Don’t you let Sheila hear you say that.’ She lifted her voice an octave and did the best impression of her posh boss as she could manage. ‘Cake shop? Certainly not. Gibson’s, I will have you know, is the finest patisserie this side of gay Paree!’
‘Oh, you do make me laugh! You sound just like her.’
‘Hairdryer, Nic?’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s by our bed. I mean my bed. And towels are in the airing cupboard on the landing. Help yourself. Oh, and there’s no milk left, so the coffee’s black, if that’s all right with you?’
‘I guess it’ll have to be. Beggars can’t be choosers.’ Jilly grabbed her coffee with one hand, hanging on tightly to the towel with the other, and sped back up to the bedroom, her voice trailing behind her. ‘Which brings me to Plan B…’
‘And what might that be exactly?’ Nicci would have followed her but she couldn’t quite find the energy.
‘The next phase of the Save Nicci Ross campaign, of course,’ Jilly shouted, from somewhere above her head.
‘Jilly, I don’t want to be saved. Can’t we just…’
‘Can’t stop. No time to explain right now.’ Already the sound of the hairdryer whirring away at top speed was drowning out any hope of continuing the conversation. ‘Meet me for a drink later at Albie’s, and all will be revealed.’
Thank God for football! Mark jostled along the crowded underground platform towards an opening door and squeezed himself into the train along with what felt like thousands of others, the sea of blue and white scarves around him giving him the comforting impression that he was amongst friends. People who wanted to talk about nothing more taxing than the price of a season ticket, or who was going to be wearing the number one shirt now the regular goalie was injured, or whether it was true that their best striker was leaving for some new contract in Spain. People who were on his wavelength, who understood him, yet wanted nothing from him. It made him feel normal again. For a few hours on a Saturday afternoon, when his team were playing at home, he could push Nicci right out of his head and concentrate on the second love of his life. Football.
Spilling out into the street, he allowed himself to be pulled along by the crowd. It was a chilly afternoon with a drop of rain in the air, the rosette and badge sellers were out in force, and a policeman on an enormous horse was guiding the more rowdy fans, already singing their hearts out, back into line. The smell of a hot dog with onions being rapidly and noisily devoured by a fat bloke walking alongside him reminded him that he’d not eaten since seven this morning, when he’d finally accepted he was not going to manage any more sleep and had dragged himself up to tackle the dubious delights of a bowl of own-brand cornflakes, the last of the not-quite-fresh milk and an over-ripe banana.
He really should tackle a supermarket shop but he’d had a busy week at work, which may have left him tired but was perfect for keeping his mind off other things, from nine to five at least. Sitting at the counter in the bank, counting the money in and out, stamping the paying-in slips, handing out leaflets about savings accounts and mortgages, might not be all that glamorous a job, but it did mean he met and chatted to lots of people, usually one after the other without a break, except for lunchtimes and the occasional trip to either the toilet or the kettle.
His mother had joked that, with so many customers passing through, he might get to meet a nice girl, now that he was free again and available. Well, he’d hoped she was joking, but probably not. Mothers could be very unforgiving when it came to the happiness, or otherwise, of their precious sons, and he’d noticed that, as far as his own mother was concerned, an ex-wife came way down the list of suitable subjects to be discussed.
In fact, he could almost believe, from the sudden and complete wiping of her very existence from the family archives, that Nicci was no more than a figment of his imagination and the last decade of his life had never actually happened. Even the wedding photo in its silver frame, which had always held pride of place, had mysteriously disappeared from the sideboard in his parents’ flat, leaving a rectangular gap in the dust yet to be filled with any sort of replacement.
But, when it came to girls, the last thing Mark was looking for right now was a replacement, however well-intentioned his mother’s hopes for him might be. Almost from the moment he’d first seen her, in that ridiculously cute witch costume with a spider’s web inexpertly drawn across her cheek, he’d known that Nicci was the only girl for him, and breaking that feeling was not going to be easy.
He stopped at a refreshments van and queued for a tea, blowing on his hands to combat the cold until the warmth coming through the polystyrene cup was able to do the job for him, and then looked about for Simon. They always tried to get here early, and usually managed to track each other down before it was time to go inside the ground and make their way to their seats. Simon being six foot four helped. Add a bobble hat to the top of that and he was fairly easy to spot in a crowd.
‘Hey, Mark!’ Simon loped towards him. ‘Tea looks good. You could have got me one.’
‘I thought you’d have been on the beer, Si. Tea’s an old man’s poison!’
‘Nah. Saving myself for later. Big session lined up for Rudy’s stag do. Wanna come?’
‘I don’t even know Rudy, whoever he is!’
‘Why should that matter? More the merrier!’
Mark waited while Simon fought his way to the front and got himself a drink. He was a good bloke, his brother-in-law. They’d hit it off right from the start, Mark nervously wiping his feet as he stepped into Nicci’s family home to meet her parents for the first time, and Simon only in his teens then, bouncing with energy and peppered with spots. He’d very quickly become the younger brother Mark had never had, and whatever was going on, or not going on, between Mark and Nicci now, the two men had already decided that it was not going to affect their own friendship.
‘So, how is she?’ Mark asked as they moved along the street, trying to keep the tea in their cups as people rushed past, bumping and jostling as they went. Somehow, despite his determination to let nothing but football matter this afternoon, Nicci had wormed her way back into his thoughts.
‘Nic? Okay I think. Not seen much of her, to be honest, but Mum’s spoken to her a fair bit. I think she’s bearing up. She does seem genuinely sorry though, mate. You know, for that business with…’
‘Jason. It’s okay. You are allowed to say his name.’
‘I don’t think it’s still going on, or anything like that. She doesn’t talk about it, to tell you the truth. Or him. Still…’ Simon fell silent for a few moments, as if realising a change of subject was probably called for. ‘Any news about the house?’
‘Not really. I spoke to the agent yesterday. A few people have been round to view it, but there’ve been no offers. I wonder if we’ve priced it a bit on the high side?’
‘Need every penny you can get, I should think. Both of you. Can’t be easy starting out again. I think Nic’s considering coming back home for a while after it’s sold. You know, while she gets her bearings and decides what to do with herself. Mum’s quite excited about having her back where she can keep an eye on her. She’s been spring cleaning like mad in her old room.’
‘That’s good. I don’t like to think of her having to rent some scrappy little flat like mine. Home with your mum sounds like a good place to be, for now at least. Has she still got the Take That posters on the wall, and that old pink teddy on the bed?’
‘Yep. That room hasn’t been changed one bit since our Nicci left home. Like a shrine, it is. No matter how many of my mates might need to sleep over, no one’s ever allowed to sleep in Nic’s bed, except Nic. Good job we’ve got a guest bedroom and a decent-sized sofa! You know, it’s almost like Mum’s always expected her to come