How To Choose a Sweetheart (14 page)

He feels his ardour and then feels his ardour deflating.

“Me too,” he says. “But I can wait a little longer.” This lying thing is becoming a little too much like second nature and can’t be good for either of them.

Max smiles. Cath kisses him like he’s her nephew and then leads him through the gate and towards her front door.

T
he office is untidy, mainly because the remains of Max’s lunch are strewn across the table.

Chris bursts in and disrupts the peace. He wanders over to the kettle and flicks the switch on, then throws Max a chocolate bar. Max fumbles the catch and picks the chocolate from his lap. “Christmas already?” he asks.

“For me Maxy boy, every day’s Christmas day.”

“I noticed you had company when you came in this morning.”

“And what company.” The grin on his face tells a story in itself.

“Pray tell.”

“She invited me to hers. Can you believe it?  Course, I had to think about it from a professional point of view, but I didn’t want her to feel bad, so I went in.” All the way, no doubt.

“How noble.”

“We opened a bottle of wine and stayed up talking.”

It’s that Stepford bachelor back again. “There was talking?”

“It’s her hobby.”

“And when the wine ran out?”

“Use your imagination.”

That’s the last thing Max feels like doing. He screws up his face to save him from answering.

“Suit yourself. And you?”

“Everything’s great.”

“Any developments?” Meaning has he got past first base?

“Nothing much. I’ve got to compose some romantic music on the piano and then learn to play it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Chris makes himself a coffee and Max slides his chocolate from its foil wrapper. “Yeah, sorry about that. We were only trying to help.”

Max’s thumb nail neatly cuts away the shiny foil and be breaks off a chunk. “I know that. It’s not your fault. It’s what comes from making up a life to get to know someone.”

“Think you can get away with it?”

The chocolate melts on Max’s tongue. Its sweetness should kick some optimism off in his brain, but there’s nothing. “I don’t want to get away with it. That’s the whole point.”

The pair are in uncharted territory. Maybe this is the onset of middle-age.

“You could come clean,” Chris suggests.

“I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

“Might not be as bad as you think.”

“Which doesn’t give me much hope.”

“Eat your chocolate. That always helps.” Only nearly always it would seem.

Max stands, pops another couple of chunks into his mouth and sets about throwing his lunch-wrappings into the bin. When he’s done, he puts the remainder of the chocolate into his pigeon hole. “I’ll save it for later. How is it out there?”

“Busy as hell.” Chris opens up a bag with a pie inside.

“At least it’ll keep my mind occupied.”

“See you later.”

Max puts on his jacket, straightens it up and goes out onto the shop floor.

He takes his position at the till and relieves Amelie, who’s already been held up for ten minutes by Max’s hangover. He serves a few customers, trying as hard as he can not to breathe on any of them and then Chris walks back into the shop.

The Trunchball’s all over him like measles. Angela’s in tow. Trunchball thrusts a piece of paper in his direction. “Remember anything about this order?”

Chris takes it and stares at it for a moment.

“Well?”

“It’s in. Under the back till upstairs.”

“Next time, do you think you could write it in the book? It’s what systems are for you realise, to make the service efficient.” She rips the paper back from Chris and hands it over to Angela, who takes it and rushes off up the stairs.

Chris’s face reddens. It seems that his Christmas day is over and someone forgot to pass around the presents.

Max worries that Chris will explode. Tell Trunchball all the things he’s been talking about in the staffroom. Maybe even going as far as handing in his notice in the way he keeps threatening.

When Angela gets to the top of the stairs, she turns back and gives Chris a wink. It’s enough to cool his cheeks and he breaks into a smile.

One day, Trunchball will push him too far. He’ll walk out on the spot and do something with that Oxford education of his just like he keeps threatening. If he were to do that and Cath were to kick Max out of her life for his disgusting fraudulence, he might as well jump off the biggest bridge he can find.

Max’s heart flutters like a kite in the wind. He thinks he may just have discovered palpitations.

M
ax is in Evans’s favourite chair. It looks shabby, but it’s comfortable as hell. Evans comes in from the kitchen and sits down at the piano.

“Then I apologise,” he says.

“It’s OK.” It’s a relief to Max to hear that not everything is going against him.

“I thought you’d given up on me. My pupils usually do, you know.”

“That’s why I’m still smoking I guess. I’m no quitter.”

“A quality I admire in you, sir.”

Max is reminded of his habit. He takes out a smoke and throws one over to the old man. “You ever given anything up?”

“Only the important things. I’ve never said no to a smoke, a drink, a fight or a lady mind.”

“And what’ve you quit?”

Evans stares at the ceiling as if the answers written there. “Dreaming. Hoping. Creating. And loving. The very stuff of life itself.”

“But you did love once,” Max reminds him.

“I still love now. Loving, though, loving’s a verb.”

“So what advice would you have for a young man like me?”

“Never give up and never let the fates get a whiff of what keeps you going. The bigger the dream and the deeper the feeling, the harder they’ll try to get in the way. Never whisper to the stars unless it’s to put them off the scent.”

“If that’s the way it is, I should probably start doing some covering up straight away.”

“The sooner the better.”

“Evans?  Because we missed our lesson last week, I feel like I’m falling behind. It’s really important that I keep going otherwise I’ll never confuse Fate’s little helpers.”

“If there’s a chance of giving them one final kick, I’ll sign up to the cause, no questions asked.”

Evans leans over and offers his hand.

They shake vigorously as if ready to take on the world.

“Should we get to work partner,” Evans says.

Max stands while Evans lifts the lid of the piano. They link arms and Evans cracks his knuckles.

T
hey’ve had to change their plans for the day. A dreadful weather forecast, followed by heavy showers of rain have forced their picnic to be an indoor affair. Alice, Cath and Max are all slumped across the sofa in Cath’s living room, legs tangled in a simple knot. They’re eating ice lollies, cheap versions of a Zoom, rocket shaped in three flavours with the tip covered in hundreds of hundreds and thousands.

Alice is concentrating hard and licking off all the drips on hers.

“How’s the lolly?” her mum asks.

“Cold.”

“But delicious,” Max says.

“Why do they always drip all over the place?” It’s a question Max has never considered before, but he knows the answer.

“To make them more interesting, of course.”

“I wish they’d drip upwards,” Alice says. This stops him from launching into his spiel on freezing and melting, gravity being a step too far for his unscientific brain. “If they did, you wouldn’t have to get told off.” She’s got a point there.

Cath smiles at her and ruffles her hair. “Maybe someone will invent them.”

Max likes the idea, but sees a flaw in the logic. “It would be much harder to clean the ceiling. What we need is no drips.”

“Then there wouldn’t be any more fun.”

“So let’s keep them exactly as they are,” Cath says and they all carry on eating.

“Talking of ice,” Max says, “I was thinking that maybe we could go out on my next Sunday off.”

“What’s that got to do with ice?”

“I was thinking we could go skating.”

Alice bolts upright. Her eyes have opened wide and the drips from the lolly fall onto the front of her pink dress. “Wow. Yeah, Mum. Can we go?  Can we?”

“I don’t know darling,” Cath answers. “I’ve never been skating before.”

“It’s easy,” Max tells her. “You just put your knees together and go.”

Alice has untangled the knot of legs and is standing on the cushions, bouncing. “I can do it Mum. I’ve seen it on the telly.”

That could be useful. Max has never skated either. “You can help us old ones out then.”

“Come on, can we go?” She’s bouncing and excited and there’s no way Max can resist. He holds his breath while he waits for the decision.

“All right.” Cath doesn’t sound enthusiastic with her verdict, but Max can win her round. “I don’t see why not.”

There are hugs for everyone and this time the knot is made of arms. “Thanks Mum and Max.”

He remembers the way she was when they first met, that timid little thing with the damaged wings. It seems the piano lessons are working. Maybe it’ll be enough to make up for the deception if it’s ever revealed. Only he realises it doesn’t matter how that plays out. What matters is that the broken child is mending. His eyes moisten and his throat tightens.

When the hugs break, Cath breaks a little surprise of her own. “Maybe you could thank Max by playing him the tune you wrote for him. Can you remember?”

“It was only yesterday, Mum. I think so.”

“Go and wipe your hands first.”

Alice runs to the kitchen. The moisture in Max’s eyes gathers in the corners and, on the left hand side, decide to overflow down his cheek. He wipes the tear away on the back of the sofa as quickly as he can, hoping Cath hasn’t seen. She’s sitting up getting ready for the performance, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

Then Alice runs in and takes her seat on the stool. As she plays her notes, her tongue sticks out between her teeth. Her fingers move from one key to the next like frozen fish fingers. The tune’s plunky and simple, but she knows it well enough to repeat it without any problems.

Max watches her concentration. The effort on her face as she plays. The joy she radiates as they clap and cheer when she’s done, like she’s won an Olympic gold. His insides dance with happiness.

“That’s wonderful,” he tells her, meaning more than the words suggest. Sure, the tune was pretty rubbish, but it meant the world. “You know, I didn’t start writing my first composition until a little while ago, so you’re way ahead of me.”

“Have you got a name for it yet?” Alice asks as one composer to another.

“How about Ice Lolly Drip?”

Alice doesn’t look sure.

“It’s a good name,” Cath says. It’s kind of like she’s encouraging him to get it finished so that he can play it and put the last piece of the romantic jigsaw into place. “Anyway, poppet, you need to be getting yourself ready for bed. Off you go.”

Alice gives Max another hug. When the thought of his deception swoops through his mind like a vampire bat, his heart skips a beat.

“When’s your next Sunday off,” Alice asks him.

“This weekend, I think.”

“Can we go skating then?”

“Definitely.” The word’s out and there’s no turning back.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Doubly so.

“Good night Max,” she says and pecks him on the cheek. He wraps his arms around her and holds on tight for a second.

“Good night,” Alice says when Max lets go.

“Will you come and get me ready Mum?”

Cath stands up without being asked twice. “Let’s go Chicken,” she says and they walk off into the bedroom like a large pea and a small one in a pod.

Soon as they’re gone, Max sits on the piano stool and tries to copy Alice’s tune. It’s hopeless. He can’t even recreate the first three notes.

M
ax and Cath doze on the sofa, Max curled into the contours of Cath’s body, half aware of the perfect fit and half dreaming about a cricket match from his schooldays.

The scuffle of slippers on the floorboards wakes him enough to force open his eyes until there’s a tiny slit to let the light in and for the cricket game to vaporise just as he was about to come in to bat.

Alice is there carrying a glass of water.

She drinks it quickly and puts the empty glass down on the coffee table.

For a while, she just stands there looking at the couple. Her head shifts from side to side and her brow furrows as she looks at the bodies in front of her and then she disappears.

Max lets himself forget that she was there and tries to slip back into his dreams so he can find out how many runs he’s scored.

The sound of Alice’s slippers and something dragging along the floor wakes him again.

Next thing, he feels the bounce of the sofa cushions as Alice steps up onto them, followed by a small body curling into his back. A cover of some kind is pulled over his legs and waist and he drifts off again, 99 not out and about to face the new ball.

E
ven though it’s early summer, their breath makes little clouds in front of their faces.

The ice rink is busy with skaters who are making circles to the sounds of cheery supermarket music.

Max, Cath and Alice walk awkwardly in a chain, the blades under their boots making them look like a drunken trio on their way home from the pub.

Alice is the first to step onto the ice. She’s wearing a red bobble-hat with matching gloves that were taken out of the cupboard of clothes set aside for winter. She slides onto the ice like a pro.

Max and Cath stumble onto the rink, their legs spreading unnaturally until they’re forced to hang on to each other for support. Alice laughs and points at them and then leaves them to it to go skating off around like she was born to be on the ice.

After her first lap a boy skates over to her, speeding like a hockey player until he’s right in her way.

Max eyes him up and down. About Alice’s age, dressed in jeans and a Gap hoodie and wearing a pair of glasses that make him look like he’ll go far one day.