Page 63 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

The presenter gave a nervous laugh. ‘So where is the festival taking place?’

‘It’s in the primary school, and if any families want to come along during the day, there’ll be junior Scrabble games too, and other word games. There really is something for everyone. And the school canteen will be serving lunch and light refreshments so if people want to join us for the whole weekend, they can and we really hope they will.’

She sounded so warm and engaging. He pictured her again in the studio, her eyes bright with enthusiasm, and he wished he were there, could hug her afterwards, could tell her how brilliantly she’d done.

He remembered how it had felt to hold her in his arms, how good she’d smelled, how she’d nestled into him.. He was falling for her; he knew that. Had fallen already, perhaps. He wasn’t quite sure when that had happened. It had sneaked up on him. Initial attraction on their first date and, he liked to think, a spark between them. At least there had been till he’d wimped out of going down that hole.

Gaping Gill! If only, he thought for the umpteenth time, he hadn’t chosen Gaping Gill for their first date. Would they be together now if he hadn’t?

Perhaps. But at least he’d made a friend. And a good one at that. He really cared about Jo. This festival had to go well, for her sake, not his own. She’d put her heart and soul into organising this, and he couldn’t bear to think of how dejected she’d feel if the whole thing was a flop. Personally, he’d have been happy with a small, Saturday afternoon event to attract the children and parents crowd who wouldn’t normally come on a Friday evening. Then Jo had suggested the festival and it was such a good idea that he hadn’t had the heart to say no. They had both worked so hard to bring everything together – Jo especially – and it would be a crying shame if no-one turned up.

‘And is there a charge for admission?’ the presenter said, just as Rasmus’s phone began to ring.

He hastily muted the volume on his computer and picked up the phone.

‘Are you ready for your next patient, doctor?’ Jackie the receptionist said. ‘Only we don’t want you to be running late when you’ve got your Scrabble festival starting this evening, do we? You said you wanted to be away by five at the latest.’

‘Sure,’ he said. The interview would probably be over soon anyway. ‘Send them in.’

25

‘You were brilliant, Jo,’ said Ras. ‘I didn’t hear all of it, but I managed to catch some between patients.’

They were sitting in the staffroom of Hebbleswick Primary. In a little over an hour, the doors would open and the festival would begin.

It was a cosy staffroom: a couple of large, comfy sofas and a long dining table so the teachers could eat lunch together. Cheerful, motivational pictures hung round the walls with slogans – admittedly cheesy slogans like Failure is success in progress and Stay positive and good things will happen. Gemma would approve, Jo thought.

‘Was it really okay?’ Jo said. ‘I was so nervous. I know it’s only a small local station, but I was so worried I’d say the wrong thing. Or dry up completely.’

‘You were fabulous. Far better than I would have been.’

He patted her arm in a reassuring way. Not flirty. More the way he’d reassure an anxious patient. But nonetheless, she felt a frisson of excitement at his touch.

No, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. There’d been no big sign. She mustn’t let herself think of him like that.

‘Let’s hope loads of people heard your interview and decide to come along.’

Jo held up crossed fingers. Ras’s eyes were bright with excitement; she knew how much he wanted this festival to be successful, to draw in people from all over Hebbleswick and beyond, and foster that sense of community that he believed was so important to health and well-being. And, of course, they needed to make money for the school. Jo knew from things Sal had told her that educational budgets were tight these days and the fundraising efforts of the PTA made a real difference to lives of the children.

‘Now, where’s this final checklist you said we had to run through?’ said Ras.

Jo took out her Filofax and turned to the festival section. In forty-eight hours, she’d be removing this section completely and putting it in the recycling bin. What on earth would she do when the festival was over? There’d be nothing to plan and no excuse for seeing Ras several times a week.

She ran down the list, ticking everything off, as he peered over her shoulder.

‘You have such neat handwriting,’ he said as she crossed off the final item. ‘I’ve always had a bit of thing about women with neat handwriting.’

A thing about women with neat handwriting?

Was he flirting? Or making a joke?

She turned to look at him. Their eyes met, then the staffroom door opened suddenly and Mr Morgan appeared. They jumped apart guiltily; Jo felt as if she was seven years old again and had been caught doing something naughty at school.

‘Visitor for you, Jo,’ said Mr Morgan, and a familiar face poked out from behind him.

‘Gem,’ Jo said, standing up and rushing to hug her friend. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘No way was I going to miss this.’ Gemma beamed. ‘And you must be Ras. Aka Gaping Gill man.’