Strawberries at Wimbledon

She turned her head slowly. ‘Adam.’

‘Hello, Ray,’ he grinned, using the nickname he’d adopted after they’d started sleeping together. ‘How are you? It’s been ages.’

How long had he been sat there? ‘Yes. Four years, nearly five.’ Fab, now it looked like she’d been counting. Which she hadn’t. ‘Good thanks,’ she gulped, unable to believe it was really him, within touching distance, and how different but the same he looked. So grown up, with shorter brown hair, much broader shoulders and laughter lines scrunching up the corners of his pale blue eyes. Was it just the baking sun making her hot and dizzy? ‘You?’ she squeaked uncharacte‌ristically, ignoring the smirk on Lily’s face. A few deep breaths helped secure some sanity.

‘Excellent.’ He nodded at the court as the players came on wearing their whites, the English guy wearing a sweatband round his forehead, the Spanish contender looking cool and unaffected by the high temperature. ‘We should catch up after the match.’ Adam’s voice lowered and he touched her shoulder briefly, fingertips burning her bare skin. His glance swept past her. ‘Lily.’ He nodded and smiled. ‘Everything okay with you?’

Lily craned her head around and returned his smile, eyes warm. They’d always got on well at uni. ‘Good thanks, Adam. Hello,’ she added to his companion, her smile growing.

‘Sorry.’ Adam gestured to the younger, strawberry-blond guy beside him. ‘This is Flynn, my intern.’

Rayne was surprised by his use of the word. Intern was so American and Adam had always been so British. Maybe travelling abroad had changed him. And intern for what? Not that she cared.

‘Hi,’ Flynn waved slightly, a dimple flashing, staring admiringly at Lily’s English Rose beauty.

Adam and Rayne exchanged a bemused look. At uni they’d protected Lily together. There’d always been men trailing around after her, and she’d been pretty naïve about some of their motives. More than once, while Rayne had chatted to Lily about being careful and not falling for guys too easily, Adam had taken those guys aside and warned them to treat Lily well. To only pursue her if their intentions didn’t involve bedding and then dumping her. He was old-fashioned like that. Gallant. She’d always loved that about him. It was unusual for an eighteen year old guy, but a product of his upbringing. An upbringing that’d come between them more than once.

‘It’s starting.’ Adam gazed at her, and whispered huskily, as one of the Umpires’ signalled first serve and the crowd edged forward on their seats with an expectant hush.

‘It is.’ Rayne turned to face forward. She didn’t like the fact it felt like they were talking about more than the battle to be played out on the striped lawn.

It had never been a battle with Adam, except for their last few weeks together. The majority of their relationship had been easy, playful and happy. So, so happy.

He’d turned up at her room a few days after they’d met, two mugs of tea in his hands, holding one out when she answered.

‘Hey, Nineteen. I thought you might drink this one? Three sugars, right?’

She stepped back and leaned against the door, amused. ‘You mean it’s not the same one you made the other day?’

‘Well…I can’t deny I didn’t consider trying it, after the way you ran out on me, but on balance I figured that giving you food poisoning from off milk wouldn’t be very clever.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ he said solemnly, ‘this set of halls isn’t that big and since I’ve noticed I’m the only one you’ve really talked to, I thought they’d easily trace the crime back to me.’

‘Really?’ She grinned and took the mug off him, surprised at how much better she’d felt the past few days. She’d been immersing herself in classes, making friends with a lovely but quiet fellow classmate called Lily and sharing a quick coffee with some louder but equally nice girls – Frankie and Zoe – who were studying different degrees but in the same halls. Getting a decent night’s sleep for the first time in months and drinking less alcohol was also helping. ‘Thanks.’ She wrapped her hands around the mug, nodding for him to come into the narrow room. ‘That’s the only reason you wouldn’t force-feed me old tea? Because of the fear of getting caught?’

‘Yes. That’s the only reason.’ His eyes met hers then fell away, and he sat down in the flimsy black chair on wheels that sat in front of her desk. ‘I guess you haven’t got any coasters,’ grabbing a spare piece of paper, he put his tea on it beside her laptop. ‘Great job unpacking by the way,’ he arched an eyebrow, looking at the two boxes with clothes, make-up and other stuff spilling out of them stacked up against the bare wall. It made the room feel impossibly cramped. There was a restrained energy about the way he studied her belongings that made her think he was itching to get up and start sorting it all out, but was too polite to.

She shrugged one shoulder, setting her mug down on the floor. ‘It’ll get done when it gets done. And you’re wrong, you know,’ she said, sinking down on the edge of her messy bed, loose vest top riding up her stomach as she stretched. She’d not long woken up. Her first lecture didn’t start until after lunchtime.

‘About what?’ his gaze flickered over her legs in the tiny pyjama shorts she wore, her knees no more than six inches from his.

‘You’re not the only one I’ve spoken to. Lily and I have been hanging out quite a lot.’

‘Lily?’

She rolled her eyes at his puzzled look. ‘Come on, don’t act as if you haven’t noticed her. The daintily gorgeous blonde three doors up.’

‘Oh, her.’ He grinned. ‘She’s very pretty and seems sweet, but she’s not my type.’

‘Is that so?’ she drawled, scooting back across the covers so she could lean against the wall. The plaster was cool against her back, but it felt good to have something solid to lean against. For too long she’d felt like she was falling through air.

‘She’s too much like some of the girls back home,’ he replied solemnly. ‘Wholesome. Well-bred.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It would be like fancying my little sister, Belinda.’

She laughed, ‘I see. But still, what’s wrong with wholesome and well-bred?’ She paused, ‘God, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard someone use that phrase in real life. Who are you, the Lord of the Manor or something?’

A shadow chased its way across his face but he shook his head and smiled easily. ‘Not quite. You can blame my mum. She’s very well spoken. Likes to host lots of social events, work tirelessly for deserving causes and generally hold everyone around her up to very high standards.’

‘Sounds like a heap of fun,’ she mused, matching his determinedly light tone. ‘So where are you from?’ she asked curiously, leaning forward over the edge of the bed to grab her tea, aware as she sat up and his eyes flickered from her top back to her face she’d flashed him accidentally. She suppressed a smile, fighting to keep a straight face. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Or maybe he thought she was hot too. That would be interesting. Even though she’d decided the other day she should stay away, there was something about him she found endearing and attractive. The flutters in her belly made it feel like she was starting an exciting, new game. ‘And what is your type?’

‘Buckinghamshire. And I’ll let you know when I find it.’

‘Right.’ Not her, then. She took a mouthful of scalding tea, his last comment not just taking a few points off her but throwing her out of the whole match.

‘So,’ he stretched his arms behind his head, muscles bunching under his jumper, ‘now that you’ve decided I’m not trying to poison you,’ he nodded at the mug as she took another warming gulp, ‘and you’ve let me sit in your room, do I get to know your name?’

She let out a long suffering sigh, shaking her head in pretend sorrow. ‘It’s all take, take, take with you men isn’t it? You bring me tea and immediately want something in return. You want to know all my secrets.’

‘I’m starting to think your name’s a national secret,’ he retorted, ‘what’s the matter, are you ashamed of it or something?’ Dropping his arms he sat forward in the chair, eyes sparkling. ‘Is it really embarrassing? What is it? Come on, it can’t be that bad, as long as it’s not…Griselda?’ he guessed.

She shook her head solemnly. ‘Nope.’

‘Gertrude? Ermintrude? No, I’m not sure that’s even a name.’

‘Neither of those, and actually, I think she was the talking cow off The Magic Roundabout,’ she laughed.

‘Oh, that was a bit before my time.’

‘My parents still had a video recorder when I was growing up, and that was one of the box sets.’

‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘I give up then. Quasimodo?’

She spluttered tea over her quilt, setting the mug down on the carpet and clutching her side as she giggled. When she recovered, she wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, thanks a lot! So, that’s what you think of me!’