He kept coming back. Shelley, one of the other staff, nudged me one day: ‘Romeo’s in again.’ I wondered who she meant. Then she nodded to him. ‘Put him out of his misery, Ruth, ask him out.’
‘You don’t think…’ I blushed.
‘I do. Don’t you like him?’
It took me a moment to answer. ‘Yes.’
‘Well then. Invite him to the Valentine’s Verse Night.’ We were having an event with local poets and musicians.
My face was still aflame as Tony came up to the counter.
‘This one’s overdue,’ he said. ‘My uncle borrowed it.’
‘First time, I’ll let you off.’
He smiled. When he smiled, his green eyes shone.
Tony isn’t traditionally handsome; he certainly hasn’t got the leading-man looks that Jack has. He’s well built, broad-shouldered, with huge hands and feet. A bit like a prop forward. His nose is sharp, his cheeks round. He had curly blond hair back then but I found him attractive. And he had charisma.
There was also the appeal of his attention; he was really interested in me, in my opinions. We had long discussions, arguing about politics and feminism and social issues; he teased me about my middle-class background and I teased him back about his Manchester scally posturing. He was easily as bright as I was, which was what really mattered.
I fell in love with him.
I didn’t ever stop, though I’ve learnt to hide it. I still don’t know, don’t really know, what Denise gives him that I didn’t. Why he prefers her. Objective as I can be, I don’t get it. I never have.
We are all tense; the atmosphere in the house before we leave to lay the flowers is brittle.
The rain has stopped, but it’s cold and damp and the feel of winter is in the air. Jack looks wiped out, purple shadows under his eyes. On the way in the car he starts shivering, and I reach out and touch him. The look he gives me is so sad, so wretched, I almost ask if we can call the whole thing off.
Jack has white flowers, roses, gypsophila, lilies and carnations. The carnations smell strong, sweet and spicy in the car. Melissa and Mags have been to the allotment and gathered some wild flowers – cornflower, little daisies, cow parsley and sweet peas -included in the florist’s arrangement of yellow roses and blue iris that I carry.
Florence is with us; she has brought a new picture, a drawing of Milky, though if you weren’t primed you’d be hard put to tell it was an animal at all, let alone a cat.
We have our instructions. Jack and Florence will go first, walk down the pavement and leave the bouquet and picture. Then Tony and I will join them; we will go together in a show of solidarity to reinforce that Lizzie was from a loving home. It smacks of hypocrisy to me. This focus on how wholesome Lizzie was. The deserving and the undeserving dead.
