Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [84]
“I did. More like beg, to be perfectly honest. You’ve never seen a man so loath to commit. I had to withdraw privileges in the end,” laughed Ginny.
“Ginny!” Tom pretended to sound horrified.
“Worked, though, didn’t it!” She put her hand on his thigh.
“Ed’s more like me, clearly,” Nancy said. “I knew I was going to marry your father the first time we had dinner together.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ed said.
“Me, neither,” Tom added.
“I probably never told you before, that’s why. The testosterone-laden nature of this home when you were all growing up didn’t exactly lend itself to this sort of romantic revelation. But I think I did. He was almost a quarter-century older than me, divorced, and he came with more baggage than Heathrow on a bank holiday, but I already knew he was the one for me. Fate might have screwed up the timing a bit, made him, in the words of my mother, old enough to be my father, but it didn’t change how I felt. It’s never made a difference to me. I remember because I went home and told my sister, and she said it was disgusting and called me a…what was it?…A gold-digging grave robber? Yes, that was it. A beautiful turn of phrase.”
“Auntie June called you that?!”
“Auntie Meg! The one who lives in South Africa now, married a farmer, lives on that sheep farm. Hundreds of miles from other people, which is where she belongs. Fewer people to insult. Yes, she did.”
“That’s really horrible!”
“I didn’t care. She was jealous, as far as I was concerned. I’d had the time of my life. He’d taken me to the classiest restaurant for miles. It’s been closed for years now. It was wonderfully old-fashioned—the waiters wore white coats and did silver service, you know. I felt like I was in a film. There were single red roses at every table, and the menu was all in French….”
“That’s a bit more romantic than soggy cucumber sandwiches at the cricket pavilion,” Ginny giggled, slapping Tom’s thigh affectionately.
“And nearly as romantic as a venti latte and a double chocolate chunk cookie,” Ed whispered to Amanda.
Nancy’s eyes had filled with tears. Ginny reached across and took her hand, but Nancy rubbed her face, impatient at her own reaction. “Not to worry, honestly.” She pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and blew her nose. “Look what you’ve done to me, you toads—you’ve given me wine and port and made me reminisce about your old man. And I’m too tired to do that without crying. What did you expect?! I think it’s time I took myself off to bed.”
She stood up and kissed them all good night, including Amanda, holding her face in her hands briefly. “I’m happy you’re here, Amanda.” It was later than they had realized. Ginny and Tom left soon afterward, with hugs and kisses and promises that if Amanda was still here at the weekend, Ed would bring her over to meet the boys.
Ed locked the door behind them and came to sit beside her again on the sofa. The fire was dying now, and she curled up against him.
“The boys are horrors.”
“Really?”
“Horrors in a good way. Naughty. Full of energy and mischief. Run Tom and Ginny ragged. You’ll see for yourself. At the weekend.” It was part question. Part assertion.
So she was staying.
“It’s weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“This.”
“What about this?”
“All of it, really. You and me. Being here.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Weird lovely. I feel like…well, I feel more at home here, with you and your family, than I ever have, anywhere else. In lots of ways, even more than with my own.”
He tightened his grip on her. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
Ed kissed the top of her head. “I’m knackered. I want to go to sleep with you.”
“I want you to as well. More than anything. But won’t your mum mind?”
“I hope my mum is sound asleep.