Margot nodded. ‘Thought you’d never ask.’
‘Might even be able to throw in a sausage sandwich,’ Will said, guiding Margot by the elbow and Blossom by the lead, into the shop. ‘Let’s drop Blossom off first.’
33
Margot
Will stepped through into the back room where Mary was making up a bouquet. Her movements were quick and efficient as she entwined roses with laurel and eucalyptus, but her hands stilled as soon as she saw them.
‘I expected you back ages ago,’ she scolded. ‘And now here’s Margot all ready for your afternoon walk. You always walk on the Heath on Saturdays, don’t you?’
Margot felt Will tense up. ‘Change of plans, Mary,’ she said easily. ‘We met at Ally Pally and already had our big Saturday walk. We’re shattered.’
‘Blossom hasn’t even had her breakfast yet,’ Mary said in shocked tones. But for the first time ever, Blossom rejected food in favour of climbing into the elevated dog bed (a purchase that Mary had been very conscientious about clearing with Margot first) heaped with fleecy blankets, curling herself into a small ball, and promptly falling asleep.
‘You’ve worn her out,’ Mary lamented as Will and Margot left the shop. ‘Poor thing’s exhausted.’
‘She’s not the only one.’ Margot slumped against the wall as Will unlocked the door that led up to his flat. ‘I’ve experienced all the emotions this morning. Every single one of them.’
‘I’d offer to carry you up the stairs, but I’m exhausted too,’ Will said with a ghost of a smile. He held out his arms. ‘Happy to give it the old college try.’
‘You really would have a hernia,’ Margot said, shaking her head as Will gestured at the stairs. She was all about the body positivity, but now all the drama had abated she was painfully aware that she was in her yoga pants, which she never ever wore out of the house. Sweaty Betty might claim that they were bum sculpting, but they were also bum exposing, and no way was she going to subject Will to the sight of that as she climbed up to his flat. ‘Gentlemen first.’
Actually, it worked out rather well, because Will’s long legs and firm arse were very pleasing to her eyes. Which wasn’t the reason why Margot was bright red by the time they reached the top. No, that was because she’d done a yoga workout, endured two very stressful, upsetting hours in Ally Pally park, and then had to climb stairs.
‘Shall I hang up your jacket?’ Will asked, but Margot burrowed into her hoodie. Now she was also remembering what was underneath it: a vest with gaping armholes, gaping neckline and underneath that a sports bra that did sterling work when it came to supporting but was quite possibly the most unattractive item of clothing Margot had ever possessed.
‘I’m all right,’ Margot insisted as Will hung his own jacket up on a hook in the hall, put his keys down on a narrow sideboard then gave Margot a brief but assessing glance, which made her toes curl up in her trainers.
‘You look hot,’ he said, and Margot savoured those three words for approximately three seconds. ‘I mean temperature hot.’ And she was done savouring. ‘I have normal tea, or I might be able to dig around and find a chamomile teabag in a drawer.’
‘You make the chamomile sound so appetising, but I’ll have regular tea with a splash, and I mean just a splash, of milk, please,’ Margot said, stepping into the large open-plan living space. ‘Wow, looks quite different in here.’
The minimalist décor was minimalist no more. There was a large Persian rug in the seating area, its red hues picked up in the cushions and the throws (three throws!) on the once pristine L-shaped white sofa. Like her own flat, there was dog-related debris all over the place. From a half-chewed pig ear taking pride of place in the centre of the room, to assorted tennis balls in varying stages of destruction and several deflated corpses of stuffed toys.
There were few things Blossom enjoyed more than murdering a small stuffed animal from the pound shop. She’d rip its seams and scatter its synthetic filling to the four corners of the room to get to its squeaker and destroy it. Then she’d indignantly resist any attempts to dispose of her kill trophies. As Margot stepped over the remains of a small purple elephant, she could see that Will had similar issues.
‘Having a dog and a pared back aesthetic really wasn’t working,’ Will admitted as he filled up the kettle. ‘Are you hungry?’
Margot contemplated her thighs. ‘Starving. You said something about a sausage sandwich.’
Will smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I did. Sit down, make yourself at home.’
There was nothing Margot would have liked more than to collapse on the sofa, a red velvet cushion under her head, but instead she walked over to where Will was surveying the contents of his fridge and hauled herself up on one of the stools arranged around an island, which separated the kitchen area from the rest of the space.
She watched Will cut slices from a granary loaf and pop them in the toaster, crack eggs into a cup, then prod the sausages now sizzling in a pan on the hob.
Margot had rarely seen Will so comfortable in his own skin. There was always something restless, almost nervous about him, so that she often worried that she was the one making him restless and nervous. It was quite the revelation that he had this other side to him.
‘Ketchup or brown sauce?’ he asked, as he expertly slid a fried egg, its yolk golden and just the right side of runny, onto the sausages lined up on a piece of toast.
‘Neither.’
Will brandished his spatula at her, an incredulous expression on his face. ‘You don’t do condiments? What kind of a monster are you?’
‘Condiments would only interfere with the integrity of the egg yolk.’
Will shook his head as he placed the second piece of toast on the side of the plate and handed it to Margot.
Making her a sausage and egg sandwich was the nicest thing anyone had done for Margot in ages. Will plonked down a packet of butter and took the stool next to her, so his leg brushed against hers as he picked up his own sandwich. This low-level flirting was lovely. ‘I suppose I should have a butter dish but needing a butter dish isn’t something that’s ever come up before.’
‘I don’t have a butter dish either,’ Margot said, as she carefully manoeuvred the sandwich to her mouth so that the sausages didn’t make a bid for freedom, and bit into it.
They ate mostly in silence apart from a few appreciative murmurs. It felt very intimate, despite Margot’s greasy fingers and the egg yolk that dribbled down her chin.
‘You missed a bit,’ Will said, as she dabbed it with a piece of kitchen roll, and touched his own greasy finger to the spot. Her thighs quivered from that inconsequential, incidental touch. Though, truthfully, parts of her had been quivering ever since Will had declared that any man would be lucky to have her.
But all too soon it was over: the world’s best sausage sandwich, the flirtatious mood. Will abruptly scraped his stool back to remove their empty plates.
‘Do you want another cup of tea?’ he asked over his shoulder as he opened the dishwasher.
Margot really should be going. She had so much to do today. Laundry, cleaning, taking her fancy boots in to the cobblers . . . ‘I’d love one, thanks.’