The sun's streaming in and she's covered in sun. There's sun all over her legs and her hair's shining.

When we get to the park, I realise I've not got a rug. We've got nothing to sit on. I tell her and she laughs.

'Isn't sitting on the hot gra.s.s the best thing about a picnic?'

'Yeah, you're right.'

We find a spot beside the pond, right near where the ducks are. She sits with her legs tucked under her b.u.m and I sit cross-legged. She's taller than me like this, so I move my legs under. It's not long before my knees hurt.

'If it starts raining,' she says, 'how long does it take to get the roof back on a car like this?'

'The lid on the Mercedes is back on in less than a minute,' I say. 'About forty seconds.'

'That's fast. It's like something from James Bond.'

'Do you like those films?'

'I haven't seen From Russia with Love yet, but I liked Dr No. Have you read the books?'

The chat flows easily and I don't even lie to her and tell her I've read the books. I tell her I hardly ever read and she seems not to mind.

She's put her hand down on the gra.s.s so the ants can walk over her fingers.

'You like ants,' I say.

'Yeah. They tickle.'

I get a crumb and put it on her hand and we wait. We watch an ant pick up the crumb and carry it all the way down her thumb, back onto the gra.s.s. We both smile and I'm not nervous. I'm as calm as I got to be after me and Sarah had been on two dates and this is only the first. It turns out Georgia hates beetroot but loves cake and she eats half of my vanilla slice as well as her own. I ask her how she stays so thin and she tells me it's because she only sleeps five hours. We talk about insomnia and lots of other things. We talk for about half an hour and there's no awkwardness.

I ask to look at her watch and when I move in closer and have hold of her wrist, I don't let go right away. She doesn't stop me holding her, doesn't stop me from touching her skin, but she doesn't encourage me either, and as soon as I move in a bit closer she takes her hand away and starts tidying up the wrappings, puts all the napkins inside the paper bag.

'I hope you won't be cross with me,' she says, 'but I've got to get back.'

'It's not even been an hour yet.'

'I couldn't get extra time,' she says. 'Mich.e.l.le's got to leave at one.'

'Why?'

'I didn't ask her.'

'Do you want me to drive you back now?'

'If that's all right.'

She offers to give me money for the picnic and I refuse it.

There's more easy chat on the way back to the cafe and she looks happy. She goes on smiling at me and she laughs at my jokes and she seems to be having a good time. Maybe she wanted to stay longer like me. Maybe next time she'll let me kiss her.

'Drop me outside the p.a.w.n shop,' she says.

I pull over and when I stop the engine she stops smiling. It's as though she's worried I plan to stay here and make a move, but I was only going to get out and open the door for her.

Instead I turn the key in the ignition and the engine starts up.

She opens the door, smiles again.

'I've had a really nice time,' she says. 'I'm sorry I have to rush off.'

'That's okay.'

'Let's have another picnic,' she says. 'When I can get more time off.'

'All right,' I say. 'That'd be good.'

I stay parked by the side of the road and wait for her to turn round and wave at me. She doesn't.

I take the car back to the garage and park it out front, leave the keys in the ignition, honk the horn loud and sharp to let them know it's back, then catch the bus home.

I pay no attention to anything on the bus, couldn't tell you how many people got on or off, what the driver looked like. Nothing.

There are no keys on the hooks. I go up to my room, put my toolkit under the bed, change into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and lie on the bed for a bit of a rest.

The pipes in the wall are groaning again.

I go down to talk to Bridget about the fact that Welkin's leaving his tap running.

She doesn't answer when I knock. She's on the phone.

I knock again when she's finished, but still she doesn't answer. I try the door, but it's locked.

I go back up to my room and sit at the table, open the window and look out at the sea.

Bridget's coming up the stairs. I know it's her and not Welkin because she uses the banister and it creaks when she leans on it halfway up.

I rush to straighten the bedclothes and put my shoes on.

She knocks.

I open the door.

'h.e.l.lo.'

'I forget to tell you,' she says. 'I talked to Ian last night about your alarm clock.'

'Yeah?'

'He said it's about time the three of us had a drink together.'

'Yeah?'

'He'd like to meet in the sitting room tonight. And he wants to apologise and he'd like us to have a drink and he's going to bring some Cuban cigars.'

'Tonight?'

'Yes. What do you think?'

I like the idea of sitting with Bridget, that's for sure, and I wouldn't mind hearing his apology, wouldn't mind knowing what the h.e.l.l he thinks he's playing at.

'All right,' I say. 'That sounds good to me.'

'Eight o'clock then? In the sitting room?'

'Yeah.'

'Good,' she says. 'That's good.'

She turns and goes.

I eat dinner alone. Bridget's made me a fish pie.

She comes in right after I've eaten the last mouthful.

'How was it?'

'The best fish pie I've ever had.'

'I caught the fish myself,' she says.

I laugh.

'I'm not joking,' she says. 'I went out this morning at five.'

'In your boat?'

'Good grief, no. Mine won't be built for another six months or so.'

'Is yours a fishing boat?'

'It's a sailing boat.'

I nod.

'A twelve-foot, gaff-rigged sloop,' she says.

I don't know what a sloop is.

'That's a small boat?'

'But it's going to be a beauty.'

'Can I see it?'

'In the shed you mean?'

She thinks on it.

'You could come with me after breakfast on Sunday.'

I might have Georgia with me then. I've been thinking I could go to the cafe tomorrow night and ask her out for a drink. On Sunday morning we might want to stay in my room all cosy under the blankets after I've brought her up her breakfast.

'So, will you come?' says Bridget.

I suppose I could see Georgia on Sunday night. She might prefer that, might prefer it if I wait a while before asking her out again.

'Okay,' I say. 'Thanks.'

She picks up my dirty plate.

'Don't forget to be in the sitting room at eight,' she says.

I have a rest after dinner then wash and change into my best clothes.

At eight, I go to the sitting room.

I'm the first to arrive.

I open the window and sit in the armchair closest to the fireplace.

Bridget comes in.

'Good evening, Patrick.'

'h.e.l.lo.'

'I like your blue shirt,' she says. 'You look dashing.'

She's wearing a knee-length black dress and high-heeled brown boots with pointy toes.

'Thank you,' I say. 'You look dashing too.

' She smiles. 'Shall I open the brandy now?'

'Good idea,' I say.

She looks at the clock, then goes to the cabinet.

'That dress suits you,' I say.