straight after that.’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you later.’

Then I hang up and wonder if I’ve actually just organised myself a date. I can’t have. Can I?





Chapter Thirty-Seven





The Sunshine Woods community is to the south of Costa del Keynes which makes it handy for me to drive to when I leave work as it’s barely ten minutes from the Butcher’s Arms. I get changed quickly in the staffroom – clean white shirt, beige cigarette-cut trousers, black heels. I fluff my hair, spray myself with a waft of Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb and put some lippy on too. Looks as if I’m saying I made an effort, but not too much. I hope so, anyway.

Now I swing into the complex and park up. It’s bigger than I’d imagined with a couple of dozen small houses arranged around a pretty courtyard. Each one has a French door that opens onto a small lawn and there are well-tended flowerbeds in full bloom with the last of the spring flowers. There’s a café here too, closed now, and I can see a small hall ahead of me. A sign in slightly wonky writing says, film, this way!, so I pick my way through the manicured garden. In the foyer there are a few people already gathering and as I step inside, I see Joe all spruced up in a white polo shirt and black jeans standing with one of the residents. He smiles when he sees me and it’s filled with a warmth so genuine that, for a moment, it takes me aback.

‘Hi Ruby,’ he says. ‘I’m glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure you would.’

‘I said I’d come.’

‘Billy,’ he says to the man with him. ‘This is my friend, Ruby. Say hello and ask her would she like a programme.’

The man is probably in his forties and has Down’s Syndrome. ‘Hello, Ruby. Would you like a programme?’

‘I would. Thank you.’

He hands one to me with a smile. ‘I like you. Have you got a husband?’

That kind of question still manages to take the wind out of my sails. I expect everyone thinks I’d be happily settled down by now. ‘No,’ I smile. ‘Sadly not.’

‘I don’t know why. She’s nice, isn’t she, Joe?’

‘Yes, she’s lovely,’ Joe agrees. ‘Let me get you a drink. Remember to say hello to everyone who comes in, Billy. Don’t ask all the ladies if they’ve got a husband.’

‘OK.’ He grins at us both.

Joe steers me towards the bar. ‘Sorry about that. Billy’s great, but sometimes he’s a bit over-familiar. He wants to marry everyone he meets.’

‘Ah. And I thought it was just me.’

Joe laughs and slips behind the small bar in the corner to join a young barman standing stiffly with a tea towel over his arm. ‘What can we get for you, madam?’ Joe asks. ‘Wine? Red? White?’

‘I’d better not while I’m driving. A Coke will do.’

‘Happy to do that, Eamon?’ The barman nods enthusiastically. ‘Don’t forget to ask if your customer would like ice and a slice of lemon.’

‘Ice? Lemon?’

‘Yes, please.’

When it’s done, Eamon lifts the glass as if he has a nest of delicate bird’s eggs in his hands and places it in front of me with a satisfied beam.

‘Excellent,’ Joe says. ‘That’s great, mate. Well done.’

Eamon proudly smooths down the front of his shirt.