The Barn on Half Moon Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

as he swung into the restaurant car park.
    â€˜â€˜S’cuse me?’
    â€˜That film star is in Barnsley today, isn’t he? That Franco Zefferelli bloke. My wife slavers over him. Are you one of those fellas that attracts all the fans so he can slip away in
secret? What’s that accent you’ve got?’
    â€˜I’m Irish,’ replied Franco, pulling off a not very convincing Eire twang. ‘I’m flattered that you think I’m like him. He’s quite a looker.’
    â€˜The real one is a lot wrinklier close up,’ said Cariad, still carrying some anger in her voice. ‘And I think he has blocks in his shoes.’
    Franco rounded his eyes at her with amusement.
    â€˜Eight pounds fifty please.’ The taxi driver pulled on the hand-brake. Franco gave a look of embarrassment as Cariad pulled out her purse.
    â€˜I’ll send you the money,’ he said.
    â€˜In your next letter?’ Cariad handed over a tenner and told the driver to keep the change.
    â€˜Remember, try that curry sauce,’ was the driver’s parting shot as he drove off.
    â€˜I am so sorry. Again,’ said Franco. He noticed that Cariad was hobbling slightly as they walked towards the restaurant. ‘You okay there? You hurt your leg?’
    â€˜When Becky was kicking the security bloke, she got me as well,’ said Cariad. ‘I’ll have a beauty of a bruise later I bet.’
    â€˜She wouldn’t have got past those guys.’
    â€˜It wasn’t for the want of trying.’ Cariad thought of Becky’s snarling face when she was barred from going backstage and wanted to giggle. For once she was actually quite
looking forward to seeing her at home later.
    â€˜I promise I’ll make this up to you. As well as everything else,’ said Franco, being a gentleman and opening the door to Sedgewick’s, which was actually a refurbished
Little Chef at the top of Half Moon Hill.
    â€˜I’ve got money enough for lunch. Providing you don’t go mad ordering lots of curry sauce,’ said Cariad.
    â€˜I have to have some though,’ replied Franco with a knicker-melting smile. ‘The taxi driver sold it to me.’
    Sedgewick’s was half-full. There was no one there under the age of sixty-five, and even the waitresses, in their smart black frocks and starched white aprons, looked as though they should
be collecting their pensions. As the young couple entered, people gave them a cursory glance and then returned their attentions to their plates. It was probably the first time in years that Franco
had been treated with such indifference. He most certainly had never taken second billing to a piece of battered cod before.
    â€˜Table for two, please,’ Cariad said to an approaching waitress, who led them to a red-upholstered booth by the window.
    â€˜Bet it’s a novelty for you not being swarmed by autograph hunters, isn’t it?’ said Cariad, lifting up two menus and passing one to her dining companion.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ replied Franco, realising that he might as well have been wearing an invisibility cloak in here and it was strangely refreshing.
    â€˜Thing is, no one expects to see Franco Mezzaluna in a chip shop in Barnsley,’ whispered Cariad. ‘Even if anyone should recognise you, they’ll think their mind is playing
tricks on them.’
    Franco looked out of the window at the rolling green hills and the blue-tinted Pennines in the distance. He took a deep breath, as if he was pulling the scenery into his lungs. He felt weird,
but nice weird. And ‘normal’; part of a world that didn’t hang on his every word or was nice to him because they wanted him for something. Today he was a regular guy who could let
his guard down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to move around in public feeling
free.
    â€˜Hello, love, nice to see you again.’ A different waitress, who