Page 65 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Probably the former, and I didn’t steal your space, you stole mine,’ I stubbornly tell him. ‘Although it all worked out in the end.’

‘Which I told you it would,’ says Kian. ‘Even though on paper you might think that would never have worked out. I was worried it would be a complete disaster.’

‘You were?’

‘Of course. I didn’t tell you that though, no sense in us both flapping, was there?’ He grins. ‘Anyway, the old people seemed to love having the children around, didn’t they?’

I think of Elsie and how the little boy handed her the plastic elephant.

‘They really did. And the kids enjoyed it too.’

‘Oh, they did,’ agrees Kian. ‘Bella giggles every time she tells me about the old people playing musical statues.’

‘Your face when you walked in.’ I can’t help but laugh as I recall the moment Kian returned to the community centre to see old people in various stages of stillness, and his comment about ‘Thriller’.

‘And just seeing how much the pensioners enjoyed mingling with the children gave me an idea,’ I tell Kian.

‘Oh right, what are you thinking?’ he asks as we drive, the radio playing another cheesy ballad.

‘Well, I was thinking they could be invited into the local school hall, say once a month and the children could do some singing. Maybe even play some music. I know the local primary school was always quite encouraging about music sessions.’

‘That sounds like a lovely idea.’ Kian smiles. ‘And maybe the other volunteers could help out with lifts, given plenty of notice. I would be happy to do so too,’ he offers.

‘You would? Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve asked the old headteacher to run it by the new one, who she is friends with.’

‘Do you always think about other people?’ Kian asks as we drive along.

‘I just see it as giving something back,’ I tell him. ‘I mean, I have everything I want. A lovely home, a job I enjoy and so on. I consider myself quite fortunate compared to many.’

‘Those around you are the fortunate ones, I’d say,’ he says, casting a glance at me.

I blush and look out of the window as Kian turns into the restaurant’s car park.

Kian walks around to the passenger door and opens it for me. He takes my hand as I step out, and I feel as though I am in an old Hollywood movie.

‘Thank you.’

I wrap my fashionable black shawl around me as we make our way inside.

Kian has chosen a French restaurant with dark wooden tables and red lamps at the centre. The walls are adorned with an assortment of mirrors and black-and-white photographs, and the people seated at tables are sipping drinks from vintageglasses. The whole place is glamorous, yet unstuffy. Kian has booked a table near a window that a friendly waiter leads us to.

‘This place looks amazing,’ I comment as I sit down. ‘You chose well.’

‘Thank you. To tell you the truth I haven’t been here before, it’s pretty new, I believe, but the online reviews were great. I hope you like French food.’

‘Oh, I do, omitting the frogs’ legs, that is.’

I’d been to a French restaurant with Gemma, and although a high-street chain, the food was actually very good. Kian orders us each a glass of red wine and some water, whilst I peruse the menu.

‘You suit being in a place like this,’ says Kian, closing his menu. ‘You look beautiful this evening.’

‘Thank you.’ I can feel the colour creep up my cheeks, thankful for the muted lighting.

‘So how is Bella?’ I ask, after I have ordered.

‘Really well. She’s having a sleepover at my parents’ tonight.’ He holds my gaze as he lifts his wine glass, and my stomach gives a little jolt, wondering if he will invite me inside his place at the end of the evening? And what will I say if he does?

‘Do you have any other family living nearby?’ I ask as I take a sip of my wine.

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