GOOD FRIDAY

Tommy arrived precisely at noon. Barbara answered the door dressed in tight jeans and a black open-necked shirt unbuttoned almost to her bra line. Tommy tried to stop his eyes from popping and focused his attention on the tea towel slung over her shoulder. "Am I too early?"

She smiled. "No. Right on time. Come in."

"I didn't know whether to bring red or white wine, so I brought beer." He held out a six-pack of expensive beer that Barbara rarely drank.

"Thanks. Lunch is almost ready. Have a beer while I put the rest away and check the oven."

When she returned a few minutes later, Tommy noticed two more buttons on her shirt were done up. He hoped he had not been too obvious. "It smells good."

She smiled and sipped her beer. "You sound surprised."

"No, not at all."

"Italian. Easter Antipasto followed by pasta and dessert."

"Easter antipasto?"

"No meat. I wasn't sure if you were traditional at all."

"No, I guess not eating meat on Good Friday is more a habit for me than a belief."

"I usually forget anyway. I do have some nice prosciutto if you'd like it."

Tommy nodded. "I think the tally of my sins is far greater than eating meat on Good Friday."

Barbara shook her head. "Nah," she said with a smile, "I think you're just sinful enough."

She turned and walked back to her kitchen leaving Tommy wondering what she meant.

The antipasto was foolproof. All she had done was arrange the ingredients on the platter she had created using a dinner plate to trace a circle on an old cardboard box. She had covered it in three layers of aluminium foil to make it respectable. Keeping the colours separated, she had already fashioned the sliced cheese, artichoke hearts, grilled zucchini slices, sun-dried tomatoes, marinated mushrooms, olives and roasted capsicum slivers into triangles that looked like wonky pizza slices. Now as Tommy stood somewhat awkwardly at the end of her bench, she quickly rolled the prosciutto and lay it around the outside edge.

"I'm not used to company," she said picking up the platter as if it was the Crown Jewels.

"Here let me help." Tommy took the tray and placed it on the table. "It looks scrumptious."

"Stop sounding surprised. Oh, hang on... the bread." Barbara retrieved a loaf of crusty white bread from the oven. It gave a promising thud when she tested it with her knuckle. "There's butter if you want it, but there's olive oil and balsamic on the table."

"This is enough for lunch without pasta."

Barbara felt her face redden. "Too much?"

"No, we can always leave some for dinner."

Dinner? Barbara smiled. "Taste it first. You might run for the hills."

Tommy tore off some bread and selected a modest serving of each item. Barbara followed his lead. Soon her trepidation's vanished as they ate and chatted about life.

A bell rang, but it barely registered in her brain. "Is that telling you something needs attention?" Tommy asked.

She jumped up. "Bloody hell."

"Can I help?"

Barbara shoved a bottle in his hand. "Yeah, pour this. The glasses are on the sideboard."

"Chianti?" She turned off the oven and watched as he sniffed the wine. "Nice."

"I thought it'd go with the pasta. Back in a sec."

She retrieved the bowl of tossed salad from the fridge and put it on the table then went back for the pasta. The dish was hot, but the tea towel protected her hands until she placed it on the trivet. "Spinach and ravioli lasagna."

Tommy frowned. "Interesting combination."

Antonio had assured her it was delicious. Now she had to bluff it with Tommy until they could taste it. "Wait till you taste it before you get all haute cuisine on me."

Tommy's ears went red. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I am simply intrigued."

Barbara handed him a sharp knife and a spatula. "Go for it."

She was pleased that the ravioli had set like lasagna. Tommy effortlessly carved out a piece, and she held a plate under it for him to slide it onto before he cut another and plated that. They then helped themselves to salad and more bread.

Barbara waited until Tommy took the first bite. His face lit up with genuine pleasure. "This is good. How do you make it?"

"It's easy really," she said nonchalantly. She was not going to say that Antonio had given her detailed instructions and sold her jars the ingredients.

"No, seriously."

Barbara sighed. "Mix a tub of cream with an equal amount of chicken broth and the same amount of red pasta sauce. Chop some baby spinach and mix with some pesto, then you do a layer of sauce, a layer of spinach pesto and a layer of some ravioli then repeat a few times. Spoon some sauce over the top layer of ravioli. Then you bake it for a while then top with some cheese and paprika then bake that off."

"Well, I am impressed. Very impressed. Here's me thinking I would get toast..."

"Why you..." Barbara whipped him across his shoulder with her tea towel. Tommy backed away and almost toppled off his chair. They both started to laugh.

Tommy sat on the lounge and rubbed his stomach. He had eaten like a king, and if he were alone, he would probably have a discreet belch. Barbara had gone to considerable effort for him, and he appreciated it.

"That ice cream cake was delicious," he said as she flicked through the television channels.

Barbara looked pleased but shrugged. "It was pretty easy."

"So, you make it all the time?"

"Not exactly."

"You've never made it before, have you?"

She looked at him angrily then turned away. Colour started to creep up her neck. She shook her head. "None of it. Antonio at the deli suggested the menu and gave me the recipes. He sold me all the stuff, but I made it all. Well, not the ravioli or the sauce. But I put it all together."

"Wonderfully. I didn't mean to sound critical, Barbara. Quite the contrary. I am... touched you made such an effort for me."

She twisted to face him. "I... Are you?" For a moment he thought she was going to reach out and touch his face. Instead, she gave a short laugh. "Well, you can cook next time. Want to watch telly?"

Seeing she had been searching for a channel for five minutes, he assumed it was her way of shutting down what was becoming a personal conversation. Heaven forbid they should actually admit they liked each other. He closed his eyes, took a second then answered. "Yes, why not. Is there any ice cream cake left?"

"Yeah. Plenty. Should I give you a doggy bag?"

Tommy sat up. "Why, am I going home?"

Barbara went red. "No!" She went even redder as she tried to extricate herself from both implications. "Well, later... sometime. I'm not throwing you out."

Tommy sat back then grinned at her. "Good to hear. Then yes, another slice, please. And if it's so easy, perhaps the recipe for that too."

Barbara grumbled as she went to the kitchen but returned with two slices. She gave him the plate and tossed a piece of paper at him. "See, idiot proof. Mix some biscuits and chopped nuts with melted butter. Stick them to the side of a line loaf tin. Blend heaps of chocolate and cream with glucose syrup and Frangelico. Pour in the tin and freeze."

Tommy frowned as he picked up the recipe and handed it back to her. "Barbara, I don't doubt you. I think your dinner was marvellous. And, to know you stepped out of your comfort zone for me... It means a lot."

Barbara snatched the paper. "Yeah. Ta. Eat your cake."

They ate in silence as they watched Fred Astaire and Judy Garland in Easter Parade. Eventually, Barbara spoke. "This is not really your thing. We can watch the news. Or the doco channel."

"You think I am above a little Easter romance?"

Barbara turned and glared at him. "Yes."

"Well, I'm not." He was no longer sure they were talking about the movie. He wondered if Barbara thought he was trying to bed her as a holiday distraction. "Well, I am. I would never have and Easter affair."

He watched as she studied him, apparently trying to work out what he was saying. He wished he knew himself. It had never been a conscious thought, but now that the idea of making love to her was in his mind, he was struggling to let it go. He coughed, hoping that would resolve the mess he had created.

"I see. Good to know," she said cautiously. "Just watch the film, Tommy."

Barbara noticed his reaction to her casual use of his name. His eyes opened as large as saucers, but he had not responded. He had not even looked at her. She wondered why then thought he might not want to draw attention to it after she had made a fuss about his compliments about her cooking. She remembered once that he told her the greater discordance was not when sounds were apart in pitch, but when they were close but never aligning. That was like their relationship. They had moments of harmony, but whenever they tried to synchronise, it all went wrong.

She stared at the TV. Next to her, he stared at it too, but she would wager he had no more idea of the plot than she did. A whole Fed Astaire dance routine went by before Tommy spoke. "Thank you."

"Seemed..." She could not think of a word.

"Right?"

"Time. It seemed like it was time."

They both continued to watch the screen. "Good, it is."

Barbara had her hand on the couch between them. As casually as he could, Tommy put his almost next to hers. Ten minutes later, he inched it closer until they just touched. Barbara's face went pink, but she did not look at him. Tommy smiled. It was progress.

The film ended, and Barbara glanced at the clock. It was almost five o'clock. "Want to watch the early news?"

"Yes, we should know what's happening in the world I suppose."

Barbara quickly found the BBC. After fifteen minutes of doom and gloom, they ran a story about the Easter egg hunt in Windsor Great Park. "Looks like fun," Barbara said.

"Yes, the children look happy. Imagine putting out all those eggs."

"Do you do that in Cornwall?"

"Yes, Mother and Judith organise it on Easter Sunday. I sometimes go."

"Not this year? You had time off?"

Tommy was not sure how to answer. He had wanted to stay in London, closer to Barbara. He was more comfortable around her than his family. "I prefer to stay here."

"And miss those eggs? I suppose you can always buy yourself one or two."

"I can. What about you? Would you like to go down this year? We could drive down tomorrow."

"No. That's a family thing for your estate. Besides, I don't do Easter eggs."

Tommy noticed her tone. There was sadness. "Why not?"

Barbara shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Tommy noticed tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you, Barbara. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's not you. When... after Terry died, my parents stopped giving Easter eggs because it reminded them of how happy he had been hunting around the house for them. No one's given me eggs since I was 15."

Tommy put his hand over hers and squeezed. "That was wrong of them."

Barbara snuffled then took a deep breath. "It was their way of coping. I don't blame them. Do you want to watch another movie?"

Three movies later, they had finished the Chianti, the beer Tommy brought and some she had in her fridge. Barbara was almost asleep. "I should go to bed," she groaned.

Tommy sighed. He wanted nothing more than to suggest they both go to bed, but he knew Barbara would assume he was taking advantage. He would never do that and was not even sure he wanted to make love even though he had thought of little else all evening. He just could not bear the thought of leaving. "I'll call a cab."

"You didn't drive?"

"No, I thought..."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Hmm?"

"I might want to drink more than I could if I was driving. It is double demerits if you get caught this weekend. And it doesn't set a good example."

"You're such a well-behaved citizen, Lord Asherton."

"I am." Heaven knows right now I don't want to be.

Barbara laughed. "You can stay here if like. It'll be hell trying to get a cab now."

For a moment they stared at each other. Tommy was trying to decipher if he had been invited to share her bed or just bunk on the couch. He thought he should impress on her that he did not expect anything to happen. "I should go."

Barbara nodded. Her eyes hardened, and Tommy instantly regretted his words. "Suit yourself." She sat watching him. He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but he feared he would be Aikidoed painfully onto the floor. He pulled out his phone.

"They said ten minutes."

"Okay." Barbara stood and walked into the kitchen.

"Barbara," he said as he followed. "I had a wonderful day. Thank you for cooking. It truly was delicious."

She gave him a slight smile. "I had fun too. Here, I made you a doggy bag."

Tommy took it from her, allowing his fingers to brush hers. "Thank you." He leant down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. His lips burned as they touched her skin and it took all his self-control not to drop the bag and sweep her into his arms.

Outside a horn tooted loudly. Tommy waited for her to ask him to stay.

"You'd better go."