Page 25 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

Things he wished he’d known at eighteen. He kissed her again and for a moment they sat quietly holding hands.

“You’ve adapted to having a lodger?” Jayne’s voice was hesitant, as though she’d been working up to asking the question.

“She’s . . .” Was there a right answer to this question? “She’s brought me out of my comfort zone.”

“Being a performer . . . she must be more glamorous and exciting than . . . ordinary people.”

Stuart cottoned on immediately and was touched. He squeezed Jayne’s hand and then tried and failed to find the right words. “I’m too old for excitement. It’s not good for the heart. Ordinary people are much more my kind of thing.”

“I like ordinary too.” Jayne smiled and then suddenly she was pulling away from him and fumbling for her handbag in the car foot well. “Oh, no. Mum’s outside in the cold.”

Lillian had opened the front door and was coming towards them in her nightdress.

“Sorry. I’ve left her too long. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“No. Thankyou.”

Then she was gone.

Chapter Fifteen

Florence was away for four days. Initially, the house felt empty, devoid of the spirit that had kicked it so suddenly alive. Then Stuart relaxed. The need to double-think his movements had vanished. He didn’t have to peep out of his bedroom and check the coast was clear before scuttling to the bathroom. He ate breakfast in his dressing gown and let the washing up accumulate instead of clearing up after every meal.

Most importantly, his home was now his castle again and, as Florence had pointed out, the stage was set for inviting Jayne round. His heart hammered and he had to take deep breaths. The restaurant had gone well and the kiss had gone even better. Finding a cinema showingEThad been a stroke of luck. They’d spoken every day, the conversation had continued to flow, mainly about what had happened to the mutual friends they’d been at school with. Jayne had kept in touch with people and Stuart hadn’t.

What made him nervous was being alone here in the house with Jayne. She’d been inside at the wake but the other people, noise and hubbub had helped to disguise the dated décor and the bachelor feel that Florence kept highlighting to him. Jayne would look carefully at the mausoleum, furnished mostly with things chosen decades ago by his mother, and she would impose that same dull, dated personality on him. Florence had actually said that she’d taken one look at the house and expected him to be a boring old fart with no oomph but that, slowly and with her help, he was proving her wrong. Jayne might not be so forgiving. He couldn’t cope with losing her again so soon.

On the third day of Florence’s absence, Jayne was delving in the boot of her car when Stuart got back from his early visit to William.

“She’s still away then?” Jayne stood up.

Stuart nodded. This was his unexpected cue to issue an invitation. Caught by surprise, his mind took a moment to compare preparing the house for Jayne versus formulating a different going-out kind of plan. He couldn’t afford a restaurant again. But he didn’t want the house to give her the impression he was a boring old fart. Damn Florence for highlighting his failings and making him self-conscious. Now Jayne was closing the boot and looking towards the house. He had to say something before she disappeared.

“Would you like to come round this evening? For a drink or something?”

Her eyes lit up. “I could bring a casserole. I’d invite you to ours, only Mum will be there. And, well, it wouldn’t be the same, would it? Does seven thirty suit you?”

“Perfect.” Stuart tried his best to keep his voice casual, as though this wasn’t a big thing for him.

“See you later!” She gave him a bright wave.

It was too late to redecorate the house but there must be something he could do to make it look less like a middle-aged man’s wallowing hole. How did people make their house attractive when they were trying to sell? He’d caught odd bits of infuriating make-over programs when looking for something more worthwhile to watch. It was time to go shopping.

Flowers went into the only two vases in the house, pink carnations on the mantelpiece in the lounge and orange chrysanthemums on the coffee table. Scarlet scatter cushions brightened up the brown Draylon sofa. An equally bright red cloth, sprigged with white daisies, went on the table to perform the double duty of adding colour and hiding scratches. And finally pleasant smells.

Baking bread would be best but there’d be no guaranteeing the results if he went down that path. Better to get the smells ready-made than risk creating an odour more like burned toast in a greasy spoon. Instead of air fresheners reminiscent of toilets, he’d gone for a couple of scented candles that promised transportation to a pine forest and all the pleasurable sensations of a country walk.

Two bottles of white wine went into the fridge. He wasn’t a connoisseur and had chosen on the basis of price, not the cheapest but not too expensive.

At 7.15 he lit the candles and turned on the top oven to warm plates for Jayne’s food. She hadn’t mentioned pudding and so he’d put an Arctic roll in the freezer, just in case.

She arrived exactly on time. He watched as she crunched across the gravel carrying a casserole in hands covered with brightly striped oven gloves. A scarlet apron covered tan-coloured trousers and a short-sleeved cream top. Her short hair looked freshly groomed. She walked tall and, for a moment, Stuart wondered what she found attractive in him. He moved back from the window and waited for her to knock. He hovered on starting blocks in the kitchen, not wanting to appear too keen, eyes on the frosted glass in the top of the front door. The silhouette of Jayne’s head was visible. No knock. No doorbell. He waited a bit longer. Nothing.

Then there was a muffled voice. “Stuart! Stuart!”

He walked down the hall and opened the door. Jayne pushed past him and raced for the kitchen.

“Thank God,” she said as she put the dish down on top of the hob. She discarded the oven gloves on the floor and examined her hands. Then she turned on him. “You saw me from the lounge window! You could see I had my hands full. This dish is red hot; it’s just come out of the oven. Why didn’t you bloody well open the door?”

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