Chapter 4
February turned into March and after a few days of heavy rain, Sunday dawned cold and bright.
Sasha decided to go for a walk on Bramleigh Common, to see if any catkins were budding.
A few cut branches with silvery buds would bring a touch of nature into the café.
They’d look gorgeous in the big, golden vase she’d bought at an antiques fair last summer.
Pussy willow wands reminded Sasha of her grandmother’s house. Por Por had kept a few dried wands in a vase and often tied decorations to them, for Chinese New Year and other festivals.
She made her way towards the humpbacked bridge and turned right.
The common was busy with children playing football and flying kites.
People walked their dogs and pushed babies in buggies.
She breathed deeply, appreciating the fresh air.
Spring wasn’t too far off now. She couldn’t wait for warmer weather.
With luck, it would bring more customers to Matcha Moments.
She headed for the scrubland where she’d seen the catkins growing, passing the outdoor gym. An older man was on the rowing machine, huffing and puffing with the effort, while a guy in a dark hoodie and tracksuit was doing pull-ups on a horizontal bar.
There was something familiar about the guy’s brown hair, ruffled by the breeze and sticking up in spikes. It looked like . . . yes, she was sure it was Ben, the guy she’d drenched the other week.
She quickly turned her head in case he caught her staring.
She couldn’t help noticing his biceps bulging through the tight sleeves of his hoodie as he pulled himself up until his chin was above the bar.
Sasha had never even attempted a chin-up.
Brisk walks around the common and along the river were enough exercise for her.
Perhaps she should suggest that Klara went to the outdoor gym; she might find her guy with muscles from Sasha’s vision.
Sasha strolled over to the copse of trees at the north of the common, keeping an eagle eye out for budding catkins.
The scent of wild garlic was gorgeous. Soon these woods would be covered in bluebells, which were already starting to bud.
But under the trees, the ground was muddy and she was glad she’d worn her waterproof boots.
She picked her way over to some bushes where tiny silvered buds, cute and fuzzy on long slender branches, were calling to her.
The mud was deeper and squelchier here but she distracted herself imagining how pretty the pussy willow would look with golden bells and other decorations tied to them with red silk.
She crouched to cut a wand with the prettiest buds, and then another.
Oops. Her foot slipped and she nearly fell over but she managed to grab onto a nearby tree to keep herself steady.
That was close. She reached for another switch covered with the fuzzy buds and leaned over to cut it at the base with the secateurs.
Being careful not to take too many from one bush, she’d soon filled the carrier bag with long twigs of silvery pussy willow.
She stowed the secateurs safely in her pocket.
Now, where was the path? She should have worn wellies. Her walking boots were covered in mud. She picked her way down a different path, where the ground was even more boggy and wet. Urgh. The feel of slimy squelching underfoot was unpleasant as she stepped carefully through the sodden mud.
Ooo! She was ankle deep now and her boots were getting stuck in the mud bath.
As she pulled her feet out, one at a time, there was a slurping sound.
Suddenly her right foot started to slide, dragging her forwards.
She flung her arms out, flailing, desperate to keep upright.
But the ground sloped and she found herself sliding slowly down the path.
She could hear the thud of a runner, approaching the track at the end of the muddy patch. The runner’s breath huffed nearer just as she windmilled her arms for the third time and . . .
‘Whooaaa . . . Ooof!’
‘For fuck’s sake!’
Losing control, she’d slammed into the runner. Panting, she stared into a sweaty face. Condensation puffed out of the runner’s mouth. Strong arms were holding her upright and she realized she was clutching onto dark, damp cotton, stretched tightly over a wall of muscle. ‘Oh, my god, I’m so sorry!’
‘What the hell? Oh – it’s you!’
As she stared into cross, brown eyes, the frown looked familiar. Oh no!
It was Ben.
‘It was an accident! I – I slid out . . .’ she stuttered. ‘The mud . . .’
‘I might have guessed: the town’s walking hazard,’ he grouched, panting. He still held her at arm’s length, as if her extreme clumsiness might be catching. ‘I’ve never met anyone so totally unaware of their surroundings. Didn’t you see me running on the path?’
‘I didn’t see you at all. Blame the mud. We really must stop meeting like this!’ she joked. ‘Anyone would think you were stalking me.’
‘I’m not a stalker with a death wish!’
He let go of her, then leaned forward to stretch out his calf and then his hamstrings. Sasha noticed his strong thighs, filling his tracksuit.
‘Well, how was I meant to see you, all in black? For all I know, you’ve just robbed some old lady and are running from the scene of the crime. Or maybe you’re about to rob me.’
‘Yeah? And what would I be after?’ He peered into her carrier bag. ‘Your – let me guess – stick collection?’ His mouth tugged up at one corner as if he was about to laugh.
‘Very funny. These catkins are going to look ace. I like to bring a touch of nature into the café.’
‘Well, much as I’d love to stand around and chat, if you’re OK . . .’
‘Oh, yes, don’t let me keep you! God forbid your muscles might – might spasm . . .’
‘Exactly – don’t want my muscles seizing up.’ He turned and ran down the path.
Urgh! That man was so annoying. Why did he have to be running down just that path when she slid in the mud?
Why hadn’t he stayed at the outdoor gym and worked on his biceps?
Those muscled biceps had minutes ago been keeping her upright.
If he hadn’t caught her, she’d have fallen flat on her face and been covered in mud.
She could have done herself a real injury.
It was probably quite lucky he’d been there.
But why did it have to be Ben? Again?
She stomped all the way back to Matcha Moments.
Even arranging the catkin branches in her gold vase couldn’t soothe her bad mood. Now they were always going to remind her of how she’d nearly fallen arse over tit and slammed into that grumpy sod.