Page 41 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘It could be eczema, but it’s hard to tell,’ he said. ‘Have you changed your washing powder or anything?’

The landlord shook his head and Rasmus continued. ‘Perhaps it might be best to make that appointment and let me take a proper look. Could I have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and half a shandy please?’

‘Coming right up.’

Rasmus waited whilst the drinks were poured, fighting the urge to look round at Jo. He didn’t want to give away how he felt about her. If she knew he was attracted to her, that might put her off helping him. He didn’t want her thinking that he was only seeking her involvement in the hope of getting into her knickers. That really wasn’t his style at all. He would keep his feelings to himself and focus on his project. If the two of them became friends, that would be wonderful. He knew anything more was out of the question and resolved that he wouldn’t allow himself to think otherwise.

17

Less than twenty-four hours after she’d resolved to give up dating, Jo was sitting on a tiny – and somewhat uncomfortable – stool, waiting for a man she rather liked – Ras, in other words – who was getting the drinks in.

This wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. Just a drink.

What was taking him so long?

She looked across at him. He was standing on tiptoes, leaning over the bar and peering at a nasty rash on the landlord’s arm.

Jo wished he’d hurry up. She was on tenterhooks. What had Florence meant?

Consultation finally over, she watched as the landlord refused Ras’s ten-pound note. A brief argument ensued whilst Ras tried to press it into his hand and the landlord shook his head. Then Ras shoved the note into his back pocket, picked up his half of shandy and her Sauvignon Blanc and began making his way back to their table. Jo looked down at her phone, trying to pretend that she hadn’t been watching all along.

‘Sorry that took so long,’ said Ras. ‘It happens sometimes. People seize the chance for a quick consultation. He had a bit of a rash.’

‘Should you be telling me that? Or does doctor-patient confidentiality not apply when you’re in the pub?’

Ras laughed. ‘Everyone waiting to be served saw that rash.’

‘And what was your diagnosis?’

‘Could be eczema,’ he said.

Jo took a sip of her wine. ‘You were going to tell me what Florence meant.’

‘Oh yes.’

Was it her imagination or did he look a little nervous?

‘I want to promote the Scrabble club, get more people along,’ said Ras.

‘You want me to put up a few flyers?’

‘No, much more than that. I thought we might hold some kind of Scrabble-themed event. Perhaps on a Saturday afternoon? Attract some families? Only I don’t have much time – it’s horrendous being a GP these days, even working part-time – and none of the others want to take it on. They’d all help, of course, but we need someone to organise us. To galvanise us into action.’

‘You want me to organise a Scrabble event?’ She took another sip of wine, unsure whether to be flattered or disappointed. At the back of her mind, she had thought – hoped? – that Florence had meant she’d be the perfect person for him romantically.

A crazy idea.

She reminded herself once again that she hadn’t heard a peep from him after that first date.

Although once he’d got over his initial shock at her appearance at the Scrabble club, he’d seemed pleased to see her. And he had suggested this drink and was now asking her to organise an event for him. She’d never understand men.

‘You’re obviously organised,’ he said, ‘and I’m not.’

Getting a big event off the ground, Jo thought, would need more than just good organisational skills.

‘You need someone more creative to pull off something like that,’ she said, ‘and I’m not an ideas person.’ Her recent experiences at Pop! Productions had taught her that much. Nothing she’d suggested had ever made it to the screen.

‘Everyone would pitch in,’ he said.