Page 98 of The Wedding Pact
‘I told you she was an actress,’ Mrs Haverley said sharply to her son.
‘I already know, Mum,’ he said.
‘Was the walk good?’ August asked. She couldn’t quite imagine Abe, sweet but serious as he seemed, taking himself off for a guided two-hour history jaunt.
‘It was great,’ he enthused. ‘Really informative, and so strange to stand on the cobbles where those poor women were murdered.’
‘Why were you doing such a thing?’ Mrs Haverley asked, pausing to take a break at the bottom of the hill.
Abe looked a little abashed. ‘I just felt like it, I was bored.’
He was lonely, August thought. She knew, because she used to do the same kind of thing. ‘When I lived in London I often had times when I felt a bit … bored, or at a loose end, or whatever. I used to do those walking tours sometimes. They’re so affordable andsogood. Another thing I used to do was visit the museums in Kensington. If I wanted to kill an hour or two I’d go with the sole purpose of hitting just one gallery on that visit and doing it really properly. I never got around to doing all the galleries in all the museums though, by the time I left.’
‘I like that idea,’ Mrs Haverley gave a nod of approval, and August noticed she raised her eyebrows at Abe much to say,you like it too, don’t you, boy-o.
‘Have you been to the Fashion Museum before, Mrs H?’ August asked and then cringed; she must stop calling her Mrs H in public, she didn’t want to sound rude.
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Haverley smiled, the same smile she’d shown when August had chatted with her about her grandma, the one that shined across her whole face. ‘I worked there for many years. I started back in the seventies; it was called The Museum of Costume back then.’
‘Did you enjoy it?’ August asked.
‘Very much. The fabrics, the detail, the colours,’ she winked at August.
‘Did you work there until you retired?’
‘Not quite,’ Mrs Haverley answered. ‘I left for a while after this one was born,’ she motioned to Abe.
The three of them made small talk as they wove their way down towards the Fashion Museum, housed within the beautiful coffee-coloured Assembly Rooms on Bennett Street, which always tickled August’s Austen-loving heart. As they walked around the museum, admiring the collections and after August had insisted that even if nobody else was, she was going to try on the Georgian gown on the dress-up display, Abe held back, putting his hand on August’s arm. Mrs Haverley walked on ahead, lost in thought and memory.
‘Thanks for coming to this,’ he said to her, his hand still on her arm, which she was more aware of than all of the swathes of gold and silver threads around them.
‘My pleasure,’ she replied. ‘I’m having a nice time.’
‘Are you?’ Abe asked, and his eyes fixed hers for a moment, before he slowly removed his hand and lowered his gaze to the floor also.
‘Yes, I am,’ said August. And she really was, though six months ago she couldn’t have in a million years imagined being close enough with the battleaxe landlady to be taking a trip out with her and getting along like old chums. Callie had been telling the truth: Mrs H really was kind of fun.
But also … with Flynn on the other side of the world, possibly reuniting with his ex-girlfriend, being with Abe really felt like it might be a chance for her heart to stop fannying about, fluttering around Flynn like a confused butterfly. She hadn’t been looking for a man to replace Flynn, she hadn’t been looking for a man at all, but it just seemed to be working out that way.
Except for that one little, tiny detail, that caused her to sigh out loud and Abe to look through his lashes at her again. He thought she was a married woman. And if she told him the truth, that they’d been lying to him and to his mother this whole time, would he still want to touch her arm like that?
The rest of the afternoon was pleasant. More than pleasant: it was fun. August enjoyed Abe’s company, and, much to her surprise, Mrs Haverley’s as well.
By the time she climbed into bed that night, and drifted off to sleep, and it reached one in the morning, she was enjoying a dream about playing Harry Potter himself in the stage show ofThe Cursed Child. And she was nearly, almost, successfully managing to not think about Flynn too much at all.
Chapter 73
Flynn
‘Ohayo, Fujio,’ a familiar voice said, sounding out his real first name and interrupting his thoughts.
There she was. Yui stood in front of him as familiar as the day he’d said goodbye, in everything except the expression on her face. She didn’t look pained or angry, she didn’t even look distant, which had been his biggest worry, he now realised. She looked content.
He stood up, and after a moment’s hesitation on how to greet each other, she made the first move to hold out her arms and they embraced, softly, quickly, and accompanied by a small laugh.
‘I bought you a coffee – a matcha latte – is that okay?’ Flynn asked, handing her one of the cups on the bench.
‘Of course, that’s perfect, thank you,’ Yui replied, warmly.
