Page 41 of Autumn in Sycamore Park
‘Amber. It’s my favourite colour, and it’s my choice, so there.’
‘But—’
‘It’s my birthday.’
Jennifer suppressed a groan. ‘Sure. If that’s what you want, I’ll wear it.’
No sooner had she changed into the dress and stood frowning at herself in a wall mirror beside the café’s kitchen, than a knock came on the door.
‘Come in!’ Angela called.
The door opened. Tom’s face appeared. He wore a sheepish grin, and a lemon yellow shirt that was so ghastly it made Jennifer feel better about her own dress, even if she was struggling to overcome the shock of Tom’s appearance.
‘Ah, Tom, there you are,’ Angela said.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ Tom said.
‘Why’s he coming?’ Jennifer whispered to Angela as Tom turned to hang a jacket up on a hook beside the door. ‘I thought it was just us. Are you trying to set me up?’
‘We need some muscle in case we get into a fight,’ Angela said with a mischievous grin. ‘And someone to carry us home if we get too drunk.’
Jennifer grimaced. ‘Hi, Tom,’ she said. ‘You look … nice.’
‘I managed to find this monstrosity in Oxfam,’ Tom said. ‘Is it yellow enough for you, Angela?’
‘That will do nicely. My birthday, everyone wearing my favourite colour. Perfect.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Shall we get going, or do you want to slam some tequilas first?’
‘Ah, let’s just get going,’ Jennifer said, glancing around the interior of the café, wondering why, if yellow was Angela’s favourite colour, there was little evidence of it among all the oranges and browns.
Angela wanted to walk, so they headed in the direction of Brentwell’s little centre, stopping at a couple of pubs on the way, so they could “warm up”, as Angela liked to put it. Angela, laughing and joking, was the light and soul of everything, but as the drinks began to flow, Jennifer found herself talking with greater freedom to Tom.
‘I remember laughing at the school caretaker when I was at school,’ Tom said. ‘Here’s this old guy and all he does is cut the grass or trim the hedges. He comes to school in a beat up old Ford, and his clothes could have come from any of the charity shops. We used to call him Worzel Gummidge behind his back. And then I get older, and I realise that sitting behind a desk all day, dressed in a suit I’m scared to scuff or spill coffee on, warmed by a heater, cooled by an air-conditioner, having someone ball me out because I forgot to press a number on a computer screen … I finally got it. That guy, that caretaker, he understood what life was really about.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jennifer said. ‘I really did think you were a bumpkin. I’m so shallow.’
‘You’re not shallow at all,’ Tom said. ‘In fact, there are few people I’ve ever met who have so much going on, so many layers—’
‘Time to move on, you two!’ Angela called. ‘Are you ready for the main event?’
Jennifer glanced at Tom, who shrugged.
‘Where next?’ Jennifer said.
‘Gossip Bar,’ Angela said.
Tom stared. ‘Seriously? The old person’s place?’
Angela laughed and patted Jennifer on the shoulder. ‘Did you bring your ID?’
‘What for? I’m thirty-six.’
‘But you look much younger. They might refuse you entry.’
‘Why?’
Tom cringed. ‘Gossip Bar is over-thirties only. You’re not allowed in otherwise.’
‘Sounds great. I won’t have to look at all the bright young things and be reminded of my long-ago youth.’
