The Songbird and the Soldier. Wendy Jones Lou

about writing to you and was basically a bit crap when he was around anyway, with a dark brooding horny Adonis who thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread? And you are hesitating because…?”

      “You’re probably right, I know. But what if Dean really is in the back of beyond? What sort of a woman would that make me?”

      Kate took a big swig of her drink. “You’re thinking way too much about this. Just go with it. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not exactly life or death. I say screw Dean and go with Andy.”

      “Put so eloquently, now I see perfectly what I need to do.” Sam sagged. “Oh, why are men so complicated?”

      “They’re not. They’re very simple. It’s basic science, Sam. Effort equals results. Andy is the one making all the effort. He should be the one getting the result.”

      “You were awake in Science class. I’m impressed.”

      Kate thumped her playfully.

      “Still,” said Sam, “it would be nice to know, one way or the other.”

      When Sam did eventually write back she felt it was important to maintain a holding position of friendliness. Not dismissive enough so as to put him off, but nor should she give him any reason to hope. She crafted her letter very carefully, giving herself more time to think, but still keeping the lines of communication open between them.

       Dear Andy,

       Great news: I have found a house. I put an offer in on a little terraced house a week or so ago and it has been accepted. It is all systems go at the moment, so keep your fingers crossed that it all goes well. I’m hoping I can move in over half term week. Mum and Dad will probably hold a party to celebrate finally getting rid of me – not really! I think Mum will secretly be sad to see me go. Who will she cluck over when I’m gone? Dad? I’m not sure he’s ready for that.

       So, my own place? Wow. All it will have in it is a beanbag, a dog and a laptop, but it will be all mine. I think I may have to do a lot of shopping over the next few weeks, don’t you?

       Now, Rumplestiltskin, about that middle name. Is it Timothy? Sheldon? Sturgis? Ooo, I know, Rupert? I’m not giving up on this, you know.

       Write when you can,

       Sam

       PS Kate has heard from Spike and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Thank you.

      She checked through the letter again to make sure nothing could be construed as suggestive. No, it was fine, not too cool and she had stuck to safe topics. She called Humphrey over and tickled him under the chin. His stubby little tail wagged happily. “Walk, Humph?” she asked. She carried him down the stairs and walked out up the road, stopping briefly at the post box along the way.

      On Sunday night, Kate rang. Apparently she had walked in on her mother having a chat with Mrs Fletcher, her next-door neighbour and she had asked if there was any news from Dean. His mother had said he was fine and seemed to be in good spirits.

      “But how could she know?” Sam asked.

      “I know. So I asked her, just for interest, how often she gets to hear from him and you’ll never guess what? He only writes every week. And I’m afraid she also mentioned meeting his girlfriend in town the other day.”

      Sam was silent. How could he? He hadn’t even had the decency to break up with her. She was hurt. No, she was angry.

      “Look, Sam, I’m sorry, but I always said he was no good. At least now you know you can forget about him and get nice and friendly with Andy. Guilt free.”

      Sam heaved a big sigh. “What is it with men and me, Kate?”

      “Oh, you’re just one in a long line of girls that have been taken in by that one, I’m sure of it. Cheer up, you’re free.”

      Sam swapped ears and paused. “Hang on a minute. But that also means that Andy lied to me about Dean.”

      This time it was Kate’s turn to come unstuck. “I guess.”

      “Oh bloody men! Bugger them all, that’s what I say.” Humphrey whimpered in his bed. “Not you, Humph. You’re lovely,” she called across her room and patted her lap and Humphrey happily obliged.

      “Give me five minutes. I’m coming over,” said Kate.

      Kate arrived soon after and gave Sam a big hug. “Come on, let’s put some music on and stick pins in a Plasticine man.”

      “I haven’t got any Plasticine,” Sam said.

      “Call yourself a teacher? You’ve got to have some Plasticine somewhere?”

      “Yes. At school.”

      “Oh well, we’ll improvise.” Kate searched around Sam’s room for inspiration and started looking through her music collection. Various sounds of dismay and disbelief were uttered as she sifted through the stack of CDs. “At last. This’ll have to do. At least it’s recent and not miserable to listen to,” she said and she popped on some Pussycat Dolls. Kate jumped up and started singing along with the tunes. “Come on. Up you get!” she said and dragged Sam reluctantly to her feet.