Page 52 of The Truth About You and Me
‘More of a learn the value of money because she comes from a working-class background kind of mum. We grew up with a pretty privileged upbringing. Dad comes from what Mum calls “old money”. Our family home, Chadders, is… it’s kind of a big house. Not that grand or anything but it’s been in our family for over a century. Both my parents were keen to correct our heritage by making us pay our own way with pocket money we earned through chores. And if we asked to borrow money, we had to pay interest. But they also gave us complete autonomy, let us learn from our mistakes and supported us if things went wrong.’
‘They sound great.’
‘They are. They’d like you,’ he adds. ‘Sorry, that sounded like I’m already inviting you to meet the parents.’
‘They sound great,’ I repeat, redundantly, avoiding the fact that when I tell him about me, the last thing he will want is to introduce me to his parents.
‘So, what happened to the Jack Chadwick novel?’
He nods towards the right and we cross the road as he points towards the entrance to Linton Park. ‘My dad is Tom Ridgeway.’
I frown.
‘Midnight Runaway?’ he adds, knowing I would have seen the film.
‘No way?!’
‘Yep.’
I let out a low whistle. ‘So have you, like, met Henry Cavill?’
He adjusts the shoulder of his backpack, ducking as we head under the stone archway leading into the park. ‘Once. He’s nice. Normal. Huge.’
‘Wow.’ I shake my head. ‘We lead very different lives. How come your dad’s not Tom Chadwick?’
‘Pen name. In case it all went horribly wrong.’
‘So why did you stop writing? There’s space for more than one family member to be a writer?’
‘I, well, I wasn’t good enough. As a kid I thought it was the coolest job in the world. Dad would wear pyjamas until lunchtime. He didn’t have to “go to work”. But as I got older, I could see the reality of being a writer, the deadlines, the stress when Dad struggled with the next book; I knew it wasn’t for me. Recommending books is easier.’
I scan the pathway beneath the Victorian-style street lamps towards the main courtyard of the park. The path is low-lit, swaths of fir trees lining the ribbon of pathway. The moon is high as we approach the small courtyard, casting a pale blue glow over the large and imposing circular fountain. In the centre is a sculpture of a woman, her body braced for battle, hair blown back from her face by a wind long gone. In the summer, the fountain can be heard gushing from where we are, but tonight, the warrior remains silent.
‘We’re here,’ he says.
‘You’ve brought me to see a fountain that’s not fountaining?’ He smiles and drops the bag off his shoulder.
‘We missed the end ofNotting Hill.’ He climbs over the ridge of the fountain, automatically turning and offering me a hand. I give my head a little shake; he looks like he wants to kick himself. I climb over the ridge and drop down into the basin. He takes out his laptop, opens it and props it up next to the base of the horse, the ta-dum of the Netflix logo playing into the cold night air. I laugh, my cheeks warming. He lays out two yoga mats, with a wide enough space between them to keep us from accidentally touching and unfolds two blankets.
‘Wow. I…’ I swallow hard and clutch the tops of my arms. ‘Thank you, Jack.’
‘I thought I’d better make scene two special.’
‘Well, you’ve nailed it.’ I sit down as he pours hot chocolate into two takeaway cups, placing them on the ground before leaning over the laptop and selectingNotting Hill.
‘What, no whipped cream and marshmallows?’ I tease.
‘One step ahead.’ He pulls out a bag of marshmallows and a battery-operated church candle, placing it further around the bowl of the fountain.
‘No fairy lights hidden in there? Dry ice machine?’
‘Sorry to disappoint.’
‘I doubt you ever do.’ My eyes meet his. There is a buzz of connection between us: that spark that was there earlier and is so often shown in romance films.
For my whole life I’ve come to accept that I will never be as happy as the couples on the screen, as the people I see from outside a restaurant window, holding hands across a table. But while the film plays and we talk through it, while I laugh and tease him, and while I tell him about Hellie; my pet goldfish, Bruce; and he explains about the time his siblings pretended he was invisible for two whole weeks, I realise that this is possibly the happiest day of my life.
But then the film ends and I realise it’s time.
