Chapter 22

“Could you and I ever just be friends?”

“Will, I have a Mrs Nugent on the line.”

Amy? thought Will. It can’t be. It was Wednesday morning and the second day of June.

“Put her through please, Dot.”

A click on the line indicated the call had been transferred. Will took a deep breath. “Mrs Nugent, how can I help you?”

“Mrs Nugent? That’s a bit formal, don’t you think, William?”

“Amy, I ... I wasn’t sure it was you.”

“How many Mrs Nugents do you know?”

“Until last weekend, none. What can I do for you, Amy?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch.”

“With you?”

“Of course with me.”

“Well, I ... I don’t know. What about John?”

“He’s not invited.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant, William. Don’t fuss. It’s just lunch between friends. We are still friends, aren’t we?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Good. So, say twelve-thirty?”

“Sure, why not? Where? I know a little place by the office.”

“Why don’t you come over? I’ll cook you something nice. Let me give you the address.”

The long term weather forecasts hinted at a long hot summer—possibly the hottest on record—punctuated by periodic violent storms. Will had the air conditioning on in his R8 as he drove to Walminster, but despite the clear blue sky and relentless sun, he could sense one of those storms approaching. The air felt oppressive and heavy. A storm would freshen things up.

There was one car on the driveway when he pulled up outside the address Amy had given him. It was a quaint little farmhouse cottage at the end of a terrace of six. Will knew of the Arnoldwood area because he had some clients there, although he’d never actually been before. It was one of the newest parts of Walminster so the cottage couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but he noticed many of the houses on the estate were designed to look a lot older and more traditional than other recent housing developments he’d seen. He guessed the cottage would have fake ceiling beams in the ground floor rooms. Amy opened the door before Will had walked even halfway up the drive. She ran out to meet him and almost knocked him off his feet when she launched herself at him.

Will hugged her back but felt the display of affection was going on a little too long. “Amy, the neighbours might see.”

“Don’t care. Not my neighbours.”

He gently, but firmly, pushed her away. “What do you mean?”

“This is Lizzie’s house. She let me use it.” She took his puzzled expression and said, “What? You didn’t think I’d invite you around to mine, did you? John would go mad if he found out. Come on, let’s go inside.”

She took him by the hand and led him into the cottage. The front door opened onto the lounge which, as Will had predicted, had fake beams on the ceiling and also a large fireplace in which Will pictured a cosy, roaring log fire in winter. Amy led him through the lounge and into the kitchen-diner at the rear of the house. She waved a hand at the table to the left of the room, indicating that he should sit down. Then she went to the cooker, where a saucepan was on the hob.

“I made your favourite,” she said.

“My favourite?”

“Yeah.” She removed the saucepan and tipped some of the contents onto two slices of toast on a plate then tipped the rest onto the toast on a second plate. She carried the plates over and put one in front of him.

“Beans on toast?”

She shrugged. “Okay, so I don’t know if it’s your favourite or not. But do you remember the last time I made beans on toast for us?”

Will searched his memory. “Wasn’t it...? God. It was the first time we...” He blushed.

She grinned. “Yeah. It was.” She sat next to him at the round table, her back to the kitchen. “Tuck in,” she said with a wink.

He gave her his best smile, picked up his cutlery and started eating. “Hmm, this is ... I couldn’t tell you the last time I had beans on toast. This takes me back.”

“Well, that was the general idea.”

He chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just remembered what you said to me that day we ... You know.”

“What did I say?”

“You said that baked beans had lots of energy in them, and I was going to need all the energy I could get.”

“If I remember right, you were plenty energetic enough.”

“So were you.” He caught her eye and held her gaze. He hadn’t expected to feel this comfortable with her. He hadn’t expected to have this type of conversation with her. It was as if they’d never been apart. He hadn’t felt this comfortable since he’d been with his ex-wife. No, that was wrong. He’d never been this comfortable with Lynn. She’d have never made him beans on toast and casually talked about the first time they’d had sex as if it was the most normal topic in the world for a lunchtime conversation.