‘I don’t remember you being so direct in the old days.’
‘This is not the time for jokes,’ I reply, and I think he can hear the panic in my voice, because the next thing he says is in a very different tone.
‘Jules, don’t worry. We’ll just call someone.’
He pats down his pocket, but then stops.
‘Tell me you’ve brought your phone,’ I say.
‘It appears to be in my tennis bag. You?’
‘I left it on the bench.Oh God!’
‘Look, this is going to be okay,’ he says, sounding way too relaxed. It occurs to me that, maybe when you do a job like his you don’t sweat the little things. But he was always like this, even before he was a doctor. I, on the other hand, am actually sweating now.
‘Nora will be here soon, anyway,’ he says.
‘No, today is her day off.’
‘Right. Well, we’ve got a home match tonight. The Men’s A team. The other players will be here just after 6pm.’
‘Are you seriously suggesting we spend nine hours locked in a shed together?’ I ask.
‘Ten,’ he corrects me.
‘Ten then,’ I say, exasperated. ‘Ten hours. In here. In the dark. When I’m afraid of—’
‘Spiders?’
Spiders don’t bother me. They never have.
The truth is, the thing I’m most afraid of right now is what I’m feeling as I stand here, so close to Sam Delaney that I can feel the heat rising from his chest. I can smell the clean sweat on his skin. I am overcome with the thought that if I leaned in an inch, his extravagant muscles would be touching my breasts.
‘Jules,’ he says, so softly I can feel his breath on my face. ‘You don’t need to worry. The A team match is the worst-case scenario. It won’t come to that. I promise.’
Just when I think the knots in my stomach might begin to unfurl, he reaches for my hand and gives it a little squeeze. The gesture is supposed to be reassuring, and it sort of is. But that’s only a tiny part of the way my body reacts to his touch.
My eyes snap up and, now adjusted to the dim light, I meet his gaze. We are both suddenly silent and I’m very aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he looks at me. Even in the faint light, there is a mysterious quality in his pupils that does something to my ability to speak.
‘What if we’re stuck for hours?’ I whisper.
‘That would be less than ideal,’ he says softly. ‘Though I’m looking on the bright side.’
‘Which is?’
He shrugs. ‘If I’m going to be trapped in a confined space, I can think of worse people to be with.’
‘That sets the bar fairly low, Sam.’ I can’t help smiling though, and I can tell he is too.
‘I suppose it does.’
‘So what are we going to do for ten hours, exactly? Any ideas?’ I ask. My voice, for some reason, has become incrementally quieter.
‘A game of “I Spy”?’ he suggests.
‘Except I can’t really see.’
He’s so close to me now that I can feel his breath on my face.
