was guessing as much from his Radio 4 accent as well as his clothes.
Rory twisted one side of his mouth into a grimace before answering. ‘If I said yes, would you hate me?’
I smiled. ‘No, I think it’s… amazing to want to go into it at all. I can’t imagine it. All those speeches.’ It was my turn to shudder.
‘But let’s not talk politics,’ said Rory, crumbling the shortbread and holding a piece out. ‘I spend my life talking about politics. What about you? How is it that Florence Fairfax comes to be working in a Chelsea bookshop? What’s her story?’
‘Just always have,’ I said, fiddling with the handle on my coffee cup. ‘Studied English at uni and wasn’t sure what to do with it. But I loved reading. So ended up there.’
‘You think you’ll stay?’
‘At the shop?’
He nodded.
‘Yes. Although…’ I paused and sighed, ‘the rent’s going up and Norris, he’s the owner, is in a flap about it. So who knows. But I write children’s books on the side. Well, not books. Book, singular. About a caterpillar called Curtis. So I’m hoping that I can do something with that.’
‘Sweet, and what about your family?’
‘About them?’ I asked, momentarily confused. He’d rattled off a number of questions so quickly, almost as if it was an interview, and I was worried that I’d answer the wrong thing.
‘What are they like? Do you get on with them?’
‘Oh I see. Yes, mostly. I live with my two sisters in Kennington. Well, technically they’re my half-sisters. And my dad, actually, hang on, you might have come across him, he’s called Henry Fairfax, the ambassador to Argentina?’
‘You’re joking?’
I shook my head.
‘No, I haven’t met him but I know who you mean. What a coincidence that he’s your father. Wasn’t he in Pakistan, before?’
‘Exactly. Good knowledge!’
Rory grinned. ‘Part of the job description. Do you go out there much?’
‘Argentina?’ I shook my head again. ‘Never have. He comes back every now and then, although usually it’s pretty brief and just for meetings.’
‘Is your mother with him?’
‘Nope. She died when I was three.’ I’d become so used to explaining this that I forgot the effect it had on other people, their stammery awkwardness.
‘Oh Christ, there I go with my big feet. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK. It was years ago.’
‘What happened?’ he asked, his eyes remaining on mine.
‘Car crash. Not her fault. Just… one of those accidents.’
He winced. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s all right. I’m pretty lucky in many ways; I’ve still got family around me.’ I reminded myself of this whenever I woke in the sort of mood where I wished I could swap lives with somebody else I saw on Instagram. I was lucky; I had a good job and I still lived in my childhood home. I’d fall in love eventually. Had to. Even Hitler had a girlfriend. I couldn’t be the only person who’d never have a proper relationship.
‘I think that’s a bit harsh on yourself, isn’t it?’
I frowned. ‘How come?’
‘Well,’ Rory started, leaning across the table, ‘I think if you grew up without your mother, you don’t have to tell yourself that it’s all right because you’ve still got a couple of sisters and a father. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘I’ve also got a very involved stepmum,’ I added, grinning at him.
‘In that case I take it all back. What are you grumbling for?’ he said, which made me laugh, and nobody had ever made me laugh when it came to conversations that skirted around my mother. Normally I tried to avoid the subject altogether.
We sat at the table for another hour chatting, finding our way around one another. He’d grown up in Norfolk and now lived in Pimlico. I told him about my French grandmother and my half-sister developing a wedding fetish.
‘You don’t want to get married?’ Rory asked and I instantly felt like I was about to trigger a tripwire. What was the right, casual, unstudied answer to this in front of a man you already liked?
‘Er, yeah, I think so,’ I started. ‘I just… can’t imagine losing my mind over it.’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘To get married?’ I checked, surprised.
‘Indeed. The whole shebang: wedding, family, dog.’
‘Oh right,’ I replied, unsure what else to say. It seemed unfair that men could admit this, could declare they were desperate for domestic harmony but women were supposed to keep any such aspirations hidden. ‘I thought you liked cats?’ I asked, mindful of both my list and Marmalade, who was probably, at that moment, cleaning his bottom on my