The Affectionate Player - Part2

Chapter 7

"Sorry. That came out wrong. What I mean is that I'm not leaving at all. And I'm not going to separate the children from you. You have to trust me on this, Max. I won't take them away, do you understand?" Her fingers weave with mine adding tenderness to her resolve. She knows my fears and what this would do to me.

"I trust you, Gracie," I murmur, and in a heartbeat there is peace. "I've always trusted you." And as I say the words, I'm overwhelmed.

I love her and I'll never stop.

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We eat dinner in comfortable silence enjoying every morsel and even though my appetite had vanished earlier, it reappeared the minute our food arrived. With fresh Scottish lobster transported from Edinburgh this morning, served atop a tasty hot spaghetti with chilli and garlic oil, we each clear our plates.

"My God, that was heavenly," Gracie declares, stroking her tummy. "I haven't eaten this much in ages."  It was delicious. Excusing herself, she slips from the table and my eyes follow the contours of her frame. Adjusting my position once more, I watch from the table observing her on the phone. Minutes later she's back.

"I called Soph to check on our babies. They're sleeping, and of course, they've been angelic." Smiling, I sense pride in her voice as she recites my sister's description of Holly and Monty, and as the evening draws on we chat over the last of the Champagne.

"What now, Gracie? Dancing, cocktails, or have you had enough of me?"

"No way, I'm not ducking out yet! Fancy listening to some jazz with me? I know a great club near Greek Street with live music most nights."

"Cool. Lead the way."

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Taking Gracie's hand, we cross Charring Cross Road and it dawns on me again that I've broken my pledge. No touching. Thankfully though, she doesn't appear to have noticed but as we walk comfortably toward the club, I feel her stiffen.

"What is it, Gracie?"

"Is it just me or are they staring?" Following her eyes, I spot three teenage girls giggling on the pavement along with a few other passers-by watching us. Offering a quick squeeze of reassurance I laugh off the attention, but still I'm relieved when no one approaches.

"Does that happen to you often these days?" she asks, her agitation obvious.

"Not really, but then again I don't tend to be in town much where there's more chance of it happening."

"Are you comfortable with it? I don't think the whole recognition thing would ever appeal to me."

"I suppose I don't mind it, as long as people respect that there are boundaries they shouldn't cross. Like touching me. That freaks me out. And shouting at me in the street. I can't fucking stand that!"

"I agree," she says, smiling cutely. "I saw it happen to Brad Pitt once and he ran like hell the other way."

"Wise man!"

"I've just realised something, Max," she declares, as we turn off Greek Street.

"Yea? What's that?"

"I can count on one hand how often we've walked through the streets of London together. We should have done this more often."

"You think walking would have saved us from separation?" I joke riskily, holding open the door to the venue.

"Dunno. But I like it." She throws a cheeky wink and walks straight through the crowd to the bar like the goddess she is. I follow, observing a few guys with hopeful expressions watching her. What I wouldn't give right now, to have my arm wrapped firmly around her waist. She's mine or rather, was mine.

"Martini cocktails," she yells, handing me one. "Let's get a seat, if we can." I lead the way, immediately wishing I was behind her to assess my competition but in seconds relax as I locate a small table two rows from the back. The place is beautifully rustic, with a dark hardwood ceiling, deep crimson walls and red velvet chairs hugged around the tables. Taking a seat, we settle with our drinks and listen to the resident band. They play a few numbers before breaking at ten and we order another round of drinks from the waitress.

"I didn't finish what I wanted to tell you," Gracie pipes up, taking advantage of the short spell of calm. "I asked my parents if they knew the family name Devenney and my mother almost choked on her food. She asked me where in Ireland I was going and when I told her Malin, her face paled instantly. She knows that family, I'm sure of it."

"I think so, too."

"What do you mean? How would you know that?"

"It was just a hunch really, but on the morning we found Monty I took him to my mother's house. Jock and Jessie arrived a short time later and when Da asked me about Geri, I told them all about her being born in Ireland and about the two passports. That's all we knew at the time until last Saturday. When I mentioned the name Devenney, they both reacted exactly as you've just described."

"Seriously? And you didn't think to mention this to me before now?"

"Yes, of course I did, but I didn't want to go and start calling your parents liars, especially given how you've been feeling about me of late. And anyway, it was just a hunch, Gracie. I didn't know for sure until now." 

"Well, you still should have said something," she pouts, childishly.

"I just did, Gracie."

She glares at me inviting argument but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her parents spoil tonight as well. "Let's not fight. I've had a lovely evening, unexpected as it was, and I'm guessing so have you. Forget about it for tonight and we'll talk more about it tomorrow." She sighs heavily, reaching for her cocktail.

"Okay," she says softly, then taking me completely by surprise she offers me a smile. "Oh, look! It's the open mic session. I'd forgotten they had this. You know Amy Winehouse used to sing here, don't you?" And with that, our heated exchange fades into oblivion.

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