Page 28 of Love at First Sight

‘I don’t happen to believe that’s true,’ Leo says, before looking at me blankly. I don’t know what to say.

‘I can give you the key,’ I offer. ‘If you want it?’

‘Yeah,’ Leo says. ‘Drop it by the shop when you’re able to. See you guys later.’

I give Leo a hug, and Cal and I meander on around the park, leaving Leo to put his shirt back on and chat with India. I show Cal the rest of the site, and explain how we’re primed for Health and Safety, identifying any potential pitfalls and explaining how we’ll resolve or circumnavigate them.

We relax into this strange circumstance, and, by the end of our allotted hour together, his eyes are bright. He seems really impressed, really pleased.

‘Honestly,’ he says. ‘I anticipate absolutely zero problems. I’ll write up everything I’ve seen and then send it up the chain, but truly, you’re nailing this. Have you thought about the launch, starting to advertise, that sort of thing?’

‘India is helping with all that,’ I say. ‘She runs a marketing agency.’

I gesture over to her where she’s on the phone, pacing and waving her arms as she explains something to whoever is on the other end.

‘Great,’ Cal says. ‘So when are you opening? In two or three weeks’ time? I can’t imagine you’ll need much longer. You’ve already done so much.’

I take a big breath. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It gives me butterflies, to be honest. I don’t want to blow this.

It feels big. Not for the world, but for, like, me.

As a person. Conceiving something, making it happen, it’s …

empowering, if that doesn’t sound too corny.

Well, it does sound corny, but I don’t think I care? ’

‘Good,’ Cal says. ‘Corny is cool anyway.’

‘Corny is cool. Yes. I might write that on a Post-it and stick it by my bed.’

‘Make an excellent T-shirt slogan.’

‘If I had a car, I’d make it into a bumper sticker.’

‘You don’t drive?’

‘I’m from London, of course I don’t drive.’

Cal nods. ‘That’s why I’m behind the wheel when we visit Ali?’ he asks. My tummy does a giveaway somersault. So you can get engaged, yes , I think, and I smile quickly to hide the thoughts I’m not allowed to give away.

‘I can make alternative arrangements …’ I begin. ‘If it’s trouble. We were going to get the train originally …’

Cal looks alarmed. ‘No!’ he says, quickly. ‘God, I’m excited, if anything. I love a good road trip. Snacks, music, I Spy …’

‘I’m not so hot on music, unless early Britney Spears is your jam, which I’m assuming it isn’t.’

‘I could dig Britney,’ Cal counters. ‘Don’t put me in a musical box.’

I make a face. ‘What’s your favourite song from the first album?’ I ask, and I’ve caught him out. He opens his mouth, closes it, bites down on his lip and then says, ‘I said I could dig Britney. Not that I already do.’

I shake my head. ‘You take music, because I’m easy,’ I instruct. ‘But snacks for a long journey? I specialise in train journey snacks, so I’m looking to branch out to car journey picnics. I shall relish the opportunity to impress us both.’

‘You’ve got yourself a deal,’ Cal says. ‘Of course I have to insist that if Henry gets juice boxes, I get juice boxes. I want to make that clear.’

‘It’s a Fruit Shoot or nothing,’ I say. ‘But you can choose the flavour.’

‘Fair.’

‘Good.’

‘Good.’

We look at each other. Sometimes, before I remember, talking with him feels as easy and natural and full of promise as it did that day by the river.

This should be a something , I think, before I can stop myself.

Cal’s eyes soften, and I could swear he’s thinking the same thing.

‘I don’t suppose you want to grab dinner, do you? I’m starving,’ he says. ‘I was thinking fish and chips. I’ve got a real craving.’

My instinct is to say no, but now he’s said fish and chips I am already salivating. Who has ever been known to turn down the chippy? I look at my watch.

‘No pressure,’ he says, quickly, and I make a choice.

‘I have about forty-five minutes,’ I tell him, which isn’t true, because Thom picked Henry up again today, but it feels prudent to put a limit on us spending time together.

‘I can run to the offie for a couple of beers? If you do the chip shop? I’ll have a small haddock, small chips, large mushy peas. ’

‘And I’ll have Peroni, please,’ Cal says with a smile. ‘Meet you back here in ten?’

‘Done.’

I’m quick to get the drinks, so am back before Cal. India has already left, late to meet her almost-girlfriend for supper, though it killed her to go when she was within spitting distance of a Cal interrogation. She was ice-cold when I introduced them. I think she’s made her opinion quite clear.

I lay out on the grass to look at the sky, and think, Is this bad?

I have the angel on my shoulder saying of course it is, I promised to keep my distance.

And then the devil on the other says, What?

It’s just chips in the park. It’s just friendship.

Nothing physical is happening. Urgh, nothing physical is happening.

Of course it never will. I would truly, honestly, seriously never cross that line, I swear on Henry’s life.

But to sit in the early evening sun with a new friend who happens to be dating my boss, clinking beer bottles to toast an exciting new venture? That’s not too bad. Is it?

We eat. We drink. We laugh about stupid stuff that doesn’t even really make sense.

We finish our beers and then lie back, next to one another, arms by our sides.

Our fingers accidentally brush as we get comfortable and it makes my whole body stiffen.

I never thought I’d be capable of this, of walking so close to the line. I want to stop, I do.

But I also don’t want to.

‘You’ve gone quiet,’ Cal says, voice a murmur. He looks at me, and from where we lie, when I turn to him our noses almost touch, we’re that close. Is this what it would be like to share a bed?

‘Have I?’

‘You okay?’ he asks.

I sigh. It comes out contented, happy even.

‘Yeah,’ I decide. ‘I feel … peaceful.’

‘Amazing what salty carbs and booze can do for a person,’ Cal says, grinning.

‘Shame about the company,’ I shoot back, and we both know what I mean is the opposite.

‘Yeah,’ Cal agrees. ‘It’s terrible.’

‘Awful.’

‘I’m having a dreadful time.’

‘Diabolical,’ I say, and then we stop talking, and just look at one another.

Cal’s eyes drift down to my lips, and I don’t mean to but my own gaze flicks to his mouth.

I can feel the shallowness of my breath, the fast rise and fall of my chest, and it’s there, something is there, if only one of us is stupid enough to make a move.

‘I should head off,’ Cal says, and I don’t know if that’s to his credit or his detriment. I clear my throat and shift away from him.

‘Same,’ I say. We’ve been here way longer than forty-five minutes, though Cal has been gentleman enough not to point that out.

He stands up to gather up our rubbish and leaps in one graceful movement to stuff it in the bin. I try not to watch him by busying myself with looking at my phone instead, although I can’t really focus on what’s on the screen.

‘I’ll see you for the road trip tomorrow, then,’ he says, slipping on his sunglasses from the top of his head even though it’s dusk and he doesn’t need them. I understand the instinct to hide.

‘See you tomorrow,’ I echo, and because he heads off in the direction I need to go too, I take myself on a walk around the park to give him some space, the whole while thinking: You stupid, stupid girl.