Blackpool Fic - These Are The Things We Won't Do
CHAPTER ONE
We won’t be together so long that we forget how we got together in the first place and it doesn’t matter to us or to anybody else.
“Y’know, Natalie,” said Peter lazily, “it’s times like these I appreciate the life we have.” Natalie raised her eyebrow at him as she carried a plate of carved roast chicken to the dinner table.
“Times like what?” she questioned, a hint of amusement in her voice. Despite having been married to Peter for the nearly twenty-five years, she still felt occasionally that there were new things about his personality she had yet to discover. Peter peered at her through his glasses and made a show of folding his Sunday paper up.
“This,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You and me. I’m retired, you’re retired, we’ve paid off the mortgage, all our paperwork is up-to-date, and I’m about to tuck into a beautiful homemade Sunday roast.” He smiled at Natalie as she went back into the kitchen to fetch the vegetables. “I can even manage to put up with the grandkids. How old is Freya now?” he added conversationally.
“Twenty-three in October,” Natalie shouted from the kitchen. “Plenty of time to think of something for her.”
“Sweet girl, that Freya,” Peter said, eyeing the chicken hungrily. “I think she quite likes having six grandparents.”
“Well, she did when she was younger,” retorted Natalie, laden with plates of carrots and sprouts, “but once she hit puberty, the less said about us wrinklies, the better.” She playfully slapped Peter’s roving hand away from the bowl of roast potatoes. “And don’t forget,” she added, “that Darryl’s mum, she died last year, so it’s just five grandparents now - you, me, Ripley, Kitty and Darryl’s dad … what’s his name again?”
“Badger me not with details, woman,” Peter said, grinning. “Not when there’s Yorkshire puddings just begging to be eaten.” Natalie slapped his hand away again, returning the cheeky smile. She gave him a peck on the cheek to apologise, and he settled down.
“And don’t forget next week!” Peter said in mock indignation. Natalie frowned at him, feigning forgetfulness.
“Next week?” she asked. “What’s next week?”
“Our silver wedding anniversary!” exclaimed Peter, not realising Natalie was teasing him. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten? Much more important than Freya’s birthday!”
“Oh, of course I hadn’t forgotten,” Natalie smiled, ruffling his hair the way he liked. It amazed her that he still had a full head of hair all these years later, despite the flushes of grey sneaking in. “I was joking, silly.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered mutinously, despite the cheeky gleam in his eyes. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” He sniffed childishly and licked his lips at the sight of the stuffing balls Natalie was just bringing into the dining room. “I bet you can’t even remember exactly how we met.” Natalie opened her mouth to retort but quickly closed it when she realised he had a valid point.
“D’you know, I don’t think I can remember, she said in wonder. Chuckling slightly, she put down the plate and sat down opposite Peter. “All these years we’ve been together and I can’t even remember where we met first.”
“Funny Girls,” said Peter immediately. He paused. “Or was is the supermarket?” He paused again. “I remember tofu.”
“Funny Girls was our first date,” Natalie corrected, “but how we met …” She laughed. “Nope. Gone.”
“Never mind,” Peter sighed. “We’re together now, and that’s what matters.” He reached over the table and squeezed Natalie’s hand gently. She smiled back and patted his wrist.
“Right,” he suddenly announced, focussing his attention on the roast dinner in front of him. “Potatoes or parsnips first?”
We won’t be together so long that we forget how we got together in the first place and it doesn’t matter to us or to anybody else.
“Y’know, Natalie,” said Peter lazily, “it’s times like these I appreciate the life we have.” Natalie raised her eyebrow at him as she carried a plate of carved roast chicken to the dinner table.
“Times like what?” she questioned, a hint of amusement in her voice. Despite having been married to Peter for the nearly twenty-five years, she still felt occasionally that there were new things about his personality she had yet to discover. Peter peered at her through his glasses and made a show of folding his Sunday paper up.
“This,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You and me. I’m retired, you’re retired, we’ve paid off the mortgage, all our paperwork is up-to-date, and I’m about to tuck into a beautiful homemade Sunday roast.” He smiled at Natalie as she went back into the kitchen to fetch the vegetables. “I can even manage to put up with the grandkids. How old is Freya now?” he added conversationally.
“Twenty-three in October,” Natalie shouted from the kitchen. “Plenty of time to think of something for her.”
“Sweet girl, that Freya,” Peter said, eyeing the chicken hungrily. “I think she quite likes having six grandparents.”
“Well, she did when she was younger,” retorted Natalie, laden with plates of carrots and sprouts, “but once she hit puberty, the less said about us wrinklies, the better.” She playfully slapped Peter’s roving hand away from the bowl of roast potatoes. “And don’t forget,” she added, “that Darryl’s mum, she died last year, so it’s just five grandparents now - you, me, Ripley, Kitty and Darryl’s dad … what’s his name again?”
“Badger me not with details, woman,” Peter said, grinning. “Not when there’s Yorkshire puddings just begging to be eaten.” Natalie slapped his hand away again, returning the cheeky smile. She gave him a peck on the cheek to apologise, and he settled down.
“And don’t forget next week!” Peter said in mock indignation. Natalie frowned at him, feigning forgetfulness.
“Next week?” she asked. “What’s next week?”
“Our silver wedding anniversary!” exclaimed Peter, not realising Natalie was teasing him. “Don’t tell me you’d forgotten? Much more important than Freya’s birthday!”
“Oh, of course I hadn’t forgotten,” Natalie smiled, ruffling his hair the way he liked. It amazed her that he still had a full head of hair all these years later, despite the flushes of grey sneaking in. “I was joking, silly.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered mutinously, despite the cheeky gleam in his eyes. “You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.” He sniffed childishly and licked his lips at the sight of the stuffing balls Natalie was just bringing into the dining room. “I bet you can’t even remember exactly how we met.” Natalie opened her mouth to retort but quickly closed it when she realised he had a valid point.
“D’you know, I don’t think I can remember, she said in wonder. Chuckling slightly, she put down the plate and sat down opposite Peter. “All these years we’ve been together and I can’t even remember where we met first.”
“Funny Girls,” said Peter immediately. He paused. “Or was is the supermarket?” He paused again. “I remember tofu.”
“Funny Girls was our first date,” Natalie corrected, “but how we met …” She laughed. “Nope. Gone.”
“Never mind,” Peter sighed. “We’re together now, and that’s what matters.” He reached over the table and squeezed Natalie’s hand gently. She smiled back and patted his wrist.
“Right,” he suddenly announced, focussing his attention on the roast dinner in front of him. “Potatoes or parsnips first?”