Page 52 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Ras stifled a yawn.

‘I should go,’ she said, scrambling to her feet.

‘No, sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just… well, work. You know. I’m shattered.’

Despite his obvious exhaustion, Ras walked with her up the hill to her little underdwelling overlooking the allotments. He had insisted on doing this every evening, even though she always protested, saying she felt perfectly safe walking back on her own.

Jo unlocked her front door, then tried to wrestle it open. It seemed to get worse each day. She’d sent two texts to the landlord and rung the letting agency but had heard nothing.

‘I’ll see you at Scrabble club tomorrow,’ she said as the door finally swung open.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘And then, I was wondering if we shouldn’t get together on Saturday afternoon. You can update me on what Kate said and how it went with the PTA. I’ll come here, if you like.’

Jo hesitated. Her place was so scruffy compared with his, but to refuse him would seem inhospitable. ‘That’d be nice.’

‘Jo, I’m very grateful for all the time you’re putting into this.’

Their eyes met. Jo thought for a second that he was about to kiss her, but then he pulled her into a hug. She nestled into him, relishing the sensation of another human’s body warmth. She hadn’t had a hug since Gemma had moved down south. In fact, as a single adult, she didn’t get much physical contact with other human beings at all: an air-kiss on both cheeks or a handshake when she went on a date; unwelcome fumblings from the likes of Tarquin; a pat on the back from Caroline at work when Jo had finished a particularly tiresome spreadsheet; and an awkward hug from her parents on her annual trip up to the Isle of Arran for the festive season.

And now here she was, standing outside her little house on Hazel Lane, with the lights of Hebbleswick twinkling below and Ras’s arms around her. Surprisingly strong arms for a man of his stature. She didn’t want this moment to end.

21

This time, Jo wasn’t nervous as she pressed the shiny chrome button outside the school gates and heard the buzz of the catch opening; she was excited.

Focus, she reminded herself, focus. But her mind kept wandering back to Ras, and how it had felt to be held in his arms. Her feelings for him now went beyond attraction; there was attraction, of course, but there was connection too. A deeper connection than she’d expected to have with anyone after such a short time of knowing them. But she had no idea how he felt about her. No, that wasn’t true; she did know. He didn’t fancy her; there hadn’t been a second date.

‘Anyway, you’ve given up dating,’ she mumbled to herself as she walked up the path. ‘Concentrate on the festival.’

She was bursting with ideas to share with the chair of the PTA. Her favourite was the tombola. Instead of tickets, they’d buy a load of blank letter tiles and put in twenty-six actual letters. If you drew a tile with a letter on, you would win the corresponding prize. A high-scoring letter like a Q or a Z would win you a better prize than a low-scoring one like a T.

The chair of the PTA turned out to be a woman a little older than Jo: slim, with a mop of loose, blonde curls – a few dark roots showing, Jo noticed with relief; she always felt more relaxed with women whose hair wasn’t perfect – and a creased T-shirt.

‘I’m Sal,’ she said as she greeted Jo in reception.

Sal – 3 points, Jo thought.

‘Ignore the state of me,’ Sal continued. ‘Four kids, all under ten, and the PTA to run. I don’t have time to iron.’

Sal was as excited about Hebbleswick Scrabble Festival as Jo was. She raved about the tombola idea and cooed over the greeting cards and pictures created using Scrabble tiles and said she’d persuade the Year 4 teacher to be in charge of the craft room. ‘You’re so creative, Jo. Exactly the sort of person Hebbleswick Primary needs.’

You’re so creative.

Jo automatically opened her mouth to object, to say that no, she wasn’t creative, she was more of an admin kind of person, but then she closed it again. What would it be like just to accept a compliment for once?

‘Thanks, Sal,’ she said.

They agreed that the PTA would provide coffee and cakes, and that Sal would persuade the school dinner ladies to provide light meals.

‘Could we serve alcohol on the Saturday evening?’ said Jo.

‘We’ve no licence, but we can get round that. We could buy in beer, wine, perhaps make a few cocktails and then ask for donations. What are you planning that evening?’

Jo paused. She still hadn’t come up with a killer idea, despite thinking of nothing else – well, practically nothing else; Ras kept creeping into her thoughts – all day. ‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ she said. ‘Might the PTA run a bookstall? Books are full of words, so it sort of fits with the theme.’

‘Fab idea,’ Sal said. ‘And a Scrabble-themed fancy dress competition?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Jo said, though she wasn’t quite sure how that would work. What would people come as? A board, a letter or a tile rack? Of course, she had that Scrabble-themed pinafore dress at home, but she couldn’t ever imagine having the courage to wear it.