He’s kissing me now. Urgently.
I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t work up the will to shag me if Arsenal lost. But if the team was riding high on the crest of a wave – well, lucky old me! In a similar way, Rufus is extremely passionate about the environment.
And when he pulls me into the bedroom and rips off my dressing gown, I can tell he’s had an astoundingly successful day rescuing trees.
*
The first time I saw Rufus, he was in vigorous form, compelling the wide-eyed attention of passers-by at my local shopping centre, handing out leaflets and passionate declarations under a banner that read: Stop Airport Expansion. It’s Just Plane Ignorant.
It was a Saturday morning in August and I was out shopping with my friend, Eliza.
She nudged me. ‘I need one of those leaflets. As a matter of urgency.’
‘Why?’ I shot her a look. ‘Are you intending to take all your clothes off and lie down on the runway?’
‘No, but I’d definitely lie down on him.’
I laughed and followed her gaze – and found myself transfixed.
It was his passion that got me.
He was practically roaring with fury at the injustice, slamming a leaflet with the back of his hand to emphasise the point. ‘We have to act before it’s too late! Did you know that aviation emissions are rising faster than in practically every other sector?’
We sidled over and a girl with long red hair, behind the little podium, passed a leaflet to Eliza, then one to me. But we were mesmerised by the main event. Two thirty-four-year-old adolescents with their tongues practically hanging out.
Suddenly, those furious dark eyes landed on me. ‘Guess how many people in the world actually get on a plane!’
I gulped. ‘What? Me?’ I glanced over my shoulder.
‘Yes. Go on. Guess! Give me a percentage.’
‘Er – fifty per cent?’
‘Wrong! It’s five per cent! That’s all. A measly five per cent! So the rich world produces the emissions but it’s the poor world that suffers most from the devastating effects of climate change. Where’s the fairness in that?’
I had to admit, he had a point. (And impressively broad shoulders.)
‘Are you interested in green issues?’ He moved closer to me and I flinched.
Yikes. Was I interested in green issues? Didn’t most people do their bit? I mean, I was fairly good about putting the right stuff in my recycling bin. And I sometimes reheated the previous night’s pizza and had it for breakfast. Did that count?
‘Er, yes, I am, actually. Passionately interested.’
Eliza snorted and turned it into a cough.
He was eyeballing me with great intensity, silently urging me to get all my environmental worries off my chest.
I glanced in desperation at the banner above his head.
‘Yes, I – erm – I say No! to airport expansion.’ I gave the air a feeble punch, which sadly was less hail the revolution and more what the hell was that? ‘No, I say! Because it quite obviously is an – erm – travesty of the highest order. I mean, really. Puh! Cuh!’
I turned to Eliza for help and she frowned in agreement.
Then we both nodded furiously, like a pair of Churchills desperate for a bone.
Rufus took me out to dinner that night, which made Eliza go all sulky on me. But I knew she wasn’t one to bear a grudge. And sure enough, next day she was on the phone pronto, demanding a blow-by-blow account and snorting with laughter at the unintended pun.
So I told her about Rufus picking me up at eight. And how he was obviously a little bit nervous because he talked non-stop, all the way to the restaurant, about the incredible anti-gas-guzzling properties of his brand new Prius.
Then I described how good it felt, staring deep into those dark, tortured eyes as he spoke about methane gas and cows’ farts and all manner of worrying things like that.
‘What does he do?’ Eliza asked. ‘Apart from single-handedly saving the planet.’
‘He – er – works for the council,’ I said, trying to dredge up the details. ‘He’s – um – spearheading a brand new initiative to improve recycling in the region.’
‘So he’s in charge of the bins, then.’
I let that pass. Definite whiff of sour grapes there.
No, Rufus was a man with fire in his belly. A man with a cause. A man who cared about the important stuff.
And I was finding that oh-so-sexy.
‘What did you eat? Details please.’
‘A posh burger. You know, with delicatessen cheese and exotic leaves dressed with truffle oil.’
‘Lovely.’
‘But I’m turning vegetarian.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Something Rufus said. Apparently for every hamburger that originated from cows grazing on rainforest land, fifty square feet of forest have been destroyed. Or something like that. I can’t remember the exact details, but I remember being shocked.’
That’s silenced her, I thought. I’d give her time to absorb the enormity of this dire situation.
‘Miranda.’ She sounded strangely calm. ‘We don’t have rainforest in Barnsley. Not the last time I looked, anyway.’
Might have known. Total ignorance when it came to ecological issues.
‘Eliza. That’s hardly the point.’
‘So what else did you talk about?’
‘Oh,’ I said airily. ‘This and that.’
Her scepticism was clear. Probably best not to tell her about the experiment Rufus was carrying out. He was endeavouring to shave precious minutes off his morning shower (for optimum energy savings) and we talked at length about the relative merits of using individual bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel, as opposed to combi-products that did the whole job in one but perhaps not quite as effectively.
His energy and enthusiasm were irresistible. I could have listened for hours.
‘And then?’
‘We went back to mine for coffee. His suggestion.’
‘And?’
I laughed. ‘Well, that’s what was really lovely. He wanted coffee.’
‘I know. You just said that. But what happened?’
‘Nothing happened. We drank our coffee, he popped up to the loft to look at my insulation and then he left.’
Which wasn’t strictly true.
At the door, he slipped his hands round my waist, pulled me to him and kissed me so thoroughly I had to hang onto the door frame for support when he moved away.
‘Thanks for a lovely night,’ he murmured.
One flash of a stomach-flipping smile and he was gone.
*
‘When we first met, you told me you were passionate about the environment.’
‘I was. I am!’
We’re