His eyes flicked away from her to the space above her head and a little smile played across his lips.

‘Ray,’ he said. ‘Ray Allen.’

‘Nice to meet you, Ray,’ she said, holding out her hand. Her pink nail varnish was chipped and she curled her fingers under so he might not see. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

‘Enchanted,’ he replied.

8

8

MELISSA – THEN

After the cup of builders’ tea in the late-night café, Melissa did not see Ray again for a couple of weeks. There was no phone in her caravan and whilst Mrs Craven who ran the site office would take calls in an emergency, Melissa didn’t give the number out to any Tom, Dick or Harry. He hadn’t offered her his phone number either, so she’d had to wait until he made a reappearance at the pub.

This time, she found that she really wanted him to show up. She enjoyed his company. He was interesting and had a sharp wit that kept her on her toes. It made a nice change from the local lads who were only after one thing. Ray knew stuff. He told her about planets and politics and how electricity got into the walls so it could come out of the sockets.

‘What is it you do?’ she’d asked him as the taxi drivers came and went with their bacon rolls. ‘Are you a teacher or something? Because you’re dead clever, like.’

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head and laughing at the idea. ‘You’ll never guess. Have a go.’

Melissa had no idea and trying to guess would just reveal how very little she knew in comparison to him, which might put him off her, so she decided to come up with some jokey suggestions instead to cover her awkwardness.

‘Royal food taster?’ she said.

Ray grinned. ‘Nope.’

‘Balloon pilot?’

‘Not even close.’

‘Zookeeper?’

‘Getting a bit warmer,’ he said.

She was intrigued. ‘Vet?’

‘Cold again. I’m going to have to tell you, aren’t I? I’m in security,’ he said, and Melissa’s heart sank. He was a security guard. How boring was that? Half the boys she knew from school worked nights guarding building sites and dark offices all over Newcastle. As far as she could tell, all that was required for the job was an ability to deal with the terminal boredom without shooting yourself.

‘What kind of security?’ she asked, because it would probably be rude not to show any interest at all.

‘I’m a bodyguard,’ he said.

Now she was listening.

‘A bodyguard?’ she said, eyes wide. ‘But don’t you have to be, like . . .’ Melissa flexed her arms and squeezed her barmaid’s muscles so that they bulged.

Ray pretended to look insulted. ‘Are you saying I’m a weed?’ he asked.

‘Well, no,’ Melissa replied, backtracking quickly. ‘But you don’t look like a bodyguard.’