‘Yes, but I bought 190 raffle tickets.’
This, for some reason, is one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard. It might be the eight tasting glasses of wine. Either way, when I start laughing, he joins in and soon we can’t stop. We walk across the floodlit car park and I click open my boot. I’m obviously not going to drive home, but I’ll leave the vehicle and its contents here overnight and either get a lift from my dad in the morning or – if I’m feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough – go for a run to collect it.
I throw in the last bag full of junk from the evening, while Zach places the final crate in. I’m about to close it when I grab a bottle of Chenin Blanc and thrust it into his arms.
‘Here, take this. It will make me feel less guilty for swindling you out of so much cash.’
‘Well, at least it’s for a good cause. What was it again?’
‘A sensory garden.’
‘Cool. How far away is your Uber?’
I look at my phone. ‘Twenty-five minutes. Friday night. It takes forever. What about yours?’
‘Thirty.’ He looks at his bottle and holds it up. ‘One for the road?’
I plan to say no. I swear I do. But for some reason that’s not what comes out of my mouth.
‘Oh, why not?’
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. Verysmart. 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 shelovesSara too. She’s a great mom.’ He looks down at his hands and I detect a wistful note in his voice.
