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“They do a lot of film and telly shoots here; that Daniel Radcliffe film Victor Frankenstein, one of the Downey Jr. Sherlock movies. But wait until you see this place in December,” said Freddie. “The outdoor Christmas markets are legendary. You can shop and eat around the city centre and then pay the huge glittery Santa a visit at the Town Hall. He sits atop the entrance…it’s magical.”
“I had no idea Manchester was so cool,” said Alex.
Lucy sighed. “Loving all the architecture and culture, but can we finally have a pint? I vote for the Gay Village.”
“Really?” said Freddie, leading his friends along Princess Street. “What happened to your interest in Castlefield?”
“Nah, I want to visit your old stomping ground. My one and only visit here was just up and down to see Mark’s play that time. Let’s make up for it. As long as you’re okay with it, Lex?”
“Lead on. I’m enjoying Freddie’s trip down memory lane.”
Lucy chimed in. “Maybe we’ll run into your old ex.”
“He wasn’t that old,” said Freddie. “He was only twelve years older than me.”
“Cradle snatcher.” Lucy smirked. “I know what you gave him, but what did he give you? A bunch of ancient Madchester records and a broken heart.”
“And three years of unforgettable memories.”
Alex grabbed his arm. “Aw, Freddie. Three years…that’s amazing.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Freddie bounced on his heels and rounded the corner onto Portland Street. The girls upped their pace to catch him.
Twenty-Three
Alex pushed her chair back from the dining table and patted her mouth with a paper napkin.
“Helen, you’ve ruined meals for me. Roast potatoes and carrots, gravy, and Yorkshire pudding. I’ll never eat this well again. I still think having dinner on Sunday afternoons is weird, though.”
“It’s tradition,” said Freddie, savouring his last spud. “We used to have a roast every Sunday at one when I was a kid, and then we’d fall asleep in front of the telly.”
“You sure you’ve eaten enough? You’ve got a long bus ride down south,” said Helen.
Alex held her stomach. “I had two helpings of everything except the roast beef.”
“I’m good, thanks. My plate was heaped three times,” said Freddie. “Meat sweats, here I come.”
“This guy can eat everyone under the table and never has to adjust his belt a single notch. So not fair,” said Lucy.
Joan leaned in beside Freddie, who sat to her left. “I’m impressed, love. In my experience, most men who eat like you are football players or builders.”
“Is that why I don’t have a boyfriend? Do gays think I’m straight because I’m not watching my figure?”
“I’ve missed this. I love the gays, me!” Joan laughed conspiratorially with Freddie.
“Well, if you’re all full, more pudding for me.” Michael stood up, clearing an armful of plates.
“Hello? Have you forgotten your youngest daughter? I live for desser—pudding. That word still sounds weird. I haven’t had an actual pudding in the American sense since I’ve been here. Yorkshire pudding doesn’t count, which…let’s face it, isn’t really a pudding. It’s not a dessert either. Weirdos.”
Michael chuckled. “I guarantee you’ll like tonight’s pudding, love.”
Alex and Lucy rose to help.
“Sit and chat with Joan, girls.” Helen collected several platters and followed Michael into the kitchen.
Joan sighed. “It’s been such a treat having you here. I don’t know what you’re all doing for Christmas, but I hope you’ll celebrate with us. I may have spoken out of turn, but I’m sure Helen and Michael won’t mind.”
“I’m in,” said Lucy with a bright smile. “Thanks for inviting me. Now you just have to twist Alex’s arm. She’s the fuckwit—” She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I mean…she’s the one who needs convincing.” She shot a look at Alex.
