Page 62 of A Night with Damien Spur

‘You really do get vindictive when you’ve had too much to drink.’

‘Your fault! You shouldn’t have bought the extra bottle.’ Kate poked his chest with her index finger.

‘Well, you shouldn’t have drunk so much at lunch.’ Hepushed her finger aside.

‘Stop ordering me around, Mr Headmaster.’

‘Come on, Kate. Don’t spoil things. It’s our special night.’

‘Well then, stop irritating me. It’s meant to be our evening and all you talk about is how you miss your mother.’

‘Well, I do.’

‘But she’s been dead ten years. And you know she never liked me…’

‘She tried… You were the one who never made an effort. She always gave you a present on your birthday and you never even sent her a card.’

‘That’s because I always knew she didn’t think I was good enough for you. Not cultured enough. You used to drag me with her to see those bloody Shakespeare plays. It’s like a foreign language. And the stories are so complicated.’

‘Well… you don’t ever have to see one again.’

‘No, I certainly won’t. And as for those trips to art galleries; traipsing round with you both eyeballing painting after painting. I remember you and your mother used to sit on a bench and sometimes look at a picture for half an hour… What were you doing? What were you waiting for?’

‘You didn’t have to come.’

‘Well, I did. To please you.’ She hardly ever cried, and when the flood came it surprised them both.

‘Oh, Kate, that was a nice thing to say. Please don’t be upset.’ He stroked her hair and wiped her tears with his napkin.

‘And another thing, I don’t like classical music – it sounds morbid. Give me Ed Sheeran any day. Anyway… you can’t say I’m not honest.’

They both laughed…

They knew each other. No games, no intrigue, no bleeding hearts. A painless life together and sometimes, just sometimes, there was a spark of recognition. When they found each other.

Maybe,Nicholas thought,there’s hope for us yet.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘let’s skip the lemon tarts and leave the washing up and then we can watch the last twenty minutes of my baking programme. It’s the finals.’

‘Can’t you watch it on catch-up? I thought we were going to have a journey of rediscovery.’

‘Sounds scary,’ she said. ‘Okay, we’ll do it your way. Just hope the climax is as exciting as the competition’s.’

In the sitting room, Kate sprawled on the sofa, legs apart, while Nicholas lit the fire.

‘Alexa, play… Sinatra,’ he said.

‘I don’t know that one,’ Alexa replied.

He raised his voice. ‘Alexa, play “Strangers in the Night” by Frank Sinatra.’

Nicholas danced over to the cocktail cabinet. ‘Fancy a Cointreau?’

‘Are you having one?’

‘Mmm… No, I think I’m already over my limit… but you can have one.’

‘Okay.’

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