Page 94 of Fundamentals in Flirting

Throw me around and give me a clout, you’re likely to find me where the porn stars hang out. What am I?

Taking out an ancient, battered rugby ball hastily purchased from the charity shop in my lunch break, I glanced around the hallway, before placing it at the foot of the mirror where he’d told me how beautiful I was, just over a week ago. And stuck the next note in the centre of the reflective glass and over the pinched and nervous face staring back at me.

Superstition says I’m lucky for some, but perhaps not if you end up with thorns in your bum. What am I?

With Pluto’s rather twisted horseshoe in my hands, I was transported back to that fateful morning a few weeks ago. I’d been so shocked and mortified to see his face again, yet now couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day. It was so weird how things can change in the space of a heartbeat, how feelings can bloom out of supposedly nowhere. Looking around, I chose the handle of the kitchen door to hang the horseshoe on and stuck the next note above it.

A feline abscess burst up above, yet you didn’t pass out before the goddess of love. Who am I?

My confidence was still shaky, but I carried on into the kitchen, where I selected Aphrodite’s cone of shame, with my badly drawn cartoon of her face decorating the plastic shell. I placed it on the table with the next note tucked underneath.

Don’t be afraid, no need to cry, you’ll find me outside where the devil sheep lie. Where am I?

Outside in the bright, clear sunshine, I began to question again what the hell I was doing. Would this really work? Clara had been adamant and hugely enthusiastic, and even Henry had apparently approved of this insanity, if the excited text messages I’d received were anything to go by.

As I reached the shed, I selected the “I ♥ goats” keyring from the bag, a joke present for Teddy that I’d got when the sales rep from one of the drug companies had come in last week. I hung it on a small nail protruding from the door frame and attaching the next note on the door.

Who lies in wait? Are you sure you won’t hide? I am fearsome, I am terrible, but a softy inside. Who am I?

I pushed open the shed door to discover Agnes sitting in the pen. Her back was to me, and she looked so peaceful in the soft sunshine that illuminated the sleeping kids.

“Hello, Hannah, dear,” she said pleasantly without turning around. She carried on stroking the top of Deidre’s head as the goat quietly chewed her cud, her jaw working in a circular motion. It was strangely hypnotic.

“Hi, Agnes. How did you know it was me?”

“A sixth sense, perhaps? If you’re looking for Teddy, he’s not here.”

“I know.” Swivelling her head to look at me, I saw that the smile on her face was sad and tired. “Are you ok?”

“Oh yes, dear. Just not sleeping so well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I joined her on the straw bale and affectionately patted Deidre. “Any particular reason?”

“Not that I can fathom. It’s a right bugger getting old – I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s better than the alternative, right?”

“Right.”

Agnes’s eyes misted over a little, and I knew she was lost in her memories.

“I need your help with something.”

“Oh yes?”

I took a deep breath. “Teddy and I haven’t been honest with you, and I’m sorry about that.”

Her frail, bony hand covered mine, the crêpey skin over her knuckles translucent, paper-thin and fragile, but the firm squeeze she gave me hinted at the strength I knew she still possessed.

“We aren’t a couple, not really, but…”

“But you want to be?”

I nodded and looked at my feet, scuffing my toes in the straw.

“I do, at least.”

“It’s obvious that he does too.”

---