The car wound its way through the streets of Isleworth and Twickenham, and suddenly Abby knew exactly where she wanted to be.
‘Do you know what? You couldn’t take me to Bushey Park, could you?’
When Nick had given her the tickets for the showing of Casablanca under the stars, she’d been thrilled for the two minutes it had taken her to realise it was on the same night as Anna’s wedding.
The taxi driver looked surprised, but he dropped her off at the Hampton entrance to the park. Abby had worried that the path to the cinema might be dark and lonely, but it was well lit, and peppered with stray couples who were either late like her or were milling around.
Two girls were sitting behind a table, a makeshift booth for collecting tickets. Abby burrowed in her purse for a twenty-pound note.
‘It’s sold out. I’m sorry,’ said one of the girls flatly.
‘Please,’ said Abby, suddenly desperate to go in.
‘I’m sorry . . .’
She put the note on the table and placed her hand over it.
‘It would mean a lot. I was supposed to come here with my husband . . .’
The girl’s face softened.
‘It’s halfway through.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’
The girl smiled in sympathy and waved her through, directing her to the bar and the popcorn stand.
The park was beautiful at night. The trees looked as if they had been printed against the mottled purple sky. It was warm; the grass was dry, so Abby kicked off her shoes. It was the perfect summer night.
She looked up at the screen, the giant sepia images of Bogart and Bergman, suspended between two oak trees. She had seen the film so many times she could almost recite the dialogue word for word, but she never grew tired of it, even if she had never been able to understand why Rick let Ilsa get on the plane at the end. Nick had explained it every time they had watched it together. ‘He knew she would have a better life without him.’ But Abby didn’t buy that story. She didn’t think Rosamund Bailey and Dominic Blake would buy it either. How could you have a better life not being with the person you loved? It just didn’t make sense.
If the past few weeks had taught Abby anything, it was that you had to be brave to love. It was a potent force, one that dispensed great highs and dreadful lows, but the magical moments made everything worthwhile. She pictured Rosamund and Dominic holding hands and watching a golden sunset together, remembering the countless times she had done the same thing with Nick on the beach in Cornwall, imagining them doing it every warm summer’s evening if they lived in St Agnes.
She let her eyes trail across the grounds, looking for somewhere to sit.
There were bodies all over the grass. Couples lying under duvets, others propped up in beach chairs.
And then she saw him. Her heart started to beat faster and she had to peer through the darkness to check that she wasn’t imagining it. A little voice in her head told her that she’d known he would be here. After all, she’d seen the tickets propped up on the mantelpiece when she’d gone round to his Kennington flat.
She hopped over legs and cool boxes to get to him. To get to her husband.
She next down next to him and bumped her shoulder against his arm.
‘How could a girl miss Casablanca under the stars?’ she said softly, watching his face crease with pleasure when he saw her.
‘You came,’ he said, looking at her as if she was the only girl in the world.
‘I still don’t like the way he lets her get on that plane, though,’ she said, stretching out and touching his fingertips.
‘I wouldn’t let you go,’ he said, putting his arm around her.
And as the moon cast its silvery light around the park and the music swelled in the distance, Abby smiled and knew that she believed him.