a very special number. There are lots of them. I dare say they’ll teach you about that at school.’
‘When?’
‘Er... Pretty soon, I imagine. Ask your teacher.’
‘Okay.’
Lucky escape. Charlotte mouthed the words at him and he raised one eyebrow, as if he’d been in complete control all along.
‘How many are there?’
She saw the line of Edward’s jaw stiffen as it became apparent that she had spoken too soon.
‘More than you can count. Even if you ride on the bus all day. The first prime number is two. Then five...’
By the time he’d worked his way up to twenty-nine and shown no signs of flagging Charlotte decided to step in. At this rate they could be driving to Birmingham and back before either Isaac went to sleep or Edward got to the point where he could no longer work out the next prime number in his head.
She turned in her seat to face Isaac. ‘Edward’s got to stop counting now, sweetie, because he’s driving and has to keep his eye on the road. I’ll explain all about prime numbers when we get home.’
‘Okay.’
* * *
It was nice having her in the car. She smelled good—like soap and roses. Rose soap, maybe. Edward ran through all the possibilities in his head and surprised himself with how delicious each of them was.
She didn’t just smell nice; she was nice. Whenever he saw her with the clinic’s clients she was always the same. Gentle, reassuring, and yet with a hint of fun about her. She made people smile. But Edward couldn’t help but think there was more. When he’d seen her at the bus stop the other day, huddled under her umbrella in the pouring rain, there had been a defeated slant to her shoulders that had made him want to stop, but his nerve had failed him. Getting involved with people wasn’t what Edward did.
‘You must like jazz?’ She was stretching her legs out in front of her. Smiling.
‘Very much,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘I don’t really know. I’ve not listened to much. I like this.’
‘Good.’ He could have left it at that. Would normally have left it at that. But against his better judgement he wanted to prolong the conversation. ‘Most people just automatically say they love jazz, irrespective of whether they’ve listened to any.’
She gave a little laughing nod, as if she knew just what he meant. ‘It’s one of those things that you’re meant to like, isn’t it? I mean if you admit to not knowing much about jazz, then it’s like owning up to being some kind of barbarian.’
‘I don’t think you’re a barbarian.’ He thought she was a damn sight more honest that most people.
He was rewarded with one of the smiles that she was so free with. This one seemed just for him. ‘That’s all right, then.’
Charlotte asked him to drop them in the High Street, but when Edward insisted on taking her all the way home she directed him to a quiet backstreet. Small houses—many of them shabby and unkempt. He parked outside a house with a neat front garden. The front door badly needed a paint job. Charlotte jumped out of the car, unbuckling Isaac’s seat belt while Edward took her shopping bags out of the boot.
‘Can I carry these in for you?’
‘No. No, that’s okay, thank you. Thanks for the lift.’ She picked the bags up with one hand and took Isaac’s hand with the other. ‘I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Bye, Edward. Thank you...’
She shot a glance of approbation in her son’s direction and then turned away. Suddenly it seemed that she couldn’t get rid of him fast enough and a vague feeling of disappointment nudged at him.
‘Bye, Isaac. Nice to meet you...’
The boy twisted his head around as his mother marched him away, and gave him a grin, but Charlotte seemed caught up with her shopping bags. There was nothing to keep him so Edward got back into his car. As he turned in the road he noticed in his rearview mirror that the front gate was sticking and that she was struggling with it. He almost stopped the car and got out again, but then she kicked it and it snapped open, and she walked up the front path without looking back.
* * *
Charlotte slammed the front door closed behind her and dropped her shopping, leaning back against the door. Home. Half of her wished she was still in Edward’s car and that they really had been driving to Birmingham and back. Newcastle, even. The other half was glad that he was gone before he’d had a chance to see the threadbare carpet in the hall and the second-hand furniture in her sitting room.
‘Is Edward your boss, Mum?’
‘He’s a surgeon. At the clinic.’
‘So he makes people well? Like you do?’
‘Yes, darling.’
Isaac nodded. ‘He’s nice’
Charlotte found herself smiling again. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ She picked up her shopping bags. ‘Now, let’s see what we’ve got for supper, shall we?’
* * *
It was only a short drive from Edward’s house back to Charlotte’s, but it was like travelling from one world to another. The trendy shops and cafés gave way to houses which seemed even more run-down than they had yesterday evening, and when he drove slowly along Charlotte’s road it didn’t seem any more salubrious than the last time he’d been here.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. At ten o’clock on a Saturday morning she could be out, or having a lie-in...anything. But he was here now, with Stinky sitting next to him on the front passenger seat. If she wasn’t there, then maybe Stinky would fit through the letterbox.
Cars lined the pavement, and he had to drive past her house to find a parking spot. As he did so he caught a glimpse of her on the doorstep, between the broad backs of two men who seemed to be crowding close in on her. What he could see of her stiff, upright frame, screamed that there was something wrong.
Edward accelerated into a free space. ‘Don’t move, Stinky. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He lunged out of the car, and down the road, to where her front gate stood open.
‘Charlotte!’ Now that he was closer he was sure that he was right. She was dressed in sweat pants and a tee shirt, bare feet on the doorstep, but she stood as tall as she could, the door almost closed behind her, her face fierce and determined. ‘What’s going on?’
She stared at him as if he’d just landed from another planet. One of the men swung round to face Edward, his pudgy face harsh. ‘Nothing to concern you, sir. Just a bit of business with the lady.’
Her face had flushed bright red. Tears rimmed her eyes, before she quickly brushed them away. These guys were bad news. They stank of the kind of aggression which dressed itself up in cheap suits and a nasty attitude.
‘Then
