Poppet

High Street

AJ ONLY HAS to wait for ten minutes, feeling like a stalker or a nervous teenager outside the girls’ school gates, before Melanie appears at the off-licence, same as last night. He loiters outside, watching her speak to the sales assistant. Nodding. Concentrating on putting her pin number in the terminal.

Moments later she emerges, the long sleeves of her blouse peeking out of her raincoat, bouncing with each step. She is so close, almost two metres away, when she sees him.

‘Oh no,’ she groans, bringing herself up short. ‘You caught me again.’

‘It’s not what it looks like – I wasn’t following you. I always do my shopping here.’

She smiles tiredly. ‘Well, this isn’t what it looks like either.’ She opens her carrier bag and shows him two cartons of orange juice. ‘To go with the vodka at home.’

AJ peers up at the darkening sky, then over at his car, then up and down the street. He wishes he knew which angle it is that makes him look like Presley because he’d adopt it right this second. Instead he says:

‘Vodka has its limitations, in my humble opinion. I wonder if you’ve ever ventured into the wild-and-woolly world of cider drinking.’

‘Wild and woolly?’

‘Yes – we’re, uh, tree huggers. Most of us have beards and wear Fair Isles – I’m the exception to the rule.’ He nods up the street to the old pub, beloved of the local cider connoisseurs. ‘But if you did ever want to risk the hairy element – that would be the place to start.’

She turns and glances over her shoulder at the pub. She stares at it for a long time. His heart sinks – she’s formulating a way to say no. But when she turns back she’s smiling. She puts a hand over her eyes to shield it from the overhead street light so she can meet his gaze.

‘I dunno,’ she says. ‘You sure I’m not a little overdressed?’