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“We are never ever getting back together.”
“Ha! Taylor Swift!” Joan elbowed Alex. Helen and Michael just looked confused.
“No, I’m done with actors. Two was two too many.”
“You’ll find someone who deserves you, pet.” Helen set a reassuring hand over Alex’s.
“Maybe one day. Right now, the only company I’m keeping is my laptop.”
Michael stood up, holding his wife’s coat. “Alex, did you hear back?”
“I did! Late yesterday. One of the theatres is interested in Suffragettes. Three years on, and it might finally see the light of day. And for the heck of it, I applied to the TV development scheme with Channel Four…” Alex’s phone buzzed on the table. Tugging on her coat, she squinted at a new text. “…so I’ve got a few things in the pipeline. I can’t wait to get back.”
Joan shoved an arm through her parka’s sleeve. “Everything okay, love?”
“Yeah, it’s Lucy. She emailed new scans of her drawings. Wants my feedback ASAP.”
“She’s such a bossy boots!” Joan laughed and zipped up her coat. “Why don’t you come with us to the National Football Museum? There’s a new Fergie exhibition!”
“Nah, I need to get Freddie a card. His birthday’s next Saturday. Then, I’ll head straight back and edit my play a dozen more times.”
Joan smiled. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
“And watch you drool over that big United team painting again? It’s not an interactive exhibit, Joan. I think they’re serious with the Do Not Touch sign.”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I really don’t want to get chucked out again, Mum.”
“Bloody Nora.” Joan threw her hands up. “You reach up and touch Beckham’s pecs the one time and you’re branded for life!”
The Sinclairs zigzagged through the tables and climbed the stairs, trading the restaurant’s homey warmth for a cloudy Manchester April afternoon. Alex shivered as the damp chill pierced her coat.
“There are some lovely card shops in the Arndale Centre.” Helen ushered her family down narrow Old Bank Street. “Rain’s held off. Why don’t we take the scenic route down to King Street and then up Spring Gardens? Isn’t that Italian restaurant there? The one owned by that United player? What’s it called?”
“Rosso.” Joan nodded enthusiastically and turned right onto Cross Street. “That randy old git in my class wants to take me there. I’d love to go, but not with him. It’ll turn into grab-a-granny night. He’s handsy.”
“The Arndale, it’s a bit out of the way. I was going to pop into the card shop in the arcade…” Alex pointed over her shoulder in the opposite direction. “…right there.”
“We’ll walk with you,” said Helen.
“Yeah, for all of one minute!” Alex joked.
“Embarrassed to be seen with us, love?” Joan nudged Alex with her elbow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“We just want to spend more time with you, Alex, that’s all.” Michael smiled.
“Dad, I’m rarely out of your sight.” Alex hugged him. “I’m just gonna grab a card and get back. Yesterday’s session was a double, so I’m behind in my writing.”
“What type of card are you looking for?” Helen clutched her stepdaughter’s waist and steered her along Cross Street.
“For Freddie?” Joan laughed. “Has to be a cheeky one.”
“Has Simon told his parents yet?” Michael pulled his coat closed against the breeze.
“Freddie would be a lovely son-in-law,” said Joan.
Alex’s head pinged back and forth, dizzy with their non-stop interrogation. She swerved left to the arcade’s entrance. “Okay, twenty questions ends now.” She laughed. “Bugger off. Go enjoy the football museum. I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay, well…” Michael nodded. “Call if you change your mind.”
