You heard right.
We're getting hitched!

The setup

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2015, Attard, Malta. Fran’s baking business is getting off the ground. Lovin’ Malta love her. Orders start flooding in from Range Rover mums. She’s spending every penny on tattoos and London weekend breaks for cake inspo.

 

2015, Lee River Navigation, East London. Dave lives on a canal boat moored around a veganish warehouse community in Hackney Wick. He buys moustache wax and a cargo bike, starts peddling some pretty f*cking good toast to craft-beer sipping, online-Guardian readers there. Lovin’ Malta love him.

 

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The meet-cute

 

2015, Hackney Wick. Warehouse party at Stef’s. The music’s loud and the whole place smells of weed and patchouli. Dave, moustache waxed and twirled, peddles pretty some f*cking good munchies there. The veganish crowd looks well cheerful. Fran has a septum and a new tattoo. She’s there with Mike Azzo.

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FRAN
Who’s Chef?

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MIKE
David. Darmanin. He makes toast.

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FRAN
Yum.

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MIKE (to Dave)
Hawn Dave. Tafha ‘l Fran?

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FRAN (to Dave)
Hellooo.

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Dave’s tache jitters.

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The complication

 

Christmastime, Valletta, 2015. A chance encounter at a Hey Disco event organised, again, by Mike Azzo. Dave harps on about Hackney. To Fran’s ears it’s a pretty f*cking good speech. She waits till morning to get on Messenger, finds Dave’s profile.

 

FRAN (OST)
Hey. Wanna meet
for a drink?

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DAVE (OST)

Brilliant. City?

X’taħseb? ❤️

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Sunday, City of London Pub, Sliema. Dave gets a pint of Hopleaf, Fran a double Jack. Fran teases, Dave teases back. They talk about food, Rome and Mina. She gives him a ride back in a black Toyota IST. Dave says he likes her car. He lies. They kiss.

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But not so fast. Fran is 22 and sleeps with the light on. Dave is 35, spiritually unsupervised and emotionally offline. They also live 2,500km apart.

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The midpoint

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They keep in touch. When they’re both within a 20km radius, they meet and kiss some. They like it.

 

2017, and Fran craves a bit more London. She gets on Messenger. Dave shows Fran’s Insta to the Ottolenghi crew. They love her and beg her to go stage there. Lovin’ Malta love that she went.

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Later that month, Duke of Edinburgh Pub and Beer Garden, Brixton. Dave throws a Pretty F*cking Good Roast popup. Fran joins. Her mates meet Dave’s mates and things get wild. Fran meets Marlene, who, from thereon, takes on a role as chief perċimes. Fran and Dave kiss. They dump Messenger and switch to WhatsApp.

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Later that month, food truck, somewhere in London. Fran bakes Dave’s desserts at some Pretty F*cking Good thing. The thought of her leaving soon sinks his heart.

 

Later that week, Lee River Navigation, East London. Dave’s boat sinks. Fran helps him move his things out of the salvage.

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The swivel

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Fran’s stage comes to a sad end. Suspiciously, Dave’s flights to Malta get a little more frequent. Fran drives a red Smart now. They listen to music, drive around, eat the best food, spend nights on beaches and head to Serkin for breakfasts of greasy pastizzi and cellophane-cup Black Labels.

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The crisis

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2018, Glastonbury Festival. Fran gets invited to join the Pretty F*cking Good café team and flakes. Dave gets butt hurt. Marlene deals with angry texts at both ends.

 

Covid. Radio silence, bar the occasional Insta-like.

 

2022, Restaurant Bright, Hackney. Marlene texts Dave to join at dinner, where he also finds Fran. She has new tattoos. Dave comments on the lines of ‘x’titmazzan!’ Fran pretends not to appreciate. Dave believes she hadn’t. Dinner is followed by warehouse partying back in Hackney Wick, and back at Dave’s later. Fran is 29 and uses SPF 50. Dave, 42, owns furniture. They sit on an orange chesterfield and drink Black Label from adult glassware. Dave puts on a record by L'Impératrice. Marlene downs her whisky and pretends to go see about a dog. Fran and Dave kiss.

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The grand gesture

 

The next years are spent flitting between London and Malta, with 92 flights booked in 2023 alone. Dave occasionally misses flights or gets to the wrong airport. Fran occasionally sleeps in and forgets to pick him up from the airport.

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An unmentionable 12-month shitstorm ensues. A thick-and-thin test that Fran and Dave pass with flying colours.

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2024, London. Dave gets rid of the manbun, books brunch at the Wolsley, a stop for Macarons at Fortnum and Mason, good seats at the Tina Turner musical, a dinner at Brat. Dessert is a surprise Amalfi lemon cake from Violet’s with a banner reading: ‘Let’s do this’, but Fran still doesn’t get the hint. He takes out the ring and she falls off her seat.

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-THE END (THE BEGINNING)-

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