Million Love Songs(89)

‘What are you doing here?’ I mutter at him. ‘I didn’t think you shopped where the proles shopped. I thought you went to Bond Street or something where the posh people get their retail therapy.’

‘I normally do,’ he concedes. ‘Who knew I was missing out on so much?’

‘Be quiet.’ I watch as Joe draws level with me, unaware that I’m so close. My throat tightens and I grip the plant pot until my knuckles turn white.

‘Is that him?’ Mason fixes me with a stare. ‘The one who broke your heart? Is that why you’re hiding behind a big plant pot?’

‘Yes,’ I confess, miserably.

‘Wow. He’s not a bad looker,’ Mason concedes. ‘If I was that way inclined, I would.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Who’s the woman? His new squeeze?’

‘His wife,’ I mumble.

‘Wife?’ Mason laughs. ‘He’s married? Oh, Brown. Schoolgirl error.’

‘Yeah, well, he wasn’t married when I started seeing him and then he was again. It’s complicated.’

‘He looks very happy.’

‘Doesn’t he?’ I feel like crying. Yet I should be pleased that his family is reunited, that they’ve put the troubles they’ve had behind them. The kids will be happier, that’s for sure. I hope Gina now appreciates how very lucky she is. Without even trying, I can still feel Joe’s hands on my body, his mouth on mine, the comfort of his arms.

They continue walking past. Danger averted. I sit down heavily on the dirty floor.

‘Bloody hell, Brown.’ Mason frowns at me. ‘You’re in a bad way.’

‘I know.’ It’s taking all my strength not to break down and weep. I feel as if I start crying then I might never stop.

‘OK. What do women do when they’re miserable?’

‘Comfort eat. Get drunk. Talk to their mates.’

‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Let’s do that.’

‘It’s a great idea, but I can’t, Mason.’

‘Why not? What else do you have planned?’

‘Nothing,’ I admit.

Mason hauls me to my feet. ‘This isn’t you, Brown. Let’s get seriously pissed. Then you can dust yourself down and get on with your life.’ He puts his hand gently on my cheek. ‘I want to help,’ he murmurs. ‘Will you let me?’

I nod at him tearfully. So Mason puts his hand on my elbow and steers me out of the shopping centre. I don’t know where we’re going, I’m just grateful that it’s away from Joe and his family.





Chapter Eighty-Four





Mason takes me to a restaurant that only serves desserts. We sit in a booth in the bright pink and white space. Currently, we’re the only customers.

I’m incapable of making a decision so Mason goes off to order for us both. While he’s gone, I cry into the napkins and think how much Tom and Daisy would love it here. Then realise that I have to stop thinking like that or I’ll go mad. Maybe I already am.

Our desserts arrive and Mason has ordered well. For me there’s a classic banana split, filled with vanilla ice-cream, chopped nuts, chocolate sprinkles, and topped with toffee syrup, fudge cubes and a froth of whipped cream. Mason has an enormous knickerbocker glory which looks marginally more healthy than mine as, at least, it involves some fresh fruit. Strawberries are layered with chocolate and vanilla ice-cream, the obligatory overdose of fresh cream and strawberry syrup finished with a cherry and a wafer.

‘Eat, Brown,’ Mason instructs when I just sit there staring at it.

I push my tears back in and pick up my spoon. We don’t speak as we eat which is fine by me. I just sit here letting the coldness of the ice-cream give me brain-freeze.

When I finish my last mouthful, Mason says, ‘Phase two. Come on.’ He leaves a generous tip on the table, takes me by the hand and drags me down the street and into the nearest bar – one that’s Cuban themed. It’s normally bustling but, at this time in the day, there’s just the tail-end of the lunchtime crowd.

We find bar stools. I feel so broken that I can hardly sit upright.

‘What do you fancy?’ Mason asks.

‘Apart from unavailable men?’

He rolls his eyes and pushes the cocktail menu at me.

I stare at it, not really seeing anything. I can’t even think what I’d like to drink.

‘Shall I order for us again?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ I close the menu. ‘As long as it involves lots of alcohol.’

Mason catches the attention of the barman. ‘A Madhatter’s Teapot, please.’

Salsa music blares out and the air smells of grilled chicken.

A huge teapot and two metal mugs arrive. Mason pours me a drink. ‘Three different kinds of rum, passionfruit, lime. I can’t remember what else is in there.’

Tentatively, I take a sip. ‘Wow.’ It nearly knocks my head off. ‘This is lethal.’

Mason tries his. ‘Tastes good though.’

‘I’ll be flat on my back in no time.’

‘Excellent.’ He grins cheekily at me and I can’t help but smile back. You can’t fault Mason for trying. ‘Down the hatch!’