by Kate Hewitt
Huffkins was only half full as she came into the café, scanning the tables just in case, but Roger wasn’t there. She took a seat by the window so she could watch the street, trying not to seem too anxious and eager, and, she suspected, failing at both.
Ten endless minutes passed; it was quarter past the hour. How long should she wait? She’d told the waitress she wouldn’t order until Roger came, but the woman had been giving her questioning and slightly accusing looks, no doubt for wasting so much time. Lindy checked her watch again.
She looked up—and her heart lifted like a balloon in the breeze. Roger was striding down the street, a set, almost grim look on his face, as if he were marching to his doom, or perhaps just something unpleasant. But he’d come! Lindy realised she was grinning as she waved to catch his attention, and as Roger caught sight of her, he looked, she realised, grimmer than ever.
Chapter Six
Roger had spent the last two hours and thirteen minutes in an agony of uncertainty and indecision and, frankly, plain old fear. He hadn’t understood Lindy’s behaviour at Blue Cross at all—from how pleased she’d been to see him, to the way she’d seemed to be flirting with him, to the entirely unexpected invitation to go out for a drink.
He’d had women flirt with him before, usually, Roger suspected, to amuse themselves rather than out of any genuine interest in him, or perhaps out of curiosity, to see how he responded. His girlfriends—all two of them—had tried to change him, and when they hadn’t been successful they’d given up on him, which was just as well.
He’d thought at first that Lindy was doing something similar—flirting with him out of curiosity or amusement, and he’d done his best to pretend it wasn’t happening, to play a straight bat as he always did, because he couldn’t engage in those sorts of mind games at all, and flirting of any sort was utterly beyond him so he never even tried.
But then her hair had brushed his cheek and she’d been close enough to kiss and Roger had felt as if his mind and body had both short-circuited, so for a few torturous seconds he hadn’t been able to think. At least, he hadn’t been able to think about anything but kissing her, which of course he was absolutely not been going to do. Even thinking about it had caused mortification to scorch through him, to imagine her reaction if he’d done such a wildly inappropriate and undoubtedly unexpected thing.
And then the invitation to go out for a drink, made with such a seemingly genuine enthusiasm…that had left him speechless and uncertain and yet strangely, sweetly wanting, and so he’d said yes, because even if he wasn’t sure how this was all going to go, even if he felt more than a little apprehensive, he knew some small part of him at least wanted a chance to see.
Lindy had half-risen from her seat as he came into the café, her generous mouth curved into a wide smile. Her hair was piled on top of her head in the messiest bun Roger had ever seen, so strands and tendrils tumbled over her shoulders and brushed her cheeks. She was wearing a long, flowing skirt in a wild floral pattern that hurt Roger’s eyes and a white top that revealed an inch of taut, golden belly as she waved.
“You came,” she said as she sat down again and Roger forced what he hoped was the approximation of a smile.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I wasn’t sure, to be honest.”
He sat down, his body rigid, his hands resting on his thighs, feeling the heavy, uneven beat of his heart as he tried to arrange his expression into some semblance of relaxed friendliness. “I’m a man of my word.”
“That I believe.” Her blue-green gaze swept over him teasingly, making Roger want to look away. There were so very many ways this meeting could go so very wrong. In fact, the eventual wrongness of the ensuing conversation was almost a certainty. If guesses were informed estimations as he had told her earlier, then his guess was that he was going to thoroughly humiliate himself in some way before he’d finished his Coke—or perhaps even before he’d ordered it.
“So your refreshing drink,” Lindy said, her eyes seeming to dance and sparkle. “What would you like?”
“A Coca-Cola, please.” He sounded as if he were about ten.
“Do you like Coke?” She sounded strangely pleased by this notion. “Because I love it. Everyone tells me my teeth are going to fall out or dissolve or something, but I can’t stop drinking it. I usually have one a day, for breakfast.”
She grinned, almost conspiratorially, and Roger longed to smile back as if they shared some delicious secret, but instead he heard himself say rather pompously, “You really should try to limit yourself. As an occasional refreshment, it may not do much harm, but if drunk on a daily basis…” Thankfully he lapsed into silence then. What was he, a PSA for good nutrition? A dentist? Someone please shut him up.
Lindy looked for a second as if she wanted to laugh, but then her expression turned serious and she nodded soberly. “I know. It’s a terrible habit. Does it help that I have fruit and yogurt for breakfast, as well?”
“Fruit also contains a great deal of sugar.”
She propped her chin on her hand. “What should I have for breakfast, then?”
Why were they talking about this? Roger stared at her in unhappy bewilderment. “I have no opinions on what you should have for breakfast,” he said finally, and Lindy let out a laugh—a delighted sort of gurgle that made something in Roger tingle.
“But you do. You don’t think I should have Coke.”
“I was merely observing that having soda on a daily basis is not nutritionally advisable.”
“Right.”
He shook his head, helpless now. “Why are we talking about this?”
She laughed again. “You tell me.”
“I don’t think I can. I simply told you I wanted a Coke.” He decided to dare a sort-of joke, if that was even what it was. “Maybe I should have asked for a coffee, after all.”
“And drink something you already told me you don’t like?” Lindy leaned a little forward. “Never.”
Roger stared at her—the sparkle in her eyes, the smile still curving her lips, and felt a sensation similar to falling down a set of stairs. Startling, a bit painful, but also sort of thrilling. Was she toying with him? Teasing him? He couldn’t credit any other possibility. “Coke it is, then,” he said, his tone weirdly jolly, and thankfully, the waitress came to take their orders.
They both ordered Cokes—of course—and when the waitress left Roger felt the void of silence between them, a bottomless chasm he knew he could fall into and never climb out of.
“So,” Lindy said. “You never managed to tell me if you grew up in Wychwood or not, because of the Great Dog Debacle.”
The great…? It took Roger a second to realise what she was talking about—Poppy escaping, and the fact that he’d opened the kennel in the first place, which was something he would normally never, ever do. He was not a rule breaker, not remotely, not ever. “I did not grow up in Wychwood-on-Lea,” he said.
“Where did you, then?”
“Swindon.”
“But you live here now?”
“Yes, I moved here six months ago.” When his mother had had her last diagnosis. No further treatment possible.
“And where did you live before that? Swindon?”
“No, Oxford.” This was starting to feel like a rather laborious job interview. “What about you? I believe you’re new to the village, as well?” he asked, trying to make this more of a conversation than an interrogation.
“Yes, I moved here from Manchester in June.”
“To start a school of ballroom dancing.”
“Yes, a bit daft, I know.”
“Not at all.”
Her mouth curved again, eyes alight. “You don’t think so?”
“Certainly continuing in full-time employment as an accountant is the more fiscally responsible choice,” he allowed.
“Indeed. I told myself I’d give it a year—I’ve got enough savings for that—and then I’d go back to accountancy.” She sighed. “I�
�m not overly optimistic at the moment, to be honest. I was hoping for more pupils.”
“Perhaps more will register.”
“Perhaps.” Her smile had slid off her face and she looked wistful for a moment, in a way that made Roger want to offer her some sort of comfort or encouragement. The problem was, he had no idea how to do either. “Anyway.” She shrugged off her moment of melancholy like a dog shaking off water as she turned to face him with a purposeful air. “Tell me about yourself.”
A more terrifying question Roger didn’t think he had ever heard. Predictably, his mind blanked.
“Your mother lives in Wychwood,” Lindy prompted.
“Yes.”
“What about your dad? Siblings?”
“I’m an only child, and my father died when I was young. Twelve years old.”
Her face softened in sympathy and sadness. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
He nodded stiffly, because whenever he volunteered this particular bit of information, which was as rarely as possible, it created a certain awkwardness, on top of the awkwardness that was almost certainly already there, and he’d found the best way to deal with it was to simply move on. Then Lindy surprised him.
“My parents both died when I was young, as well,” she said. “Although not as young as that. I was nineteen.” She lapsed into silence as she glanced down at her hands lying flat on the table.
“I’m sorry,” Roger said after a pause. He knew how inadequate those words were, just as he knew there weren’t really any others.
“It was a car accident. They’d been visiting me at university and they were killed in a pile-up on the M6. At least it was quick.”
Roger stared at her, aghast at such a matter-of-fact description of so devastating an event, yet knowing he did the same when it came to talking about his father. “That must have been very difficult,” he said after a few seconds where he struggled to frame his thoughts and was only able to come up with such a massive understatement. “Do you have siblings?”
“No, just me.” She gave a wry smile, touched with bittersweet whimsy. “It’s been just me for a long time.”
“I would have thought…” Roger paused. “You seem the sort of person to have many friends.”
“Well, I do,” Lindy allowed. “I’ve loads of acquaintances, colleagues, casual friends. Heaps and heaps.” She let out a little laugh. “I’m very good at making friends, really.”
“Yes.” He certainly thought she was.
“But when it comes to family…you know people who know you inside and out?” She shook her head. “It really has just been me.”
*
Lindy didn’t usually talk about her parents’ deaths. Fifteen years on and she wanted it to be old news, past history, even though she knew it never truly could be. Did anyone really ever get over the death of their parents? She was certainly trying.
And yet, for some strange reason, Roger Wentworth of all people felt like someone she could talk to—not just the usual chitchat, but the deeper stuff. Despite his stiffness, his somewhat awkward manner, she trusted him. She knew he was honest, and she’d just discovered he might understand, at least a little bit, of what she’d gone through.
“It must have been very difficult,” he said again, the words seeming to be carefully chosen and touchingly heartfelt, “to be all alone in the world, at such a young age.”
“Yes. It was.” Something else she didn’t really talk about. The waitress came with their Cokes then, and Lindy raised hers in a semi-mocking toast before taking a sip. “Really most refreshing,” she said solemnly, and was rewarded with the very tiniest quirk of Roger’s mouth. He could, she realised, make fun of himself, at least a little. The knowledge warmed her insides.
“Did you have relatives to help you, when your parents died?” he asked after a moment.
“Not really. My parents were older when they had me—their surprise blessing. My mother was forty-five, my dad fifty. Their parents had already passed away, and my dad had an older sister who was in a nursing home by the time he died. My mother had a brother, but he emigrated to Australia when I was a kid, and he didn’t even come back for the funeral. I’ve completely lost touch with him.” She shrugged. “I didn’t really miss those kinds of relationships, because I’d never had them.”
“I’m sorry.” Roger shook his head, an expression of frustration flashing across his face. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“I’m not sure there is anything else,” Lindy replied. She leaned her elbows on the table, gazing at him earnestly. “The thing is, in spite of all that, I had the most fantastic childhood.” Roger raised his eyebrows, waiting for more. “My parents both took early retirement when I was six,” Lindy explained. “They wanted to show me the world—and they did. We travelled all over the place, did everything. I saw the Northern Lights, Uluru, the Grand Canyon, the Taj Mahal…” She shook her head in wondering memory at all the adventures she’d shared with her mum and dad—memories she wouldn’t trade for a more normal upbringing, or really, for anything, except perhaps to have them back again.
“We had so much fun. They homeschooled me until I was sixteen, but really they considered life the best education, and so it was. I don’t regret any of it. Not one bit.”
“Goodness.” Roger looked both impressed and a bit startled by her words. Lindy knew her childhood had been utterly unconventional, and probably utterly unlike his, but she’d truly loved every moment of it. “And when you were sixteen?” he asked.
“We came back to our cottage in Derbyshire and I went to Sixth Form.” She grimaced slightly. “After everything I’d experienced, I struggled to fit in and make friends. I suppose that was understandable, considering the circumstances, but it was a bit hard.” Roger nodded in understanding, and Lindy let out a sudden, uncertain laugh. “I don’t actually know why I’m telling you all this. I usually don’t witter on about myself so much.” She shook her head, deciding she really had rabbited on enough. Roger was looking a bit winded by her relentless download of information, and yet it had felt surprisingly good to say it all. She so rarely did. “Anyway, what about you? Were you very close to your dad?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Although he was much like me, so we didn’t actually talk all that much.” Lindy smiled at that, and Roger continued, “He was the sort of person you could be silent with, and it didn’t matter. You could just be.”
She stared at him for a second, unable to speak. To just be with someone…not to have to explain or fill the silence or present your best self. She ached for that, she realised. “That’s the best thing in the world,” she said slowly, “to have someone like that in your life.”
“Yes.” Roger cleared his throat again, and Lindy thought he must have been struggling with a depth of emotion he didn’t normally feel, just as she was. How odd, that they should experience it here, together. That they could bring it out in one another. “Yes, it is.”
They were both quiet then, and while it wasn’t quite the ‘just be’ type of silence they’d been talking about, it came close. Closer, at least, than anything Lindy had experienced in some time.
“You must be close to your mum,” she said after a moment, wanting to keep the conversation going, for Roger had suddenly started to look as if he might drain the last of his Coke and scarper, “since you’ve agreed to the dancing lessons.”
“Yes, we’re close.” Roger looked as if he was thinking of saying something more, but then decided not to. “Although whether we will still be close after I’ve stepped on her toes for two months running remains to be seen.”
“It’s the foxtrot this week,” Lindy told him. “Nothing too scary.”
“I have never been scared of dancing,” Roger replied with dignity. “I’m simply not proficient in it.”
“Which is the whole point of the class.”
“Indeed.” He gave a rather regal nod and Lindy smiled at him, liking the way his hair curled a bit by his ears, the warm brown of hi
s eyes. He held himself stiffly but his body was powerful and for a scorching second Lindy wondered how it would feel pressed against hers…if she put her arms around him, if she kissed him.
She felt a blush begin to heat her face as she imagined it. Was she actually crushing on Roger Wentworth? It appeared she was. Rather badly. How absolutely odd, considering she didn’t do crushes, and she hardly thought she’d have one on someone like Roger. And yet…
“I should get on,” Roger said abruptly, pushing away his glass and rising in one sudden lurch.
“I suppose I should, too,” Lindy said quickly, although there wasn’t anything really to go back to. “Let me just pay for the Cokes and we can walk out together.”
“I’ll pay for the Cokes,” Roger said firmly.
“But I’m the one who asked…”
“Even so.” He was clearly not going to brook any argument whatsoever, and Lindy decided she rather liked the idea of him paying for their drinks. It made this feel more like a date.
“Thank you,” she said when Roger had come back from the till, and they walked out into the early evening together, the town’s busy high street now starting to empty out of day trippers. “Where are you parked?” Lindy asked. “I’m up at the top of the road…”
“I parked at the bottom, by the bridge.”
They stared at each other; now was the time for goodbye. Lindy willed him to ask her out again. For dinner, or a movie…anything. She realised just how much she wanted him to, and why shouldn’t he? They clearly got along. Well, sort of. And yet as he jangled his keys in his pocket, looking rather severe, she knew he wouldn’t.
“This was fun,” she said, and could not bring herself to add ‘we should do it again,’ fearing it would sound too desperate.
“Thank you for the invitation.”
“You’re welcome.”
