gorgeous he was.
His dark hair was slightly mussed up, and his brown eyes were lively and curious, while his mouth – which seemed to be shaping words that for some reason Amy wasn’t hearing – his mouth was eminently kissable. Her heart beat a little faster and she felt faintly sick. She hadn’t felt like this – well, since she’d met Jamie. Jamie’s face shot into her head. And she felt a sudden lurch of guilt.
They reached the doorway of the lounge at the same time, and Ben stood aside to let her pass. The guilty tension she felt was churned up with a desire she couldn’t repress. She felt dizzy. Then the words he was forming seemed to make sense.
‘Ladies first,’ he said, his smile illuminating his face.
Squeezing past him, a sudden vision hit her of being held by those arms, kissed by that mouth, pressed close to that chest. What was going on?
Understanding for perhaps the first time in her life what was meant by going weak at the knees, Amy mumbled something about tea being ready, before collapsing thankfully on the sofa.
Ben perched on a chair opposite her. There was a long silence, neither of them knowing quite what to say.
‘So, did you enjoy the film?’
‘Have you been on the allotments?’
They spoke simultaneously, and then laughed.
‘You first,’ said Ben.
‘No, you,’ said Amy.
‘After you,’ said Ben. ‘I insist.’
‘I was just making small talk,’ said Amy, feeling faintly silly. ‘But yes, we did. Well, Josh did.’
‘Me too,’ said Ben. ‘But as it happens, I have been on the allotments.’
They sat for a moment, saying nothing and sipping their tea. After a few moments the silence between them grew in magnitude. Amy felt paralysed by the strangeness of her new feelings, and totally unable to say another word. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t a teenager any more. And she had no interest in Ben. None at all.
‘So what do we talk about when we run out of small talk?’ asked Ben eventually.
‘Ooh, I don’t know,’ said Amy. ‘The weather?’
‘Whatever turns you on,’ said Ben, laughing. Then thought, damn, that was a crass thing to say.
Luckily, Amy didn’t seem offended.
‘We-e-ell, I can’t say that the weather is a topic that really gets me going,’ she said, ‘but now you’ve made me curious. What does interest you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, all sorts,’ said Ben. ‘Formula One.’ Amy pulled a face. ‘Okay, we won’t talk about cars. I’m interested in health issues, which we won’t discuss because that’s work. I like politics, but if we think differently we might fall out. Books are usually a safe bet. Oh, and I’m also keen on local history –’
‘Ah, now there you have found a subject close to my heart,’ said Amy. ‘I find local history fascinating. I had to research a lot about Barnet for school trips with Year5. It was really interesting. The kids always laughed when I told them the origin of the phrase “a barnet” for a haircut.’
‘Which is?’
‘Cockney rhyming slang – Barnet Fair, hair,’ said Amy.
‘Right,’ said Ben, laughing. ‘If you’re interested, I’ve got lots of books on Nevermorewell. They reckon there was a hamlet here as far back as Anglo-Saxon times, but the town didn’t really get going till Norman times. They built on a river for obvious reasons, but in olden days it was reckoned to be a healthy sort of place to live. “You’re Never More Well than when you’re in Nevermorewell”, is the saying around here.’
‘Saffron mentioned that,’ said Amy. ‘I’ll have to come back and borrow a few books sometime.’
They smiled at one another, pleased to have found some common ground. Amy glanced at her watch.
‘Sheesh! Is that the time? I’d better get going,’ she said. ‘I need to sort Josh’s tea out.’
‘You could both eat here if you like? I can rustle up a mean stir-fry.’
‘No, thanks, it’s very kind of you,’ Amy said, sorely tempted at the prospect of company as well as someone cooking for her, ‘but he’s got school tomorrow and needs an early night. I really ought to drag him in from the garden.’
They both got up and had another moment’s awkwardness while they nearly fell over each other trying to negotiate round Ben’s tiny table.
Amy’s confusion made her slightly jumpy. Once outside, when they couldn’t find Josh, she started to panic, until Ben laughed and said, ‘I see you’ve found my prized possession.’
At the bottom of Ben’s garden in the far corner was a small garage. With a gleaming black and silver motorbike in it. Amy hadn’t thought about the bike since their first meeting. And there was Josh, sitting triumphantly on the seat, his legs dangling down at the sides. Amy took a deep breath. She should be over this paranoia about motorbikes. Really she should. But she wasn’t. What was it with men and motorbikes? It was Jamie’s obsession with his that had led to his death.
‘Look Mummy, isn’t it cool?’ Josh said. ‘Brmmm, brmm.’
It felt as though he and Ben were laughing at her. Amy screamed, ‘Get off there at once!’
‘It’s all right,’ said Ben. ‘He’s only playing. He won’t come to any harm.’
‘No it is not all right,’ said Amy. ‘Motorbikes are lethal machines used by stupid blokes whose dicks are too small. It is so not all right for my son to play on one. Come on, Josh, we’re going home.’
She grabbed Josh and tore past Ben, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes, slamming the garden gate shut.
Ben stood watching her go, his mouth wide open. ‘Now what have I done?’ he said.
Saffron peeked left and right, making sure there was no one to watch her, before diving into Nevermorewell’s answer to Ann Summers: a discreet ‘lingerie’ shop that sold sex toys to make your mother blush. She had the pram with her. Oh lord, how dumb was that? Did other women take their babies out to buy sexy underwear? Was it some kind of bad parenting to take your newborn into an atmosphere rife with passion; a place that boasted Licked Up Love Juice and Pump Up Your Volume Potion? What if someone had seen her? She hadn’t even looked at anything yet and already paroxysms of embarrassment were screwing her up. Two cheerful French girls were chattering away, fingering lacy garments Saffron could barely look at, let alone touch, and she envied their insouciance.
‘Can I help you?’ Saffron nearly jumped out of her skin.
The slim, twenty-something shop assistant
