Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 46 Olive

Chapter 46

Olive

I ’d enjoyed my cooking lesson, even though Jack gasped at the haphazard way I chopped the onions and shrieked as I added too much salt. He was so measured and exact, just as he’d always been. Jack was a man of recipes and measurements, everything carefully considered, which was why it was so hard to find the right time to tell him about Lucy; to turn his life upside down.

But I was getting closer to telling him. I could also feel the two of us getting closer. I’d noticed the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d smiled at me, the way he hesitated rather than pulled away when our hands briefly touched, or our feet knocked together beneath the table. Maybe something more would happen between us at Mason’s party.

For now, I had my parents’ love story to resurrect.

I’d liked Jack’s suggestion of a po’ boy, but decided it was best not to explain the aphrodisiac part to Dad. He’d agreed to cook the dish for my mother, even though he thought it was a silly idea, trying to impress her with food.

“But don’t you see, Dad. She’s been cooking for you—for the family—half her life. This will mean more to her than any fancy restaurant. Trust me.”

“A few oysters isn’t going to stop my hair thinning, or trim these extra inches from my belly, are they?”

“It’s not about that, Dad. It will show her that even with thinning hair and a thickening waist, you still love her.”

He muttered as he started to chop the parsley. “Doubt it very much.”

No matter how much Dad doubted it, I knew there was part of him that hoped this would work. Him and Mum were made for each other. I sometimes wondered if it was my fault they’d grown apart in recent years. Having me and Lucy in the house certainly didn’t help. That was why I was determined to try and bring them back together.

I took everything from the fridge and set it out on the countertop, just as I’d seen Jack do. “Preparation, preparation, preparation.” We followed his careful instructions until the oysters were perfectly fried and nestled on a smear of rich remoulade, lettuce, tomato, sliced dill pickles, and crusty bread.

“You need to remind each other why you fell in love in the first place,” I said as I pulled out the old photograph albums from the sideboard. “Look through these together, remember what fun you used to have. Look at you both on your wedding day. You look so young!”

“We were young. And madly in love.”

I gave him a hug. “You’re still the same people inside, even if the outside has got a little tatty. You can fall madly in love all over again. I know you can.”

By six-thirty, he was washed and shaved and dressed smartly. I set the kitchen table, added candles to old wine bottles, turned the main lights off, and switched on the fairy lights I’d draped around the banisters.

Lucy came bounding downstairs. “Mummy! It looks so magical!”

I was pleased with my work. “Not bad, eh?”

My dad put his arm around my shoulders. “Not bad at all, love. Thank you.”

“Mum will be back from Auntie Jean’s soon. Have a glass of wine to steady the nerves.”

“Can’t remember the last time I was nervous with your mother—probably the first time I took her out, when we were twenty-one.”

“Good. Then pretend you’re twenty-one again, you old romantic!”

While I’d been busy helping Dad prepare everything, I’d hardly left any time to get myself ready for Mason’s birthday party at the restaurant. I settled on a simple knitted two-piece in teal and added an enthusiastic layer of makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I kissed Lucy goodnight, told her to behave herself and to not interrupt the dinner party, wished Dad good luck, and hurried to the bus stop to meet Rosie.

We made our way to Richmond Street together. I was stupidly nervous, partly about seeing Jack, and partly about how the night might end if I found the courage to tell him about Lucy. Rosie understood my apprehension.

She reached for my hand. “Just see how the night goes. And try to enjoy yourself. We’re going to a party, not an execution.”

The restaurant looked lovely and welcoming as we turned the corner at the top of Richmond Street. The sign was lit up, and the replica lampposts illuminated the entrance. Inside, candles flickered on every table, the soft lighting adding to the atmosphere. The smell inside was delicious.

Jack rushed to take my coat and added a peck on my cheek.

“I’m so pleased you made it,” he said. “You look beautiful. Did you do your hair differently?”

My heart squeezed at his compliment, but I claimed to have hardly made any effort at all.

“I brought Rosie. I hope that’s all right?”

“Of course!” Jack gave Rosie a warm hug. “It’s so good to see you—it’s been years. I must admit, I was expecting Peter,” he added, turning back to me. “But Rosie is much better.”

“Peter and I broke up.”

Jack’s brow lifted in surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No need to be sorry. I’m not. Peter and I have run our course.”

Jack hesitated a moment as a smile danced in his eyes. “So, how are things going at the other restaurant?” he asked. “Everything going well for your dad?”

I laughed. “I think he’s ready. I’m not sure he’ll get the full five-star review in the papers, but he’s giving it a good try.”

“That’s all it takes. An effort.” He reached for my hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Come on over and join the others.”

I did my best not to lean into him, but all I could think about was his nearness and the flicker of surprised happiness that had passed over his face when I’d said Peter and I had parted ways. Maybe things were moving in the right direction with Jack after all.

“Happy birthday, Mason,” I said, as Rosie, Jack and I joined the others at the table. I added a crimson lipstick mark to the collection on Mason’s cheek. I’d enjoyed getting to know him on the odd occasion when I’d called in at the restaurant. He seemed to be a good partner for Jack.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, and introduced me to a few of his friends who I hadn’t met before.

“I’d hoped your brother might be here,” I said. “I was looking forward to seeing Ryan again after all these years.”

“Busy with the family in Norfolk,” Mason replied, although he wasn’t really looking at me. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Rosie.

“Rosie May,” she said, not bothering to wait for me to introduce her. “Pleased to meet you.”

A smile lit up his face. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss May.”

Rosie took the empty seat beside him. “You didn’t tell me he was this good-looking,” she whispered to me.

I kicked her under the table and took the glass of wine Mason was holding out to me. “Try not to be too obvious,” I whispered in reply.

But that wasn’t Rosie’s way. She didn’t dither and doubt, or hold back, like I did. I smiled to myself as she commenced her confident flirtation, which Mason instantly responded to with plenty of his own.

Jack appeared at my shoulder. “Is this seat taken, madam?”

My heart leaped at his voice. “It is now.” I patted the seat in invitation for him to sit down. “Besides, don’t you own every seat in the place? You can take as many as you like!”

He laughed. “I think I’ll stick to this one.”

I was glad he’d chosen to sit beside me. “It all looks so lovely, Jack. And whatever you’re cooking back there smells delicious.”

His sea green eyes danced in the candlelight. “The old place cleans up nicely, doesn’t it?”

“Mrs. Howard would be so proud,” I said. “You and Mason have done a wonderful job with it all.” I was sure Andrea would be proud, too, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it.

“Speaking of which...” Jack turned and tapped the rim of his glass with his knife. “A toast, to the birthday boy.”

We all raised a glass to Mason and sang a boisterous round of “Happy Birthday.”

The evening passed in a cloud of happy chatter, laughter, and excited talk about plans for the new restaurant. We all drank too much wine, and toward the end of the evening, when someone put a Buddy Holly record on the gramophone, we all got up from our tables and danced as if we didn’t have a care in the world.

It was a perfect evening, made even more perfect when Jack and Mason insisted on escorting Rosie and me home. We took the bus and parted ways at the top of my street, exchanging goodnights, Mason and Rosie heading one way, Jack and I, the other.

I swayed a little as Jack walked me the rest of the way, laughing as life carried us along, our wayward feet swept up in the happy atmosphere of the evening, the easy hum of wine settling in our bones and drawing us to each other. I let my head rest against his shoulder. My inhibitions were numbed, my doubts and indecision left at the restaurant door. And I so very much hoped he’d had as wonderful a night as I had.

Too soon, we reached the garden gate of my house. Both of us paused; uncertain, unsure.

“Well,” I said.

“Well,” he replied, his eyes soft as his gaze settled on mine.

“That was a lovely evening, Jack. Thank you.”

“Thank you ,” he said. “It was all the lovelier with you there. And Mason and Rosie seemed to hit it off.”

“Didn’t they just!”

We looked at each other for a moment, neither of us moving, neither daring to break the spell of the wonderful evening. And suddenly I didn’t want to wait any longer. I knew how I felt about Jack, and as the streetlamp threw a pale glow across his handsome face, I reached onto my tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips, gently, tentatively.

Though he stood stock-still, he didn’t pull away.

I closed my eyes, leaning into him, our breaths quickening as our lips explored each other’s. We lingered in the moment, my heart thumping beneath my dress, a sense of inevitability washing over me as I remembered the first time we’d kissed years before, and the delicious night that had followed.

When I opened my eyes, his were still closed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice catching in my throat.

“What for?” He opened his eyes, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips.

“For that. I’m a little drunk, I think.”

He laughed. “You think?” He touched my cheek with soft fingertips. “Don’t be sorry, Olive.”

I took a deep breath. “Jack, there’s something I need—”

A small voice at the front door caught our attention. “Are you coming in, Mummy, or are you going to kiss Jack allllllll night?”

I turned to see Lucy in her nightie, a knowing smile on her face. My little girl— our little girl—was growing up.

A foolish grin on his face, Jack waved to her. “Hello, Lucy.”

She waved back shyly. “Hello.”

“I’d better go,” I said, suddenly flustered. It was all I’d ever wanted—the three of us together—and yet it all felt wrong in that moment; deceitful even. The weight of my secret pressed down on me. Why couldn’t I just tell him?

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “Olive?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. “About the kiss. I’m not. Could we do this again, maybe? Meet next week, for another cooking lesson? I could help you make a cake for your mum’s birthday?”

“I’d like that.” I started to laugh lightly, the wine and the moment going to my head. “But we don’t always have to cook something! I’d like to meet you anyway.”

My stomach was a swarm of bees, my heart racing as I walked up the path. I hadn’t planned to kiss him, and I was a little embarrassed to have been caught by Lucy, but I couldn’t deny how excited I felt, and how I’d yearned for it to go beyond a kiss.

Lucy met me at the door.

“Did you have fun at the party, Mummy?”

“I did, darling. And you should be in bed fast asleep.” I turned to close the door. Jack was already halfway down the street. I longed for him to turn and wave.

As if reading my mind, he stopped beneath a streetlamp and lifted his hat, circling it above his head.

I smiled as I closed the door.

“I like Jack, Mummy. He’s silly.”

Dear sweet Lucy. If only she knew.

I lifted her into my arms. “I like him too, sausage. Now, to bed!”

I lay awake for hours that night, remembering his look, his touch, his smile in the dark.

There was no point denying it anymore. My feelings had gone far beyond liking Jack.

I was, once again, in love with him.