Page 43 of Fundamentals in Flirting

“Asleep, in bed, the whole time. Why don’t we take you home?” The low, calm tone of his voice sent goose pimples flitting across my skin.

Agnes looked a bit melty and nodded, then inclined her head in my direction.

“You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s only gone and dyed her hair. Silly sausage, isn’t she?”

“A very silly sausage indeed,” Teddy agreed, eyebrow arched as he glanced over.

“Although it suits her, doesn’t it? Makes her look pretty, don’t you think?” Agnes was gazing at me thoughtfully and I blushed under her scrutiny. I wished my hair was down so I could shelter behind it and hide my face from any further inspection, lest they start to notice and comment on my many imperfections.

“Oh yes, she’s very pretty. Really quite beautiful, in fact.” Teddy’s voice was raspy and had a toe-curlingly seductive quality to it. It was official – I was done for. I swayed towards him, but as quickly as the moment came it was gone, and he turned back towards Agnes. “She can help us get you home and tucked back into bed, can’t she?”

Agnes tutted at me. “I wish you two would get married already. He needs someone to take care of him. And I’d like an excuse to buy a new hat.”

Teddy laughed, threading Agnes’s arm into the crook of his elbow. “Come along now. If I married Hannah, how would I be able to look after you? She’s very demanding!”

“Tell me about it!”

They chuckled good-naturedly and Teddy led her just a few hundred metres down the country lane past The Old Rectory. We arrived at her small thatched cottage, set back from the road behind a beautiful garden alive with the humming of insects and the scent of honeysuckle.

The faded and peeling blue front door stood open and there was a winding dog rose trained around the frame that was swaying in the breeze, thorns hooking my T-shirt as I brushed past and into the gloomy interior. Where I promptly barrelled straight into Teddy’s stationary form, crushing my nose painfully into the firm muscles between his shoulder blades. He reached backwards to steady me, clutching at my hand and squeezing my digits tightly.

“Shit, Hannah. Look at this place,” he whispered.

Agnes continued on ahead, winding her way down the corridor, artfully avoiding the heaps of belongings that covered nearly all the available floorspace, while we stared incredulously about us. The house was packed to the rafters with stuff. Every available nook and cranny was crammed with knick-knacks, every shelf and cupboard overflowing with odds and ends, while sheets of paper and envelopes littered the floor like autumn leaves. Every tread of the stairs was piled precariously with things, and as the floorboards creaked beneath our feet, a tinkling of crockery came from teetering skyscrapers of boxes all around.

Teddy met my eye, and I shook my head in disbelief.

“What should we do?”

“What can we do? It’s her choice to live this way.” I shrugged, feeling helpless.

“But she’s obviously struggling to cope,” he said.

Before I could answer, Agnes called from somewhere deep inside the house, its Aladdin’s cave interior muffling her voice.

“Come on, you two. Let’s have a cup of tea.”

We found her in the kitchen, and she gestured to a small cleared area at the 1980s-style yellow Formica table. She was busy shuffling crockery to make space on the work surface and an ancient kettle began to whistle noisily on an old gas hob. I hesitantly took a seat on the end of a bench, pushing a carrier bag full of brand-new washing up sponges to the side to make room, while Teddy leant against the countertop, his head almost touching the low, sagging ceiling.

“Now, why are you here, at this time in the morning? I’m sure you have much better things to be doing than stopping by to see this batty old woman?”

The usual clarity and shrewd intelligence was back in her eyes, and there was no hint of the dazed and confused person we had encountered in the car park.

“We just wanted to check on our favourite neighbour, that’s all,” Teddy said kindly, reaching into the fridge and passing her the milk.

“Well, aren’t you just a sweetheart? You should hold on to him, Hannah.”

“That’s what I keep telling her, Agnes, but I’m not sure she agrees.”

“What a silly sausage!”

“Very.” He levelled an unbearably smug smirk at me.

“Who’s Frank?” I asked quietly, and she froze momentarily.

“He was my husband, but he was killed in action when he was in the army.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Agnes.”

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