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Becca for granted, not looking hard enough, so now I study her counterpart. ‘Are you OK? Really?’
She sighs again. ‘Yeah. Nothing much damaged but my pride.’
‘Hey, why don’t I treat you to breakfast? To cheer you up?’
Becca grins. ‘At Al’s?’
I stand up. ‘Where else?’
How could I have forgotten Al’s Cafe? He served the best greasy fry-ups in south-west London. There’s no Starbucks, no Costa, here and now, I remind myself. No organic cafes where you can get porridge and compote or chia-seed smoothies. If you want to go out for breakfast, a full English or a bacon buttie it is.
Before I head off to my bedroom I run my fingers through my fringe. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any spare hair grips, have you?’
‘What on earth for?’
I flatten the short hair of my fringe to the side of my head. ‘I want to pin this back.’
Becca just laughs at me as she fetches a couple of grips she’d left on the bookshelf. ‘You only had it cut like that on Saturday! Honestly, Mags, one of these days you’re going to have to make your mind up and decide what you really want – none of this flip-flopping between different options until the rest of us want to smack you senseless.’
I smile at her, but I take the grips from her open hand. ‘Thanks. I’ll be back in two secs …’
I look down with glee at my two sausages, bacon, beans, and eggs with bursting yellow yolks. It’s been almost twenty-five years since I’ve had one of Al’s breakfasts and I can’t wait. I take a bite of the bacon, a bit with crinkly brown edges, close my eyes and let out a moan of satisfaction.
‘Steady on,’ Becca says, with a mouthful of egg, from across the table. ‘I don’t want you going all Meg Ryan on me!’
‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ I mumble as I shove another mouthful in. ‘Oh, my … It’s every bit as good as I remember.’
Becca frowns. ‘We were only in here on Wednesday!’
I shake my head. ‘I really shouldn’t eat so much junk.’
‘We’re young. What else are we going to do?’
I chuckle, because I realise she’s right – I’m young again. No more boring forty-something life! No more ties and responsibilities! I’m free. I’ve got at least another ten years before my metabolism slows and I have to start worrying about piling on the pounds.
The thought floats through my mind quite benignly, but then it slams against a brick wall and I go cold all over. What am I talking about? This isn’t real. I’m not staying. I don’t even want to start thinking like that in case I jinx it and don’t wake up.
Oh, God. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m in a coma! And this is just my subconscious having a field day while my family stand around my hospital bed and cry.
‘Dodgy sausage?’ Becca asks, seeing the look on my face.
I shake my head, but I don’t explain.
‘So what’s the plan for today?’ she asks.
I pause. Maybe I am in a coma or having a psychotic break, but I look outside the cafe window, where the sun is shining, announcing the promise of an empty, unspoilt day; I feel Al’s breakfast warming my belly, and I can’t quite bring myself to believe it. It all seems so real.
Isn’t this what I wanted? To wind back the years? I have no idea how long it’s going to last, when I might wake up with a tube down my throat or wearing a fetching white jacket with straps and buckles, so I might as well make the most of it.
‘We probably should be revising,’ I say. Finals start next week. I know that much.
Becca makes a face and I laugh. Usually, I’m the sensible one and she’s the one who’s the bad influence, but today I sense we’re going to have something of a role reversal. I’m not going to waste this glorious day stuck indoors bent over a textbook.
‘I think we ought to start with shopping,’ I say. ‘Serious shopping.’
Her eyes twinkle. ‘Kingston?’ she asks hopefully.
I shake my head. ‘Oxford Street.’
The twinkle in Becca’s eyes reaches her mouth and she grins at me.
‘And after that, whatever we want to do, whatever takes our fancy. As long as it’s fun!’
‘Good plan,’ she says, then snaps to attention and does a Benny Hill backwards salute at me. ‘Reporting for Maggie and Becca’s Day of Fun!’
I smack her hand away from her head and laugh. ‘Shut up.’
‘Oops, don’t look now.’ She nods to something outside the window. ‘Here comes lover boy … Just don’t you go changing all our perfect plans on me now he’s arrived.’
I turn and a jolt of electricity first stops then restarts my heart.
‘Dan …’ I whisper.
‘Oh, God,’ Becca mutters. ‘I think I’m gonna puke.’
I can’t take my eyes off him as he walks past the plate-glass window at the front of the cafe, grinning because he’s spotted us, and then opens the door and walks in. He leans down to kiss me softly, lingering in a way he hasn’t done in years, then sits down beside Becca so he can keep looking at me. My heart is going again, but it hasn’t yet resumed a normal rhythm.
I am honestly struck dumb in his presence, part of me shocked at how young, how good-looking, how energetic this version of Dan seems to be, and part of me wanting to reach across the table and slap him hard for making me feel this way when Future Dan is quite possibly having it away with Miss Perky Gym Teacher.
Becca finishes her breakfast as mine goes cold on the plate in front of me, then she pushes back her chair and gives the pair of us an indulgent look. ‘Right, I’m clearing off back to the flat to leave you two alone for a bit.’ She turns a sharp eye on me. ‘But I’m meeting you there after lunch to go shopping – don’t blow me out!’
Things don’t get any better when it’s just me and Dan left alone at the table. He reaches over, takes my hand in his, then turns it over and gently kisses the back of it. I stare at him.
‘What?’ he says, grinning at me. ‘Can’t a guy get a little romantic now and then? I thought you girls liked that stuff.’
I nod. Again. And then tears fill my eyes and start to spill over my lashes. Dan immediately jumps up and comes round to my side of the table to put his arm round me. He perches on the edge of the adjacent chair and takes my hands in his, his face full of concern. ‘Maggie? What is it? Tell me?’
I shake my head and swallow. I can’t tell him. But this just makes me cry all the harder.
I hate this dream. I want it to stop. I want to wake up. Now.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will it to happen, but I know it hasn’t worked, because I can still feel Dan’s fingers wrapped around mine, hear his soft breath as he waits for me to tell him what’s wrong.
But how do I tell him I’m crying because I know one day he will stop looking at me this way? That one day he will stop thinking I’m creative and wonderful and clever, and not very long after that so will I?
I haul in a breath and open my eyes. He’s looking at me as if he would gladly rip his heart out of his chest and give it to me if it would make me feel better. It almost starts me off again, but I manage to hold back.
‘I’m just being silly …’ Just for a moment I let myself forget I’m supposed to be feeling