Chapter Eight
There is a light drizzle hitting the windscreen as Lissa drives west out of Bath – an annoying amount of rain because neither the slow nor the fast wiper setting is quite right, so she has to keep changing it every couple of minutes.
She clicks the indicator as her sat nav tells her to turn right, past an old stone wall covered in ivy.
She’s fifteen minutes away from the restaurant Mark insisted they try, just north of Farmborough, when her phone rings. Mark’s voice comes through the Bluetooth speakers as she drives under a canopy of trees, their old, twisted branches knotted and bare.
‘Lissa, I’m so sorry, I’m running late.’
‘Oh. That’s okay. How long will you be? I’m halfway there.’
‘I’m still at work. I got held up.’
She resists the urge to point out that she too was at work today – admittedly working from home rather than in the office like him – but that she managed to leave on time. ‘So you haven’t left yet?’
‘No. I’m sorry, I’ve still got a few more things to do.’
‘Oh,’ she says again. He’ll be ages then.
She’s not really sure what can possibly be that urgent – she knows he’s working on a pitch for a new client, but thought that was basically done.
Then again, she doesn’t understand why he bothers to go to the office on days when he doesn’t have to, either, so perhaps she’s missing something here.
‘So do you want me to turn around, or …?’
‘Ah …’ There’s a hesitation, and she swears she can hear the click of the keyboard at his end. ‘Well, you’re already on your way, right?’
‘Yes,’ she says slowly.
More clicking. ‘I know this is a bit weird to ask, but whereabouts exactly are you?’
‘On the A39,’ she says in the same slow voice, because she’s not sure what is inherently weird about that.
‘Okay. So, look, Ash just called me.’
Lissa frowns. ‘Ash?’
‘My friend.’
‘Right. I know who Ash is.’ He with the blue eyes and crooked smile and motorbike helmet under the table.
‘The thing is, he’s broken down.’
‘Okay …’ She’s still not totally sure why he’s telling her this.
‘He was heading into Bath from Bristol airport.’
‘So … are you going to go and pick him up or something?’ In which case, they should just cancel dinner. She’s actually a little relieved by that thought – she can grab a takeaway and curl up in front of the TV. Which, she has to admit, isn’t a brilliant sign, is it?
‘Ah, well actually … I was hoping you could pick him up. He’s stranded not that far from where I figured you’d be, and since I’m still at work …’ He trails off.
‘You want me to go help Ash?’ She’s not sure why she’s being so slow here – that is very clearly what he’s asking. But something keeps snagging. The fact that he’s asking her? Or the idea of seeing Ash again?
‘If it’s too much trouble, don’t worry about it,’ Mark says quickly. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s just I’m going to be a while, and …’
She taps a finger against the steering wheel.
‘I mean, I guess I can.’ She can’t think of a good reason why not – she doesn’t want to be sitting alone at the restaurant, waiting for Mark for who knows how long.
And Ash is nice, isn’t he? She’s sure she can manage the small talk.
Even if those are definitely nerves fizzing in the base of her stomach.
She thinks of the way he looked at the pub, a hint of sadness underneath an easy smile. The way he gives you his whole focus when he’s listening.
‘Brilliant,’ Mark says. ‘You’re a lifesaver. I’ll send you the location pin.’
Approximately thirteen minutes later, she’s pulling up on the side of the road behind a small Prius with its hazard lights on.
Ash is standing on the passenger side, next to a hedge, his phone out in front of him.
He raises one hand above his eyes to protect against the headlights as she stops the car, his whole body in silhouette.
She leaves the engine on, checks her mirrors and waits for a pause in the traffic – cars speeding past without stopping to check if Ash is okay – before getting out of the car.
The chill of the air hits her and she pulls her jean jacket – worn because it goes with her dress, rather than for warmth – closer to her.
The misty drizzle clings to her hair, her skin.
Ash blinks at her, still bathed in the light from her car. His brow creases, like he doesn’t recognise her.
She gives him an awkward wave that she immediately regrets. ‘Hi.’
‘Lissa.’ He’s still looking at her in some confusion.
She moves closer. He’s wearing jeans and a crumpled shirt, his hair is messy and there is day-old stubble grazing his jaw.
The stubble suits him, but he looks tired, she thinks.
Even with his face still partly obscured by shadows, he looks tired.
‘Yep. Mark said you needed some help …’
He blinks again, then looks towards his car, the hazard lights still flashing. ‘Yes, sorry. He said he would ask you, but I told him not to.’
‘Right.’ She has to say, she was expecting a bit more of a welcome, given that she’s here with her halo on and everything.
‘Not that I’m not glad you’re here,’ he adds.
Way to be obvious, Lissa.
‘Okay. Well, just to be clear, I know absolutely nothing about cars, so the help I can offer might be limited.’
‘I don’t know anything either, apart from the go and stop buttons, which I suspect might be the reason I’m in this scenario.’
‘So …’ She pulls her jacket closer as another car zooms past, far too fast on this road that is in effect just a glorified country lane.
‘There’s a breakdown person coming,’ Ash says, lifting his phone. ‘It’s a rental and they have it covered.’
‘Okay. Well that’s great.’ So why did Mark send her?
‘Yeah, although they’re not going to be here for hours. Some disaster on the M5.’
‘Soooo … is this a long-winded way of saying yes please, Lissa, I need a lift?’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind? The breakdown guys said I could leave the keys on the wheel and they’ll pick the car up.’
‘Handy. And of course, a lift I can do.’
But still he hesitates.
‘Ash,’ she says firmly, and his gaze meets hers in the dark. ‘Will you please get in the car so I can stop freezing to death?’
He smiles a little, though it’s not quite the easy one from the last couple of times they’ve met. ‘Okay. Thank you. Two secs.’
He heads back to the rental car, leaving Lissa to get back in hers, shuddering in relief at the warmth.
She pulls down the visor, checks her reflection in the little mirror.
Her mascara has run in the rain, and water droplets still cling to her hair, which is decidedly more scraggly than when she left the house.
She fixes it as best she can, then wonders why exactly she’s bothering.
She jumps as the passenger door opens, and snaps the visor back up. ‘So where to?’ she asks brightly as he clambers in, bringing with him the scent of rain, along with something earthier.
He gives her a street name. ‘Near Combe Down, if you know it? South Bath.’
She types it into her sat nav, waits for a space and pulls out.
The Prius, she thinks, looks a little lonely abandoned there, hazard lights still flashing, with only an orange cone for company.
She refrains from making that comment out loud, though – best to keep the overt sympathy for inanimate objects to a minimum.
She catches Ash glancing at her as they pick up speed, taking in her outfit.
Her jean jacket is now hanging loosely off her shoulders, showing off the black dress underneath.
It’s her signature third- or fourth-date dress – although she’s starting to think it’s a non-starter with Mark, that agreeing to dinner was a mistake – and it hugs her curves in a way that makes her feel a little self-conscious in this exact moment in time.
It’s a dress designed for standing up or leaning over a dinner table in candlelight, not for sitting hunched over a steering wheel, illuminated by the artificial light of the dashboard.
She shifts a little self-consciously, and Ash pulls his gaze away, looking straight out the windscreen instead. The way he does it makes heat rise to her cheeks for some reason.
‘Where are you off to?’ he asks. ‘Or where were you off to, I should say.’
‘The Pig.’ Assuming Mark actually leaves the office.
And assuming the restaurant hold their table for them.
It’s bad, isn’t it, that she sort of hopes they won’t.
She doesn’t want to spend an evening talking about click-through rates and Liam’s ideas for companies they can approach, which she’s sure will make up at least 70 per cent of the conversation.
‘Oh yes. Heard that’s good. All organic.’
‘Exactly.’
There is a beat of quiet between them, a weird kind of tension that she didn’t notice last time they met, humming in the air.
‘So,’ she says, her voice too loud. ‘How come you’re back again?’ Because didn’t he say, when they first met, that he wasn’t in Bath much? Yet it’s only been a couple of weeks since the pub quiz.
He gives a one-shoulder shrug that would look casual if it weren’t for the fact it was so stiff. ‘Got some things I need to sort out.’
‘Well that’s incredibly vague and cryptic. You’re not a drug dealer, are you?’
His lips twitch. ‘My dad lives in Bath,’ he says. He doesn’t seem inclined to offer any further explanation, though – weird for someone who, on first meeting, seems pretty open. Still, none of her business, is it?
‘Thank you for doing this,’ he says, glancing over to her again. ‘If it’s easier to drop me at a bus stop …’
‘It’s fine,’ she says firmly. ‘It’s not that far out of the way.
Besides, maybe this makes up for the scooter incident.
’ He raises his eyebrows in question. ‘You know, you save my life, I save yours.’ That near-smile again.
‘You can even shout at me for it if you want.’ He gives in to a full-on laugh then, and she feels glad to have coaxed it from him.
‘We are definitely even,’ he agrees.
‘Good.’