‘What’s your name?’ He held her eyeline, inviting her to go first.
‘Lilly.’ She gave the simplified version, wanting this to be simple, uncomplicated and lovely, in the way she had hoped flirting might be.Confident, if this was what was happening here. The feeling sprang from no more than the particular way he looked at her.
‘I’m Wilkie Jones.’
‘That’s an unusual name.’ A fact she was glad of, knowing that even if she never saw him again, his name, like this unusual exchange, would live on in her mind.Unique ...
‘You think so? Where I come from Wilkies are ten a penny.’
‘Really?’
‘No! Of course not!’
This time they both laughed.
‘It was my grandfather’s name, and I got stuck with it. An honour, so I’m told, within my family, and yet if it’s such an honour, why are my brothers so relieved to have been called David and Arthur?’ He tutted.
‘That’s a very good question.’
‘So, Lilly?’
‘Yep.’
‘Are you named after anyone?’ He twisted on the wall so his body was facing her, his legs slightly splayed, creating a V that she pictured getting up from her stool and nestling between, standing as close as she could to him, putting her hands on the thighs of his flared jeans, pushing her body against his.
‘Umm ...’ She coughed to clear the embarrassment from her throat, worried he might be able to read her lascivious thoughts. ‘Yes, actually, my full name is Elizabeth-Roberta. My dad is Robert, so ...’
‘I can see why you go with Lilly, much quicker.’
‘Yep, and with all the seconds I get to save by not having to say Elizabeth-Roberta, I do fun things.’ She smiled at him.
‘Like what?’ He leaned forward, elbows on his legs, his head closer to hers. She felt the breath catch in her throat.
‘Like chatting to random strangers on the towpath.’
‘So you do this a lot?’ He tilted his head to one side.
‘Well, no, I’ve only saved so many seconds, so this is the first time.’ She lifted her hand and rubbed the back of her neck, wanting to reach out and touch him so badly that it felt necessary to occupy her fingers. She saw his eyes dart to her breasts, the outline visible beneath the thin fabric of her cheesecloth shirt, then back to her face, this one simple gesture enough to light a flame of desire inside her.
‘So a . . . a mathematician?’
‘Yes. I’m a teacher, actually, visiting the big smoke.’
‘Oh, right.’ Older than her then, which was obvious, and not that it mattered. ‘And you’re visiting alone?’
It was the closest she could get to enquiring as to whether he was married, single or attached, knowing it was nothing to do with her, a nosy stranger, and yet wanting desperately to know!
He looked from his left to his right and all around, as if comically trying to locate someone. ‘It would appear so!’
‘Where do you teach?’
‘St Ethelred’s, a school in York.’
‘You’re from Yorkshire?’ He didn’t sound like he was from Yorkshire.
‘No, from Basingstoke, but that’s where the job took me. And I love it up there. Beautiful countryside.’ He closed his eyes as if recalling it.
‘I’ve never been.’
