Considering my relationship with my own mother, the thought tightened around my chest, then embraced me like a warm hug. ‘Good. That’s good.’
‘Classically handsome, funny, sweet. Just about everything you need.’ Penny dabbed at my face. ‘I think, once you scratch the surface, you’ll find you have quite a lot in common with him.’
* * *
My instructions were to head straight for table two, a cosy booth with high-back leather seats and an ocean view, and to be there at six o’clock on the dot. No earlier, and absolutely no later, otherwise I might just ruin the entire surprise. Oh, and I was to face away from the door to avoid peeking at any of the oncoming man traffic.
When I arrived, at one minute to six, I peeled off my new coat, folded it far more carefully than I would any older piece of clothing, and slipped into the booth. From where I sat, my only male view was the barman, and a man in a tuxedo who was sitting at the bar with his back to the world. Was that my date?
My stomach wobbled about like jelly and sent shivers up my throat and along my jawline.
‘Sorry I’m late, I wasn’t expecting to—’ Marcus slipped into the booth opposite me.
We froze, thrown by the mutual discovery. He broke first, a nervous glance towards the door and around the rest of the pub, no doubt wondering if he was indeed in the right spot. I watched as he glanced across at the table number, his eyes lifting to mine when he realised he was indeed in the right spot.
If it weren’t for the fact he was sans his roller case, I’d have thought he’d come straight from work. Or, maybe he’d just left it behind. He was still dressed as he had been all day, the royal blue suit, crisp white shirt (seriously, who had shirts that white?) and a silvery grey tie.
He frowned, confused. ‘Eleanor?’
‘That’s my name, yes.’
‘Patrick told me to meet him in this booth at six o’clock.’
I shook my head in quick, confused jerks. No, that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Over at the bar, the tuxedoed man slipped from his chair and wandered over to us. Sucking lazily on a straw, he had a swagger Clint Eastwood would be proud of. Right now, it was beginning to look like neither of us were lost, and we were exactly where we were supposed to be.
‘Patrick?’ I squawked, clapping in delight. He looked fantastic! A little awkward and completely out of his natural environment of khaki shorts and fluorescent polo shirts, but it was just so … refreshing to see him like this.
‘Relax, it’s perfectly harmless fizzy water,’ Patrick announced. ‘Maybe a pinch of lemon.’
‘No, no, no,’ I bumbled, waggling a lazy finger between the two men. ‘But … you? And him?’
‘And that’s my suit!’ Marcus almost fell about himself laughing. ‘Oh, you utter cock!’
‘See, here’s the thing.’ Patrick turned his attention to me, tossing a thumb in Marcus’s direction. ‘I kinda mighta told Buggalugs here I had a hot date tonight, so he let me borrow some of his fancy pants clothes. Joke’s on him though, because I’m not wearing any underwear. Hence the funny walk.’
‘This is so wild,’ I chortled. ‘You do look smashing though, don’t let anyone tell you any different.’
‘Don’t scrub up so bad, do I?’ He smiled proudly, brushing himself down. ‘Might keep it.’
‘For Olivia?’ Marcus teased. ‘How is she, by the way? Does she know you’re out and about dressed like the pre-school version of Magic Mike?’
‘I was reliably informed today that she does not like sausage but is indeed rather fond of the occasional eggplant.’ He flipped his notepad over and tapped at it with a pen. Watching him, I was tempted to tell Patrick he’d be a successful waiter should the building game ever dry up. ‘I’m not sure what I’m meant to do with that information, but there you have it.’
My eyes met Marcus’s. He did his best to hold back laughter.
After inspecting his notepad for a few more moments, Patrick jammed the pen in his breast pocket and opened his hand to us. ‘Right, so, first order of the night is for you two to give me your phones.’
‘I’m not giving you my phone!’ I laughed delightedly. ‘No way.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t go looking for the porn. I’m only going to give yours to Penny.’ He pointed to my cousin who, leaning into my line of sight, sat at the far end of the bar. She gave the tittering overjoyed wave everyone’s grandma had at family gatherings before tipping her drink back up to her mouth. Patrick turned his attention to Marcus. ‘And I’ll drop yours in your letterbox. Or over the fence. I’ll ask Daisy if she needs a new chew toy.’
Reluctantly, we handed our gadgets over, though I wasn’t convinced this was the best idea ever. We both offered warnings about hacking and personal information. Some of the conversations I had with Penny weren’t suitable for public consumption and, if they didn’t cause outrage, they’d probably be cause to have us committed. The only response was rolled eyes and a comment about technology addiction. In exchange, Patrick handed us each an envelope. Mine was lemon yellow, Marcus’s a coffee brown.
‘Also, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering you some drinks. Straight whiskey for you, Marc, because you seem to think you’re refined. And you look like you might be a gin and tonic girl. I’m told lemon martinis are apparently off limits.’
I wrinkled my nose, though I can only imagine how he found that out. ‘Probably not the best idea, no.’
‘Followed by a bottle of pinot noir, because I at least know you two lushes both enjoy a tipple of red.’
Marcus offered me a gentle smile.
‘So, here’s your mission, should you choose to accept it. You have thirty seconds to decide if you’re in or if you’re out. Speak now or forever hold your peace.’ He paused. ‘I could do the wedding celebrant thing, couldn’t I? Quite good at this.’
Marcus relaxed in his seat and placed his envelope on the table before him. ‘I’m in.’
‘Manning?’ Patrick flinched, clutching a hand to his chest. ‘Sorry, sorry, so sorry, Eleanor.’
Marcus covered his mouth, but he couldn’t hide the crinkled eyes of mocking laughter. It pulled, hard, at what, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else.
‘Me, too,’ I said. ‘I’m in.’
‘Oh, the romance of it all,’ Patrick deadpanned. ‘Now, there are no rules tonight except those contained in your envelopes. Wait until we’ve both left the building and away from all sharp cutlery before you open them.’
‘This all sounds rather elaborate for a—’ Marcus formed air quotes ‘—blind date.’
‘Yeah, well, if you make it through tonight without mentioning school, the library, presentation night, or anything at all to do with work, Toby behind the bar has got scratch and sniff stickers. Neither of you will get them, because that circumvents the whole no school thing, but he just has some. I suspect he uses them in place of markers for that strawberry-scented high.’
‘Jesus.’ I laughed, glancing over at the bar. The barman was engrossed in a news broadcast on the telly behind the bar
‘Nope, just a carpenter.’ Patrick tucked his notepad away in his back pocket. ‘No more questions?’
Marcus and I checked each other. ‘No,’ we said in unison.
‘Correct answer.’ Patrick grinned. ‘Have a wonderful, two-derful night.’
Patrick left us staring blankly at each other as he stepped outside, stopping only to blow us a kiss as he scuttled by our window on his way down the street. Penny slugged down the last of her drink, dropped from her stool and raced out the door behind him with nothing more than an excited wave. Marcus held his envelope up between us, his name written in an elaborate font.
‘Do you want to go home?’ he asked, bottle-green eyes peering at me over the artificial latte horizon. ‘I won’t be offended if you do.’
For all my nerves leading up to tonight, seeing Marcus arrive had been a genuinely pleasant surprise. Not simply because he was a known quantity, but becaus
e I was becoming increasingly curious about this man I worked with.
I shook my head. ‘No. Do you?’
He gave his head a quick shake. His expression told me he was almost a little despondent that I’d asked. It was reassuring to know he wanted to be here, too.
‘Let’s do this at the same time, shall we?’ He sat poised with a thumb under the lip of his envelope.
‘All right,’ I said, knife in hand and ready to tear open my own envelope. ‘Let’s.’
It was a quick countdown from three as we tore at the paper. Confusion over the contents followed. I pressed my envelope in at the edges and tried to make out what I was looking at. Marcus pulled a bundle of cards from his envelope.
‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘It looks like we have a question and answer game. My cards are numbered. I start at two.’
My stack, which was wrapped in a handwritten note, began at one.
‘Ladies first,’ I teased. Dangling the letter in the air between us, I asked, ‘I’ll read it out, shall I?’
A waiter presented our drinks, wiped down the table, and disappeared.
‘I’m ready.’ Marcus held his glass out to me. ‘Cheers?’
We clinked glasses, and I took the first refreshing sip of what turned out to be strawberry gin and tonic. It was subtly perfect and made me think that maybe I’d give the red wine a miss after all.
‘All right,’ I announced. ‘It says, “Hey Kids! Guess who? It’s us, your fairy godparents! So, dinner was fun the other night, wasn’t it? We really enjoyed listening to you two bicker, squabble, and talk shop ALL NIGHT. Seriously, it was fascinating, so much so that we decided you both need a break. Eat dinner, talk about something other than work. Those cards? They’re conversation cues. Great idea, right? The rules are simple: you must read each card aloud and in order (trust us, it’ll be worth it), and you can’t skip anything. If you’re tempted to talk shop, you need to make a five-dollar donation to charity. Now, go forth and enjoy your night. Have a drink or two and look after each other.”’
We looked at each other for one quiet moment in the chaos of a pub on a Friday night, the slow-motion centre of a lightning-fast world.
‘We weren’t that bad, were we?’ Marcus asked, not quite ready to believe the accusation.
I winced apologetically. ‘I think we were. Penny said as much the next morning.’
‘Right, okay, all right.’ He clasped his hands and rested them on the table. ‘So, you’re number one?’
‘I am number one,’ I confirmed with a coy smile. ‘Shall we?’
‘Let’s.’
I tapped my pile of cards of the table and cleared my throat. ‘“Marcus”,’ I began, covering my mouth with genuine embarrassment. My eyes had already skipped a few words ahead. I couldn’t back out of this now and making something up just felt insincere. ‘“I told Penny the other night how much I enjoyed seeing you without a tie, that I thought you had a nice neck.”’
‘You what?’ He roared with laughter, unconsciously reaching for his throat, tugging his tie. ‘You didn’t?’
‘I am neither confirming, nor denying that.’ My entire being burned up, and I felt light and bubbly, like I was floating out of orbit. I returned to the card in front of me. ‘“Could you please remove your tie and unfasten the top two buttons of your shirt?”’
Without argument, and with a look of smug satisfaction, he complied. ‘Can’t very well leave you wanting, can I?’
‘It would be terribly unfair if you did.’
‘Is that the last of the card?’ He folded the fabric gently and pushed it into his pocket. When I nodded, he picked his next one up. The same rush of embarrassment flooded his face as he stumbled over the start. ‘All right. It says, “Eleanor, it’s no secret I find you ridiculously attractive. I’ve told Patrick as much, more times than he’s sawn wood.”’
I squeaked. Completely involuntarily. ‘Is that a euphemism?’
‘It’s Patrick, so probably.’
‘“But the pen in the hair? It’s gotta go.”’
I reached around the back of my head and tugged out the offending item. ‘You know, I don’t even know it’s there half the time. I even went home and got changed for tonight and, still, pen in hair. It’s just a me thing.’
‘At least I know you’ll always have one on you.’
I smiled and looked down at the pile in front of me, the next question open and waiting. All it needed was a voice. After gentle goading, I spat it out.
‘Okay.’ I shuffled and crossed my legs. ‘“When are you the most yourself?”’
‘That’s a great question.’ Marcus plucked the card from my grasp and looked at it. ‘Most myself? I think, yes, in my kitchen, or my home, either, or surrounded by family. I can be a complete buffoon in my tracksuit pants.’
‘Are they grey?’ I asked.
‘What? The tracksuit pants?’ he asked. ‘They might be.’
‘Good.’ I bit my lip with a smile. ‘Continue.’
‘That’s it. Just at home, surrounded by family. Maybe with the barbecue going. My little niece and my sister, my parents, cousins if they’re ever about. We just have a really lovely time. It’s nice to be adults and make it through as friends. So, I think that’s the best place to catch me.’ He stopped. ‘How about you?’
‘I think I would be most myself with one or two close friends. Maybe even just my dad and me, sitting about and discussing books, or music, or travel, watching a numbingly dumb film, that kind of thing.’
‘Sounds way more intellectual than me.’
‘Hardly.’ I grabbed for the straw with my mouth. ‘What’s your next question?’
‘Here we go. Next is—’ Marcus gave a disbelieving scoff and shook his head ‘—“Patrick is sexy. Discuss”.’
I tried hiding behind my stack of cards as I laughed loudly. ‘I can see where Patrick might get that idea from.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ Marcus leaned back into the wall and rested his arm along the top of the booth. ‘Well, go on then. Discuss.’
‘No, no, no.’ My ears, cheeks, neck were burning up. I clapped my hands to my cheeks to try and cool them. It didn’t help, and I felt noticeably guilty that I might have offended Marcus. ‘I don’t personally find him sexy.’
‘Cute?’ Marcus tried.
‘Eh.’ I waggled a hand.
‘You know, this is great. “How was your date, Marcus? Oh, wonderful. She really likes you.”’
I leaned forward and rested my chin in the palm of my hand. ‘I said I can see how Patrick might get that idea. He’s a tradie, he gets around in his shorts all the time, he has a lovely physique.’
‘You realise this is not helping?’ He pivoted on the spot, catching a glimpse of a group of tradesmen who circled a pool table. ‘See? Look at that. You like that?’
‘Tradies are a popular lady trope,’ I blurted. ‘They’re just not mine.’
‘Back-pedal, back-pedal,’ he teased. ‘What’s your trope, then?’
‘You mean what do I look for?’
He lifted a lazy shoulder. ‘If that’s how you want to interpret it.’
‘Kindness.’ I counted on my finger. ‘Intelligence—’
‘Okay, so Patrick’s out. Good to know.’
I laughed. ‘That’s not very kind.’
‘You’re right, I’m awful. Stop it, Marcus.’ He peered at me over the lip of his glass. ‘What else?’
‘I don’t know so much anymore,’ I said. ‘I had what I thought was what I wanted, and it turned out to be a giant mess. I guess what’s important now is, like I said, kindness, support and space to grow, and family.’
‘I like that answer very much.’ Marcus pushed his glass across the table. ‘What’s the next card say?’
‘Hang on, what about you?’ I asked. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘I think you covered it really well.’ The corner of his mouth lifted gently. ‘Perfectly.’
I tapped my pile of cards against th
e table as Marcus drum-rolled his fingers. ‘Okay, next, “What’s your favourite time of day?”’
‘Three thirty-five p.m,’ he said with a wry laugh. ‘God it feels so good.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘I would’ve said the first five minutes in bed. Sheets are cold, I’m not yet asleep, but I can just curl up in the silence and let my brain stop.’
‘Also a good time.’ Marcus poked the air. ‘But the simple act of standing in an empty classroom, knowing I don’t have to work for the next seventeen hours is great.’
‘Friday nights at yours must be lit.’
‘You know it.’ Marcus flipped the next card. ‘Oh, this is a good one. “Well done on making it this far, make sure you order food, this is supposed to be fun.”’
That was the cue for toilet breaks, more drinks, and some good food to soak up all our alcohol. I looked up in time to witness Marcus slide back into the booth, adjust his jacket, and crack the twist-top on our fresh bottle of wine.
‘Now, I hardly think this will be as fancy as the tipples we just enjoyed, but hopefully it passes muster.’ He propped his head up with a closed fist and smiled happily to himself.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’ I was of the adage that after two glasses, it all blended into one anyway. That’s not just me, is it?
Blend it did; the conversations, the jokes, the seemingly mundane observations as the pub moved around us like a time-lapse video. We picked up on shared university lecturers and student hangouts, one or two common friends who’d managed to slip through the cracks, and how a small town was so much better to work in than a big city. It was agreed that the community was closer, life was a little slower, and a bit more family friendly, something the both of us thought important.
Dinner appeared somewhere in the middle, pizza with stringy cheese, hot chips, and even more wine. Is there anything as good as pizza when you’ve admittedly had a little too much to drink? I think not. It disappeared over a conversation about what there actually was to do around here on a Saturday night, except for the local cinema.
I stuffed a few chips in my mouth and picked up the pile of cards again. A small grin tugged at my mouth. ‘Want another question?’ I asked.
Lessons in Love Page 18
