Page 46 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

‘You’ve already sorted the washing machine. That’s going to make life easier. I couldn’t possibly ask you to do anything else.’

‘Of course, you could. There must be some way I could help ease the load. How about your business accounts? Want me to check through those? Help with a tax return?’

‘I couldn’t possibly ask you to…’

‘You weren’t asking. I was offering.’

She hesitated for a moment. ‘Actually, a bit of financial advice would be useful. Tax wise, I’m not sure what I can claim for and what I can’t.’

‘How about you come over for dinner one evening and I’ll go over them with you?’

She beamed at him. ‘That would be absolutely fantastic.’

*

‘It won’t be for long,’ said Harry.

This was ridiculous. He was talking to a train, and a model one at that.

It was one of his favourites: a Peppercorn Class A1 60163 ‘Tornado’. It looked like an old-fashioned steam train, but the full-size version of this locomotive was completed in 2008. It was built using an old design by the late engineer Arthur Peppercorn. Peppercorn had begun his apprenticeship with the Great Northern Railway in Doncaster, and Harry liked this Tornado even more because of this Yorkshire connection.

He wrapped the little green loco in a sheet of bubble wrap and placed it carefully in the cardboard box along with all the others. Then, with a sigh, he began to disassemble the track. Before long, that too was packed away and he was left with a trainless, trackless miniature landscape. That was the hardest thing, in a way. He knew he could reassemble the track easily enough, and his trains would emerge unscathed from their bubble-wrap cocoons. But would he ever be able to recreate this landscape that he’d painstakingly put together over the last few years? He took several photos with his phone to use as an aide-memoire later, then with trembling fingers and a heavy heart, he eased the first tree off the hillside.

She’s worth it, he reminded himself. She is most definitely worth it.

The dining table looked naked when he’d finished. In fact, the whole room looked disappointingly bare. He’d have to make the place look cosier, before she arrived. Friday evening had to be perfect.

He’d been a bit crushed that Taylor hadn’t said yes straight away, but then he’d remembered the boy and realised that she’d need to find a babysitter.

Sure enough, two hours later, her text had arrived saying:

Yes, thank you. Dinner at your place on Friday would be lovely.

He’d sent her his address and suggested seven o’clock, then phoned Ludek to ask if Emily had any recipe suggestions that would be easy enough for him to make, but difficult enough to impress Taylor.

Then he’d realised that he couldn’t very well ask her to eat her dinner off a tray on the sofa as he usually did, and that the breakfast bar in the kitchen wasn’t really conducive to a romantic evening, so there’d been nothing for it but to clear that dining room table.

*

On Friday evening, Harry had everything ready by half past six, even though Taylor wasn’t due until seven. A few candles, a vase with some fresh flowers and three framed prints that he’d picked up at the charity shop had brightened the dining room up considerably. There was a pan of roasted red pepper and tomato soup ready to be warmed up on the hob, and fresh rolls warming in the oven. He’d boiled Jersey royals, which he’d heat up and mash before serving. Emily had said to ‘crush’ the potatoes, by which he presumed she’d meant mash. He’d prepared some vegetables to steam, and had made chicken in mushroom and white wine sauce, which already smelled delicious. There were chocolate fondants in the fridge, which would need to be baked for ten minutes. ‘And not a second longer,’ Emily had warned, ‘or the insides won’t be gooey.’

He’d taken extra care over his appearance. He’d showered after work then dressed in a casual pale blue sweater with a smart pair of jeans. He’d checked the flies several times, making sure there wouldn’t be a repeat of zip-gate as Kate had dubbed it. He probably shouldn’t have told Kate anything, but he’d bumped into her, and felt a need to share his excitement with someone. He couldn’t imagine what his fellow players at the board game group would do if during a game of Ticket to Ride, he launched into a tale of having a sexy seamstress wrestling him out of his jeans. They’d probably shuffle their cards nervously then continue the game.

Seven o’clock arrived. There was no sign of Taylor. Harry liked punctuality. In his book, if someone invited you for seven, you arrived at seven. Five to seven would be acceptable too, Five past seven perhaps. He’d learned over the years that the rest of the world did not function according to such strict timetables, except in Japan, where he had never been, and perhaps Germany where he had; there was an excellent railway museum in Nuremberg. Yet despite knowing this, by quarter past seven, Harry was beginning to wonder if all that effort in the kitchen had been in vain, and she wasn’t coming. He’d give her until half past, then start setting his model railway up again on the dining room table.

24

Taylor was feeling uneasy.

Uneasy and excited and nervous.

Her thoughts and emotions felt all tangled up, like the clothes now going round in the drum of the non-leaking washing machine downstairs.

On the one hand, she liked Harry. Every time she saw Harry, she liked him more and more. It wasn’t just physical attraction, though of course, it helped that he looked a bit like Patrick from the Sewing Bee, and that she’d glimpsed a surprisingly toned stomach as she’d wrestled him out of those jeans, and that he’d kissed her like no other man had – she hadn’t known before that kisses could feel gentle and passionate at the same time.

There was a deeper attraction too. You knew where you were with Harry. She hadn’t known him long, but her gut instinct told her he was solid. He’d never stand someone up on a date. He probably wouldn’t even be five minutes late. Not without good reason anyway. He wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t cheat. He wouldn’t get a woman pregnant, then leave her two years later with a toddler, saying fatherhood wasn’t for him after all.

Harry was kind. He’d offered assistance when she needed it, and she’d overcome her usual reluctance to accept help, and accepted, much to her own surprise. Because Harry didn’t make you feel like you weren’t up to par when he helped you. He didn’t make you feel like you weren’t good enough or that you were second rate or that you weren’t ‘managing’.