There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter Forty

"I remember that day at school when you were covered in chocolate and all the children called you 'chocolaty Clare'."

"Oh," said Clare "I thought they were calling me 'chocolate éclair'."

"No!" said Alan "They were calling you chocolaty Clare."

"Isn't that funny? I always thought that, how strange!"

They laughed about it and it seemed to break the ice with Alan and he began to relax.

"I remember that awful dress you had to go home in, it was terrible. It was all faded down the front. You looked a right sight. Where did they get those things from? They were only fit for the dustbin, in my opinion." They laughed again. Alan felt good seeing Clare so happy.

They finished eating and he poured them both another glass of wine. "That was a lovely pizza, thank you. And those mousses... to die for." said Clare.

"You're welcome, thanks for coming. I do get a bit lonely, sometimes."

He wasn't interested in talking about pizza he was more interested in sitting by Clare on the sofa.

"Let's go and sit on the sofa." he said. "It's more comfortable."

Obediently, she went to the sofa taking her wine glass with her and setting it down on the side table. He came and sat beside her.

"You did order a taxi, didn't you Clare?" he asked.

"Yes, but I wasn't sure what time to book it for. Angie said midnight, so I did. Is that okay?

Do you go to bed late, Alan? I always stay up until at least midnight reading. I can't get to sleep if I go earlier."

"Midnight is fine." said Alan. He was usually in bed by ten thirty, he found it impossible to keep his eyes open any longer, but tonight he wished she could stay with him all night and not just leave at midnight. "You'll be Cinderella, then." he said.

"I suppose I will. Shame there's no Prince Charming."

She grew quiet and Alan, sensing she was thinking of Hal, changed the subject.

He swirled the wine around in his glass and then took a sip.

"Did you go on that trip to the Museum, when we were at school, Clare?"

"No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no, you were in another English group weren't you? We all went to the Museum and the English teacher, Mrs Hill, made us write an essay on it. It was the most boring day I've ever spent. I have never felt so un-inspired in my whole life. The Museum was dusty, old and horrible and smelt like rotten eggs."

Clare smiled. "I did go there, but not with the school. I do know what you mean."

"She said to write an essay and not to use the word 'nice'." said Alan. "She wouldn't accept it. How she thought we could say anything nice about that trip, I can't think, because it was absolutely awful. I was rather a facetious 14 year old, I expect you remember and I thought to myself 'Right, have it your own way, I won't use the word nice.' You should have heard some of the words the other kids used to describe it. They were apt and rather colourful, but we didn't dare use them in our essay. Mrs Hill would have had a fit."

"What did you do?" Clare asked.

"I decided to be sarcastic. I said the trip to the Museum was 'SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS". I couldn't spell it, of course." Alan smiled. "Mrs Hill was not impressed, Clare, believe you me. She sent a letter home to mum saying "Alan is 'The Joker' in the class" and mum said "Tell me something I don't know. Couldn't you have just left it at 'super' Alan, why did you have to say that?" But that's not all, Clare. That's not the end of it."