Page 49 of Love at First Sight

‘You never ring me, either,’ I say. ‘Let’s not forget this is a two-way street.’

‘Nonsense,’ he replies, and I can hear his smile stretch down the phone. ‘The next move was yours to make. I made India promise me that, remember?’

He’s on speakerphone, India pretending to send out a newsletter blast but quite obviously eavesdropping, from the way she nibbles on the bottom of her lip to stop herself from smiling.

I take a beat to get over feeling flustered. I know that’s how Leo gets his kicks. One must respond with matronly strength, I think, in order to put naughty boys in their place.

‘I’m calling for use of your hands,’ I say, as seriously as I can. ‘For Stray Kids.’

‘Name your time and place. And my hands are all yours.’

‘The small park at the bottom of Clissold Park. We’ll be there later, if you’re about. Come give the job a look over with us? There’s a hut I need transforming into Stray Kids HQ.’

‘I’ll bring my tape measure,’ he says, and I grin, shaking my head before hanging up.

‘I’m obsessed with him,’ India says.

We’re meeting Health and Safety at half past four – Henry is at Thom’s tonight – but India and I have come down to the park early with our laptops and a blanket so we can tether the internet off our phones and keep working.

‘I’m going to pay you, you know, for all this,’ I say, as we finalise an order for high-vis jackets for volunteers to wear when they’re with us, complete with the simple but sublime Stray Kids logo India knocked up herself for the website. It’s blocky, in-yer-face, and does the job. A professional designer isn’t in the budget, and I kind of love that she did it.

‘No, you won’t,’ India replies, waving a hand. ‘I won’t accept it. I meant what I said: this is a freebie, and it’s my way of giving back to the community.’

‘Fine. But I’ll pick up the tab at the pub after we open.’

‘Oh,’ she laughs. ‘That I can agree to.’

Leo saunters down the path, hair bristling slightly in the breeze, white vest under an open white linen shirt, with matching linen shorts. He looks like an actual model.I wave, and when he reaches us he pulls a tape measure out of his crossbody bag and says: ‘Where do I start?’

‘I’m going to finish mocking up the outdoor banners,’ India says to me. ‘Is that okay?’

I nod. ‘Thank you,’ I say, and then to Leo: ‘Right this way, sir. I have about fifteen minutes before Hackney Health and Safety are due to show.’

‘Let’s make the fifteen minutes count, then,’ he says, following me.

I show Leo the space where the kids will ‘roam free’, explain the boundaries of the park and take him to the hut. It’s not big, maybe two metres by three, and doesn’t have any windows. The wood around the door frame is rotten and there’s a weird smell, but Leo takes one look and says, ‘Well this is going to be perfect with a bit of love, innit?’

‘You think so?’ I ask. ‘We’ll need to store equipment – the odd thing for the kids but also all the banners and signs, stuff like that – and I was hoping for extra warmth, somehow? I can paint it, but the door frame …’

I trail off, because Leo has taken off his shirt and folded it on top of his bag and sunglasses, just off to the side of where we’re stood. He gets out a notebook and pencil and starts muttering to himself.

‘I’ll just take some measurements,’ he says, and I step back and hold out an arm as if to sayplease, be my guest.

I watch as he measures this and jots down that, obviously seeing potential I don’t. I check the time, so I know to keep a lookout for the Health and Safety woman, and right as my phone is in my hand, Cal rings.

‘Cal, I’m in the middle of a recce for Stray Kids, I can’t really talk right now,’ I say, without the usual hello.

‘Look behind you,’ he says, and I spin around. He’s stood at the opposite end of the park, hand held up in a wave, grinning. I hang up and walk over to him, heart beating and palms clammy. He undoes me. He just does. I ache with the potential of it all – and the sorrow of knowing it will never happen.

‘I’m kind of busy,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’ I keep darting my eyes over to the entrance of the park, so I’m ready to make a good impression on whoever shows up to inspect me.

‘It’s me,’ Cal says. ‘I’m the inspector.’

I scrunch up my face. What a weird thing to say; what a stupid joke to make.

‘No, seriously,’ he says, and that’s when he hands me his badge marked ‘Hackney Council’, with an unflattering headshot and his name printed on.

‘You work for the Health and Safety department?’ I say. He nods. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me that?’

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