‘Two greens and a red,’ said Thea.
‘Well, I’ll be having the greens then,’ Saul said with exaggerated selflessness.
Thea sucked the red Opal Fruit and hummed. ‘Starburst,’ she said, ‘that’s what they’re called now. What a rubbish name for them.’
‘Opal Fruits,’ Saul sang the advert of old.
‘Made to make your mouth water,’ Thea sang back.
‘Er, would you like to go for a drink?’ Saul suggested.
Thea looked as if she might cry. ‘I shall never touch alcohol again,’ she declared, ‘even the term “hair of the dog” makes me feel nauseous.’
‘Why do Americans call it “norshus”?’ Saul pondered, unsure whether Thea had turned him down outright.
‘I don’t know,’ Thea mused, ‘norshus nauseous.’
‘But there again, why do they say “math” and “sports” and we say “maths” and “sport”?’ Saul digressed. ‘Anyway, how about I buy you some carbohydrates and protein cooked in a pan over a flame?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I was worried the term fry-up might make you nauseous or even norshus,’ Saul said, ‘but I can recommend a nice greasy sausage, two eggs slightly runny, a mound of chips, a squirt of brown sauce and a blob of red as an excellent cure for the common hangover.’ Thea groaned and paled visibly. Saul was amused but also disappointed. He quite fancied a cooked breakfast. Even at almost teatime.
‘Perhaps more sweeties?’ Thea suggested.
Saul regarded her and she regarded him straight back. She was accepting his advance. He’d struck lucky on Primrose Hill. Good God. ‘You’d like me to buy you some sweets?’ he verified. He looked at her. Those eyes aren’t watering, they’re sparkling, the minx. ‘Opal Fruits?’
‘Do you know what I’d really like? Refreshers! Do you remember them? They come in a roll, little fizzy things. Like compacted sherbet. If you chew a few at once, they fizz up and fill your mouth and bubble through your lips.’ And Thea settled further into his jacket, dipping her face so that the collar came over her nose. I can’t believe I’m being chatted up on Primrose Hill. ‘Anyway, that’s what I’d like: Refreshers.’
‘Can I trust you to sit still and not bugger off in my jacket?’ Saul asked. ‘It’s Armani.’
‘So you keep saying,’ said Thea. ‘Are you sure it’s not knock-off?’ and she scrutinized the cuffs suspiciously.
‘Fuck off,’ said Saul because he knew she’d stay. He headed off down the hill, thanking God for hangovers and for friends’ flats and for phones at 38,000 feet. As he walked back up Primrose Hill, a roll of Refreshers in his back pocket, her smile floated down to him.
‘Refreshers, milady,’ he announced, proffering them to her.
‘I only like the yellow and pink ones,’ she said.
‘Suck or crunch?’
‘Crunch.’
‘Me too.’
They crunched and hummed and stifled the burps that scoffing the entire packet in a matter of minutes created.
‘I’m thawing out now,’ Thea said, ‘and I ought to go home, I’m exhausted.’
‘Thea,’ Saul said, ‘take my jacket. Seriously. Every man should have one Sir Walter Ralegh moment in his life. Please allow me mine. My mum would be so proud.’
Thea giggled at the thought of this man rushing home: Mum! Mum! I was a gentleman today, I lent my jacket to a chilly waif. Do I get more pocket money? Can I stay up late? ‘But I’m fine,’ she continued gratefully, ‘my car is just over there.’
Saul shrugged and nodded. ‘Yeah, but if I lend you my jacket, you’ll have to return it,’ he concluded with a hopeful trump card. Thea glanced at him and knew she blushed. ‘Perhaps same place, same time, a week from now?’ he suggested, unfolding and folding the foil from the sweets.
‘OK,’ said Thea, thinking to herself how Alice’s mags would tell her to decline and play hard to get, or to suppress her grin for demure procrastination at the very least. But sod Alice’s magazines. ‘Same time, same place, next Sunday then,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Saul, smiling openly. He slid his hand into the jacket pocket, felt over and under Thea’s fingers and retrieved his keys. Then he pulled the zip down halfway and slipped his hand into the inner breast pocket, taking his mobile phone. He could feel Thea’s breath on his wrist as he pulled the zip up. He looked at her and thought he might suddenly find himself kissing her. But he shook hands with her formally instead.
‘Until next week, then,’ said Saul, standing.
‘Next week,’ Thea confirmed, making to move off.
‘By the way, where do you live?’ he asked.
‘Crouch End,’ she replied, walking off a step or two. ‘You?’
‘The West End, actually,’ he said, heading down the hill. ‘And what do you do?’
‘I’m a masseuse,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘You?’
‘I write.’
Saul spent Monday against a deadline for an article on the new generation iPods whilst trying not to be interrupted by engaging images of Thea. On Tuesday with no deadlines looming, Saul searched ‘massage north london’ on Google but was led to questionable sites he didn’t dare enter for fear of jinxing his PC with a sexually transmitted computer virus. By Wednesday, Saul thought sod it, it’s only a jacket and it was a freebie anyway. Thursday came and he strolled to Armani to check prices on leather jackets. Jesus, that Thea better show up with it. He filed his column for the Observer and accepted a commission from the Express magazine. Saul spent Friday daytime avoiding thinking about jackets and Thea and Primrose Hill, and wrote all day. He went out in the evening with friends and confided to one that he’d met a girl in a park who looked cold and sad and said she had a hangover so he’d lent her his Armani jacket.
‘The brown leather one?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You twat!’
On Saturday night, Ian Ashford invited Saul to meet Karen. And Karen had invited her friend Jo to meet Ian’s friend Saul. And Ian and Karen had also invited Angus and Anna so that Saul and Jo wouldn’t feel it was all a bit of a set-up. And dinner had been fun and Saul reckoned that if Fate was Friend not Foe, Thea would fit in well with his circle. And Jo was smitten and hoped Saul would phone her within the next few days.
Thea felt somewhat at a loss without Alice. Sally Stonehill was a close friend but Thea longed for Alice’s take on the situation, for the dozen scenarios good, bad and downright fanciful she’d hatch. Thea was appalled at herself for daring to quietly resent Alice – or Mark rather – for their inconveniently timed honeymoon. However, Sally delighted in Thea’s challenge and told her to return to Primrose Hill as arranged, but to hide behind a tree early and double-check Saul was worth handing back the gorgeous jacket. ‘But if he’s wearing black leather gloves – run,’ said Sally seriously. ‘Psycho.’
Sally’s husband Richard thought Saul sounded shady, with or without black leather gloves, and told Thea not to go. Richard reckoned Thea should give the jacket to him instead and put a lonely-hearts in Time Out if she was that desperate.
‘Or my mate Josh,’ Richard suggested, ‘he’s still single.’
‘I’m not that desperate,’ Thea declined, while Sally made throwing-up faces behind Richard.
On the Tuesday, Mark’s