An Affair to Remember by Virginia Budd Page B

five minutes, surely even you can wait that long. Read a book if you’re bored.”
    Emmie purses her lips; remains silent; the tension between them, always there, becomes total. Sam, having made his stand, continues to watch, but in truth finds it impossible to concentrate: his mind slipping back again and again to the tall, fair haired girl with the sad, lost eyes he’d encountered in the Grove this afternoon. They’d met before, he knew they had, and in trying to remember where, he experiences for the first time in his life a feeling almost akin to anguish.
    “And that’s all for tonight from Re-living the Past ,” says the smooth, young presenter, as five minutes later the disputed programme comes to an end and the credits roll. “Next week our guest will be the eminent American Romanologist, Professor Marcus Travers, whose subject will be fraternisation between the Roman colonist in Britain and his predominantly Celtic neighbour. Just how far, if at all, did this fraternisation go, and indeed help to form our national character? We shall also be discussing with the archaeologist, Sigmund Entwistle, his latest book, How Roman are We ?…”
    “I couldn’t care less, I’m afraid!” Emmie, who has been riffling through a copy of the latest Vogue , slams it down on the coffee table and switches the TV off. “Honestly, Sam, how you can watch this rubbish I simply do not know. Who are these Celts anyway when they’re at home, I thought they were a football team.”
    Ignoring the question which he rightly assumes to be purely rhetorical, Sam gets to his feet and makes for the door. “Just popping out for a quick jar, I said I’d have a word with Josh Bogg and find out about that fishing.”
    “Charming!” Emmie purses her lips again; he wishes she wouldn’t. “You spend the entire evening hogging the TV and when you’ve had enough, slam out to the pub. I don’t know why I bother, really I don’t.”
    “Quite frankly, neither do I.” Sam puts on his jacket, patting the pockets to make sure he has his cigarettes. “Don’t wait up.” Emmie leaves him to it, she hates pubs anyway, common sort of places, give her a nice, snug cocktail bar any time. Nearly ten o’clock, she could give Jack a quick buzz, he must be back from his business date by now. Now where has she put his number…?
    “Jack, dear, it’s Emmie, just thought I’d give you a tinkle.”
    “Hullo, pet, how’s my favourite girl then? I’m afraid you’ve caught poor old Jack on his way up to bed.” Jack winks at Chloe, the barmaid, standing beside him – they happened to be on their way upstairs when the phone rang. Chloe gives his cock a squeeze and giggles conspiratorially.
    Emmie sighs, she wishes he didn’t work so hard… “Sorry to ring so late, dear, I just wanted to hear your voice, and make sure it’s OK for tomorrow, I was so disappointed about this evening.” There’s a bit of a pause, Emmie, straining her ears, thinks she can hear someone giggling. Don’t let him back out now, oh please don’t let him back out.
    “About that, pet. I was going to ring you in the morning; I’m not sure I can make it tomorrow either, we’re rushed off our feet at the moment and I’m up to my eyes… Look, I’ll give you a ring 11 am tomorrow, how’s that, there may yet be a window.”
    A window! “Oh Jack!” A tear drips down Emmie’s nose. “But you promised…”
    “I’m ever so sorry, pet, I was looking forward to it too myself, but work has to come first. Look, if I don’t get to beddybyes pronto, I’ll be falling asleep on my feet and we don’t want that to happen, do we, especially as the phone’s half way up the stairs. Mind how you go and we’ll speak in the morning…”
    The phone goes dead. Oh God, the tears are coming fast now, and Emmie’s so upset she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. He’s gone off her already, found someone else more likely; someone younger, prettier. Men, they were all the same…