An Almost Perfect Moon. Jamie Holland
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newspaper and then decide we should throw in our jobs and move out.’ Flin saw she was trying to keep a straight face. ‘I mean, I think we should put our flat on the market straight away. Nothing like acting on a whim. Probably best just to be spontaneous. In fact, first thing tomorrow, let’s put an offer in on that house in Northumberland.’
‘That’s not funny,’ said Flin.
‘I think it’s hilarious.’
Both began giggling.
‘Tiff,’ he said, gasping, ‘share my vision.’
At which she started laughing again so hard, she could no longer speak. Eventually, she recovered. ‘Look, stop making me laugh. Everyone’s staring at us.’
‘I still think we should think about it though,’ said Flin.
Tiffany rested her head against his shoulder. ‘But seriously, Flin, you’re always having these plans. Don’t you remember last year you were dead set on us moving to France?’
‘It was a great idea at the time.’
‘Except that neither of us speaks French and we wouldn’t be able to get any work. And then you wanted to buy a houseboat.’
‘But that would have been great too.’
‘Yes, but you couldn’t talk about anything else for two weeks, then you realized it was actually going to cost a fortune and that was the last I heard of it. Then there was the time when we were going to take out loans and learn to fly. And then that was shelved and the money was going to fund us for a year of travelling the world. I love your enthusiasm for things, darling, but I can’t take this latest “vision” seriously because it’ll probably be dead in the water by next Thursday.’
‘But it’s only ever been lack of money that’s prevented us doing this stuff. If we can get jobs and so on, it might really be possible. And you have to admit, it would be good to have a little bit of land, wouldn’t it?’
Tiffany said nothing.
Flin continued. ‘That house we saw had a couple of fields, didn’t it? Just think, we could have a few sheep, get some geese and chickens and grow things. We could eat lots of really fresh, wholesome food. It’d be brilliant, wouldn’t it?’ Flin kissed the top of her head.
‘Brilliant,’ she said, and closed her eyes.
But Tiffany was probably right. Did he mean it? He simply wasn’t sure. In theory, the idea of moving out and pursuing the pastoral dream definitely fired him. But in practice … well, it was a big, big step.
‘You know what?’ Flin said to Tiffany a while later. The telly was on and she was snuggled up against him on the sofa.
‘What?’ said Tiffany, absent-mindedly tickling his arm.
‘I think I’ve just eradicated all the arguments I used to use for staying in London.’
‘Still on this one then. And what are those?’
‘Well,’ said Flin, counting them off on his fingers, ‘firstly I always used to say all my friends were here. But they’re not really. Not any more. Jessica’s in New York, Geordie’s in Wiltshire, Josh is in Sydney. That’s three really good mates who’ve left me behind. Secondly, I know film PR is fun and glamorous, but I have always said it was a young person’s job, and not for life.’ He paused, ‘Perhaps I should leave now. Sort of quit while I’m ahead.’
‘You do love your job, darling, you know you do.’
‘Well, yes and no, actually. I mean, having to deal with all those egos gets a bit wearing. And after all, it’s just promoting a product really. I’m sure there’re other equally interesting products to promote outside London.’
Tiffany put her arms around him and gave him a quick squeeze.
‘And,’ he continued, ‘I’m thirty now. If I’m ever going to take a risk in life, now’s the time to do it. No more of this complacency. It’s time we showed a bit of carpe diem, or whatever.’ He knew he was a past master when it came to convincing himself into doing something, but felt on this occasion his arguments were both valid and reasonable.
‘You’d be able to get work in TV research outside of town, wouldn’t you?’ he continued.
‘Well, maybe. There’s the BBC in Bristol, and there are other production companies in all the major cities. I suppose, in theory, it might be possible.’
‘Exactly, it would be a doddle. And I’m sure with my experience I could get another job in PR without too much problem.’
‘Well, honey, there’s only one way to find out.’
‘Exactly.’ He knew he was really preaching to himself, not her. Excitement lit up his face. ‘Come on, Tiff, let’s just do it. Bloody well take the plunge and live a little. Really, what have we got to lose? We’re still young, no kids – who cares if it all goes pear-shaped?’
‘Whatever, honey.’
‘I know what you’re thinking, but it would be great – a new life.’ He kissed her.
Tiffany went back to watching the television.
‘OK,’ said Flin, wanting to seem as though he were compromising, ‘but look at this place.’ He waved a hand around their little sitting room. ‘It’s great and everything, and all ours, I know, but it is a shoe-box. In the country we could have something probably four times the size.’ He looked about him. With their two sofas, laundry-box coffee table and bookshelves, the room did look particularly narrow. ‘Just think of all that space. It’d be so great. A proper, grown-up house.’
‘Where’s that?’ asked Tiffany, pointing to the TV. Jerome Flynn was gallivanting around the countryside in a four-wheel drive saving an otter.
‘Northumberland,’ said Flin.
‘Wasn’t that house you were looking at earlier in Northumberland?’
It was true, it was. Perhaps someone was trying to tell him something. He hadn’t thought about that part of the world for ages, then suddenly two pointers in one afternoon. But the North-East did hold some unique possibilities. He knew Newcastle from his unversity days nearby at Durham, and he liked it too, from what he remembered. A big urban centre – lots of shops, cinemas and nice places to eat, so they wouldn’t feel too cut off. And surely they had PR companies up there? There was certainly television. Then there was Northumbria itself: the long beaches with the castles of Bamburgh and Dunstanburgh, romantic cliff-top outposts that he remembered captivated him so much when he’d holidayed there as a child. There was Hadrian’s Wall and dry-stone walls and sheep and lots and lots of space. How could he possibly get stuck in a traffic jam up there? Most importantly, it was cheap. Or at least, cheap compared to Wiltshire. He’d love to go back there, to be near his family and his oldest friend, Geordie. It would be wonderful to live the rest of his days in the countryside where he’d grown up and been so happy. But what could he do there? Salisbury was hardly a heaving urban epicentre. It was also pricey – he always looked at the property prices in the Salisbury Journal and it never failed to dishearten him. No, if he wanted space, real space, a house with a bit of land, heading up north was the better option.
They went to bed quite early that night. Flin was already propped up rereading The Darling Buds of May when Tiffany joined him from the bathroom. Seeing her petite frame never ceased to thrill him. Nimbly tucking herself into bed, she put her arm over him and he felt her breasts, face and hair nestling on his chest, and one of her legs wrapping itself around his.
‘Thank you,’ he said to her.
‘For what?’
But he didn’t answer, just kissed her instead. He and Tiffany just felt so right. He knew what Lucie had meant when she’d said that about her and Ben. He and Tiff’d been together four years now. He remembered when