‘He’s dying of cancer.’
‘So was Pastor Mike at our local church. Then the prayers of the townsfolk worked and he made a miraculous recovery. The next thing we knew, Pastor Mike left his wife of thirty years and ran off with the schoolmistress. People can get better, and then you never know what they’ll do. It makes them reckless. Is he a good-looking chap, this one?’
Benny said, ‘Well, he’s pretty sick. But I suppose . . . yes.’
‘There you are then. Don’t be complacent. You can’t guarantee he’s gonna die.’
And mad as it was, it had been this last warning that had prompted him to act. Because people did sometimes make astonishing recoveries from serious illnesses, and if anyone was capable of springing a surprise like that, it was Red Mason, with his quick wit, dry humour and that irrepressible twinkle in his eyes.
Benny continued on down the lane. At least he knew, because Rosa had mentioned it in passing yesterday, that Red would be over at Hillcrest today, keeping an eye on things whilst the new kitchen was installed.
Outside Frog Cottage, he paused to catch his breath. The kitchen windows were open, birds were chirping in the trees and he could hear Rosa happily singing along to Robbie Williams whilst dishes clattered in the sink.
OK, let’s do this.
To make sure everything went according to plan, he switched off his phone. Being interrupted by a call from Ingrid to fix a date when she could collect the remainder of her belongings was the last thing he needed.
Now he just had to hope that the radio DJ would play something half decent next.
Rosa was scrubbing away at her oval glass casserole dish and swinging her hips along to Robbie Williams when there was a tap at the front door. Holding her sudsy arms up, she went to open it.
Her heart lifted when she saw it was Benny. ‘Hello! What brings you here today?’
‘No reason, I just happened to be passing.’
She laughed, because it was fast becoming their in-joke.
‘Come on through, I’m just finishing the washing-up. There’s beer in the fridge if you fancy one. We can sit out in the garden as soon as I’m done.’
Benny followed her into the kitchen, where Robbie Williams had finished and the presenter was now burbling on about budgie-smugglers. ‘Thanks, a beer would be great.’
She plunged her hands back into the sink and decided to be brave. ‘I was telling Layla about the arboretum and how gorgeous it was.’ She glanced over her shoulder and saw him wince slightly. Raising her voice to be heard above 50 Cent’s latest release, she said, ‘Oh, sorry, was it boring for you? Did you not enjoy it?’
‘No, no, I did.’ He nodded rapidly. ‘It was great. In fact, if you’re free this Sunday, there’s a country fair over in Frampton on Severn. If you think you might fancy heading over there, checking it out. With me, I mean. Not on your own.’
‘Brilliant!’ Rosa flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you.’ Oh dear, her crush on Benny was growing by the day. She loved his company and had the sense that he enjoyed spending time with her too, but the prospect of making a fool of herself and thinking he liked her more than he did was terrifying. She was so out of practice she’d completely lost the knack of tentatively building a new relationship. And Benny had made no moves of his own, so did that mean he liked her just as a friend?
They continued to chat about the country fair. When the washing-up was done, they leaned against the worktops and opened their bottles of lager. On the radio, 50 Cent gave way to the news and weather, then the DJ played an old Sex Pistols track and Rosa heard Benny give a sigh of irritation.
She said, ‘Is something wrong?’ and saw him shake his head. It was as if he was waiting for something that wasn’t happening.
The next moment it came to her. As Benny gazed out of the window and Johnny Rotten screamed and bellowed his way through the track, realisation hit her like a brick and the sense of relief was overwhelming. Wanting to laugh, she heard herself say, ‘Is it the music you don’t like? You can change to another station if you want.’
He looked at her, evidently unsure as to whether she was saying it because she knew. Returning his gaze, Rosa gave him a tiny encouraging nod. Benny crossed to the radio on the window ledge. When he began pressing buttons, she noticed that his hand was trembling.
The strains of a military band came blasting out, making them both jump.
‘Maybe not,’ Rosa murmured.
He pressed again, reaching Classic FM. Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ was playing. The last time Rosa had heard it was at her father’s funeral.
‘No.’ She shook her head again.
Benny had another go. Silently she prayed it would be third time lucky. Elgar was replaced by . . .
A medical phone-in, oh joy. A man was saying earnestly, ‘The thing is, Doctor, I want to wear open sandals but the fungus is just so—’
‘We don’t want to know,’ Rosa blurted out as the button was hastily pressed again.
‘This isn’t going to plan at all.’ Benny was shaking his head, starting to smile. ‘Story of my life. Every time I try to do something, you can guarantee it’ll go wrong.’
‘And now,’ said the DJ, taking pity on them at last, ‘here’s one of my mum’s favourite tracks. “The Winner Takes It All”!’
The familiar opening bars filled the kitchen and Benny’s sigh of relief matched her own. He said, ‘I thought he was never going to play anything decent.’
Rosa felt herself relax. ‘And now he has. Thank God for Abba.’
He held out his arms, the tension broken. ‘Would you care to . . .?’
A smile was spreading unstoppably across her face. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Benny reached for her, and for the next three minutes they danced together in the kitchen. His hands were around her waist, hers were on his shoulders, and maybe they weren’t the best dancers in the world but it didn’t matter, they were having the best time and that was the important thing.
When the song came to an end, Benny said in a low voice, ‘I know I’m not your Joe, but I’d always be up for a bit of kitchen dancing with you.’
Rosa’s heart was racing in a way she’d thought it would never race again. He was a lovely man, nice-looking but not off-puttingly handsome, with untidy hair, a cheerful smile and a bit of a belly. Since her own stomach was also on the rounded side, she was glad of this. They might not be model-perfect, but they were middle-aged and normal.
And being normal was fine.
‘It doesn’t just have to happen in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘There’s garden dancing too.’
‘I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks getting to know you.’ He seemed to be searching her face for clues, still anxious in case he might be overstepping the mark.
‘Same.’ To reassure him that he wasn’t, Rosa found herself smiling and nodding and moving imperceptibly closer. It was going to happen; he was about to kiss her, and she was able to admit to herself at last that this was something she’d been wanting to happen for ages.
And now he was moving closer too, oh so slowly, and at any second his mouth and hers would make contact . . . Oh, she couldn’t wait—
DRRRINNNGGGG went the doorbell, and they both froze.