Page 29 of The Happy Hour
‘And there were no clock towers nearby? No classroom window she could see into that you, as small, impressionable children, didn’t notice?’
‘I don’t think...’ Ash frowned. ‘You’re about to turn my whole world on its head.’
‘Let’s forget about it,’ she said. ‘It was her subtle superpower, not a trick.’
Ash stared at her with a hurt expression.
Jess couldn’t help grinning. ‘Maybe my superpower is to break hearts, dash hopes, crush dreams?’
‘That’s not a superpower. And it’s not something you would do.’
‘I’m not sure you know me well enough to decide that,’ Jess said, and the teasing, jovial atmosphere evaporated.
Ash looked at her a beat longer, and Jess turned away, gazing at the expanse of the heath. There were lines of cars queuing like shiny ants on the roads that cut through the space, and the couple with the blue and red kite were packing up, folding their toy into a swanky-looking carrying case.
‘OK,’ Jess said, desperate to recapture the lightness Ash brought with him. ‘Let’s do quickfire questions. What’s your favourite holiday destination?’
‘Seattle, no question,’ he said. ‘Yours?’
‘Aldeburgh,’ she replied, even though her trips to the Greek Islands growing up had been more exotic.
‘InSuffolk?’
‘I like the bleak East Anglian coast. And this is quickfire: no time to dwell or delve. Your favourite TV show.’
‘Friends,’ Ash said, his smile widening when Jess opened her mouth, desperate to know more, but was banjaxed by her own rule. ‘Yours?’
‘Antiques Roadshow,’ she admitted. ‘When they get those people who’ve paid twenty pence for something at a jumble sale, and it turns out to be worth fifty thousand.’
‘Deeply satisfying,’ Ash agreed. ‘Right, my turn. Favourite food?’
‘Japanese gyozas,’ Jess said. There was a stall in the market that she visited far too often on her way home. ‘Yours?’
‘It depends if we’re doing a single item or a whole meal. If it’s a meal then a Sunday roast with beef, Yorkshire puddings, thick gravy and golden roast potatoes. If it’s a single item, then Yorkshire puddings.’
‘All on their own?’ Jess laughed.
‘If they’re crispy, they need no embellishments.’
‘You don’t have a hint of a Yorkshire accent, but maybe you lost it working with all those posh bankers. Are you a secret northerner?’
‘I’m actually half Italian,’ Ash said.
‘Oooh.’ Jess used his admission as an excuse to stare at him. His brown hair was glossy, but not as dark as hers, and his grey eyes were undoubtedly striking, but even though his skin looked as though it would tan easily, she wasn’t sure she would have picked Italian heritage for him. But then, she wasn’t an expert, by any means: she didn’t know much about her own background, had found it too painful to go looking for more after that first, horrible revelation. Edie and Graeme had both been brought up in southeast London, so that was how she thought of herself, too. ‘On your dad’s side, or your mum’s?’ she asked him.
‘Dad’s.’ He ran a hand from the top of his head, down over his neck. ‘But I got more of Mum’s features. My dad didn’t get much of a look-in.’ His smile was tight and quick, gone in a second. ‘What about you?’
Jess tensed automatically. ‘I’m adopted,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know a whole lot about my birth parents.’ She sipped her tepid Americano.
‘Have you... do you want to look for them? Find out more?’
‘I did, once,’ she said, the memory tightening her throat. She swallowed. ‘I haven’t really got that far.’ She didn’t want to tell Ash the whole sorry story – not now.
‘Do you feel part of a family, though?’ Ash asked. ‘With your adopted parents?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘A glowing endorsement,’ Ash said, but he wasn’t laughing. His gaze was sharper than it had been a moment ago. ‘It must be tough, growing up like that. I mean – if you’re happy, then they’re as real as any family could be. But still, I know that my dad is from a village on the Amalfi coast, just outside Positano, and that my mum grew up an only child in Stratford-upon-Avon. I can’t imagine not having those pieces of my history.’
