Page 62 of Love at First Sight

India knows all about what happened with Cal – and the ultimatum too. I spent this morning texting her updates when Dad was in the shower.

‘Hmmm,’ I grumble. ‘Well. I could never leave Henry, so.’

‘So …?’ India grumbles back, the unsaid being:So … what? You’re going to turn your back on this guy, then? Turn your back on Stray Kids?The grumble is her way of saying we should agree to disagree.

‘Anyway, I don’t listen to everything Ali dictates. Stray Kids is still happening, even if she doesn’t exactly know that. Let me piss her off with one thing at a time, okay?’

‘Would it piss her off to know we’re up to two hundred people on the mailing list now?’ India says.

‘Two hundred!’ Dad echoes. ‘Can you look after two hundred kids at once, Jessie?’

‘No!’ I cry. ‘India, I can’t have two hundred people on the list …’

India smiles. ‘Chill,’ she counsels. ‘Common marketing lore says a one per cent conversion rate is expected, a two per cent conversion rate a success. So that’s four kids, maybe eight if it’s two-child families. And that youcando.’

‘Okay,’ I say, breathing deep to try to bring my heart rate back down.

‘Even if the first sessions have a handful of kids in them,’ I continue, ‘hopefully it’ll be so good that those families will tell their friends, and we’ll work towards a bigger capacity sooner rather than later.’

‘Exactly!’ says India. We round the corner of Clissold Park and head for the bottom corner, to our spot. ‘Is everything on schedule?’ India asks. ‘Anything I should know? I was thinking that I don’t want to confirm the first session or open for booking until we’re absolutely certain of the launch day. I know we still have some outstanding paperwork.’

‘We do,’ I say. ‘But I’m expecting that via email any day now.’

‘Perfect. Okay. But I can’t stay. I’ve got a nail appointment in ten. Love you both!’

‘Love you!’ I reply, blowing her a kiss.

‘Bye, India!’ Dad says.

I see the back of Leo before I see what he’s done to the hut. I suppose I’m territorial already, because somebody being even close to our HQ sets off alarm bells, like they might be ruining it, somehow, or doing something they shouldn’t. But Leo hears us approach and turns around, a smile bursting from his face like water breaking a dam.

‘What do you think?’ he says, splaying his arms wide. He’s in workman’s gloves and a vest top with jeans and Timberland boots, so it takes a beat for me to look beyond him. But when I do? Wow.

The hut is now French Blue with a yellow door, and there’s a huge Stray Kids logo along the side. There’s a porch light, and Leo swings the door back – no longer rotting off its hinges – to reveal what lies beyond. The shinybrass knob turns easily in his hand; the matching hinges are totally squeak-free.

The inside is painted yellow too, and has deep shelves running along one wall into the corner, where clear plastic boxes sit, ready to be filled with equipment, toys and spare clothes. On the free wall is a painted window with an imagined view of what it would look like on the other side if it was real: a ‘view’ of the pond. Underneath is a thin shelf with mugs and a kettle, which appears to be plugged in.

‘How is there electricity?’ I say, stunned.

‘Generator!’ replies Leo, proudly.

‘Bloody hell, mate – did you do all this?’ my dad asks him, sounding as overcome as I feel.

‘Had a bit of help from the lads, but yeah,’ Leo says bashfully. ‘Great project deserves a great HQ hut, no?’

‘Leo,’ I say, taking it all in once more. ‘This is above and beyond. I had no idea you were thinking of doing …this.’

Leo looks at me, eyebrow crooked and lips pursed in amusement. ‘So you like it?’

‘Like it?’ I repeat. ‘I can’t believe it.’

And I burst into tears, hand over my mouth and then covering my face to hide my embarrassment.

‘These are happy tears, right?’ Leo says, reaching out to rub my back. ‘You’re okay?’

‘Yes, this is happy crying,’ I say, pulling him in for a big hug. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper into his neck. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

Leo hugs me back tightly and says, ‘Babe. Don’t mention it.’

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