Perhaps she’s normal and just as confused as I am about the strange people all around me.’

‘Strange? Am I?’

‘No, not you,’ smiled Ellie, ‘well, not that I know yet. You may well be, but I’ll take the risk, at least until after our meal.’

‘So why is he in the office?’

 

Ellie asked herself that very questioned all day. ‘I can only presume they’ve had a row. He’s left her to sulk and then realised there’s no room for him at anyone’s house. So, he’s gone to sleep in the factory – and, when people come to survey what she calls a garden, she’s pretending he’s coming back shortly… for appearance’s sake at least.’ Ellie paused and looked at Tom.

 

‘I see,’ he responded thoughtfully. ‘But why the religious analogy? No room at the inn, stables, and all that?’

 

Ellie looked startled. ‘Oh, yes, why did I say that? Oh hell. Strike that reference from the record. He’s no right to be in any religious story, at least not cast in the role of someone hard done by. I mean… his own children wouldn’t even take him in.’

 

There was a silence while they read the menu.

‘Trout’ exclaimed Ellie.

‘Pardon?’ Tom smiled back at her. ‘Have you stopped using my name already?’

 

‘I’m having the trout,’ declared Ellie.

‘Oh, are you? Does the trout know?’

She looked confused. ‘Pardon?’

 

‘Forget it. I was teasing.’ Tom dropped his eyes to his menu.

‘Oh. And you? What are you having?’

‘A good time, thank you.’ He said it without looking up.

 

‘That’s good. I’m glad you are. Do you intend to eat anything as well?’

‘Yes. The salmon. The trout’s having the salmon.’

‘Pardon?’ Ellie repeated.

‘Pardon you for what?’ He looked up at her.

‘Is madam ready to order?’ asked a voice at her side.

‘Yes, soup followed by the trout. Thank you.’ She smiled at the server.

‘And for sir?’ The young man glanced across at Tom.

 

‘Soup to start and then I’ll have the salmon. Oh, and the wine list, please.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the server as he moved away.

‘There you go again,’ said Tom, smiled gently at his companion.

‘There I go again - what?’

 

‘Presuming you’re having the trout.’

‘Well, I am.’ Ellie laughed. ‘Most definitely. And I’m determined to enjoy it.’

‘Let’s hope the trout does.’

 

‘The wine list, sir.’ The young man was back at their side. He smiled briefly at them both, then moved away again.

‘I was once told,’ said Ellie, ‘that I have the sex appeal of a trout.’

‘Well, they are very sexy fish.’

 

‘My philandering, lazy, double chinned excuse of a husband blamed my lack of sex appeal for his cheating ways.’ Ellie glared at nothing, and no one in particular. ‘Bastard,’ she breathed, almost to herself.

‘Who?’

‘Not you.’

‘Good. Which wine do you prefer?’

‘Red or white. I’m not bothered.’

 

‘Oh, well, that’s narrowed it down a bit. How about a Chablis?’

‘Sounds great. If you think that’s the one, go for it.’

‘Well, what do you usually choose?’

‘Waitrose,’ responded Ellie as her eyes scanned the room.

‘I think I’ll struggle with that,’ Tom replied without looking up. ‘We’ll go with the Chablis.’

 

‘Would you like to order, sir?’ The young man had ghosted back to their side. Neither Tom nor Ellie had noticed.

‘Yes, the Chablis, please.’

‘Thank you.’ He moved quietly away again. Ellie watched him move across the room towards the bar area. ‘He’s amazingly discreet for his age.’

‘Who is?’

‘The waiter.’

 

‘Yes, I suppose he has maturity about him. Rather refreshing, really.’

‘It certainly is,’ continued Ellie. ‘Most men don’t seem to fully mature until they get their pension. Then suddenly, for a few days at least, they seem to become wise old men. You hear them say “When I was a lad” or “your mother and me knew what real hardship was”,’ she mimicked with a deep voice, ‘but then they quickly retreat into childhood.

 

They play with train sets or mooch in sheds. A few go completely daft and marry girls who are at least 50 years younger than they are and have huge curves. Sad really, but there you are.’ She paused and tilted her head slightly. ‘What do you think you’ll do? Trains? Sheds? Big boobs?’

Tom looked across and smiled. ‘I shall get mine out and play with it as soon as I get home.’

‘Get what out?’ Ellie asked.

 

‘My train set. Sadly, in the absence of big boobs decades younger than I am, I’ll have to make do with a quick thrill in a shunting shed or whatever.’

‘Oh, yes, I should if I were you.’

 

She laughed quietly and smiled across the table. Then her gaze moved away. She watched people moving purposefully across the room. She could hear cutlery rattling, occasional laughter, and whispered chatter. Tom watched her.

 

She was, he thought, by far the most attractive woman with whom he had ever dined. Ellie spotted a couple, perhaps 80 years old, seated at a small table against the wall. They looked an elegant, comfortable pair, she thought.

 

They seemed to giggle like teenagers. Ellie wondered if they still enjoyed sex. She wondered if there were enough years left for her to enjoy the sex she read about in steamy novels or saw on television. Recently, she’d even thought about it while working in the garden in the freezing cold.

 

The couple leaned forward and held hands over the table. Tom followed her gaze. He leaned across towards Ellie. ‘I think he’s avoided shunting sheds and bimbos. A few of us do, you know.’

 

Suddenly, the young man returned, putting down two fresh glasses on the table. He looked at Ellie. He leaned forward slightly, his face a little nearer hers. ‘Sorry I took so long.’ He breathed it and looked serious. ‘I had to nip to Waitrose.’ She stared up at him as he turned to offer the bottle for Tom to examine. He was grinning. She couldn’t help laughing. The young man stood straight and looked at Tom.

 

‘Would you care to taste the wine, sir, or shall I pour?’ he asked.

‘Just pour, please.’

He poured both glasses and then moved away again. Ellie laughed more loudly. ‘I hadn’t realised he’d heard. Oh dear, I wonder if he heard the trout references as well?’

 

‘Cheeky so and so,’ scowled Tom, pretending to be annoyed at the server’s behaviour. ‘I’ve a good mind to complain.’

‘Complain! About what? His sense of humour. I wish my son knew one joke, never mind had a sense of humour like that one. He’ll go far.’

 

She looked at her dinner partner in earnest. ‘Oh, Tom, he was just having fun. It was harmless. Let it go, please.’

Tom held up his hands. ‘OK, I surrender. I was only joking anyway. Just a bit of fun.’

‘Two soups?’

Ellie looked up at a young woman. She was holding two plates, a bowl of steaming soup on each.

‘Thank you,’ said Ellie.

As they ate, Tom returned to the subject of Ellie’s husband. ‘So, what happened in the factory? You mentioned a toasty maker or some such other culinary miracle machine.’

 

‘Apparently it shorted or something, and started a fire, destroying three whole pallets of stock and damaging a wall. According to my children, the extent of the blaze, as it seemed, was enough to create a drama. Unbelievable, isn’t it?’

Tom looked thoughtful. ‘Three whole pallets, you say. And what is the stock? Is it a manufacturing business? Is it a family business?’

 

Ellie stopped eating and carefully put down her spoon. She leaned back in her chair. ‘The thing is, Tom, we make minor components for the engineering industry. Specialist parts for heavy things like tractors, excavators, and combines.’ She paused. ‘Don’t ask me which bits because I don’t know and don’t care and never have on either front. But the money for the business was mine, my inheritance, which I invested in the building and machinery – and in him.’

 

‘And believe it or not, that was the one thing in life – and that’s everything in his life and mine, including our marriage - that he was good at: making bits for other things that need bits. The business grew. It did well, but I refused to let him squander it on a big house and flashy cars, so he squandered his share on other women’s tits.’

 

‘I own 100% of the bits’ business - he owns 100% of the tits business - and that’s always rubbed on him. So, he has no shares and neither do the kids. I wouldn’t trust them to share a premium bond. The house – which I also paid for – is mine, not “ours”.

 

‘I was the dutiful wife. Stayed at home. Brought up the kids. Tolerated the bloody relatives. I took refuge in my gardening. Would you like to see my garden?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Anyway, the dutiful wife doesn’t want to be the wonderful wife any bloody longer.’

 

She paused as she remembered her father’s words when she’d told him she was marrying Rupert. “If you marry that man, he’ll have your soul. He’ll make your life a misery.”

 

Tom finished his soup. He looked across at her. The sudden outpouring fascinated him.

 

‘Now here’s the biggie in all this. You’re having dinner with a woman who’s had enough of the man she formerly referred to as her husband and she’s also disillusioned with her two children. That makes me vulnerable to men who might want to take advantage of my emotional state.’

 

Ellie reached for her full wine glass and emptied it in two large gulps. She leaned back against the chair, fiddling with the empty glass between her fingers. ‘So, here’s what she’s going to do. She’s going to sell the house and keep all the money. She’s going to sell her shares in the business and therefore hand control to someone else outside the family. Again, she’s going to keep all the money.’

Ellie paused and put down her glass. Tom leaned forward for the bottle and refilled the glass. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, she’s going to live the bits missed in the last 35 years… to the full. And she’s going to spend, spend, spend.’

 

‘I remember her,’ Tom nodded. ‘Won the pools back in black and white telly days.’

‘She did,’ said Ellie, before sipping her wine. ‘I thought it was her husband who won the money – she spent it. At least I think that’s what happened. It must be 60 years ago.’

 

‘Probably. Will you have time for anything else?’ Tom asked.

‘Definitely.’

‘Any chance of time for another evening with me?’

 

‘Yes. Might be, yes. In fact, she’s worked out this is the second date with you: the first was coffee this morning. So, a third might be good.’ She panicked slightly as soon as she’d said it. Never, ever had she been that upfront with anyone? They looked at each other across the table as she waited for his reply. ‘And I know one thing for sure.’

 

‘What’s that?’

‘I feel so much better after that rant.’ Ellie picked up her spoon and carried on with the soup.

‘Well, I think,’ he seemed a little hesitant, ‘I think, for once in my life, I’m a little speechless.’

 

They finished their soup in silence, and after the young woman cleared away their bowls Ellie said: ‘You can’t be a little speechless. It’s rather like being pregnant. You either are or you’re not. You can’t be a little. Now say something,’ she almost pleaded, looking earnestly into his eyes. He thought he saw a tear in hers.

 

The young server was back at their side. ‘Who’s the trout?’ she asked.

Tom motioned to Ellie. ‘My friend’s the trout.’ Ellie raised an eyebrow and looked at Tom, then at the woman holding the plate.

 

They ate in silence for a while. Tom topped up their wine glasses and said: ‘I think we should ask our friendly waiter to nip to Waitrose for another bottle.’

Ellie held up her hand. ‘Not for me, thank you. I’ve already had too much. Better make do with what I’ve got.’

 

‘OK,’ said Tom, ‘but I think if I’m having another date after tonight, I should at least know your name.’

Ellie looked surprised. ‘You know my name.’

‘Only your first name. The Prophet I met in the toilet didn’t divulge your surname.’

 

‘It’s Robinson. And before you make a “Mrs Robinson” joke, it doesn’t count. You’re too old to be the student.’

‘True,’ said Tom, almost whispered across the table, ‘but out of respect, and as they wrote a song about you, a toast.’ He held his glass up towards Ellie.

‘And here’s to you, Mrs Robinson.’

They sipped their wine and gently put down their glasses. She looked at him across the table and he smiled back. ‘You have children?’ asked Ellie.

Tom nodded. ‘Twenty-three and all by different women.’

 

Ellie laughed. ‘Is that all? I would have thought there’d be more.’

‘I have two. Both joined at the hip with their mother.’

‘That’s strange, mine being joined at the hip with their father. How old are they?’

 

‘Twenty something. Their mother and I divorced 10 years ago.’

‘Was there anyone else?’

Tom looked sad. ‘Yes, but she died. Two years ago.’ Tom paused for a moment to take a breath and then added: ‘And you may or may not believe this, but you’re the first woman I have asked out since then.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

 

‘Don’t be, you’re not that bad and besides, and, in the words of the song, All Things Must Pass, and I rather like you. I could have made a worse choice than standing inside a pub door looking like a waiter. Lots of women walked past me.’ He paused and then shrugged. ‘But then they usually do… walk straight past, I mean.’

 

‘Manager, actually. You looked more like the manager, even more like the owner.’ Ellie paused for a moment before she asked: ‘What was her name?’

‘Gill. Gillian. She got ill. Extremely ill.’ His eyes moistened and Ellie leaned forward. ‘And what was your first wife’s name?’ she asked quietly. ‘Sorry, I’m being very nosey.’

 

‘Bitch. Her Royal Highness, Queen Bitch.’ He smiled. ‘That wasn’t always her name, though. She’s the bitch formerly known as Diane. Diane was OK when we first met, settled down and had kids. Then she reinvented herself as an unfaithful, wasteful, vengeful bitch.’

 

Ellie leaned back in her chair, more than a little taken by surprise.

‘It began with an affair, then getting in with the wrong crowd, spending money we didn’t have, nor ever would. The children adore her, though. They’re convinced that when I left her, I walked out on the innocent party to take up with another woman. Not true. But Queen Bitch is the mistress of re-writing family history. She’s paid for it now though and lives alone, a sad life somewhere in this kingdom or one far away. Who cares where?’ Tom paused and then asked: ‘What’s his name?’

 

‘Who?’ asked Ellie.

‘Who? Your husband, of course.’

‘Rupert.’

‘Rupert Robinson?’

‘Yes. Like your wife, he has reinvented himself and is now known as King Bastard. I hope he will live a sad life somewhere as well. At least, I do now. I may mellow with time and then simply pity him and the women he’s had over the last 30 years.’ She stopped talking and stared ahead.

‘Perhaps King Bastard and Queen Bitch should unite their kingdoms and live happily ever after,’ Tom suggested.

 

Ellie giggled and then caught her breath for a moment. Then she said: ‘I mean there’s behaving badly and there’s behaving badly. Sixty-something’s who don’t conform – like we won’t, I’m sure – simply irritate their children and amuse their grandchildren. But, in our defence, we didn’t want to be old in the first place, so it doesn’t take much to piss us off, does it?’ She sipped a little of the wine she had left. ‘I think that’s fair enough, don’t you?’

 

‘Definitely. Irritating the big ones and amusing the little ones is a splendid plan. Count me in and we can start as soon as you like because this sixty something very much wants to behave badly with a beautiful woman he’s just met.’

 

In her dream that night it had been surprisingly easy for Ellie to take Tom home, surprisingly easy to take him to the bed once shared with her husband, and, for a woman who’d not undressed in front of another man for over 30 years, very easy to be naked with him.

 

When she woke, she was a little shocked that she’d encouraged and enjoyed every moment of her dream.

After a few minutes’ reflection on the previous evening, she got up, showered, and dressed before going downstairs to the kitchen. It was late. She rarely slept past 7.30 and it was now just after 8.

 

Her phone rang. ‘How was your date?’ It was Megan.

‘And good morning to you. Who’s calling?’ Ellie asked.

Megan ignored the question. ‘Well, how was it?’

‘It was very nice, thank you.’

‘Nice? Nice? What sort of word is that?’

 

‘It’s an acceptable word to describe the evening,’ Ellie replied firmly.

‘I’d prefer words like scintillating or passionate. Raunchy would be an excellent description. Horny would be excellent.’

 

‘It was nice,’ Ellie insisted, ‘and that’s all you’re getting from me, at least for now.’ She changed the subject. ‘It was good to see Polly and Gideon at the party. We must see them again soon.’

 

‘Yes, we should. Gideon was an angel and saw me home. I don’t think Polly was pleased - I was dishevelled after squeezing in and out of their car. I think I flashed my knickers and one of my boobs dropped out.’ Megan was very matter of fact.

 

‘Really? You flashed a vicar – and in front of his wife. Megan, have you no decorum at all?’

‘I don’t know. What does that mean?’

‘Oh, forget it. We better make the peace, especially with your history with Gideon.’

‘OK, and thanks. How about this morning? Later, after 11?’

‘Sorry, can’t. I’m seeing the solicitor.’

‘But you’ve only just met what’s-his-name. You’re not even married. Why drag the lawyers into it? Just tell him you need to describe the next date as something more than “nice”’.

 

Ellie laughed: ‘I need advice on the divorce, and on the sale of the business. You can’t sell your own house and move on without everyone’s permission and approval, as well as a load of bloody bills to go with it.’

 

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Megan. ‘Be strong, you need to make sure it’s watertight - not a millimetre of wriggle room for him.’

 

‘Absolutely. And there are the children to deal with. “We stand united with our father” is their battle cry. It’s pathetic, really. They’re like The Three Musketeers. Helpless, Hopeless and Hapless. God knows why the three of them are one, but they are. It’s spooky. I think he bribed them at birth, so they believe he handled their entire creation, not me.’