Part 2 (1/2)

Tess was jigging up and down and waving like a cheerleader on speed. She was wearing emerald-green jeans, the Chloe top I'd sent her for her birthday back in March and the most enormous thrilled-to-see-you-Rosie grin.

He was a red-haired thirty-something guy in rimless gla.s.ses, almost handsome, over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and well-made. So good face, good body, but whatever was he wearing? Good grief, he was a tartan-s.h.i.+rt-and-bright-blue-boot-cut-jeans fas.h.i.+on disaster. What could Tess be thinking, letting him go out looking like that? I supposed she had to be in love. But there are standards, aren't there?

'Rosie, hi!' Tess threw her arms around me, hugged me tight and then stood back to look at me. 'How are you doing, love?' she added, in the careful way that practically everybody spoke to me since Charlie- I still find it hard to say the word.

'I'm very well,' I said, and then I thought, I must work on my Amglish or n.o.body is going to understand me. 'I mean I'm good. I'm doing great. I'm not sure of the time, of course. h.e.l.lo, you must be Ben?'

'Yeah, I guess I must be.' He grinned and winked and shook my hand. 'I love your accent, Rosie.'

'Rosie's posh,' said Tess. 'She went to Cheltenham Ladies' College and Cambridge University. She got a quarter blue in tiddlywinks.'

This obviously didn't mean a thing to Mr Tartan. 'Posh I just adore that word,' he said. 'It's so British and ridiculous.' Then he glanced at my left hand and saw what I was holding. A red-and-green-striped apple, a James Grieve from my Granny Ca.s.sie's tree. 'You brought that foreign vegetable matter into the USA?'

'Oh I meant to put it in the bin.'

'She means the trash,' said Tess.

'You'll probably suit orange.' Mr Tartan winked at me again and then began to stroll towards the exit, jangling a giant bunch of keys. Those jeans were flipping awful, so loose around the a.r.s.e he looked like he was wearing Pampers, and I hoped for Tess's sake that this was not the case.

'Gorgeous luggage,' Tess said enviously, gazing at my shocking-pink-with-gold-tone-hardware bags. 'Where did you get it?'

'Guess?'

'Oh, I don't know Aladdin's cave?'

'If you mean f.a.n.n.y's office, yes. It's all Versace see the tags? You can have it, if you like. I dare say I can get some more or something similar. f.a.n.n.y's place is full of stuff and there are always new things coming in.'

'Thank you, Rosie, you're a mate!'

'You're welcome.'

'It makes me want to go on holiday. Bermuda, Rome, Capri ...'

'Or Bethnal Green? Tess, will you be coming home for Christmas?'

'Americans aren't big on Christmas holidays. They don't have Boxing Day or anything. So I don't know if Ben-'

'But if you're not working, you could come back for Christmas, couldn't you? Your relations, they'll all want to see you?'

'Yeah, some of them might.' Tess shook her head and sighed, stopped walking, turned to look at me. 'Mum's still well hacked off because I didn't ask her to my wedding.'

'I can't say I'm surprised.'

'My brother reckons she's taken out a contract on me. If I show my face in the East End I'm going to wish I'd been stillborn. Mum had big plans for my big day, you see. Me in a meringue and limousine, my poor old dad hoiked out of his recliner and made to wear a topper, those awful wedding trousers and a pair of tails, and my nieces bundled up in turquoise polyester.'

'So you sort of ruined everything by getting hitched in Vegas three days after you met Mr Gorgeous?'

'I suppose.' Tess shrugged. 'Yesterday, my cousin rang to ask me when it's due.'

'So are you?'

'No, I'm not or I don't think so, anyway.'

'Speaking for myself, I'd rather have a nice new handbag, Fendi or Armani preferably.'

'Yeah, me too. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd like some children one day, just a couple. But I don't want any yet.'

'I don't want children ever.'

'You'll change your mind,' said Tess. 'Your eggs all have a sell-by date, you know. One day something will go click. You'll decide it's time and you'll go looking for the man who'll be the father of your children.'

'Does Ben have any pre-existing children?'

'He hasn't mentioned any.'

'Perhaps it slipped his mind?'

'I'll have to check his bank accounts and see what's coming in and going out. Rosie?'

'Yes?'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Why would I want to talk about Ben's bank accounts?'

'I meant Charlie all that stuff?'

'No, thank you.'

'I hope you got some counselling or therapy?'

'I said I didn't want their counselling.'

'But it must have been an awful shock? Do you get nightmares?'

'Yes.'

'So maybe talking to a counsellor or therapist or even me or Ben would help a bit? I was reading something in a magazine, it was about bereavement and how people deal with it in different cultures and it said the British-'

'Tess, you haven't mentioned it to Ben? I asked you not to tell him. I can't deal with sympathy from strangers.'

'I haven't told him, Rosie.'

'No?'

'I haven't even hinted, cross my heart.'

She didn't add, and hope to die. She glanced towards her husband. 'I suppose we'd better make a move his lords.h.i.+p's getting fidgety. Rosie, did you mean it about giving me the bags?'

'Of course I did.'