Chapter 16
It’s a peculiarly warm night for the end of April, with a treacle-coloured sky. We take two paper cups and the bottle before climbing up the hill behind the sports hall overlooking the rugby field and cricket pavilion. Zach takes off his coat and lays it down for me to sit on, apparently unconcerned about grass stains on his own backside.
He unscrews the wine and pours some, first for me, then himself. I’m pretty woozy already, but the fact that I’ve had more units than I’d dare confess to my Drinkaware app only makes me think I’ve nothing to lose by having another.
There’s something nostalgically thrilling about loitering on school grounds after hours. It adds an odd frisson to the situation, which is silly because it’s not as if we’re about to share a Silk Cut, sniff some glue or do anything else . . . illicit.
Nevertheless, the warmth that spread through my belly when Zach put his hand on the small of my back to guide me up the slope had nothing to do with the setting. Now, an amber glow from distant street lamps falls gently on his face, casting shadows across his cheekbones and the sensual curves of his throat. Whatever I think of him personally – and I’m still trying to work this guy out – physically, he is impossible not to admire.
‘Cheers,’ he says. We tap cups and each take a sip.
‘Your kids play sport here?’ he asks, nodding towards the field.
‘My 15-year-old plays rugby. He’s called Leo.’
‘Is he any good?’
‘He’s not bad at all, actually. Though I’m not allowed to come and cheer him on these days. I’m too much of an embarrassment to him.’
He laughs. ‘I have 14- and 16-year old nieces. My sister says they’re exactly the same. She seems to spend her life worrying about them . . .’
‘Oh, I get that. With Leo it’s not just broken limbs and missing teeth that keep me up at night. That’s before we even get to his total disinterest in exams.’
‘I guess some kids aren’t academic.’
‘Oh, he’s bright enough. He’d just prefer to be chucking a ball around.’
‘Wouldn’t we all?’
‘So what about your daughter – Mila is it?’
His face brightens, as if he thought I’d never ask. ‘She’s adorable. V ery smart. Shy at times but a little sassy too. She has no trouble standing up for herself, that’s for sure. She wants to be a scientist when she grows up – like her mom, who’s a biology teacher. I mean, Mila loves dolls, but she’s happiest when trying to extract DNA from a banana.’
‘I like her already,’ I say. ‘Is she a daddy’s girl?’
‘A little. But she loves Sara too. She’s a great mom.’ He looks down at his hands and I detect a wistful note in his voice.
‘So, did you learn much about wine tonight?’ I ask, feeling the need to change the subject.
He slides his eyes towards me. ‘Mainly that I’m better at drinking than analysing it,’ he says.
‘You and me both. Hey, thanks for helping me clear up.’
‘Anytime, Darling.’ I shake my head at the mischievous glint in his eyes, in the full knowledge that he’s doing this to wind me up.
‘That’s it now, isn’t it? You’re never going to stop calling me Darling.’
‘No way. It’s too good to waste.’
‘It is better than my married name, I suppose.’
‘Well, now I’m intrigued. Come on, spill.’
‘Smedley.’
He grimaces and a laugh gusts out of me.
‘I am very offended by that look, Russo – just so you know. I only used it on my bank account and things. I kept my maiden name for work.’
‘Good decision. Lisa Smedley ,’ he says, trying out the sound of it, before shaking his head. ‘No. Doesn’t suit you at all. You’re definitely a Darling. That why you divorced him?’
‘No!’ I laugh. ‘I didn’t feel that strongly about it.’
‘Could’ve been worse, you know. There was a kid in my class in middle school called Calvin Titball.’
‘Oh, the poor thing.’
We’re both laughing now. Everything tonight feels quite funny for some reason.
‘Yeah,’ he sighs. ‘Still, he runs a tech company and drives a Ferrari these days so it didn’t turn out all bad for him.’
Only now appreciating how exhausted I am, I slip off my shoes and wiggle my painted toes, stretching back my neck to let my spine decompress. The moment I become aware he’s watching me, heat rushes up my body.
‘You do realise that you’ve succeeded in preventing me from talking about the very thing I’ve been attempting to discuss with you for, like, four days?’
‘So I have. Maybe that’s because every time it comes up it results in more work for me.’
‘Well, what I wanted to say was very simple. I’m going to drop my objections.’
I sit up straight and blink, wondering if I’ve heard him right. ‘What?’
‘If you want to pursue Our Girl In Milan , then I won’t stop you. You can make it clear at the meeting with Krishna on Monday that you have the full support of Scheduling.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would you do that?’
He inhales, as if he’s about to confess something. ‘Because I may have allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgement.’
He disliked me that much in our first meeting? As much as the sentiment was mutual, I’m a little bruised at the thought. I wonder when he decided I was less of a twat?
‘For the record, though,’ he continues, ‘I think you’ve got a better concept up your sleeve. If I was going to choose one of those shows to actively champion, it’d be the second one in your presentation.’
‘ My Teenage Bombsite ?’
He nods. ‘I loved that idea.’
In a nod to How Clean is Your House? – the hit Channel 4 show that made stars out of two housekeepers, Kim and Aggie, back in the 2000s – each episode would focus on one young person’s filthy bedroom. A crack team of cleaners would initially assess levels of grime, test for E coli, salmonella and other gruesome bacteria usually found on dirty dishes lurking underneath beds. They’d fill skips full of the old shit found at the back of wardrobes and in sock drawers and do it all while accompanied by a dramatic score of horror movie music. Then, they’d undertake a transformative deep clean, leaving the place so sparkling you could safely conduct open-heart surgery.
‘My youngest niece Ivy is a delight. But her mom would say she has the most disgusting bedroom on earth. We all know a kid like that. We probably all were a kid like that. That’s why people would love it. It’s relatable, about real people and – unlike your modelling show – it would make viewers laugh. I’m telling you, it’s a winner.’
‘Hmm. I mean, I like it too. But the production company has little in the way of a track record.’
‘So they’re new,’ he shrugs. ‘You can get a more experienced firm to godfather them. We all needed someone to take a chance on us at some point in our lives, don’t you think?’
I get a sudden warm waft of his aftershave and something snags behind my ribcage.
‘Well, either way, you’ve already outlined the objections to Our Girl In Milan to the rest of the team. I’m not sure I’ll be able to put the cat back in the bag now.’
He flattens his mouth. ‘Sorry.’
‘Ah, you did your job,’ I’m forced to concede, deflecting the apology. ‘It’s up to Krishna to decide now.’
‘Well, let me know if I can be of any assistance.’
‘Oh, you’ve done quite enough, thanks very much,’ I say, only half kidding. He smiles anyway. ‘So how did you swing a transfer from the US office? Who’s doing your job while you’re here?’
‘That is a sore point.’
‘Oh?’
‘Since Susan Fleming became group CEO a couple of years ago, she made a big deal about how MotionMax+ is a global company and teams ought to share talent and experience. So I approached her and she was all for it. Some of my fellow senior execs, however, didn’t see things that way. To them, this is just a satellite office.’
‘What a cheek,’ I say, even though it’s obviously true. Still, we are the biggest outside the US.
‘Couple of people made no secret of thinking that I’d left them in the shit.’
I remember that conversation I’d had about him before he arrived. He had his fans but it wasn’t a universally held opinion . . .
‘It was like they thought I was here to have some long vacation,’ he says.
I snort. ‘Have they seen the average spring temperatures in this part of the world? None of us tend to do much sunbathing in Salford at this time of year.’
Now he laughs too. I’m so busy looking at the way his face illuminates that I totally fail to notice that he’s topping up my paper cup until it’s too late. As I shift my bodyweight forward, oblivious, I manage to spill about three-quarters of it, most of which lands on Zach’s trousers.
‘Shit.’
I grab the closest thing to a cloth that I can find, which happens to be my linen scarf, and I automatically start to mop it up. Then I realise what I’m doing and that I’m touching his leg. I freeze. We are suddenly very close. The warm curve of his thigh is still against mine. I can feel his eyes on me, almost before I look up, a fact confirmed when I do so and they drop unexpectedly to my mouth.
It strikes me that all I’d need to do is lean forward an inch, maybe two, and it would be an invitation for him to kiss me. I could brush those lips, taste the wine on his tongue. A flood of liquid desire spreads through my body. I can’t work out if it’s simply some trick or refraction of moonlight, but it feels as though we’re already drawing closer towards one another. Time seems to stand still. And then—
Ping.
I clear my throat, pull back and register the vehicle drawing into the car park.
‘Looks like that’s your ride,’ he says, his voice slightly hoarse.
‘Yes. Sorry about your . . . trousers.’
The faintest smile. ‘No problem.’
We both get to our feet.
‘Don’t forget your tennis balls.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘You are way too pleased with those. You must have a very boring life.’
‘Not as boring as I’d like,’ he mutters, suggesting some hidden irony.
Facing me, he suddenly seems unfeasibly tall. The sort of guy you’d have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss .
Why are you thinking about kissing him?
‘Thanks for tonight. I had fun,’ he says.
‘You don’t have to be polite.’
‘And you don’t have to be so cynical.’
‘I was simply pointing out that you’re a single guy, it’s a Friday night, and believe me when I say this city has more to offer than a school wine quiz.’
His eyes drift over my face. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
I swallow. Then I take a step back and flap my arms in a weird way, like I don’t know what to do with them. ‘I’ll see you around, Russo.’
‘Take it easy, Darling.’
He raises his hand.
I turn around and make my way down the hill to the Uber, crossing the car park and opening the door to get in, feeling Zach’s distant gaze on me all the way there.