Summer Holiday. Penny Smith

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      ‘Charity stuff, I suppose,’ Alex said smoothly, not revealing that he had had a nanny for most of his childhood. ‘And then she divorced my father when I was ten and married a man who was an idiot. Luckily, I get on well with Dad most of the time, and he got custody of me.’

      ‘Only child?’ empathised Miranda.

      He nodded. ‘You too?’

      ‘I spent my childhood wishing I was creative enough to have an imaginary friend.’

      He laughed. ‘I spent my childhood roaming round the est–countryside,’ he stumbled slightly, ‘un-damming streams, saving chicks that had fallen out of the nest, foraging for mushrooms.’

      ‘How idyllic. And did you always have hair like that?’ she asked.

      ‘It was an act of rebellion when I was about twenty-five. It’s quite fun creating dreadlocks. You have to put special wax in your hair and eventually it does it itself. I’m considering chopping them off.’

      ‘That would be a shame if you have to put so much effort into it. It must be like a big, comfy pillow when you sleep on it. And if you cut it off, you might end up on litter-picking duties instead of being given the big, butch equipment.’

      He looked confused for a second, then his brow cleared. ‘Oh, right. Samson and the hair. I get it. I do think it gives me an air of latent strength that would be sadly lacking if I had a short back and sides.’

      ‘You could have a long back and sides,’ she suggested.

      ‘Which would be what it is now.’

      ‘No,’ she corrected. ‘You’d have long back and sides and a short top. Which is an unusual look, but one you could possibly pull off.’

      ‘Hmm. Like a mad monk.’

      ‘And with the dreadlocks, do you have to avoid getting water on them?’

      ‘Only if you want to have scurf up to your ears and get a great itch going on. You wash your hair as often as most people. But unlike your lustrous locks, I merely let them dry naturally. And occasionally shape them into dogs, squirrels or swans.’

      ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Like balloon animals. You could wake up of a morning and decide to go on safari.’

      ‘Is that how you’d like to wake up, an animal on your head?’

      ‘I could say I’m just “lion” here! I do look like a lion’s sat on my head sometimes. I have to get the water buffalo in to lick me into shape. It’s a jungle out there in Notting Hill.’

      He laughed. ‘So, you’re divorced with two children and you live in Notting Hill?’

      ‘Correct.’

      ‘You do good deeds at weekends?’

      ‘Erm … correct?’ she essayed, with a slightly guilty expression.

      ‘You did a good deed last weekend?’

      ‘Correct.’

      ‘And your favourite colour is green?’

      ‘No, I don’t really have a favourite colour. Do people really have favourite colours?’

      ‘I have absolutely no idea. Particularly not when you’ve got to our age. I was sort of being ironic. I was saying you loved green as in ecologically.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said briefly. She had been startled by ‘our age’. Strictly speaking, they were the same generation, she supposed. And they were technically on a date, she supposed. So she should stop worrying about the age difference … she supposed.

      ‘What do you get up to, then, when you’re not tidying canals?’

      ‘I have endless lunches and go shopping. I have manicures, pedicures, massages and hair-dos. I do charity work with children and animals and, in my spare time, I dabble with world peace and global warming and make small soft moccasins for millipedes,’ she said gaily.

      ‘Phew,’ he said, taking a sip of the wine that had been poured. ‘I’m surprised you managed to find a hole in your busy schedule to have dinner with me.’

      ‘There’s a half-finished pile of slippers at home,’ she pronounced.

      ‘Is it a rush order?’

      ‘It’s imperative they’re finished by the weekend. There’s a hoe-down.’

      ‘Is that generally what you say when people ask you what you do?’

      Miranda thought back through the evenings with the Nigel-clones. ‘If I do, they usually say’ – she put on a Queen Mother accent – ‘“No, but, really, what do you do?’’’

      ‘All right,’ he said, ‘but, really, what do you do?’ he asked her, in an even higher voice.

      ‘Oh, you have disappointed me. I was hoping you were going to come up with something more interesting than that,’ she said, with a properly disappointed expression.

      ‘I’m genuinely interested in what Ms Miranda Blake gets up to,’ he said. ‘Like, what did you do today?’

      ‘Weeell,’ she said slowly, trying to decide whether to lie or not. ‘Actually I did go shopping, but couldn’t find what I was looking for. I organised a plumber because I’ve got a leak – that’s L-E-A-K, not L-E-E-K. Cleaned a bit at home. A rather boring day, all in all. You?’

      ‘Essentially spent the day talking to my dad and dealing with a few bits and pieces here and there.’ He was always a little cagey, having been targeted by gold-diggers for most of his life.

      ‘What a dull pair we are.’ She sighed, picking up some fried seaweed with her chopsticks. She wished it was the meat sizzling at the next table, which smelt heavenly.

      ‘Yes. It’s amazing we find anything to talk about, isn’t it?’ His smile belied the statement.

      ‘In reality, I do what many women in my position do when they suddenly find that, after years of being everyone’s skivvy, they’re beholden to no one. They run around trying to find something to do. Hence the canal. And I’m trying to sort out a job, or it’ll be out to the scullery after dinner for a spot of washing-up.’

      ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ said Alex. ‘I’m sure I could sell some of your caterpillar carpet slippers. This area’s ripe for them.’

      ‘Moccasins for millipedes. They wouldn’t fit caterpillars,’ she corrected.

      As successive dishes came, the conversation flitted from one topic to another until eventually Alex asked for the bill.

      Miranda reached for her purse and took out her credit card.

      ‘Thanks, but I’ll do this,’ said Alex, handing his card to the waiter, without even checking the amount.

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