‘I’m not a what?’ Mary appeared next to Beckett, causing his face to flush horribly while Rosie grinned. ‘A house? Sounds rude.’ She glanced down at her wide-legged tweedy trousers and slim-knit jumper with a Christmassy pattern, showing that there was nothing house-like about her.
‘I said you weren’t a house,’ Jay said, seeming as flustered as Beckett felt. ‘It was nothing to do with your appearance. Rosie had been talking about…’ He trailed off, glancing at Beckett in desperation.
‘I’d been grilling Beckett about asking you out,’ Rosie readily confessed. ‘He quite rightly told me to butt out of none-of-my-business.’
‘I never said that.’ Beckett was starting to regret getting out of bed that morning. He didn’t remember socialising as being this fraught.
Mary, to his astonishment, had dropped her gaze to the floor, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing. By the time her eyes darted up again, her face was scarlet.
‘Interesting,’ Rosie murmured.
‘Okay, we’re going to find Amber. Great to see you again, Beckett. Nice to meet you, Mary.’ Jay, still holding his wife’s hand, led her away.
The second they were gone, Beckett leaned in as close as he dared.
‘I’m sorry, that was totally inappropriate. I shut her down straight away; told her we were nothing more than friends.’
Mary sucked in a deep breath and straightened up. His heart stuttered in his chest as her eyes met his, more blue than grey today, reflecting the colour of her jumper. ‘Aren’t we?’
It was said so softly, he had to read her lips.
Before Beckett could answer, which could have been anything from a microsecond to minutes, as he stood, dumbstruck, his brain in suspended animation, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
‘I’m going out for lunch.’
Beckett jerked to attention.
‘What?’
Gramps rocked back smugly on his heels, then almost toppled over before Beckett grabbed and steadied him.
‘You can pick me up around three.’
Beckett shook his head, muttering, ‘I have no idea what’s happening any more.’
‘Sandra and her friend Pauline have invited me to their monthly silver singles lunch. That’s what’s happening.’
‘Who are Sandra and Pauline? Where is this lunch and, more to the point – what on earth, Gramps? A singles lunch?’
Gramps gave an airy shrug, as if he went to silver singles lunches all the time.
‘Point them out to me.’
Gramps nodded to a suitably grey-haired woman chatting in a small group. Beckett wasted no time in striding over.
‘Sandra?’
‘Yes?’
‘My grandfather tells me you’ve invited him for lunch?’
‘Yes, isn’t that lovely? We’d be delighted to have him join us.’
‘Thank you for your kind invitation. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to go.’
‘Oh?’ Sandra narrowed her eyes, behind fuchsia-rimmed bifocals. ‘Marvin mentioned you might be snippy about it.’
‘Me, snippy?’ Beckett spluttered.
