Page 51 of The Art of Loving You

‘I’m an idiot,’ I said.

‘Are you okay?’ a male voice answered. There was a nanosecond when I unfeasibly thought it was Jack but then a shadow fell over me. I looked up, shielding my eyes. Nerves jumping around my belly.Once strangers were just people I hadn’t met but after Jack being mugged they were something to be wary of.

Feared.

‘I’m fine.’ My tone was clipped.

‘You didn’t sound it.’

He made no move to leave. ‘I was just wishing I’d brought a drink,’ I offered him as an explanation. ‘The sun’s given me a blinding headache.’

‘There’s a Co-op not far from here.’

‘I know. I didn’t bring my purse.’

‘I could—’

‘No. I … I don’t know you.’

‘I’m Noah,’ he said reminding me of the joke about the ark on the vicar’s mug. Perhaps this man had been sent to save me.

‘I’m Libby. I don’t suppose you have a phone I could use please? It’s a local call.’

He handed me his mobile but I didn’t know who to call. I was loath to ring Alice, she’d already taken so much time off work: Mum too. I couldn’t remember anyone else’s number. I would have to walk home but it must have taken me at least an hour and a half to get here. I needed to hydrate.

‘Actually, if you’ve a pound I could borrow instead please?’ I stood, swaying as the world began to spin. He caught my elbow.

‘Let’s get you sitting down. Can you make it to that bench over there?’ He pointed to a seat in the shade. We walked, me unsteadily, until I sank down onto the hard slats adorned with the brass plaque proclaiming ‘Frank loved this place’.

‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

While he was gone I gazed out across the emerald fields, placing one hand on my scalp, feeling the heat still in my hair.

‘You should always wear a sun hat. Gail Everest’s granddaughter – the one who likes those creamy meringues – went out without one and her brain got so hot she couldn’t remember the alphabet,’ Mum would have said, had she been here. Perhaps, sometimes, she was right.

The man returned and sat next to me, handing me a bottle of orange Lucozade. ‘Here. It’s what Mum always gave me and my sister Bethany when we weren’t feeling quite right.’ He also offered me a box of paracetamol. I pushed out two tablets and popped them into my mouth, washed them down with the syrupy sweet liquid. On his arm, a tattoo, the name Beth inside a heart. They must be as close as me and Alice.

‘Thanks.’ I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘I haven’t drunk this in years.’

‘Me neither. Beth said it gave her super powers. She’d run up the stairs and slide down the bannisters, pretending she could fly.’

‘That would be the sugar then.’

‘Yeah.’ He put the top back on his bottle. ‘I believed her though. Thought my big sister could do anything. She really was my hero.’

‘But not any more?’

‘She … she’s not here now. She’s … gone.’

There was sadness in his voice. Of course, he was visiting a grave. Nobody came here for fun.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. It was a good few years ago,’ he said.

‘That doesn’t make it okay,’ I said.

‘No. It doesn’t.’

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