Page 51 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

‘I know,’ said Ras. ‘We could play Scrabble.’

‘Ha ha. Obviously, it has to involve Scrabble, but it needs something more. Something that’ll generate interest. Create a bit of a splash.’

‘Hmm. Tell you what… let’s think about it over some dinner. I didn’t have time for lunch today and I can’t think on an empty stomach. My place?’

*

Ras’s place turned out to be the top floor of a mill, now converted into apartments. Its huge windows overlooked the canal, the old mill chimney and the cobbled streets of Hebbleswick, all set against the spectacular backdrop of the Pennines. It was sparsely furnished – ‘I’ve not been here long,’ he said apologetically – but had all the essentials: a comfy (unstained) sofa in a vibrant shade of teal, a huge, copper-coloured floor lamp for reading and a table big enough for a Scrabble board.

Ras rustled up tortellini and a side salad, poured them each a glass of chilled white wine, and they ate in the kitchen, sitting on bar stools.

‘This is delicious,’ said Jo. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, it’s not quite that little trattoria in Florence that I mentioned in our first texts,’ he said, ‘but I do make a decent bowl of pasta, if I say so myself.’

Jo smiled at the mention of their early messages. Perhaps we’ll go there together one day, he had said. That seemed vanishingly unlikely, given that he hadn’t asked her for a second date.

As he cleared the plates away, Jo got out her Filofax.

‘We’ve tons to do, Ras,’ she said. ‘I thought first…’

‘I think first, we should have a game of Scrabble,’ he said. ‘Relax. We’ve plenty of time.’

‘We only have a few months.’

‘That’s plenty of time,’ he repeated. He leaned over and took her Filofax from her, smiling as he glanced down at the long to-do list on the open page before closing it gently. ‘Let’s go and sit on the sofa and I’ll set up the board on the coffee table.’

*

Jo and Ras played Scrabble all evening – they each won one game – and didn’t do a great deal of festival planning, so they agreed to meet again the following evening. This time, Ras cooked them a simple supper of pan-fried salmon, but again, as soon as dinner was over and he’d put their plates in the dishwasher, he got out the Scrabble box again.

‘What about the festival?’ Jo had said, opening her Filofax.

‘Just one game. It’s like mindfulness meditation,’ he said, handing her the bag so she could draw her letter tiles. ‘Helps me let go of the stresses and strains of the day and clears my mind, ready for whatever festival questions you’re going to throw at me.’

Of course, once again, one game led to another and they managed very little festival planning, so Ras invited Jo over the following evening. Once again, he prepared dinner for her – quesadillas – but Jo insisted that the Scrabble box remained on the shelf. Instead, she took out her Filofax and ran through her very long festival to-do list with him.

‘I’m having coffee with Kate in Essendale on Saturday morning and I’ll ask her if she’ll help with the marketing,’ said Jo, ‘and I’ve a meeting with the chair of the PTA tomorrow before Scrabble club to go through everything and work out who’s doing what.’

‘That all sounds fantastic. What can I do?’ Ras’s eyes twinkled at her across the table. The awkwardness of first-date Ras had disappeared now. The last three evenings had felt easy. As easy as evenings with Gemma when Jo had shared that flat with her in Castlefield; they’d cook together most nights, chat about their day and watch box sets on TV.

‘If we could come up with a poster design this evening,’ said Jo, ‘then perhaps you could print some out and we could ask the Scrabble club members to start putting them up.’

‘Sure.’ He opened up his laptop. ‘Now what do we want? Hebbleswick Scrabble Festival spelled out in Scrabble tiles?’

‘Perfect. And a picture of the town. The dates. My email address so people can message for further information. I could put my mobile number…’

‘Best not. You might be inundated with calls.’

Jo sighed. ‘Or not. Maybe no-one will be interested.’

‘I have a good feeling about this,’ said Ras. ‘Now how about this photo?’

He’d opened a shot of the town that must have been taken from high up – possibly from Hazel Lane, in fact – with the rows of stone terraces zigzagging up the hillsides, and the little town nestling below. You could see the canal with its brightly coloured narrowboats, the church spire and the mill chimney too.

‘That’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Add that on. And the times as well as the dates.’

He tapped away at the keyboard, moving the image around till it was positioned in the perfect place, deftly adding the dates and times, and experimenting with different fonts to see which made the most impact. He knew his way around a computer, Jo thought, remembering how her first impression of him had been that he looked like he worked in IT. Unkind of her, she thought. True, he was a little geeky, but he was also kind and warm and…