‘Do you need a hand?’ I asked.

The man dropped the box with a thud onto the pavement, revealing a pale face with startling blue eyes, floppy black hair and an overall air of dishevelment. He wasn’t exactly handsome… more like interesting. There was something about his face that made it hard not to stare.

‘It would appear so,’ he replied, with a sardonic twitch of one eyebrow.

‘I’m Ollie,’ I replied, realising that for all he knew I was a random woman who happened to be walking past. Not that he seemed fazed by that. ‘I live next door but one. In End Cottage.’

‘Ah, okay.’ The man nodded. ‘Leon.’

We spent half an hour hefting the remaining boxes and other items from the van into the cottage. At some point in the past few weeks the landlord had repainted the ugly beige walls in a crisp white and removed the disgusting lino, leaving freshly sanded floorboards. Instead of the scratched and stained furniture, there was a black leather sofa and a wall of metal bookcases. I couldn’t help bristling at the new kitchen appliances that Leanne would have found so helpful.

Leon was an English teacher; he’d started at the local secondary school earlier in the month, but had been in a short-term let until New Cottage became available. Slender and slouchy, wearing ripped black jeans and a wristful of beaded bracelets, his piercing gaze and slightly sarcastic manner made him seem like the kind of English teacher who had tatty notebooks full of bleak and complicated poetry, probably inspired by some doomed romance.

He was very laid-back about my random offer of help, but did offer to buy me a drink as a thank you. I didn’t think Leon would be someone I’d want to get involved with seriously. He was far too intense, and I couldn’t imagine laughing with him until my sides ached. He was, however, precisely the kind of man I’d had in mind when originally crafting the Dream List. My sixteen-year-old self would have found him intimidatingly sexy and mysterious.

My new neighbour might be the perfect person with which to dip my toe back into the dating waters.

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I’m having a birthday party in our garden tomorrow evening…’

32

The morning of my thirtieth birthday, I indulged myself with a full two minutes of freaking out about the fact that I’d thought it would be a good idea to invite a load of people to my house all at the same time, followed by another five feeling weird and a bit forlorn about waking up alone with no one to say ‘happy birthday’, give me a hug or make me a cup of tea.