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Authors: Jane Costello
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bush is terribly untidy, Lauren,’ she declares.
I instinctively glance down, then realise she’s referring to the greenery between our two front gardens. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I reply, cowering behind the car. ‘I haven’t
had a chance to do much lately. I’ll get on it at the weekend.’
She gives the hedge-trimmer a rev. ‘Sure you don’t want me to have a go? It’s trickier when it’s wet, but this bugger will cut through anything.’
‘Honestly, Agnes, don’t worry,’ I reply, but she’s already distracted.
‘Oh, damn it, my wire’s stuck,’ she grumbles, pulling at the cable. I’d like to help, but my state of semi-nudity prevents me from leaping to her immediate aid.
‘Well, come on, give me a hand!’
I glance around, then dive forward and hastily release the cable. I almost get away with it until she does a double-take and pulls a face as if she’s swallowed a lit firework.
‘
Where’s your skirt
!?’
‘Long story, Agnes,’ I wince. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you could keep this between you and me.’
‘And him,’ she nods, as I whip around to see Edwin, standing in mute horror at the end of my path.
‘Um . . . hello, Lauren. I only stopped by on the way to school to remind you about
Breaking Bad
. Is this not a good time?’
Edwin and I are both on playground duty at lunchtime. It is usual procedure to have a good old moan about this, at least when it’s as chilly as it is today.
But when Edwin heads across the tarmac to come and talk to me, moaning is the last thing on my mind, unless you count the low noises that occasionally escape from my mouth with every painful
flashback of this morning’s mortification.
‘Sorry to have just turned up at your house,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to take you by surprise.’ I fall in love with Edwin all over again for apologising for what
was very clearly my own blunder. Today, perhaps because he’s standing so close to me, he seems taller than usual. And he smells positively edible, a fact that can’t solely be attributed
to the Ferrero Rochers doing the rounds in the staff room earlier.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I don’t normally spend my mornings like that in the garden,’ I laugh, as lightly as possible, because the truth is I’d rather not have to go
through the entire convoluted explanation again about why I was outside and trouserless at 8 a.m. ‘I went to salsa again last night,’ I throw in, hoping to change the subject.
‘Ah . . . quite the dancer these days aren’t we?’ he grins. I laugh again, probably a bit too heartily this time, as it seems to alarm him somewhat. ‘Could you write the
details down for me for the class?’
‘You’d really like to come then?’ I ask.
‘Of course.’
I pat down my pockets.
‘Here.’ He removes his leather pad and fountain pen from his inside pocket and hands them to me. Our hands brush. Pleasure flips in my belly and I find it inordinately difficult to
hold the pen steady.
I finish the note and hand it to him, suppressing the wild hope soaring inside me that the next time I’m there, he might be too.
‘It was at the Moonlight Hotel but it’s moving to Casa Lagos in Bowness temporarily.’ I catch his eye. ‘I hope you come, Edwin. It’d be really good fun with you
there.’
‘Wouldn’t it?’ he agrees. A gust of wind picks up and I get a waft of him again. My reaction to this gorgeous smell is so primeval that it’s all I can do to restrain
myself from howling.
‘That’s a lovely aftershave you’re wearing,’ I mumble instead, which I hope is sufficiently understated.
A smile twitches on his lips. ‘Thanks, Lauren. It was a Christmas present.’
‘From someone with very good taste,’ I say.
‘Er, yes.’ He clears his throat. ‘Fiona.’
‘Oh.’ Discovering that the source of this heavenly, full-sensory-overload was his ex-girlfriend is comparable with complimenting a chef on his casserole, only to learn that
you’ve actually just
I instinctively glance down, then realise she’s referring to the greenery between our two front gardens. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I reply, cowering behind the car. ‘I haven’t
had a chance to do much lately. I’ll get on it at the weekend.’
She gives the hedge-trimmer a rev. ‘Sure you don’t want me to have a go? It’s trickier when it’s wet, but this bugger will cut through anything.’
‘Honestly, Agnes, don’t worry,’ I reply, but she’s already distracted.
‘Oh, damn it, my wire’s stuck,’ she grumbles, pulling at the cable. I’d like to help, but my state of semi-nudity prevents me from leaping to her immediate aid.
‘Well, come on, give me a hand!’
I glance around, then dive forward and hastily release the cable. I almost get away with it until she does a double-take and pulls a face as if she’s swallowed a lit firework.
‘
Where’s your skirt
!?’
‘Long story, Agnes,’ I wince. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you could keep this between you and me.’
‘And him,’ she nods, as I whip around to see Edwin, standing in mute horror at the end of my path.
‘Um . . . hello, Lauren. I only stopped by on the way to school to remind you about
Breaking Bad
. Is this not a good time?’
Edwin and I are both on playground duty at lunchtime. It is usual procedure to have a good old moan about this, at least when it’s as chilly as it is today.
But when Edwin heads across the tarmac to come and talk to me, moaning is the last thing on my mind, unless you count the low noises that occasionally escape from my mouth with every painful
flashback of this morning’s mortification.
‘Sorry to have just turned up at your house,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to take you by surprise.’ I fall in love with Edwin all over again for apologising for what
was very clearly my own blunder. Today, perhaps because he’s standing so close to me, he seems taller than usual. And he smells positively edible, a fact that can’t solely be attributed
to the Ferrero Rochers doing the rounds in the staff room earlier.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I don’t normally spend my mornings like that in the garden,’ I laugh, as lightly as possible, because the truth is I’d rather not have to go
through the entire convoluted explanation again about why I was outside and trouserless at 8 a.m. ‘I went to salsa again last night,’ I throw in, hoping to change the subject.
‘Ah . . . quite the dancer these days aren’t we?’ he grins. I laugh again, probably a bit too heartily this time, as it seems to alarm him somewhat. ‘Could you write the
details down for me for the class?’
‘You’d really like to come then?’ I ask.
‘Of course.’
I pat down my pockets.
‘Here.’ He removes his leather pad and fountain pen from his inside pocket and hands them to me. Our hands brush. Pleasure flips in my belly and I find it inordinately difficult to
hold the pen steady.
I finish the note and hand it to him, suppressing the wild hope soaring inside me that the next time I’m there, he might be too.
‘It was at the Moonlight Hotel but it’s moving to Casa Lagos in Bowness temporarily.’ I catch his eye. ‘I hope you come, Edwin. It’d be really good fun with you
there.’
‘Wouldn’t it?’ he agrees. A gust of wind picks up and I get a waft of him again. My reaction to this gorgeous smell is so primeval that it’s all I can do to restrain
myself from howling.
‘That’s a lovely aftershave you’re wearing,’ I mumble instead, which I hope is sufficiently understated.
A smile twitches on his lips. ‘Thanks, Lauren. It was a Christmas present.’
‘From someone with very good taste,’ I say.
‘Er, yes.’ He clears his throat. ‘Fiona.’
‘Oh.’ Discovering that the source of this heavenly, full-sensory-overload was his ex-girlfriend is comparable with complimenting a chef on his casserole, only to learn that
you’ve actually just
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