Page 24 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘What’s your name?’ she said to him.

‘Sam.’

Only 5 points. That’d be a no then. She resolved to ask the men at the start of each round what their names were, but the next two guys seemed intent on using their numbers.

‘Double-O-Seven at your service, ma’am,’ said the shorter of them. He couldn’t have looked less like James Bond if he’d tried.

Jo fared no better in the music round than she had in the sports. Number Eight was unimpressed with her complete inability to recognise songs by Rihanna, Arctic Monkeys and Busted, to name the movie that had featured Taylor Swift singing ‘Eyes Open’ or to state which British girl group had done a cover version of ‘The Tide is High’ which had stayed at number one for several weeks.

‘Was it Blondie?’ she suggested.

‘They were American,’ said Kate.

‘And they weren’t a girl group,’ added Number Eight.

As the round ended, he stood up, looked at Jo and said, ‘Seriously, what do you listen to?’

Number Seven shrugged his shoulders and followed him to the next table.

‘Hello, ladies,’ Jo heard him say as the two men sat down. ‘I’m Double-O-Seven, at your service.’

‘I think we can safely say we’re not ticking either of those two,’ said Kate as Numbers Nine and Ten slipped into their seats opposite Kate and Jo.

Between them, Noel (4 points) and Ian (3 points) managed to name the energy secretary and the celebrity who’d died the previous month aged ninety-three, which film had won the most Oscars this year, and which country the Pope hailed from, but there was a bit of debate about which city was currently the UK’s city of culture.

By the time the next round began, Jo was feeling a little worse for wear, having almost finished the second mojito, so forgot to ask the names of Numbers Eleven and Twelve.

Numbers Thirteen and Fourteen looked far younger than the thirty to forty age group stipulated on the entry tickets so she didn’t ask them either. It was the food round. She let Kate make conversation with the guys and busied herself with the questions, writing that burrata was a type of mozzarella and the Isle of Wight held an annual garlic festival.

‘They were a bit lairy,’ said Kate, as Numbers Thirteen and Fourteen stumbled towards the next table. ‘Did you know all the answers?’

‘Some,’ Jo said, looking down at the sheet and checking her answers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tweed jacket being slipped over the back of the chair opposite her.

She looked up. Perhaps it was her mojito goggles, but this man was perfect. Short, dark hair. Lightly tanned skin. The brownest eyes. A strong jawline and dazzlingly white smile. She’d only ever seen teeth that white in magazines and had always assumed they were Photoshopped. And his ears. Such neat ears. Ears weren’t something she generally noticed. But this man’s ears… she wanted to nibble them. Now. Right now.

And if that wasn’t enough, he was definitely quirky. His look was kind of country squire: a herringbone waistcoat – who wore waistcoats these days? – with a bow tie. And was that a pocket watch? It was. This man had come to a speed-dating event in a back-street pub in Huddersfield wearing a pocket watch. As someone who always dressed to blend into the background, Jo was full of admiration for this man who was clearly intent on standing out.

If she were to spend time with someone like him, maybe his confidence would rub off on her.

‘Hi, I’m Kate.’

Kate held out her hand to the squire’s friend, a blond guy wearing a business suit. He shook it a bit too vigorously.

‘George,’ he said.

‘I’m Jo,’ she said, holding out her own hand to the man in the herringbone waistcoat.

He took her hand and kissed it. Actually kissed it.

‘Lovely to meet you, Jo,’ he said. ‘I’m Tarquin.’

11

‘Tarquin?’ said Jo. ‘With a Q?’

A Q. One of the two highest scoring letters in Scrabble. Making his name worth a massive 16 points.

‘Yes, Tarquin,’ he said. His voice would have given Hugh Grant a run for his money in the poshness stakes. Rich. Velvety. The kind of voice that melted her insides.