Page 64 of Things We Never Said
‘Lucky you,’ Sean says, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear so that he can hunt for a snack to eat. ‘The weather’s been rubbish here.’
‘Look, I can’t talk for long,’ Maggie says, ‘but did you do anything about the rowing business yet?’
‘No. I was busy helping April move last weekend. But I’ve promised myself I’ll phone around tomorrow and see what’s what. Why, have you changed your mind?’
‘Perhaps,’ Maggie says. ‘There’s a learning-to-row thing at Cantabrigian on Saturday mornings.’
Sean has found a previously opened packet of crisps, but when he pops one into his mouth, he realises that they are stale and has to spit it out into the bin.
‘You OK?’ Maggie asks.
‘Sorry, stale crisps. They make me gag. I don’t know why. Anyway, I know how to row, Mags.’
‘I know you do. But I only went about six times and that was twenty-odd years ago. Maybe I should do the learning one and you—’
‘So youhavechanged your mind?’ Sean asks, interrupting her. ‘I thought Dave had vetoed rowing.’
‘Let’s just say I convinced him,’ Maggie says. ‘But, seriously, if you want to do a different one then go ahead. I think I’ll head down there and try this newbie thing tomorrow morning, myself. Strike while the iron’s hot.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ Sean says. ‘Let’s both pretend to be newbies. We just head down there, do we? No need to book or anything?’
‘Apparently not. But it’s at eight, I’m afraid.’
‘Par for the course,’ Sean says. ‘Let’s do it.’
On Saturday morning, Sean peers doubtfully through the bedroom curtains. He’s comfortable in bed and is having second thoughts. But as it looks like the beginnings of a beautiful day, he steels himself and heads downstairs.
He walks, with pleasure, through the early-morning streets, past not-yet-open shops and pub staff unloading delivery vans. He crosses the green to the Cam and then walks to Riverside and over a bridge towards their meeting place. In the quiet of the morning, with the sunlight dappling the river, he feels like he’s in some foreign country, perhaps Italy, or Spain.
When he reaches the association boathouse he finds Maggie sitting on a wall looking glum. ‘Oh, hello,’ she says. ‘Did you not get my message? I thought you might not have, which is why I hung around.’
‘I left it at home,’ Sean says, patting his pocket. ‘I’m trying to keep it away from large bodies of water these days.’
‘I fucked up, I’m afraid,’ Maggie says. ‘I must have misread the website or something. I thought we could just bowl up, but he says we have to book in advance online and then wait to be invited or something.’
‘Oh,’ Sean says.
‘He was pleasant about it. But, let’s say, unyielding.’
Sean snorts. He can imagine Maggie trying to persuade the guy and is surprised, knowing her, that she gave in while he was still being polite. ‘Coffee?’ he says, tilting his head townwards.
‘Sure,’ Maggie says, jumping up and grabbing the bars of her pushbike.
As they cross back over Riverside Bridge, Sean points at the building site where foundations are now being laid. ‘That’s one of ours,’ he says.
‘Flats?’ Maggie asks.
‘Yeah. Small. Very bijou. But nice.’
‘I should hope so,’ Maggie says. ‘That’s prime real estate.’
‘It’s a shame about the rowing. I was feeling quite in need of some exercise.’ Sean pats his stomach. ‘All those ready meals are starting to take their toll.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Maggie says. ‘I thought the Italians were supposed to be the voluptuous ones, but I felt like a beached whale around that pool.’
‘Was it good though? Did you have a nice time?’
‘Yes, it was OK,’ Maggie says, sounding determined to see the upside. ‘The weather was heavenly, and Siena was beautiful. I hated Florence. We both hated Florence.’
