New Year's Resolution

Part Four

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Part Four

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The next day after a breakfast of Coco Pops (the kids at Christmas feeling hadn't quite worn off yet – or at least not the 'kids' part), John dumped a stack of travel brochures on the table. 'So,' he began conversationally, 'where do you want to honeymoon?'

Margaret looked at them dubiously. 'I don't,' she said truthfully. 'I can't – I have to work.'

John waved his hand dismissively. 'Surely if I can get some days off after my wedding, you can. What do you do anyway, that's so important that you can't take some time off?'

She merely looked at him, eyebrow raised. 'I own and manage a bookstore – I don't know anyone who would be able to take over if I were to take a holiday, and in less than two years I'll need any money I can get. I can't afford to close it down.'

John frowned for a minute, deep in thought. Then his face brightened. 'You know, Margaret,' he said, and her eyes narrowed in suspicion at his bright and cheery – too bright and cheery – voice, 'I've missed out on so much over all these years. I really need to read more. I think I should visit your store.'

'If you're saying what I think you're saying –'

'I feel a sudden urge to buy books, many books! Classics, bestsellers, highly acclaimed literary fiction, biographies, cookbooks, badly-written vampire romance, you name it!'

'John, I really don't think –'

'And of course, I'd like to find out what the big deal is about that ponce who jumps in a lake –'

Margaret lost her train of thought as she gazed at him in open-mouthed horror. 'Did you just diss Mr. Darcy?!' Then she paused, considering. 'Well, in the book he doesn't actually jump in a lake – that was just his swamp monster incarnation in the BBC series. Honestly, I thought he was going to surface just as Lizzy was passing by and scare the hell out of her.'

John looked suddenly interested. 'A swamp monster in a Bronte adaptation?'

Margaret looked scandalised. 'Austen, not Bronte! And Colin Firth wasn't really a swamp monster. He was pretty hot, actually, but the lake scene is so overrated.'

For a second, John looked bemused. 'Okay,' he said slowly, without the least idea of what she was talking about. Then he grinned at her, pulling out and jingling his car keys. 'Why don't you take me to this store of yours, and I'll fulfill my craving to read by buying... oh, I don't know – however many books you'd usually sell in two weeks?'

Margaret found herself no more immune to his smile than his mother; she felt her resolve melting away far too quickly for comfort. Perhaps John was right – this might be her last chance to enjoy herself, free of responsibility. 'You have far too much money for your own good,' she said severely, and his smile flagged a little. Then she grinned. 'And you had better read every single book you buy.'

Now grinning wider than ever he led her to the car, still jumping with excitement that he would get to 'finally fulfill his lifelong yearning to buy books'. Margaret rolled her eyes – clearly, for one of them at least, the 'kids' feeling was still going strong.

*

Margaret stood impatiently waiting for John to return with their entry tickets, which seemed to be taking an unusually long time, whether because of a queue or because of his fumbling with their phrase book, she did not know. Whatever the reason, she had now been waiting for ten minutes.

'Margaret, is that you?'

Her head whipped around at the familiar voice, and a smile broke out over her face. What were the chances that they were both passing through the same art gallery, in the same city, in the same country, at the same time? The world really was too small. 'Henry,' she said, laughing as he hugged her, lifting her off the ground a little.

'What are you doing here?' they both asked at the same time, and then laughed. 'You go first,' Margaret said, with a mock-polite flourish of the hand.

Henry grimaced. 'I'm here for work – what else? An issue with one of my clients – we couldn't deal with it through the Spanish embassy, so we actually came here. Today's my day off, so I decided to do a little sightseeing.'

Margaret punched his arm in sympathy (yes, it was a sympathetic punch – such things existed). 'Glad I'm not you,' she grinned, ruffling his hair. 'Trust you to come to an art gallery on your day off – we're only here instead of the beach so that we can feel a little more cultured and intellectual.'

John cleared his throat from behind her. 'Care to introduce me to your cultured and intellectual friend, Margaret?' he said stiffly. He had seen the hair-ruffling antics and their obvious familiarity and both had disturbed him. He and Margaret had a deal – some two years of marriage and then the divorce, and then seeing other people; it was against the rules to begin now!

She turned at his voice, and seemed not in the least ashamed or guilty, causing him another pang – was this how lightly she regarded their agreement? 'Oh, of course,' she said. 'John, this is Henry; Henry, meet John.'

They shook hands. 'I'm her husband,' said John rather inconsequentially. 'We're on our honeymoon.' He felt like it would be good for this Henry chap to know the facts. He waited for Henry's reaction, but to his disappointment, the man didn't even momentarily lose his composure.

'Oh yes, that's right!' smiled Henry. He turned to Margaret. 'Sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding on such short notice, by the way.' Margaret looked away rather guiltily, but thankfully Henry didn't seem to notice. Before the silence had a chance to get awkward, he lowered his eyebrows to give John an exaggerated look of menace. 'You'd better take care of her, or else.'

John knew the man was joking, but all the same he felt a flame of anger ripple through him. He could not contain his retort. 'Or else what?' he snapped, causing Margaret to look at him in surprise. 'You'll step in to do the job?'

Henry's smile became a little uncomfortable, and he threw an arm around Margaret, causing John's face to darken further and his fist to unconsciously clench at his side. 'Hey, I'm her brother – it's what I'm supposed to do!'

'You're her brother?' John repeated dumbly. 'You're her brother. Of course. You're her brother, yes. I knew that. Um.' He grinned broadly, shaking hands with a rather confused Henry once more.

Margaret looked from one to the other, completely lost. Henry looked as bewildered as she felt, and for the rest of the day John was buoyantly cheerful and more than usually incomprehensible.

Fortunately he did not hear Henry's whisper to Margaret. 'Is he bipolar?'

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