Has she been drinking?
This is becoming more bizarre by the second.
Mr Person-Watcher is walking towards me, pulling his blue case that has a vaguely familiar ribbon tied round the handle.
Oh God, what does he want? The loan of a tampon?
‘Miss Blatchett?’
The voice is oddly familiar. Deep and rich and smooth as velvet.
I stare up at him in bemusement as my brain whirs and clanks and does its best to get the relevant bits to connect.
‘It is you, isn’t it?’ His eyes, an intense blue, rake questioningly over my face.
What the …?
Suddenly I feel hot and rather flustered.
It can’t be.
Can it?
‘Ronald McDonald?’ It comes out with a sort of disbelieving squeak at the end.
He smiles broadly and runs a hand through his hair. ‘It’s funny, you know, I’d pictured you as a redhead. All flaming locks and snapping eyes and attitude.’
‘Really?’ I stare up at him, puzzled. Then the penny drops. ‘Oh God, you mean because of my outburst on the phone that first time?’
‘Scary.’ He gives me a lopsided grin and I can’t help smiling back.
‘Sorry.’
‘Hey, it’s fine. You brightened up my day, I can tell you.’
His eyes are warm and crinkled at the corners. And they’re making me blush from the top of my head right down to my size four-and-a-halves.
‘That’s nice to know.’ I’m finding it strangely hard to hold eye contact. ‘I – um – enjoyed our emailing.’
‘Me too.’ He hefts the gym bag onto his other shoulder. ‘How’s the hamster?’
‘Still dead,’ I say happily, as my heart lifts off and whirls around in my chest.
‘Good, good.’ He sounds slightly distracted. Then he grins. ‘I had a tortoise when I was young. Bit boring. Couldn’t take it for walks.’
‘Dead now?’ I murmur solemnly, carrying on the theme.
‘Interestingly, no. Still going strong. Lives in my mum’s airing cupboard.’
We smile at the thought.
The notion I had that a sensual voice in a man invariably means big disappointment when you see him in the flesh was way off the mark; whacked right out of the ballpark, in fact, and lost forever in the undergrowth.
Forget fat and balding; Goldfish Guy is tall and lightly tanned, with the build of an athlete.
But if he works in London, what on earth is he doing here?
Maybe … just maybe … he jumped on a plane to see me.
Things like that never ever happen in real life – certainly not in mine – but there’s a first time for everything …
‘I’ve got a house in Fallowsedge.’ It’s as if he’s read my mind. ‘I’ve been renovating it so I can have a base here.’
‘Oh.’
My deflated feeling is offset slightly by knowing that the village of Fallowsedge is only ten miles or so from where I live.
‘I wanted clean air,’ he’s saying. ‘Views of the countryside. Space. Everywhere’s so populated in London.’
‘So you decided to venture oop North. Brave man.’
‘Yeah.’ He twinkles those blue eyes at me. ‘And it’s looking good so far.’
I am smiling for England and can’t seem to stop. Even if he said something like, ‘My camel has Legionnaire’s disease and will breathe its last tomorrow,’ I’d be hard pushed to get this goofy look off my face.
For one heady, movie-finale-style moment, I allow myself to believe that he is the Lovely Man that Mrs Cadwalader predicted.
All the way from London.
Just for me.
Then The Boss rushes over.
I smile at her. ‘This is Ronald McDonald. You’ll never believe it, but he was the one who got you that great hotel deal.’
She gives me a funny look and sort of leans into him. ‘I do know that.’ Then she frowns. ‘But who the hell’s Ronald McDonald?’
Ronald slings his arm around her shoulders. ‘Just a private joke.’ He winks at me.
The Boss darts a suspicious glance my way. Then she looks up at him and says rather coyly, ‘I left my change in the shop. I’m obviously still in holiday mode.’
He nods. ‘That’s good. You’re much more relaxed, you know.’
‘Maybe I should take more weekend breaks, then.’ She sounds almost flirtatious.
The gloriously heady feeling I was enjoying has been replaced by uncertainty.
There’s something I’m not getting.
How are they so familiar with each other? Did they meet at the hotel or on the plane? Did they find themselves cramped in adjoining seats and strike up conversation, the way you do?
Then the Boss does two strange things.
She places her hand on Ronald’s McDonald’s chest and sort of snuggles up to him. He looks a bit surprised but I notice he doesn’t complain.
Then she says, ‘Charlie, this is my oldest friend, Bobbie.’
Ronald McDonald grins at me and says, ‘You don’t look that old.”
And the Boss lets out a raucous laugh and whacks him on the arm.
I stare from one to the other.
It’s weird enough she should refer to me as her oldest friend in such affectionate terms. But the thing that’s really freaking me out and making me question my own sanity is the fact that she called him Charlie.
Slightly dazed, I lead them out to where I parked the car.
I go to open the back door but Carol stops me.
‘Be an angel,’ she breathes with an over-sweet smile, pushing the keys into my hand.
So I’m forced to drive The Beast. Again.
Charlie politely climbs in the
