Page 51 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Ted was too nice to shrug and say, ‘just saying’, as Polly might have done.

He just swirled his brandy around in his glass.

Polly. Why had I thought of her? Because she hadn’t been keen.

But she’d told me why, and her fears, it transpired, were unfounded.

Ralph had confessed to Margot. Confessed.

Suddenly one of those little wooden boxes sprang to mind with a priest on the other side listening to my sins.

I’d never done that before. The enormity of the whole conversion bit came back to me and threatened to smack me in the face; indeed, the confessional box took off and screeched to a halt in front of me, rosary beads swinging knowingly from the door.

It was no small thing, what I was contemplating.

And if I’m honest, having realized rectories didn’t really exist in London any more, at least not the gabled Victorian sort, I’d subsequently envisaged a pretty Georgian one in the home counties, next to the thirteenth-century church– what was that programme with the attractive chiselled vicar on the bike?

Grantchester . That type of thing. Except Ralph had messaged me this morning and said that fortunately his seminary wasn’t far away, in Tottenham, and that apparently, when he’d finished, there was a Catholic church in Wigan with a retiring priest up for grabs, which looked rather perfect.

I’d turned my phone off smartly. Hadn’t even answered.

I’d never been to Wigan. Google maps informed me it was four hours from London and the children.

Five from Ginnie. Was it the whole package? I wondered. At our age? I asked Ted.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Well,’ I hesitated, ‘do we– or you and I, at least– on our disastrous dates, consider the whole… you know…’ I made a circular shape with my hands.

‘Caboodle? The whole shooting match? Material comfort? Oh, you betcha. God, the moment Sukey said “villa in Ibiza” I was in the easyJet queue with my battered Panama and my hand luggage faster than you can say cocktails on the beach. She went ahead with her Louis Vuitton on British Airways.’

I smiled. ‘Right. So…’ I felt my way, ‘it doesn’t matter… that it matters?’

‘No,’ he said firmly.

‘Polly says that none of that– extra bit– matters at all. That it’s totally irrelevant.’

He made a face. ‘Polly’s twenty-four.’

‘You mean she’ll learn.’

‘Of course. But actually, it doesn’t matter at that age, when you’re starting out together.’

‘True. And as a matter of fact, Max is doing pretty well, just got a promotion. Not that– you know– she cares,’ I added hastily. ‘They’re just happy together.’

‘Excellent news. But with all due respect, I don’t think I can embark on a dissection of Polly’s love life when so much of other people’s has been revealed tonight.

I’m not only processing your mother being possibly– or indeed probably– in love with this nice-sounding Piers chap, but reeling from the thought of you tiptoeing up the Vatican steps with a bit of lace over your head before kneeling to kiss the Pope’s hand. ’

‘Will I be doing that?’ I glanced up.

‘I’ve got no idea, but that’s the first light I’ve seen in your eyes since we mentioned this vicar chappie.

I suspect in some part of your head you’re already planning your outfit, or are indeed après ceremony, somewhere near the Trevi fountain sipping a chilled glass of vino, in St Peter’s Square, perhaps. ’

‘Like you in Ibiza,’ I said accusingly.

‘Oh, hundred per cent. Don’t get me wrong, we’re both shallow.’

We giggled and then Ted waved and got the bill.

‘I’ll get it, you always get it,’ I told him when it came.

‘Out of the question,’ he said, popping his card into the machine as the waiter brought it to the table. I waited as he tapped his number in. I could never win this battle with Ted.

‘Thank you.’

‘ Piacere mio .’

‘What does that mean?’

‘My pleasure. You’ll need that in Rome.’

I tried not to smile. Failed.

Outside in Jermyn Street we looked in vain for a taxi, but there were none to be seen, and neither of us could manage an Uber, the app was still a mystery. So we started walking instead, towards St James’s, then up to Piccadilly, hoping we’d spot one on the way.

‘What does Hebe think?’ he asked at length.

‘About Ralph?’ I glanced up at him. ‘I haven’t told her this latest instalment. She was originally rooting for the builder; he did her loft conversion too.’

‘With the biceps?’

‘Exactly.’

‘He’d probably suit Sukey,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps we should get them together? She won’t approve.’

‘Who, Sukey?’

‘No, Hebe.’

‘No, probably not,’ I said nervously. I could just see my best friend’s face. The horror collecting in her eyes as she digested what I was telling her. ‘Sorry, Annabel, are we talking get thee to a nunnery? The hills are alive? Are you out of your tiny?’

‘Hebe’s as shallow as us, though,’ I reminded him.

‘Oh, quite,’ he agreed happily. ‘Lovely girl. Bumped into her at Ascot. Polly’s not, though, as we’ve already established. What does she think of him?’

I hesitated. ‘I think she got him wrong, initially,’ I said carefully.

‘Ah.’ he smiled smugly. ‘She doesn’t approve.’

‘No, but she definitely got him wrong,’ I insisted.

‘It was all a misunderstanding.’ I then explained about Celine, and Cynthia, and Margot, and the crossed wires that ensued, and how Polly had leaped to conclusions, Hannah as well– I then had to explain who Hannah was– and how, yes, OK, Ralph had been weighing us up, particularly me and Margot, but let’s be honest, I’d also weighed up the builder with the same sort of shrewdness, and in fact we’d even discussed it, the two of us; discussed how that made us sort of even-stevens, and how, let’s face it, everyone weighed people up at our age, damn it.

Ted, too. And how, as a matter of fact, if I was being entirely honest, I found the whole bloody thing exhausting, and all I really wanted– all most people of our age wanted– well, me in particular– was a like-minded soul who I got on with, who I could have a laugh with, who I could natter away about anything with, go on holiday with– but Europe, not the Galapagos, I bloody hated long-distance travel; some people had a bucket list, I had a fuck-it list, and that was right up there with a Peloton Bike– and someone who didn’t make me heave on sight, but who didn’t make me shrink from taking my clothes off either– like the builder– or want more than I was prepared to give in terms of lifestyle change– like Ralph– and golly, at the end of the day, was that really too much to ask?

Suddenly Ted stopped. I’d talked a lot, ranted a lot, used my hands to great effect to express myself emphatically, and we’d walked miles by now– well no, obviously not, we weren’t that fit, just down Piccadilly– without a taxi in sight and were now at Hyde Park Corner, under Admiralty Arch.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Annie.’ He turned to me, exasperated.

‘What?’ He looked at me for a second and then he took me in his arms and kissed me, very thoroughly, on the lips.