Page 73 of Summer at Harbour View House
Ben lifted a paper bag he had set down by his feet. ‘I got wine. And Lizzie lent me a couple of DVDs from the pub’s collection. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a selection.’
He held out the bag for Natasha to look inside.
‘Four Weddings and a Funeral, National Geographic: Secrets of the Lost Incas, Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers….’ Natasha looked up. ‘We can definitely work with what we have here. Don’t get too excited about dinner. I’m afraid I’ve been single too long.’ Did I just say that? ‘I’m … ah, not used to cooking for more than one person.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I’m good with a can of soup and a couple of slices of bread.’
Natasha grinned. ‘Awesome. Because that’s exactly what we have … except that I planned to toast the bread. And there are a few tomatoes I found in the garden, and a bag of popcorn.’
Ben spread his arms. ‘A feast,’ he said. ‘Let’s get started.’
The evening passed with more calming, peaceful charm than Natasha could have hoped for. Despite having enjoyed a far more illustrious career than she had, Ben seemed intent on knowing everything about her, to the point where on one occasion she actually stopped midway through an extended monologue of complaints about her mother and sister to ask if he minded her carrying on. He didn’t, and she did, until twenty minutes later, she felt like she had finally laid all her familial frustrations out on the table. Ben, however, rather than hiding in the toilet, falling asleep, or escaping through an open window, seemed genuinely interested, and as soon as she was finished he began to make a list of points in which she could perhaps improve her relationship with her family, not only proving that a) he had been listening, but b) that he cared.
It was like a dream come true.s
Dinner was a piecemeal effort, but as they chatted easily over soup, bread, and a few snacks from the cupboard, Natasha found herself warming even more to the huge, bulky surfer who by all stereotypes should have been like a pretty flower on the outside, but a dead lawn on the inside. Practical rather than full of inane information, it was obvious that the need to think clearly when facing down a mountainside of moving water had permeated into Ben’s everyday life, to the point where he rarely speculated over anything. Everything he said was direct, accurate, and to the point.
With dinner over, both were getting a little tipsy from the wine, and Natasha felt there was a very real possibility that they might find themselves spending more time looking at each other as they snuggled on the sofa than looking at whichever of the DVDs they put on. As they headed to the living room with the last of the wine and the bag of popcorn, however, the doorbell rang.
‘We can ignore it,’ Ben said.
The bell rang again.
‘No, really, we can,’ Ben said.
The bell rang again, and this time it continued for about ten seconds before it stopped.
‘I don’t think they’re going away,’ Natasha said. ‘It’s probably a delivery for Hannah or something. Let’s just sort it and get back to where we were.’
She opened the door. ‘Where do I sign…?’ she begun, only for the words to fall off her lips like people jumping into the sea.
The man standing on the doorstep wore a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and jet-black hair hung perfectly straight to his shoulders, where it curved slightly inwards. With so little of his face visible, he could have been ageless were it not for the lines around his mouth.
‘A question I usually find myself asking,’ the man said, in a quiet voice, little more than a whisper.
‘Ah, hello?’
Perhaps afraid she was about to be kidnapped, Ben came and put an arm around Natasha’s shoulders.
‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ he asked.
The man looked him up and down. ‘The years have been kind, Ed. And the surgery has taken years off you.’ He glanced at Natasha. ‘I see you have taken yourself a younger woman. Commendable.’
Natasha smiled. ‘Ah, you wouldn’t be The Curve by any chance?’
The man nodded. ‘I heard someone was planning on playing my songs.’
‘Ah, you want 14A, next door. This is 14B. Come on, we’ll take you over.’
The man nodded. He looked up at Ben again. ‘I didn’t think that could be you, Ed,’ he said. ‘The surgery, maybe. But you were far too lazy to spend much time in a gym.’
Ben just nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he said.
Natasha and Ben put on some shoes then led The Curve back down to the road, where a black car waited. Another man sat in the driver’s seat, similarly attired, except that only one side of his hair curled inwards. The other ran dead straight.
‘My acquaintance, The Crescent,’ The Curve said. ‘From my solo touring band.’
‘Charmed,’ The Crescent said, giving Natasha and Ben a nod.
