Page 37 of The Last Train Home
I don’t reply. Just smile. I’ve presented her with twenty-three red roses that don’t have any scent. The wind is out of my sails now. She doesn’t seem annoyed, but I am. I was hoping the flowers would be advance recompense for what I’m about to say, but I don’t think it’s going to work now.
‘I’ve messed up on the dinner booking,’ I tell her. Let’s get this out of the way early. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I’d booked The Ivy, but it turns out I booked it on the wrong day.’ This is a lie that I hadn’t planned. I’m not sure why I’m saying it now. Perhaps because the truth – that I hadn’t booked anything – is awful, and this lie is still awful, but not as bad as the truth.
‘The wrong day?’ she says, lowering the flowers.
‘I thought Valentine’s Day was tomorrow. The restaurant called to check my reservation and … I’m sorry.’
‘That’s OK,’ she says with a genuine smile. ‘I’m a bit tired today anyway. Let’s just go tomorrow. We’ll have our Valentine’s Day tomorrow.’
I freeze. I don’t have a booking at all, let alone for tomorrow. ‘I let the booking go.’ The lies keep coming. ‘I didn’t want it for tomorrow. I wanted it for tonight.’
‘Oh,’ she says and then hands the flowers back to me. ‘Can you carry these, they’re really awkward.’
I take them from her, but don’t speak. I’m not sure what to do now.
‘What shall we do instead then?’ she asks.
‘Something low-key?’ I offer. ‘If you’re tired?’
She shrugs. ‘Yeah. OK. It’s been a long day.’
I rack my brains and then work out what to do. I feel like a genius. I take her hand. ‘I’ve got an idea. Come on.’
‘You’re joking?’ Samantha says, pulling her hair back off her shoulders and foraging distractedly for a hairband on her wrist that isn’t there. She’s looking around as if she doesn’t want to touch anything in here, let alone eat the food. ‘You’ve brought mehere, on Valentine’s Day?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It’ll be fun. Trust me.’
‘It’s McDonald’s,’ she says dubiously. ‘Why is this fun?’
‘It just is.’
‘I don’t remember the last time I was in one of these places.’
One of these places?‘When was the last time you had a Happy Meal?’ I ask, changing tack.
‘A what?’
‘You know, the kids’ meals. You’ve never had a Happy Meal?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘They come with a nice little toy,’ I say. I’m going to claw this situation back. I am. But Samantha’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I think I probably have.
‘Come on,’ I say as we move forward in the queue. I’m committed. I’m forcing this to happen. And we don’t have a dinner reservation. We need to eat and neither of us can cook. I hold her hand, smile at her. But she’s not smiling back. I had her onside earlier with the flowers, and I’ve lost her now that I’ve brought her here. And who can blame her.
‘I really shouldn’t eat this kind of food. You know that.’
‘You always eat healthily,’ I reply. ‘Have a night off. If we’d been in The Ivy, you’d have been eating something covered in cream and butter and … whatever. So let loose a little. Which flavour milkshake do you want?’
‘I’ll just have a Diet Coke or maybe a bottle of water? I assume they sell bottled water?’ She glances up at the menu, the confused expression refusing to depart.
‘You can’t dip your chips in either of those,’ I say knowingly.
She turns to me. ‘What?’
‘Never mind. Water and a Happy Meal. Nuggets or something else? Burger? I can vouch for the cheeseburger.’
‘You choose.’ She’s lost interest.
