She hopes he’ll say no, and he does. Sunday afternoon, and the area around Queen’s Park is full of the flotsam and jetsam of other people’s summer days: half-drunk plastic pints of honey-gold lager left to go warm outside pubs, crumpled picnic blankets in the park, discarded beer cans and pizza boxes overflowing from bins, melted ice-cream puddles on the pavement that she has to drag Fred away from. Other people have been out here all day, enjoying themselves, enjoying the weather, enjoying their friends and their children. Other people have been living. At the thought of the extraordinariness
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