Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,31

out IT and systems problems. I tell him about Cracking Crafts. He tells me that he has had one serious relationship since his divorce and that he wants some stability in his life. I tell him I haven’t dated in twenty years. And then I trip over a piece of rock. He reaches for me and stops me from falling. Breathless, I look up at him, at those magnetic clear blue eyes, his slightly wonky teeth and his square jaw, and my heart does a tumble. We are both totally still for a moment, and I desperately want him to take me in his arms, but he hesitates. A woman walks past, a springer spaniel at her heels. She wishes us good morning and breaks the spell. Then Patrick smiles at me, as if he can read my thoughts, and I know that now is not the time and the place. But it will come.

11

There is a cragginess to Patrick. His features are not perfectly symmetrical. His nose is too big and the lines around his eyes are like deep canyons. He is not conventionally handsome as Adam was, but he carries himself with a deep confidence, as if he has an innate knowledge about his place in the world and what he wants. I find him magnetically attractive. There is a similarity to Adam, but it’s not obvious and I can’t put my finger on it. Besides, it’s not important. Adam was the past. Patrick just might be the future.

We have had three dates since our walk on the Downs, and each time he has given me a single red rose. The first time, I cringed a little, thinking it was a cliché. Now I rather like it. The crimson rose appears to be Patrick’s calling card.

He has invited me to go away with him for the weekend. I know we’re moving forwards at breakneck speed, but I simply can’t help it. Cassie, with her big heart, is thrilled for me. Fiona sends me texts asking when she can meet my new man. At this rate, I’m going to have to tell the children.

Pack an overnight bag. Casual clothes. I’m taking you away for a surprise weekend, his text said. I’ll pick you up at 5 p.m.

It is now one minute to five, and I am hovering by the front door. I have changed clothes at least five times this afternoon and eventually settled on a pair of beige woolen trousers, a cream silk blouse and a brown leather jacket that I bought years ago in Italy, accessorised with a burnished orange pashmina. I’m wearing a long thin gold chain necklace that has a gold coin pendant with a lotus flower engraved on it. I bought it for myself from a market stall in Brighton years before I met Adam. It reminds me of happier times.

‘Message me,’ Cassie says as she steps out of the kitchen.

‘And any problems here, you promise to call me?’ I say. Despite being ridiculously excited about this date, I am also reluctant to leave the security of home.

‘Just go, Lydia.’ She flaps her hands at me. ‘Have a fantastic time. The kids and I will be fine. FaceTime Fiona and me in the morning, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ She winks.

I hesitate. I am a cauldron of emotions: excited but scared, guilty but resolute. Is it too soon to be dating properly? And what will he think of me? I haven’t slept with anyone except Adam for nineteen years. I try but fail not to think about it.

I haven’t told Mia and Oliver where I’m really going this weekend. I hate lying to them, but Cassie agreed that it is better if I say I am going on a spa weekend with a girl friend. She has some diversion tactic in place that involves watching a film and eating popcorn and sweets, so that right now, they are securely ensconced in the living room, eyes firmly on the television screen.

‘Go!’ she repeats, opening the front door and giving me a gentle shove. She picks up my small overnight bag and hands it to me. ‘Stand outside so he doesn’t ring the doorbell.’

So here I am, standing on the doorstep to my beautiful home, listening to the crunch of tyres as a car comes slowly down the drive. My heart is racing. Patrick’s car is a silver Volkswagen Golf, eleven years old according to the number plate. He leaves the car idling and