Page 6 of Never Too Late
‘That’s not really the point.’
A waitress bearing a silver tray with three cocktails and two bowls of nibbles appeared, placed all of them down carefully, checked if we wanted anything else, then retreated. Ashok waited until she had gone to reply.
‘No, I suppose not but you were both so kind in inviting me to dinner. It would have entirely spoiled the fact that your generosity was out of pure kindness, not a sense of obligation, but also meant that I got to hear how much you genuinely loved the place. Had you known the position then you may instead have felt compelled to say those things and I wouldn’t have known if it was true. But mostly, I think swanning in and saying, “Hi, I own the place,” would make me sound, and feel – and excuse me for this, but you can blame English public-school education – a bit of an arsehole.’
I giggled. Which was most unlike me. The current me, anyway. Years ago, I’d giggle at anything. Not in a childish way – or perhaps it was childish? But in that wonderful way that kids do at the slightest thing because they have no inhibitions. No judgements. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost that ability.
Who was I kidding? It wasn’t ‘somewhere’. It was Paris. That inner child had been left that day years ago at the Gare du Nord in Paris, along with my heart.
A year later, I was pregnant and suddenly, there were lot more important things to do than giggle and laugh at the smallest thing that brought me joy. Sleep being one of them. Not that I saw much of that for a while.
‘Mum?’ Sasha’s expression was half-amusement, half-surprise.
‘Sorry. It’s just…’ I tailed off, suddenly aware that what I’d been about to say was likely going to make me look an idiot. That I could handle but I didn’t want to embarrass my daughter.
‘What?’ she encouraged me on.
‘Nothing. It was silly.’ I glanced up through my lashes at Ashok, who seemed to be just as intrigued about my answer. ‘It’s just that you have such a lovely, plummy accent and when you said, “arsehole”…’Oh, God. Now I’d said it out loud it sounded even worse.I lowered my gaze, only to raise it again as Ashok laughed, deep and easily.
‘My parents sent me to England to study and I came back with this accent. My old friends here still tease me relentlessly about it.’
‘I think it’s lovely. I didn’t mean it as an insult.’
‘I didn’t think that for a moment. And I’m glad I could provide an opportunity for laughter after what I imagine has been a difficult time.’ He took Sasha in his gaze too as he spoke. ‘For both of you.’
‘Mum’s been amazing. I mean, she always is but some couples can get really nasty, can’t they?’ Sasha took a sip of her cocktail. ‘Ooh! This is yum.’
‘What did you order?’ I asked, glad of the directional change in conversation.
‘I asked the barman what he recommended and he said he’d make us something up. No idea what’s in it but it tastes amazing! Try it!’ She flapped her free hand to both of us. We obeyed. She was right. It was amazing.
‘Wow!’
‘Very good.’
‘I reckon your barman needs a raise.’
‘Sash,’ I said quietly.
She shrugged and gave Ashok a grin, which he returned.
‘You might be right,’ he answered.
Sasha turned back to me, playful smugness written all over her features. ‘See?’
‘Thanks,’ I teased our new friend. ‘You do realise I’ll never hear the end of this now.’
‘Sorry,’ he replied, not looking remotely like he meant it.
‘I’m going to go and ask him what’s in it,’ Sasha said, pushing herself up again from the sofa.
‘Tell him to name it and put it on the cocktail menu.’
She turned back. ‘Are you serious?’
He gave a brief shrug. ‘Why not?’
My daughter grinned, turned and hurried off back to the bar.
