him I was leaving. But I didn’t.’
Adam sipped his drink and pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Why do you think that was?’
‘I just… I don’t know, I suppose I didn’t want to be rude. And I didn’t want him to think I was a horrible person. And I didn’t want myself to think I was a horrible person.’
‘Oh, Zoë.’ He shook his head pityingly. ‘Just as well you left, otherwise you’d probably be marrying the guy in two weeks, because he asked and you didn’t want to offend him.’
‘Oh God. I know – you’re right. Worried about offending an offender, what am I like?’
‘Still, you got out of there in the nick of time,’ Adam said.
It took me a second, then I got his joke. ‘Just as well I didn’t let my guard down.’
‘Or you could have ended up shackled to him for life.’
‘It’s because I over-cell myself.’
‘You need to be more fuzz-y.’
‘I’m just bad at thinking off the cuff.’
Adam paused, and I could see his brain working overtime as he tried to think of more crime-and-punishment-related puns.
‘Another drink?’ he said, and headed for the bar before I could even properly accept. A few moments later he was back with two glasses.
‘Thanks, Adam.’
‘Know what we have to do now?’
‘What?’
‘Clink.’
I groaned and we both laughed, relishing our shared silliness. My sense of anxiety had faded, and I knew that it wouldn’t be long until I’d forgotten all about the date, except as a funny story to tell.
‘Anyway—’ I began, but Adam spoke at exactly the same moment.
‘Zoë, I was—’
‘After you,’ I said.
‘No, you go first.’
‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking, and that’s me done. I’ve given dating my best shot and it just hasn’t worked for me. I’m going to go back to being single, and if I die surrounded by cats I don’t care. There are worse things, right?’
‘I guess,’ he said slowly. ‘I mean, you must do whatever makes you happy.’
‘Exactly. And dating hasn’t. And therefore, I’m out. Now what was it you were going to say before you were so rudely interrupted?’
‘Nothing,’ Adam said.
Twenty-Seven
Don’t be afraid to speak your mind. Do be afraid of how others will react when you do.
From behind the kitchen door, I could hear the beat of music and the hum of voices talking and laughing. The pub seemed to be alive to a different rhythm than usual. Its normal routine varied a little from morning to evening, from day to day and from week to week, but essentially it was the same. If you walked in through the door and saw the mums and babies finishing off their coffee and muffins, Maurice and his friends just getting started on their game of dominoes, Fat Don propping up the bar and a pay-what-you-can curry lunch advertised on the blackboard, you knew it was around eleven fifteen on a Wednesday morning.
That was how it was: consistent and predictable. There had been huge changes when Alice took over, of course, but it had been like the old place had given itself a shake, got some new clothes and then settled down into a new routine.
Tonight felt different, though. It was like the poetry evenings Drew organised occasionally, or like Maurice and Wesley’s wedding day had been. Although there were lots of disparate groups of people in the bar, together they made up one group, because they were all there for the same reason. And the reason was a celebratory one. No one was there because they were going to dump their boyfriend and thought they might as well do it over a drink. No one was drowning their sorrows after losing a job or a bet. No one was working, hunched intently over their laptop.
Over the course of the evening, the noise beyond the door had gradually built up, from the first hum of voices, the tap of a hammer stringing bunting over the beams and the rattle of crates of prosecco being delivered, to a buzz of conversation and laughter and the beat of music.
And Robbie and I were working to a rhythm of our own. Outside in the beer garden, which was littered now with fallen leaves and horse chestnuts that were keeping the squirrels busy, he was manning the barbecue, cooking not just shrimp but burgers and chicken and halloumi cheese and vegetable skewers, served with the salads and bread I’d made. In the kitchen, I was putting the finishing touches to a tray of chocolate and coconut cakes and four huge pavlovas, which