Page 3 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘What then?
‘Remember?’ He suddenly looks less confident. ‘What we said? When we were at college?’
Suddenly I do. ‘What? You mean . . . ?’
‘The pact,’ he finishes.
‘The pact!’ I throw my head back and laugh loudly and enjoy the feeling it brings. Lennie can always make me laugh. I look at my good, faithful, funny friend and smile affectionately. But Lennie isn’t smiling.
‘You’re serious!’ I clutch my glass and my eyes widen.
‘Why not? It makes sense. It was the perfect pact.’
I stare at him, then lift my glass and swallow the lot.
‘If we didn’t find our perfect partner by the time we were forty, we’d marry each other and live contentedly together,’ I say, still wide-eyed and with a hint of excitement.
‘Exactly! We could have it all. Be Mr and Mrs Content! It’s the perfect plan.’
‘You’re serious? You want to go through with the pact?’
‘Why not? The question is, do you?’
I look around the emptying room like someone has just suggested a way out of this wretched event; a way out of the misery that is online dating; a way off the very high and dusty shelf.
Chapter Two
‘The pact,’ I say slowly, and am immediately transported back to my teenage self, with the help of Britney Spears singing ‘Oops! . . . I Did It Again’ in the background. It’s a tune that seems to have followed me through my life. I turn to see the lanky teenage Lennie standing in front of me. Same daft smile. Same sticky-up hair, refusing to sit one way or the other.
‘Yes, the pact.’ He smiles widely, as if he’s discovered the key to our happiness and it was that simple all along.
‘We were seventeen, going on eighteen.’ A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth; I can remember it so vividly.
‘But we were right! Let’s be honest, it’s not going to happen. There is no Mr or Ms Right out there for us. Otherwise we would have met them by now.’
‘Yes but . . .’ I look at a couple leaving – one child attached to his father’s ankle and another, clutching a well-worn bunny, snuggled in her mother’s arms – and I feel a pang of envy. I’d’ve loved children. A family dining table. I’d’ve loved to have been able to cook, but pasta carbonara for one was never that appealing. Instead, I’ve lived off jacket potatoes with various fillings for years.
Lennie interrupts my thoughts. ‘We always said we were the perfect couple, if only we could fancy each other!’
We both laugh, and then we stop and look at each other, a shroud of seriousness suddenly wrapping itself around us. Could I ever fancy Lennie? Could I fall in love with him? I look at his familiar face. I can’t imagine him not being in my life. He knows everything about me: how I’m feeling, how to cheer me up. He even knows I like my boiled eggs cooked from cold, and three minutes from boiling! But a couple? Could we? Could I see him like that? There’s no fireworks, no spark, no magnetic draw towards his lips, his hips, no burning desire to want to feel my naked skin against his like there was with my date the other night. But my date not only doesn’t know how I like my eggs, he doesn’t even return my calls! Lennie would never do that. Lennie rings me practically every day, at least once, sometimes more. He sends silly text messages. He’s always thinking about me . . . and me him. I chew my bottom lip. Maybe you can’t have it all . . .
‘I don’t think you can have it all, Zeld.’ He says what I’m thinking, confirming everything I adore about him. ‘Look, some relationships are all gorgeous in the moment, like a burger when you’re really hungry, but you’ve forgotten you’ve eaten it an hour later. Others are like a slow-cooked meal. The ingredients go in, pretty unexciting at the beginning, but the longer they take to cook, the more satisfying and delicious the meal and the more it stays with you.’
I look at him. He’s been thinking about this, I can tell.
‘But . . .’ My mind is trying to sort out the thoughts tumbling and crashing around in there; trying to make sense of it all. ‘We’re not forty yet! Well, I’m not. I still have three months to go!’
Lennie looks at me. His eyes fix on mine and I blush.
‘It’s not going to happen, Zeld; there is no Mr or Ms Perfect. This is as good as it gets. We get on great. We like the same things. We bicker. But we’re always there for each other. WeareMr and Ms Perfect . . . as perfect as it gets.’
I chew my lip some more. He has a point, I think. Though I’m not sure whether I like it.
‘You and me . . . a life and a family of our own,’ he says.
‘A family?’ The word catches in my throat: a final chance at the one thing I always wanted. I shiver, and he slips off his jacket and puts it round my shoulders. ‘A proper relationship?’ I say. ‘Like, a proper girlfriend–boyfriend one?’ I want to make sure I understand exactly what he means.
He nods gently.
