Fandango – Sample Chapters

Chapter 1

The audience was beginning to fidget. They wanted Milly Muznik to finish her song. The six-year-old was standing on the little stage, throwing her arms around like Ethel Merman and telling folks not to rain on her parade. Nobody wanted to do that, but if she’d given it up as a bad job, they would have given her a standing ovation. Except for the guy on the end of the row near the aisle who was asleep. Gwen Leighton looked at him and shook her head. What sort of parent would do that?

The hall at Pinevale Elementary hadn’t changed much since Gwen and her sister Renée had been here. The same wooden floor with coloured lines marking out the courts for different sports; the same curtainless stage where she’d once danced to Swan Lake, and the same rows of chairs that weren’t quite big enough for adults to sit in comfortably. Even the smell was the same – a combination of furniture wax and pine disinfectant. And now her sister’s daughter was here, the two of them backstage preparing for Olivia’s big debut.

Gwen refused to acknowledge the twinge of regret in her chest. Having a child of her own would have made it even more difficult to separate from he-who-should-not-be-named. But it did make her feel like the younger sister, even though she was eighteen months older than Renée. Was that why she’d worn her ‘grown-up’ outfit? The tailored grey skirt with the matching collarless jacket and the black turtleneck. And the black high heels that she could barely walk in and that made her feet hurt. She told herself she wore them so that Olivia could feel proud of her aunt, and not because she felt the need to demonstrate that she hadn’t let herself become a total slob since the break-up of her marriage.

She eased her feet out of the shoes and wiggled her toes. The shoes had definitely been a mistake. You don’t need to wear glossy black slut shoes unless you’re trying to attract the attention of a man. And she had no intention of doing that again. Ever. She was done with men. She got more attention and affection from her cat than she ever got from what’s-his-name. 

On stage, Milly held the final note for as long as her lungs would allow and then dropped into a bow that had her curly red hair brushing the stage. Milly’s father whistled and yelled, her mother stood with tears in her eyes, and everyone else clapped loudly because that’s what you did at a junior talent show. Unless you were asleep. Gwen stared at the man sprawled in his seat with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. Even the applause and cheering hadn’t woken him. Annoyance creased her brow, but she found her gaze lingering on him. He was wearing faded jeans and an old corduroy trucker jacket with a fleece collar. A plain red t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest. His blond hair was very short at the sides and longer on top. Short irregular spikes. It wasn’t crisp enough for a military haircut, but it looked smart enough. Strong jaw. She wondered if he might be Tommy Greene’s dad.

Gwen glanced down at the printed program. There was a duo of tap dancers up next, then a budding ventriloquist, and then her niece. It was Gwen’s job to capture Olivia’s rendition of ‘Let it Go’ on video so it could be shared online with the rest of the family. She was going to have to move to a better position for a clear view of the stage. To get out into the aisle, she would have to wake up sleeping beauty. What a shame. Maybe she’d be doing him a favour – if he hadn’t already missed his child’s performance.

“Excuse me. Sorry. Oops, watch your toes. Coming through.” Gwen made her way along the row. She reached the sleeping man. He looked like a giant sprawled in a chair designed for a first grader. She gently nudged his leg with her knee. “Excuse me.” No response. “I’m sorry, would you mind?” she said more loudly, poking his shoulder with her finger. The man snored softly. “Hello?” She poked him harder, annoyed now. Still nothing. This was becoming embarrassing. And Mrs. Applewhite was already introducing the tap dancers. Sighing loudly, Gwen hitched up her skirt a couple of inches, planted one foot firmly on the floor, and raised the other to step over the sleeping man’s legs. It was only when she was halfway through the manoeuvre that she realised the full distance she had to cover. The man had long legs. And he’d spread them wide because his knees didn’t fit in the narrow row between the chairs. But there was no going back now, she was committed. She pulled her skirt up a little higher and stretched her leg further over the snoozing obstacle.

Gwen looked down at the sleeping man’s face. There was a day or two’s growth of beard and it shone reddish brown where the light caught it. Relaxed in sleep, he looked gentle and boyish. Probably not the smartest guy you’d ever meet, but a nice personality, she decided.

“Oh, no!” The heel of her shoe began to slide on the glossy wooden floor. She waved her arm like a rodeo rider, trying to maintain her balance. For a moment she thought she had it, but then her foot twisted and slid sideways. She sat down heavily in the sleeping man’s lap.

His eyes snapped open. He was obviously startled to see Gwen’s nose only inches from his own. She was startled too. She felt her cheeks flushing red.

“What are you doing?” His voice was a gruff whisper.

“I slipped…”

His lips twitched into a smile. “On my thirteenth birthday, this is what I wished for. It finally came true.”

Gwen wasn’t sure she liked the way he was smiling at her. It suggested intimacy.

Blake Markham wondered if he was still dreaming. It wasn’t every day that Fate dropped a beautiful woman in your lap. Nope, this is real, the pain in his legs told him. This angel might be slim, but her weight was cutting off his circulation. Try to be cool, he told himself, save the goofiness until she knows you better. He always told himself this. And never took his own advice. Her tight skirt was rucked up and exposing way more thigh than he was comfortable seeing. How was a man supposed to be cool about something like that? Better not look at her thighs. His gaze shifted upwards.

Shiny chestnut hair hung to her shoulders in loose waves. Large eyes, clear blue. Almost no make-up and the curve of her eyebrows looked entirely natural – he liked that. A few freckles across her nose and upper cheeks. A little pink gloss on her lips made them very inviting. But her expression said no. Or rather, it said ‘Oh, hell, no!’ She was obviously horrified at finding herself sitting in a strange man’s lap – though she must have got herself there, he had nothing to do with it. Unless it really was the birthday wish. This made him smile. Had he been staring at her for long?

His jeans were faded from many washes and felt pyjama-soft. Gwen could feel the warmth of his thighs through them. This was definitely too intimate.

“I should get off you…” Gwen leaned to the left, trying to get her foot flat on the floor. She raised herself up off his legs. Her foot slid sideways and she dropped heavily into his lap again. She thrust a hand down to try and save herself.

“Oof!” he gasped as her fist connected with his groin. “Worst lap dance ever.”

“This is not what it looks like,” Gwen said.

“Good, because that’s not what it feels like,” he said.

Gwen looked down, feeling something shift under her hand. “Oh, my gosh!” Her voice rose in pitch and she quickly tried to scramble off him. But the floor was too slippery for her to get any sort of footing.

“Stop squirming around,” he said.

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I was dreaming about a Marilyn Monroe photoshoot. Sit still, I’ll get us out of this.”

He stood up, almost dislodging her and backflipping her into the row in front. She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. His arms encircled her and she felt the bulging of his biceps even through the jacket. It made her feel safe – and perhaps a little bit turned on. Best not to think about that while his face was close enough to read her expression. He managed to shuffle sideways into the aisle with her clinging to him. She felt higher than normal – he must have been at least six-two in his work boots.

He stood in the aisle looking down into her wide blue eyes and whispered: “You know this means we’re practically married?” 

There were tiny lines across his forehead that created deeper ridges when he arched his eyebrows.

“What do we do now?” Gwen wasn’t sure that she wanted to let go of him. She didn’t think she could trust her knees to hold her up and if she put her feet back on the floor there was every chance it was going to be Bambi on ice.

“Hang on,” he said. “I’ll sneak us out. I’m sure hardly anyone’s noticed.”

Behind her, Gwen heard the Hanson twins tapping along to something from Riverdance, but she was sure every pair of eyes in the school hall was on her as the man carrying her duck-waddled down the aisle and out through the double doors at the back.

“You can let go now,” Blake said.

No perfume, he thought. Just the fresh smell of soap and the shampoo in her hair. Coconut and honey would be his guess. The outfit had made him think she could be an accountant or a lawyer, but the fine silver chain that hung over her black sweater had a tiny Snoopy hanging from it. Sexy and with a sense of humour – what’s not to like? 

They were standing in a painted cinderblock corridor. Gwen heard laughter back in the hall – she hoped it was because the Hanson boys were goofing around. She carefully lowered her feet to the floor and took her hands off his shoulders. She adjusted her skirt and stared down at the shoes that had betrayed her, too embarrassed to look at his face.

“Blake Markham,” he said, extending a hand. Gwen shook it. It was large and warm, and touching it made her cheeks feel hot again. His fingernails were cut short and square and they were perfectly clean. But the calluses across his palm showed they were working hands. He might have been a cowboy, but his scuffed work boots suggested something less rural. A truck driver, maybe. Or a plumber. 

“Gwen Leighton,” she said. “I’m sorry about…” She waved her arm back towards the double doors. “It was an accident. I was trying to get past your legs.”

“Why didn’t you just kick me like any normal woman?” He sounded amused.

“I didn’t want to wake you…”

“You didn’t think sitting in my lap would wake me?”

“I wasn’t sitting in your lap. Not to begin with. But then I got my leg over and my skirt was too tight so I had to hoist it up… What?”

“At this point, the judge will be shaking his head,” Blake told her.

“The judge?” 

“When you’re charged with lewd behaviour in a public place. In front of children.”

“You’re teasing me,” she protested.

“You’d better hope so.” He was smiling that infuriating smile again.

“I was just trying to get closer with my camera,” she said, still not looking directly into his eyes.

“You were trying to take a selfie on my lap?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to video my niece. She’s on next.”

Blake thought about this. “You’d better go, or you’ll miss it.”

“I’m too embarrassed to go back in there.” She pushed her phone into his hand. “Will you do it?”

“You want me to go back in there?” He looked down at the phone.

“It’s easier for you,” Gwen said. “Men are used to embarrassing themselves.”

“Not a chance,” he said. He tapped something into her phone and then handed it back to her. “I put my number in there – in case you want to call to apologise again later.”

Gwen frowned. “I am sorry. Can we just pretend this never happened?”

“Are you kidding? The other parents are going to be talking about it for weeks!” Her pained expression made him feel guilty. Blake reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead with his thumb. “You’ll be fine. If anyone says anything, tell them it was my fault – they’ll believe I’m a big dumb oaf.”

Standing in front of her, he did feel big and clumsy. Even in those ridiculous heels, she was six inches shorter than him. And she still hadn’t looked up at him. Those clothes were a disguise, he decided. The smart suit was supposed to intimidate men and make them keep their distance. But it fit her so well that it just looked damned sexy. The black turtleneck was stretched over perfect breasts and clung in a way that emphasised the contours of her waist. The plain grey skirt looked even tighter, hugging her hips and thighs and covering her knees. Just. He had no idea how she managed to walk in something like that. He was staring again, he realised, and this time she noticed.

Gwen looked up into his eyes. They were a soft grey that made her think of dolphins and old nickels. He winked at her.

“See you around, Gwen Leighton.”

She watched him walk down the corridor, hypnotised by the movement of his denim-clad butt. Not a big dumb oaf, she thought, a gentle blond giant. With great buns. 

Gwen turned and straightened her shoulders. You can do this. At least Olivia had been backstage and wouldn’t have been distracted by the whole aunt-in-a-man’s-lap incident. She walked towards the double doors, still feeling a bit bow-legged.

As soon as Olivia finished singing, Gwen went to find her sister. The room behind the stage held a few parents packing away their child’s costumes, props, or musical instruments. Gwen fixed her eyes on Olivia, refusing to look at anyone else as she walked towards her. If people were talking behind their hands, she didn’t need to see it. Her niece was looking glum.

“Hi, Aunt Gwen.” Olivia pulled another sequin off the skirt she’d worn on stage and flicked it across the room.

“Liv, darling, please don’t do that,” her mother said.

Renée was a couple of inches shorter than her big sister and a few pounds heavier. Like Gwen, she had her mother’s wavy chestnut hair and blue eyes. She was dressed like a smart suburban mom and looked a little bit stressed. She should probably have let Olivia juggle water balloons like she’d wanted.

In looks, Olivia took after her mother. This was probably a good thing given that Renée occasionally referred to her husband as Roy the German Shepherd because he was ‘hairier than a Wookie’s armpit.’ Olivia was a little short for her age and a bit of a tomboy. Gwen had been the same at six and the phase had lasted until she was twelve. How Renée had talked her into performing as a Disney princess was a mystery. And from the look of it, things hadn’t gone well. 

“I got it,” Gwen said, holding up her phone.

“I hear that’s not all you got,” Renée said, doing her best to keep a straight face.

“Can we just delete it?” Olivia asked.

“Believe me, I wish I could,” Gwen said.

“Olivia’s talking about the video,” Renée said, still trying not to laugh.

“It was terrible!” Olivia protested.

“Yes, it was,” Gwen said, staring at a poster on the noticeboard that promised fun, fun, fun at last year’s Christmas fayre.

“No, it wasn’t!” Renée said quickly, ruffling her daughter’s hair and hugging her. “Gwen, will you please focus.”

“What?”

“Olivia was not terrible,” Renée insisted, her expression urging Gwen to agree with this generous assessment.

“You weren’t terrible,” Gwen said. “There were a lot worse than you.”

“Thank you, Aunt Gwen, motivational speaker of the year,” Renée said.

“It’s okay, mom, I know it was bad. Benny Hanson held his nose and pulled the chain when I came off stage.” Olivia demonstrated the universal gesture that says something stinks.

“I will have words with that boy’s mother,” Renée said, coming over all protective mother hen.

“Please, mom, don’t make it worse.”

“Yes, mom, please don’t do anything to make your daughter feel even more mortified about what happened today.” Gwen could sympathise with her niece’s pain. Boy could she. “Don’t worry, kiddo, we all do things that make us feel embarrassed. But we soon forget about them – as long as people don’t keep cruelling reminding us.” She stared at her sister to make sure she was getting her point across.

“But that video will be around forever,” Olivia protested.

Gwen looked down at her phone. Olivia was right – post a video like this online and it would be around to haunt you for the rest of your life. It wasn’t like the family videos her father used to take. Those gathered dust under the TV, unwatched for years until eventually, the technology became obsolete.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Gwen told the six-year-old. “I’ll show Grandma Grace and Grandma Hettie the video on my phone, then I’ll delete it.”

“Gwen, no!” Renée protested.

“Promise?” Olivia asked.

“Absolutely.”

Olivia ran over and hugged Gwen. “You’re my favourite aunt, you know that?”

“You’re also her only aunt,” Renée pointed out.

“I know that.”

Gwen said goodbye to her sister and niece, repeating her promise that the video would not be uploaded. Then she scurried away, carefully ignoring the amused expressions of people around her. She was going to take the longer route through the school, around past the art rooms, so that she wouldn’t encounter any of the other parents. A quick dash across the parking lot to her car and she’d be home free. 

Chapter 2

Gwen turned a corner and saw him waiting there. Blake Markham. Sitting on a chair outside the principal’s office. She hesitated, wanting to go back, but he’d already seen her and raised a hand in greeting. She smiled and walked towards him, telling herself that she would say ‘hi’ and not stop.

Blake got to his feet as she came near, a guilty smile on his face. He wasn’t quite blocking the corridor, but he was occupying enough of it that she wouldn’t get past without doing an awkward side shuffle.

“Are you in trouble again?” she asked lightly, nodding towards the principal’s office door.

“What do you mean again? What happened in the hall was entirely your doing,” he said.

“You have to accept some responsibility…”

“Nu-uh,” he shook his head emphatically. “I was an innocent victim. You instigated the whole thing.”

“Well, it was certainly embarrassing. But you made it worse when I felt…”

He held up a finger to stop her. “You shouldn’t have been feeling anything.”

“I didn’t have any choice. It was so… so… obvious.”

“Only to you.” His face looked serious, as if he was willing her to back down. Then he grinned. He had broad white teeth. It was a wide, boyish grin that turned the dimples in his cheeks into deep lines. And it crinkled the skin near his eyes into cute little crow’s feet. He looked like he smiled a lot. It suited him. But the large canines gave it a slightly predatory look. What big teeth you have, Mr. Wolf.

“How did your niece get on?” Blake asked.

Gwen shrugged. “Olivia is tone deaf and has two left feet.”

“Then maybe she’ll try comedy next time,” Blake said. “You’ll be able to teach her some moves.”

Given what had happened, she couldn’t really argue with that. “Which of the children is yours?” she asked.

“None of them,” he said. “As far as I know.”

“Please tell me you’re not a teacher,” she said, horrified by the idea.

“No, I think you have to graduate high school for that.”

“You never graduated?”

“I got the certificate – but I think they just gave it to me so I’d leave. My teachers didn’t like me.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she said.

“I know, right?”

“I’m guessing you skipped the lesson on irony.”

“I skipped a lot of lessons,” he said. “Except sex education. I did well in sex ed. Though I almost failed the practical. I stayed up late the night before, practising on my own.”

“There is no practical in sex ed,” Gwen said.

“Is too. Didn’t you ever have to put a condom on a banana?”

“No…”

“In the advanced class, you have to do it using only your lips.” He was watching her as he said it, probably trying to make her blush again.

“Did you practice that on your own too?” she asked, determined not to let him fluster her.

“Believe me, I tried.”

Gwen felt her cheeks warming again. That wasn’t a mental image she wanted in her head. “If you don’t have children, what are you doing here?”

“My cousin Bryan – Mr. Renton – is the science teacher. I was helping out with the science fair. But we got shut down because some kids made an industrial strength stink-bomb.”

“I thought there was a whiff of something about you,” she said.

“That’s not the stink bomb, it’s the burrito I had for lunch.” He grinned again.

“You’re really at home here in first grade, aren’t you?” She couldn’t help smiling.

“I prefer kindergarten – they have the building blocks. Are you sneaking out this way because you’re too embarrassed to face the other parents?”

“Absolutely. Is that why you’re here?”

He shook his head. “The principal asked to see me. He wants me to come and give a talk on Careers Day.”

“Does he want to show them what will happen if they don’t study?”

“I’ll have you know that I am outstanding in my field,” he said, with mock haughtiness.

“What field do you stand in?” I bet he’s a lumberjack, she thought.

“I’m in construction.”

“Ah,” she said, “the building blocks.”

“I built a ranch-style beach house with a swimming pool in Legos,” he said proudly.

“Was this recently?”

“In kindergarten,” he said, frowning. “What was it you said you do?”

She raised a hand to her mouth. “I’m a dancer,” she mumbled.

“What? I didn’t catch that.” It was obvious from the smirk that he had heard.

“I said, I’m a dancer.”

“A dancer?! Don’t you have to be graceful and light on your feet for that?”

“I’m graceful!” she protested.

“Not back in the hall you weren’t. You blundered around like a heffalump. Christie James said so, I heard her.”

“Christie James is a spoiled brat. And she eats glue.” Gwen pouted.

“I think that was a pro-biotic yogurt.”

“Well, it stuck her bangs to her forehead well enough.”

Blake nodded. “Those foil lids can be tricky to open. Poor kid. Where I grew up, we didn’t have to eat probiotic yogurt. We had Ho Hos.”

“Even though you didn’t have shoes or indoor plumbing?” Gwen teased.

“You think I’m a hick?” he asked, pretending to be offended.

“I think you were raised in the forest by wolves.”

“Have you been divorced long?” Blake asked.

“What makes you think I’m divorced?” she asked dangerously.

It was obvious from Blake’s face that he didn’t realise he’d crossed a line. “If you were married, you wouldn’t need to say all these nasty things to strangers,” he reasoned.

Gwen drew breath, ready to unleash words that would have scorched his eyebrows, but Blake was saved by the principal. Mr. Patinsky’s door opened and he poked his head out, wondering what the commotion was in the corridor.

“Oh, it’s you, Blake.” He didn’t sound surprised.

“Mr. Patinsky,” Blake nodded a greeting. “Have you met Olivia’s Aunt Cruella?”

“Hello, Miss Leighton.” It was obvious from the principal’s smile that he’d seen what occurred in the hall earlier.

Gwen couldn’t take her annoyance out on the principal of her niece’s school. She looked up at Blake. “I’ve had quite enough of your nonsense!”

“Miss Teazle used to say that. She was my third-grade teacher.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Markham,” Gwen said. “I would say that it’s been a pleasure, but I don’t want a demerit for lying.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

“Tell the other guys in Slytherin I said ‘hi!’,” Blake called after her.

By the time she pulled into the driveway at home, Gwen felt more relaxed. The events of the afternoon were already starting to feel like a half-remembered dream. Driving her little car always took her mind off things and made her smile. It was the only thing she’d insisted on keeping when she divorced. Her ex had been fine with this since it meant he got to keep his truck. And the house and just about everything in it. Gwen had wanted a fresh start – and she’d driven off to it in her little red car.

She’d wanted the Mini Cooper after seeing one in a movie on TV. A gang of thieves had used three of them to make their getaway. She liked how manoeuvrable they were. She might never need to drive hers down a storm drain, but it was good to know that she could if ever the need arose. She’d made her own getaway and ended up here, back in Pinevale, the town where she grew up. You had to backtrack, she reasoned, so you could figure out where it was that you took a wrong turn. She could have driven all the way back to her mother’s house, but you have to draw the line somewhere. And she was sure that leaving home hadn’t been a wrong move. Instead of going right back to her childhood, she’d ended up here – Orchard House, Huckleberry Lane – after seeing a ‘Room to Let’ sign in the window when she drove past. 

It was an old Victorian-style house with gingerbread trim and one corner that looked like a turret. The exterior walls had once been painted red like a barn, but over the years this had faded to a dusky pink. The trim and the picket fence around the garden were white going on grey, as were the steep steps that led up to the porch and the front door with its ornate leaded glass panel. The orchard was long gone, but the house sat on a large south-facing corner plot with two rows of newer houses leading away to the east and the west. It was a crazy, old-fashioned house, but Gwen had come to think of it as home. 

“It’s only me!” she called when she got inside.

Effie Krantz would be back in the kitchen, because she always was. Gwen was renting the whole of the upper floor. Effie had a bedroom down on the ground floor because she didn’t want to be bothered with the stairs and definitely didn’t want one of those stair-lift contraptions thank you very much. A little kitchenette had been created upstairs, but Gwen never used it – she always ate with her landlady, who was glad to have someone else to eat with.

The wood panelling in the entry hall was still dark wood, but after her husband passed on, Effie had all the other rooms painted white with pastel accents. Instead of a dark, oppressive Victorian museum it now felt like a house near the beach. The bright cheery atmosphere was one of the things that had sold it to Gwen when she saw the rooms upstairs.

Euphemia Krantz was known to her friends as Effie and to everyone else as Mrs. Krantz or the Scary Lady from the Old House. Mister Krantz had been Effie’s first husband – her second had been Alvie Hasenpfeffer, but after his death she’d decided to keep his house but not his name. And who could blame her?

“You can’t sign a name like that with arthritis in your fingers,” Effie explained. “I could have used my maiden name, but that was Goodhead and who wants to go back to that? It gives men the wrong idea.”

Gwen had to think about that for a moment before it clicked.

“It took a while for that penny to drop,” Effie said. “But that’s okay, it just means you’re a nice girl.”

Gwen wasn’t sure about that. It was more the fact that sex was now a distant memory.

Although she was short, you couldn’t call Effie a small woman. She had a big personality and fizzed with energy. She seemed permanently cranky, but this was mostly an act. Her deeply lined face was dominated by large glasses that magnified her eyes, making her look owl-like. Her hair was pure white and fashioned into Marcel waves. And she wore flowered dresses that buttoned up the front. Mostly Gwen thought of her as a stand-in grandmother, but sometimes the two of them were more like rebellious schoolgirls.

Living with Effie Krantz had been a temporary measure. Gwen was the widow’s first boarder and it had suited them both to arrange a three-month lease on a trial basis. She was supposed to look for an apartment during those three months, but she could never summon up the enthusiasm. She’d lived in a horrible apartment when she first moved to the city and she’d hated it. She also hated the city, so that didn’t help. She’d grown up in a small town and that’s the only place she felt at home. She’d lived here with Effie for over a year now and they were both comfortable with the arrangement.

“Do I smell beef stew?” Gwen asked as she wandered into the kitchen.

“No, you smell beef stroganoff, but I forgot to put in the French mustard, so you’re forgiven for getting it wrong.” Effie stirred a big pot that contained enough to feed a football team.

Wasn’t beef stroganoff without the mustard just beef stew? Gwen didn’t like to ask.

“I made extra in case you brought anyone home with you,” Effie said.

By ‘anyone,’ she probably meant Olivia. Gwen wasn’t in the habit of bringing people in off the street. ‘Anyone’ might also mean ‘a man’ – Effie was convinced that Gwen ought to find a nice man to settle down with. She raised the topic at least once during the week and twice at weekends.

“You need to get yourself back out there,” Effie kept telling her. “If it makes you nervous, we’ll go on a double date.”

Gwen wasn’t sure whether Effie was serious about finding husband number three, or if she just wanted to have someone to dance with. There were never enough men at the senior dance sessions. But while the old woman held traditional views when it came to marriage, her attitudes towards other aspects of a relationship were uncomfortably modern.

“We need to have a system,” she’d said when Gwen first moved in. “If one of us brings a man home, we’ll put a sock on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs so the other will know not to interrupt.”

The newel post had a round ball on top. Was stretching a woollen sock over it a subtle reference to using protection, or was she reading too much into it? That was another thing Gwen didn’t like to ask about. Neither of them had ever brought a man home, but the big red and white knitted sock sat in the drawer in the hallway, just in case.

Effie turned and looked Gwen up and down. “You look nice. Apart from the shoes. You should think about wearing some.”

“I took them off, they hurt my feet.” Gwen had driven home barefoot, having pitched the high heels into a dumpster on her way to the parking lot. Never again.

She had no intention of telling Effie about slipping and falling into Blake Markham’s lap. There would be all sorts of questions and she’d want to know if Blake had given her his number. And if she said ‘yes,’ there would then be questions every day about when she was going to call him.

“I’m putting the pasta in,” Effie said, “so if you’re planning to go up and get changed, you should go now.”

Gwen peeled off her ‘grown-up’ outfit and pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and a baggy Charlie Brown t-shirt. Her body relaxed instantly as if she’d lowered herself into a steamy bubble bath. Slipping on her fluffy slippers, her feet thought they were riding to heaven on clouds. Looking like a grown-up was massively overrated.

When she went into the upstairs bathroom, she found herself speaking the words from Charlie Brown’s speech bubble. 

“Good grief!”  

She’d forgotten about the broken toilet. For almost a week now she’d been using a bucket to flush it. This was something else that sucked about being an adult – dealing with plumbing issues.

Effie was putting out the food when Gwen came down. She looked at Gwen’s outfit, now splotched with grey wetness, and didn’t say a word. But Gwen could tell that she was sucking her teeth.

The pasta was the kind that looked like giant rice grains and Effie piled a mountain of it onto one of the plates. She ladled beef stroganoff on and around it.

“Woah!” Gwen said. “I can’t eat all that.”

“You need to put on some weight,” Effie said. “Men today don’t want a woman with a small behind. You need bigger hips. At your age, you have to remind men that you’re still fertile.”

“I don’t want a man,” Gwen insisted. “And I certainly don’t want to have babies.” She took her overloaded plate and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Please! I’ve seen how you are with that niece of yours. You dote on her. Of course you want children.” Effie sat down opposite her with a much more modest serving of food.

Gwen speared a piece of sautéed beef and swirled it around in the creamy sauce to make sure it was fully coated. “The great thing about Olivia is that I can have fun doing girlie things, and then I can give her back at the end of the day. I never have to deal with runny noses or upset stomachs. It’s the ideal arrangement.”

“Phooey!”

Phooey was one of Effie’s favourite expressions. It wasn’t a swear word, but she could make it sound like one.

They ate in silence for a few moments.

When Effie spoke again, her tone was more sympathetic. “You haven’t had a single date since you’ve been here. I know what it is, it’s a fear thing. You just have to go out with one guy to get over it. And I know the perfect man for you.”

“Please don’t say your Cousin Vonda’s boy.”

Effie nodded. “My cousin Vonda’s boy. There’s nothing wrong with him, he’s a real catch. He’s only single because…”

“… he married a hussy who left him for a pumpkin grower,” Gwen finished.

Effie shrugged. “So I’ve told you about him before. He’s a nice young man, you’d like him. Let me give Vonda a call.”

“Please don’t. When I’m ready to start dating again, I’ll find a man for myself. I promise.”

“If that’s what you want, I won’t interfere. But don’t take too long about it – your clock is ticking.”

“This is really good,” Gwen said, trying to change the subject.

“I couldn’t find the mustard, so I grated in some nutmeg.”

“You should write down the recipe so we can have it again.”

“We can have it again the next time I lose the mustard,” Effie said. “What do you think about Eamon Horrigan?”

Eamon Horrigan attended Gwen’s Wednesday afternoon ballroom dancing sessions. He was eighty-three and all the women wanted to dance with him because he still had a good head of hair and could stay on his feet for a whole foxtrot. “What about him?” Gwen asked.

“Do you think he’s any good with his hands?”

Gwen almost choked on her pasta.

“Drink some water, you’ve got a face like a beetroot,” Effie said. “I was just thinking that one of us has to get a man or we’ll never get that upstairs toilet fixed. I don’t want to nag, but I’m thinking of renaming this place the Busted Flush.”

Gwen got up and went to the sink to refill her water glass. “I’ll fix the toilet,” she said.

“What do you know about fixing toilets? Couldn’t you just date a plumber for a few weeks? It’s not like I’m asking you to marry him.”

Gwen sighed as she sat back down at the table. In this day and age, women shouldn’t be trading home improvements for sexual favours. “All it needs is a new flush. I watched a video online – it’s an easy thing to replace.”

Effie looked like she still wasn’t convinced. She held up a single crooked finger. “I’ll give you one chance at it. After that, I’m finding you a plumber.”

Gwen caught the implication. It wouldn’t be just her toilet that the plumber would be seeing to.

“I’ll pick one up at the DIY store tomorrow.” She meant a flush, not a plumber.

Gwen lay in bed, unable to sleep. She picked up her phone and saw it was just after four in the morning. She opened her contacts list and scrolled down to the B’s. Blake. She tapped the little envelope message and started typing. Hey. That’s all she was going to say. There was no harm in sending him that, was there? She stared at the three letters on the screen – and then deleted them. 

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