“What’s that?”
“Let’s see if you’ve still got it in you,” I tease, strolling toward the grass. “Unless your acting prowess isn’t what it once was. You did say it was a taxing role, lying down and becoming the piece of straw.”
“Please.” He catches up with me. “Natural talent doesn’t fade with time. But it was a summer performance and the grass was dry. The stage is looking a bit muddy.”
“You’re such a townie.”
“Whoa,” he says indignantly, grabbing my arm. “I’m a country boy at heart, I’ll have you know.”
He strides into the middle of the village green and, glancing quickly around, I assume to make sure no one he knows is nearby, he dramatically flops onto the grass, straightening out and closing his eyes.
“I don’t know,” I say, grinning broadly at him. “I’m getting more of a stick vibe, or maybe a hay stalk, than a piece of straw.”
“Duh.” He opens one eye. “That’s because I’m not in costume.”
“I see. Well, in that case, three out of five stars.”
“What? Only three stars?” He raises himself up onto his elbows. “Tough crowd.”
“I deducted points for the speech. Last time I checked, straw didn’t talk. I thought you were a method actor.”
“You were talking tome,” he argues, before gesturing at the grass next to him. “Come on, then, if you’re such a professional, you give it a try. Unless you’re too much of a city girl to get your clothes a bit muddy.”
“Fine. Behold.”
Grateful at least to have on a black coat but wishing I’d borrowed one of the old wax jackets hanging in their boot room instead of heading out in my smart one, I lie down next to him, making sure my hair is resting on a good bit of grass with as little mud as possible, then lay my hands by my sides, closing my eyes. After a few seconds of silence, I open my eyes to see him watching me, looking unimpressed.
“Terrible effort,” he states, lying down again. “I wasn’t persuaded in the least.”
I smile and clasp my hands on my stomach, looking up at the blue sky, not one cloud in sight. “It’s idyllic here,” I say, closing my eyes. “I can’t believe the weather. I love days like this, when it’s crisp and sunny at the same time. Great holiday weather for nice country walks and cozy pubs.”
“Better thanwarmand sunny holiday weather?”
“Yeah, I reckon so. I burn, so I’m not really one for beaches.”
“Bet you get freckles too,” he says, and I can hear by the way he says it that he’s smiling.
“Loads. My face turns into one giant freckle.”
“I think freckles are cute.”
“When I was little, I really wanted freckles so I drew them on with a pen,” I recall, giggling at the memory. “I thought it looked so real but I must have looked ridiculous because I did it withbiro. I can’t believe Mum and Dad let me go into school with blue spots all over my face. So embarrassing.”
“I’ll tell you what’s embarrassing. When I was about seven, we went on holiday and I met a Welsh boy about my age. He was so cool and we got on really well, and I loved his accent. So I decided I was going to be Welsh. Apparently, I came home talking in the weirdest accent and claiming it was completely natural.”
“You thought you could get away with it?”
“For two days. My family still teases me about that—even Cordelia, though I know she was much too young to remember. Doesn’t stop her claiming she can.”
“But you guys are close, right? Have you always been?”
“We fought alotwhen we were younger, but we grew out of it. Yeah, we’re very close. Especially since… Well, we’ve been through a lot together. I’m way too protective of her.” He pauses. “Have you got any siblings?”
“No, only child. Are you two competitive?” I ask, turning my head to look at him, careful to keep the conversation away from me.
“Horribly. You can imagine the fights when Cordelia loses any kind of game. Which most of the time she does,” he adds smugly. “Every Christmas we play Monopoly as a family and I always beat her.”
“You play Monopoly at Christmas?” I ask, laughing.
