Free Thursdays in the Park by Hilary Boyd

grandchildren, all is forgiven.’ He gave a short laugh.
    ‘I think I need a drink.’
    ‘I know I do.’
    They both began to chuckle. ‘This can’t be a good sign, us needing medication to be together,’ she said.
    ‘It’s just I’ve been building this up in my mind since your text,’ Ray confessed, much to Jeanie’s surprise.
    They kept walking, not looking at each other. But hearing what he said, Jeanie took a deep breath and began to relax. Part of her had accepted that she was the silly one, the one with the fantasy, and that despite the obvious overtures, Ray was just going along for the ride. She didn’t mind this, it was what she expected, but now she realized that perhaps he shared her sense of turmoil.

     
    The restaurant was almost empty, except for one young couple by the window drinking beers from the bottle and sharing a plate of meze. Jeanie was relieved. She’d been checking every passer-by since meeting Ray, waiting for one of her many local acquaintances to spot them together and report back, en passant and quite innocently no doubt, to George. The restaurant felt very new, the waiters over-solicitous, the decor too pristine, as if the atmosphere were waiting to arrive. They were shown to a table close to the other couple – Jeanie supposed most people liked the illusion of company when they ate out – but Ray chose one at the far end of the room instead.
    ‘What do you think?’ He looked around.
    ‘I don’t really mind . . . it’s fine,’ Jeanie replied honestly.
    Now they were sitting opposite each other, the essential bottle of wine ordered, she felt the fluttering, the churning, the out-of-control pounding of her heart begin. She wanted to catch his gaze, to feel again that first shocking intensity, but hardly dared, so she busied herself tidying the cutlery and unfolding the puce paper napkin, placing it carefully in her lap.
    ‘Cheers.’ They raised their glasses to each other and took an appreciative sip. She hoped the wine might calm her.
    ‘Tell me, then,’ Ray was saying, ‘tell me everything.’
    Jeanie laughed. ‘Everything about what?’
    ‘You, your life, where you were born and who your best friend was . . . your favourite song . . . do you like carrots . . . just the normal stuff.’
    ‘How long have you got?’ They were both laughing now, the miraculous connection making it almost irrelevant what they said. It was enough just to be there as the light faded outside and the waiter lit the small table candle, to be allowed to watch each other without censure.
    ‘Do you really want to know?’
    Ray nodded.
    ‘Born in Norfolk, near Holt, father a Church of England vicar . . . zealous, worthy . . . scary. He might have been happy if he’d thought it was God’s will, but he saw life as grim sacrifice. I’m not sure he even noticed us, he was so totally wrapped up in his calling. Mother a parish worker, had a good heart but was annoyingly neurotic. One brother, two years older, who died when he was fifteen, and sent my mother off the rails. Both parents now dead a long time. Best childhood friend Michelle, who was half Canadian and went to live in Toronto.’ She paused for a moment, wondering what Michelle would think of all this. ‘What were the other things?’ She saw Ray about to speak. ‘No, got it . . . I sort of like carrots . . . or maybe I’m indifferent to them . . . I prefer them raw, and my favourite song is . . . impossible to choose.’
    ‘What did your brother die of?’
    ‘Cancer. He’d probably have lived these days, there’s such a good cure rate for children now . . .’ She gabbled on about the wonders of science and the magical advances of chemotherapy to avoid having to address how she really felt about her beloved Will’s death. It was something she hadhardly talked about since the morning her father had come into her bedroom and told her he was ‘now with God’. Neither of her parents had been able to help her, and there was no