said Saul, whether it was a good idea or not, ‘chilly, isn’t it.’ He couldn’t believe he’d chosen the weather as his opening gambit, but he was not in the habit of striking up conversation with a complete stranger, albeit an attractive woman who appeared intriguingly sorrowful. The only other thing he thought of saying was ‘nice view’, but he managed to resist.
Thea didn’t dare turn her head for fear of upsetting the fragile balance she’d achieved. Even glancing down the hill, five minutes before, had made her feel dizzy.
‘Look, excuse me for asking,’ Saul continued, ‘but are you all right?’ Fuck, now I sound like a bloody Samaritan.
‘Thanks,’ Thea mumbled, ‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ Saul said, though it would appear he was doing just that. She said nothing. She didn’t look at him. This was so not his style and yet on he rabbited, grimacing at himself for sounding like an insipid do-gooder. ‘I just don’t like to see people crying and shivering and alone on a cold November afternoon.’
Oh for fuck’s sake, thought Thea, can’t I just have my hangover in peace?
‘I’m fine, OK?’ she grumbled. ‘I have a sodding hangover. That’s all. Go and rescue souls somewhere else, please. The devil’s had mine and I’m a lost cause.’
Saul tipped his head back and laughed. ‘I take back all my sympathy then,’ he joshed. ‘I was going to offer you my jacket. But hey, it’s Armani. And anyway, your suffering is self-inflicted, enjoy!’
Carefully, Thea turned to regard the sartorial Samaritan. And she caught her breath. She had just discovered another component for Luckmore’s Elixir for the Over-Indulged. Fresh air. Nurofen. Primrose Hill altitude. And a rather handsome guardian angel. ‘Who are you? Some zealot Methodist?’ she sparred back.
Again the man laughed. ‘I’m Saul,’ he answered, extending his hand which, to his surprise, she took, ‘and Jesus Christ do you have the coldest hands. I can’t lead you to the Lord because I don’t know the way myself. Just take my damn jacket, would you?’
‘I’m Thea and if it’s all right with you, I will just have a quick go of your jacket.’ Saul placed his jacket around Thea’s shoulders. She thanked him with a slight smile that obviously caused her a little discomfort but was rewarding for him. ‘It was my best friend’s wedding yesterday. Champagne,’ she said by way of an explanation and shrugged.
‘And today you are resolving never to drink again,’ Saul said, knowingly.
‘Did you know they have telephones on planes,’ Thea marvelled. ‘Alice phoned me from 38,000 feet.’
‘Technology, hey!’ teased Saul, who’d made a few calls from even higher altitudes in his time.
‘Amazing,’ said Thea, earnestly.
‘Sit down,’ Saul said lightly, as if the park bench was his own for the offering. ‘You’ll find some Opal Fruits in my jacket pocket. They’ve changed the name to something else so if you’re decades younger than me you won’t know what an Opal Fruit is.’
‘I’m thirty-one,’ Thea said, sitting down gratefully, ‘and I only like the red or yellow ones.’
The sugar rush from the sweets worked wonders. She must patent this cure. Fresh air, Nurofen, Primrose Hill altitude, a handsome guardian angel bearing Opal Fruits. It worked – Thea found she could turn her head with ease. Saul sat beside her. She gladly zipped up his jacket and settled into it. It was soft brown leather, lined with something warm. ‘Gorgeous jacket,’ she said gratefully.
‘Don’t you run off with it,’ Saul cautioned, eyeing it as if regretting his generosity.
‘Yes yes, it’s Armani,’ said Thea. ‘Well, one thing’s for sure – I am not capable of running anywhere today.’
‘Are there any sweeties left?’ Saul asked and Thea delighted in his childish terminology.
‘Two greens and a red,’ said Thea.
‘Well, I’ll be having the greens then,’ Saul said with exaggerated selflessness.
Thea sucked the red Opal Fruit and hummed. ‘Starburst,’ she said, ‘that’s what they’re called now. What a rubbish name for them.’
‘Opal Fruits,’ Saul sang the advert of old.
‘Made to make your mouth water,’ Thea sang back.
‘Er, would you like to go for a drink?’ Saul suggested.
Thea looked as if she might cry. ‘I shall never touch alcohol again,’ she declared, ‘even the term “hair of the dog” makes me feel nauseous.’
‘Why do Americans call it “norshus”?’ Saul pondered, unsure whether Thea had turned him down outright.
‘I don’t know,’ Thea mused, ‘norshus nauseous.’
‘But there again, why do they say “math” and “sports” and we say “maths” and “sport”?’ Saul digressed. ‘Anyway, how about I buy you some carbohydrates and protein cooked in a pan over a flame?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I was worried the term fry-up might make you nauseous or even norshus,’ Saul said, ‘but I can recommend a nice greasy sausage, two eggs slightly runny, a mound of chips, a squirt of brown sauce and a blob of red as an excellent cure for the common hangover.’ Thea groaned and paled visibly. Saul was amused but also disappointed. He quite fancied a cooked breakfast. Even at almost teatime.
‘Perhaps more sweeties?’ Thea suggested.
Saul regarded her and she regarded him straight back. She was accepting his advance. He’d struck lucky on Primrose Hill. Good God. ‘You’d like me to buy you some sweets?’ he verified. He looked at her. Those eyes aren’t watering, they’re sparkling, the minx. ‘Opal Fruits?’
‘Do you know what I’d really like? Refreshers! Do you remember them? They come in a roll, little fizzy things. Like compacted sherbet. If you chew a few at once, they fizz up and fill your mouth and bubble through your lips.’ And Thea settled further into his jacket, dipping her face so that the collar came over her nose. I can’t believe I’m being chatted up on Primrose Hill. ‘Anyway, that’s what I’d like: Refreshers.’
‘Can I trust you to sit still and not bugger off in my jacket?’ Saul asked. ‘It’s Armani.’
‘So you keep saying,’ said Thea. ‘Are you sure it’s not knock-off?’ and she scrutinized the cuffs suspiciously.
‘Fuck off,’ said Saul because he knew she’d stay. He headed off down the hill, thanking God for hangovers and for friends’ flats and for phones at 38,000 feet. As he walked back up Primrose Hill, a roll of Refreshers in his back pocket, her smile floated down to him.
‘Refreshers, milady,’ he announced, proffering them to her.
‘I only like the yellow and pink ones,’ she said.
‘Suck or crunch?’
‘Crunch.’
‘Me too.’
They crunched and hummed and stifled the burps that scoffing the entire packet in a matter of minutes created.
‘I’m thawing out now,’ Thea said, ‘and I ought to go home, I’m exhausted.’
‘Thea,’ Saul said, ‘take my jacket. Seriously. Every man should have one Sir Walter Ralegh moment in his life. Please allow me mine. My mum would be so proud.’
Thea giggled at the thought of this man rushing home: Mum! Mum! I was a gentleman today, I lent my jacket to a chilly waif. Do I get more pocket money? Can I stay up late? ‘But I’m fine,’ she continued gratefully, ‘my car is just