Leah had forgotten how it worked, the spiky repartee that bound them together and kept outsiders away. She looked down at her grey tights and elderly trainers. “I’ve just come from work.”
“Inside,” said Nisha, nodding towards the door of the restaurant as if it were a cell Leah was being returned to.
The two of them were back for Abby’s brother’s wedding. “Number Four. I can’t even remember her name. Albanian? Slovenian? She looks like those pictures in the papers of women who’ve killed their kids.” Abby and Vince were now living in Muswell Hill. “The Great White Highlands.” And Sam was pregnant for a second time. “Ten months. He practically fucked her in the delivery suite.”
The waiter materialised with his little flip pad. Leah tried to make her excuses but Abby held her eye. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned for this evening but I know for a fact that it will be shit compared to this.”
She ate grilled tuna with a salad of cannellini beans, roasted red peppers, olives, anchovies and rocket followed by lemon tart and crème frâiche. They drank two bottles of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo between them. A bill for a hundred and ten pounds and a fifteen-pound tip. They smoked in the little garden at the back, next to one of the patio heaters.
“How’s your dad?” asked Nisha.
“He died,” said Leah.
Nisha looked at her long and hard. No condolence, no consolation. “We’ve got a sofa bed. If you haven’t found a job and a room in a shared house by the end of the month I’ll stick you on the bus back up here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Leah. “I can’t do it.”
Nisha shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”
Two of the toes on Bunny’s left foot went black. They kept the window open all day because of the smell. There was nothing to be done, the doctor said. Leah should keep them tightly bandaged until they fell off, then wash the wounds in salt water twice a day until they healed. Ten days later she found them in the bed while Bunny was sleeping. She flicked them onto a newspaper as if they were dead bees, carried them outside and dropped them into the bin.
A fine, spitty rain was coming in off the hills. There was no one around. A wing mirror hung off a battered brown Honda. The names of the dead boys were still readable on the tarmac. At her feet grass was forcing its way up through cracks in the concrete. If everyone abandoned these streets she wondered how long it would take for the forest to take them back, roots and creepers bringing the walls down piece by piece, wolves moving through the ruins.
She was crying but she didn’t know whether it was for herself or for Bunny.
He knew that something was wrong. She was making an effort to be cheerful, to be attentive, to be patient. He had known all along that it would come to this. If he were braver he would let her go. She’d given him more happiness than he’d expected to get from anyone. But he had never been brave. And he couldn’t bring himself to have one day less of her company.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Now that she was about to be taken from him she had become unutterably beautiful. He finally understood the songs: the sweetness, the hurt, the cost of it all. He would be wiser next time. It was just a shame there wouldn’t be a next time.
She went to Sainsbury’s and bought a chicken jalfrezi and pilau rice, a king prawn masala and some oven chips. She bought two tins of treacle pudding, two tubs of Taste the Difference vanilla custard and a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Cool Harvest Shiraz Rosé.
He saw her negotiating the hallway with three bags. “You bought the shop.”
“I’m cooking you a posh supper.”
“Why?” asked Bunny. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Big occasion,” said Leah.
“What big occasion?”
She could hear the anxiety in his voice. She put the bags down and stuck her head round the door of the living room. “Trust me.” She turned the oven on and poured him a glass of the rosé. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” She kissed his forehead.
While everything was cooking she lit two candles and turned the lights down. She carefully moved Bunny’s models off the table and put them out of harm’s way. Then she fetched a chair from the dining room so that she could sit and eat beside him. She laid the cutlery out and gave Bunny the chequered green tea towel to use as a serviette. She brought the dishes in one by one, the prawn masala, the chicken, the chips, the rice. She sat down and held up her glass. “Cheers.”
He said, “I know you’re leaving, and I know you’re trying to be kind about it.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Really?” He spoke very quietly, as if her decision were a house of cards which might collapse at any minute.
“Really.” She took a sip of the rosé. It was slightly warm. She should have put it in the freezer for ten minutes.
“Wow.” He lay back against his pillows and exhaled. He was trying not to cry. “I was so scared.”
“The food’s going cold,” she said.
He was still unsure. “So what are we celebrating?”
“Eat first. Then I’ll tell you.”
He gingerly put a forkful of chicken into his mouth and chewed. She could see the tension slowly leaving his body. He swallowed, took another deep breath and fanned his face with a comedy flap of his hands. “I got a bit worked up back there.”
“There’s no need to apologise.” She refilled his glass.
They ate in silence for a while. He finished the chicken and the rice and the side plate of chips. “That was fantastic. Thank you.”
“Treacle pudding to come.”
“No expense spared.”
She put her glass down. “But first…”
“Go on.” His face tensed again.
“Bunny Wallis…” She paused for effect. “Will you marry me?”
He stared at her.
“Do I need to repeat the question?”
“Yes,” said Bunny. “You do need to repeat the question.”
“Will you marry me?” She waited. “If I have to say it a third time then I’m going to withdraw the offer.”
“Why?” asked Bunny. “Why would you want to marry me?”
“Because I love you.”
“This is the most extraordinary day of my life.”
“Does that mean ‘yes’?”
He took a deep breath. “Of course it does.”
“Good.” She leaned over and kissed him on the lips then sat down and poured him a third glass. “To us.”
“To us.” He clinked his glass against hers and drank. She could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He said, “I have never been this happy. Never.”
She stood up. “I think that calls for treacle pudding.”
When she came back into the room his eyes were closed. She set the bowls down and stroked his forearm. “Bunny?”
“I just…” He shook his head like a dog coming out of a pond. “I’m so sorry. You ask me to marry you and I fall asleep.”
“You’re tired, that’s all.” She handed him the treacle pudding.
He was squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, trying to focus. He filled his spoon with pudding and custard and lifted it halfway to his mouth but had to put it down again. “Can you…?” He gave her the bowl. Taking his hand away he knocked the spoon onto the bedcovers. “Shit. Sorry.”