Page 4 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘It might take a little time to get used to . . . being together like that, but I’m sure we will.’ He looks at me, his face open and honest.
‘But . . .’ and I can’t believe I’m saying this, ‘how? How would it work? You couldn’t just move into mine. And you’re living with Valerie still. That’s not what it’s about. That’s not the grown-up dream. Even if we decided to call ourselves a couple, nothing would change. Neither of us has got the money for a deposit on a new place.’ I can feel my frustration starting to bubble up again. ‘I was cleaned out trying to hang onto the business. I haven’t even got enough for another round of drinks at these prices.’
Lennie, though, grins even wider.
‘I’ve got something to show you. Let’s get out of here.’
He picks up a bottle of Prosecco from a nearby table laid up to welcome guests, grabs hold of my hand and swoops me out through the fire exit and into the cold night air, both of us laughing like we’re teenagers again. We sit on the harbour wall and he holds out his phone to me. The page lights up. I make myself comfortable and slip off my shoes.
‘Families, couples, professionals and hard-working individuals wanted to move to an idyllic Sicilian hilltop town for subsidised rents and a relocation fee,’ I read slowly, with a finger under each word, trying to stop them from doing their usual thing of jumbling up on the page.
‘Think about it,’ Lennie says. ‘Sun and sea . . . and decent wine! We could both get jobs, and we’d have the relocation fee and a house all to ourselves. That’s what they’re offering. I saw it on the news. It’s a fresh start.’
‘But we’re not a family . . . or even a couple.’
‘No, but we could be . . . The pact! This is it, Zeld! This is our chance to . . .’ he glances back towards the party, ‘to avoid ending up like that! Hitting forty with only a handful of mates to show for it.’ He looks out at the harbour, and so do I. Could it really be our chance? ‘And God knows, I could do with the money. What with all this uncertainty over Brexit, people aren’t buying houses. Commission’s at an all-time low.’
I take the phone from him and try and read the advert again.
‘It’s almost too good to be true. Where is it again?’ I squint at the screen.
‘Sicily!’ He looks at me, his eyes sparkling.
‘Think about it, Zeld.’
‘But what would we do, for a living?’
‘Anything we want!’ he beams. ‘We can get jobs when we get out there. See what’s around. Doesn’t matter what. Maybe they’ll need an English-speaking estate agent. But I’ll turn my hand to anything. Then you could set up in business again. Find a shop. A whole new start.’ He looks at me, his enthusiasm infectious. ‘If not now, then when, Zeld? Think about it. You could be spending your fortieth having it all: a home, a new business, a family . . . in the sun. Your very own Roman holiday!’
I take the bottle of Prosecco he’s holding and take a swig, and then another. I look out over the lights of Cardiff Bay and try to imagine them being the lights of Sicily.
‘I want to say yes . . .’ I say, looking straight ahead.
‘Then why don’t you?’ he asks next to me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
‘Because that’s what I always do, say yes without thinking things through. Acting in the moment. It’s what’s got me into trouble over and over again in life.’
‘This is different, Zeld. This is me! It’s what we always said we’d do. When you think about it, we’ve actually been planning it all our lives. Nothing impulsive about it at all.’
I look at him. He could be right. But what if he isn’t? What if . . . what if . . .
Suddenly my phone vibrates in my bag. As I rummage for it, glad of the distraction from the bouncing thoughts in my head, Lennie takes the Prosecco and swigs without wiping the top of the bottle first. It’s a good start, I think. He’s smiling, and I know he’s doing the same as I was, looking out at the lights, pretending it’s Sicily. Maybe, just maybe this is the best idea he’s ever had.
I look down at the phone, and suddenly the silly grin slips from my face.
Lennie clocks me.
‘Who is it?’
‘Mr Perfect from the other night.’ I remember it with a treacherous thrill running up and down my body.
‘You’re joking! Your ghoster!’
‘Uh huh!’ I nod, slowly reading the message of apology.
Lennie takes another swig of Prosecco.
‘It’s your choice, Zeld. If that’s what you want, go for it. Or,’ he nods to the lights across the bay, still obviously picturing our potential future together, ‘there’s Sicily. Me, you and a whole new life where ghosters are a thing of the past. Where loyalty and sharing our dreams is what’s important. Like I say, really we’ve been planning this since we’ve known each other. It’s not as crazy as you think. This is you and me, Zeld. The dream team!’
