Anxiety was setting in now that he was on his way to see Millie. He was nervous of introducing her to Owen, though technically they had met before at St Pancras Station. But then Owen had been intent on not missing their train and dragged him away without even a glance at Millie. She might have been invisible. But now, what if he really saw her this time? As they neared the pub, he knew he would have to say something to stake a territorial claim.
‘There’s this girl who sometimes works at the Fig,’ he said, sliding a sideways glance at Owen to work out his reaction.
Owen didn’t seem especially interested, but then he never actively went after girls. Didn’t need to with his looks. They almost literally dropped at his feet. In the past, it had been an advantage being best mates with a babe magnet, but now it was different. Owen could be a threat. What if Millie fancied Owen and why wouldn’t she? Most girls did. No matter how he spun it, George knew the facts stacked in favour of Owen. Owen was taller, more intelligent, better read, better looking–muchbetter looking.Hisdad had been a hero, a soldier killed in action. And Owen exuded an aura of troubled, moody hero that most girls seemed to find irresistible. How could he, George Halcyon, a short-arse, son of a low-level gangster, compete against such perfection?
Owen asked, ‘Is this the girl you mentioned before? The one at the station.’
‘What?’
‘The girl. Is she the one you spent most of the summer with?’
‘Yeah, Millie–Millicent Mackie.’
‘She’s Scottish? You didn’t say.’
‘Yes, comes from Edinburgh.’
Owen said, ‘Beautiful city. Full of spooks.’
‘Spies?’
‘No, ghosts. It’s a haunted city. They do tours.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Dad took me there on holiday before his last tour in Bosnia. Only a weekend break. Mum wouldn’t come with us, and we couldn’t leave her alone for long.’
George cast a sympathetic glance at Owen. He knew from the few things Owen had shared about his family; Mrs Kingsley had been a problem long before she hanged herself.
They walked on in silence, George thinking at least Owen had enjoyed a good relationship with his dad. He wasn’t jealous of that; he had his mum, but George couldn’t help wondering what it must be like to have a close father and son relationship. It was something he would have liked it if he’d had a good dad. But you couldn’t have everything, and he knew he had the best mum.
They turned the corner, and the Fig was ahead of them. George began again. ‘Like I said, there’s this girl. Millie. The truth is mate, I’m keen on her.’
Owen stopped walking and hitched his thumb in the direction they’d just come, as he asked, ‘Do you want me to make myself scarce? I don’t need you to babysit me, you know. I could go back to the house. Read some more.’
‘No, no.’ George tugged at Owen’s shoulder. ‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. I only wanted you to know the score with Millie. She’s… she’s special–important to me, but I’d like you to meet her. Properly this time,’ he added, realising from what Owen had said earlier, he had noticed Millie at the station.
‘You’re sure?’ Owen’s lips quirked into a half smile. ‘I don’t want to cramp your style.’
‘As if!’ George forced a grin. He wanted Owen to meet Millie. He even wanted them to like each other, but not too much. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
Inside the pub, George caught sight of Millie down the far end of the bar.
‘There she is,’ he whispered, his heart already racing.
‘She’s pretty,’ Owen said. But he didn’t seem bowled over.
‘Yes, she is.’ George thought maybe everything would be all right. ‘Come on, let’s get a drink and I’ll introduce you.’
Millie smiled as she walked down the bar to them. ‘Hello, George, you made it at last. What can I get you?’
‘Two pints of Barn Owl, please,’ he answered, unable to peel his eyes off her. She looked stunning in a black fitted t-shirt and tight jeans. He vaguely waved a hand at Owen. ‘This is Owen, my mate from university, the one I told you about.’
Millie glanced from the pump. ‘Hi Owen, good to see you again. Not rushing for a train this time.’
‘Not this time, no. Sorry, I think I might have been rude last time we met.’
George watched them. They made a great-looking couple, well matched, each with dark hair and sapphire blue eyes, but whether it was wishful thinking or instinct, he felt they would never be close friends. He hoped he was right. Confidence rising, George asked, ‘When’s your break, Millie?’
