Part 8
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Donna took her foot off the muddy spade she had been using and dug deep into her coat pocket to answer her phone. "Hello John. What can I do for you?"
Hearing the wind noise across the microphone, he asked, "Where are you and what are you doing?"
"I'm helping to dig up Gramps' allotment, if that's allowed. What are you doing?"
Feeling defensive, he answered, "I'm lying here in bed, like you're supposed to do, first thing on a Sunday."
An unwanted mental image of him naked while talking in bed occurred to her. "Look, if this is one of those 'what are you wearing?' type of phone calls, you can pack it in right now."
"No, nothing like that," he assured her as he stopped an innocent hand trailing his fingertips across his chest. "I'm phoning to ask if you know anything about Twitter."
"Thinking of setting up an account, are you?"
"Well, no, although it has been suggested in the past."
"A bit public if you want to be all Secret Squirrel."
"Exactly. I hear it doesn't allow for much privacy or personal opinion." He paused to make his announcement. "Anyway, it hasn't stopped me being on there in some capacity."
"What have you done now?" she wondered knowingly.
"It's more of a 'what we've done now', to be honest. That bride who fangirled over me has posted a photo."
"How bad is it? Will you have to change hairstylist and everything?"
"Donna, this isn't funny! She's announced to the world that I'm engaged."
"What did you expect to happen if you go around saying such things? Of course, people would believe you," she dismissed. "So what? One minute you're getting married, the next you've broken it off. Happens all the time to celebrities."
"This isn't just anyone," he insisted, wondering why he was getting so hot under the collar about it. "This is us: you and me. I've never been engaged before. Neither real nor imaginary."
"Think of it as a new first. Over and done with."
He momentarily pulled the phone away from his ear to glare at it. "Why aren't you angrier about this?"
"For a start, nobody I know would think to look at you on there, and second, it's all pretend anyway. You started it, remember?"
A far-off male voice at Donna's end asked, "Is that your new boyfriend you're arguing with?"
"He's not my boyfriend, Gramps," she denied. "I told you that I went with him yesterday for moral support."
"A bloke, going to a wedding thing, ain't normal unless you're courting," Wilf reasoned.
"Hence me offering the moral support," she stressed in what was obviously a well-trodden conversational path. "It doesn't mean we're involved."
"So why are you talking about getting married?" a bewildered Wilf queried.
"You're not supposed to be listening in on private conversations," she snapped.
"Can hardly avoid it when you're broadcasting it to all and sundry."
"Sorry, Gramps. I didn't mean to bite your head off, but John here seems to have dropped me in it."
"How's he done that?"
She took in a breath. "To get rid of someone, he told them I'm his fiancée."
"A bit daft but that'd normally do it, I suppose. Gone wrong, has it?"
"In a way," she agreed. "Our photo was taken without us knowing and then posted on Twitter." She didn't wait for him to ask. "That's part of the internet, like Facebook."
"Oh, right," the old man gasped in realisation. "And his girlfriend has found out, has she? Or is it a boyfriend? You never know these days. Especially if he's like that Richard fella you went out with."
On the other end of the line, John was feeling rather abandoned, among other things. "Tell your grandfather that neither exists in my life," he insisted.
"Hang on, I've got a three-way conversation going on here," Donna grouched. "Gramps, he says he hasn't got anyone like that."
"Is it usual for him to have both?" Wilf pondered.
"No idea," she admitted. "He's too busy keeping his secrets."
"Oi! I can hear you, you know," John pointed out.
"You also know that eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves," she teased him. "Now, if you've finished stressing out over some vague photo nobody'll look at, I'll get back to turning over this soil."
"It's nothing but sexy talk with you, isn't it," he laughed. "Thanks for making me feel better about this. I will have to take you out soon and show my appreciation."
"Careful, that's close to a date," she warned. "You're welcome. Take care."
"And you. Bye." Ending the call, he felt a great deal better again. Almost as good as he'd felt the previous day. Perhaps it would be in his best interests to keep in contact with Donna for the foreseeable future, he decided, and laid down in bed to continue his Sunday morning.
"That fella you were talking to. John, was it?" Wilf asked his granddaughter, giving his nose a comforting touch. "How do you really feel about him?"
She returned her attention back to her spade. "He's been growing on me, but I doubt I'll see much more of him."
"Why's that?"
So many reasons for her to choose from. "He's a successful fashion model with pots of money, I'm just a temp from Chiswick. The two don't match, let alone meet up much."
"You're putting yourself down, sweetheart. This John obviously likes your company if he's phoning you up out of the blue for your opinion. It's not only your old Gramps who can see your true worth."
The urge to kiss him was irresistible, so she gave in, planting one on his weathered cheek.
"I think we've earned ourselves a cup of tea," he offered.
As she later sat on an old mat outside her grandfather's allotment shed, drinking her tea, she thought to scroll through Twitter, and put in John Smith's name into the search bar.
"What!" she exclaimed in horror when she saw the incriminating photograph and the number of likes it had obtained.
After all, she had expected some vague, out of focus, snapshot. What she had found was a candid pose of what looked like established lovers.
"Is that you?" Wilf asked over her shoulder. "It's a nice picture. All happy like. Who's that with you?"
"That's John," she confirmed.
"Oh. I see what you mean now. If he is complaining about being mistaken for your fiancé, I'll have his guts for garters!"
"It's fine, honest it is. He was merely a bit shocked the photo was taken and then posted without our knowledge, that's all. As I said, he was the one who pretended we were engaged so he's only got himself to blame for the rest of it."
"Aren't you hopping mad?"
"A bit. Alright, a lot, but there's nothing I can do now except deal with the fallout with dignity."
"That's my girl," he proudly stated.