‘No.’ Lizzie winces at the thought of confession.

‘Well, I hope you do come back to education. We need more great teachers.’

‘I could be awful!’ Lizzie’s not flirting, but she’s not not flirting either.

‘Impossible. I teach Lenny, remember? He’s the smartest kid I know.’

‘Thank you.’ Lizzie clings to his words as reassurance she’s doing the right thing. Proof she’s a good mum. Who needs a dad when you can read and write? she thinks sarcastically. ‘I have to force him to do that stuff. All he wants to do is play football.’

Luke stuffs his wrappers back into his lunch box (Star Wars) and stands up, brushing lettuce off his jeans and stretching, arms out at his sides, like the windmill behind him. ‘Well, my team play at the park on Sunday mornings. I’d be happy to hang about afterwards and have a kickabout with him. I’m in charge of the nets and cones so we can use them.’ He flushes and says, ‘I wasn’t, you know, showing off when I said that.’

This is where not not flirting gets you, Lizzie thinks, as her lips twitch again. ‘I can’t pay you, for your time,’ she says, twisting the brown-paper bag from the baker’s in her hands. She’s trying to take back control, weasel out of it, but her argument is weak, and she knows it.

‘Are you joking? I don’t want paying! I’d love to do it,’ Luke says, offering her a hand up, which she takes without thinking. He briefly curls his fingers round hers and the warmth she feels makes her marvel. All that boiling water and bleach hadn’t killed the feeling in them after all. They look at one another for a moment. Lizzie knows what’s going to happen, but how can she say no to someone offering to play football with her son?

‘Maybe,’ she mumbles, snatching her hand back and shoving it into her pocket, hoping she’s bought herself some time. Lenny approaches a second later to tell Luke that Sebastian is locked in the toilet and can’t get out.

‘I’d best go and sort that out. Back in a sec.’ He turns to Lenny and says, ‘Looks like we have a kickabout booked at the park on Sunday morning. Bring your football boots. I’ll bring the Mars bars.’

George

(More rabbit than Sainsbury’s)

GEORGE IS IN BETTY’S spare room, trying to fix the slats on the bed that her friend Jean broke when she last came to visit.

‘Hell’s bells, she likes her food. The only time she’s missed a meal was when a seagull snatched a doughnut out of her hand on a trip to the pier.’ Betty giggles herself out of the room.