‘Anything happening with the After Eight Mints?’ enquired Gwen a few days later, after popping in to ask after Valentina.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Chrissie.  With all the recent drama she hadn’t given the mints, or her alleged ghost, a second thought.

‘Any smell of parma violets?’

‘Not so much as a whiff.’ 

Disappointment flittered across Gwen’s face.  ‘Oh, what a shame.  Ruth and I were convinced Maisie was hovering about.  Maybe she’s gone off to Lake Garda.  She always liked it there.’

Chrissie blinked. 

‘But tell me,’ her neighbour carried on, all usual animation returning, ‘how are you getting on with Valentina’s father?  He’s a bit of a hunk, isn’t he?’

Chrissie feigned surprise.  ‘Is he?  I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Now why don’t I believe that?’ guffawed Gwen.  ‘Even Gerry says he’s more chiselled than our Greek statue.  Is he attached?’ she asked, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. 

‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Chrissie levelly. 

Gwen punched her playfully on the arm.  ‘Well, there you go then.  Now, I must dash.  I want to catch Sally next door.  My am-dram group need a couple of hats for our next performance and she has some lovely ones.  Mind you, so does Olly’s girlfriend.  She was wearing a gorgeous black one when I bumped into them yesterday.  Have you met her yet?’

‘No,’ muttered Chrissie.  ‘I haven’t seen Olly all week.’  Not since the power cut when they’d shared his spicy meatballs.  But she wasn’t going to dwell on how much she’d enjoyed that night.  Because this evening was Paul and Meg’s wedding celebration party.  And, for the first time in more weeks than was respectable, she was off to the hairdressers.

 

In town, on a mission to treat herself for a change, Chrissie’s hair was not only cut and coloured, but stylishly arranged in a sleek chignon.  A session in the hands of the beauty experts then followed, during which she was prinked, preened, waxed, manicured and fully – but subtly - made-up.  Then, pushing out the boat with unprecedented force, she splashed out on a new dress: a plum velvet shift, which skimmed her surprisingly slim frame perfectly.  Constantly in overalls, she’d failed to notice how much weight she’d lost, and how toned she’d become, while working on the house.   

‘Blimey,’ puffed Harry, when she appeared in the kitchen that evening – new frock teamed with strappy silver sandals and a smattering of jewellery.  ‘What have you done with my mum?’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?’ tutted Chrissie, the comment adding to her already heightened self-consciousness.  For all her outfit made a nice change from overalls, the whole dressing-up thing really wasn’t her at all.  Adroitly deflecting the unwelcome attention away from herself, she asked, ‘Are you going to comb your hair before we go?’

Harry shook his head.  ‘Can’t.  Comb’s gone missing again.  Maisie must’ve taken it.’

Chrissie was about to remark how busy Maisie must be if she was responsible for everything that went missing in the house, when Raphael appeared.  In his suit.  More devastatingly handsome than ever, surpassing 007 and very possibly reaching 008. 

‘Wow,’ he gasped.  ‘You look… amazing.’

Blood rushed to Chrissie’s cheeks, given a kick-start by Harry sniggering behind her. 

Praying her guest hadn’t noticed her reaction, she uttered, ‘Thank you’.  Before wheeling round and making a great show of rummaging for something in her handbag.  Goodness.  She really should have stuck with her dusty - but comfortable - overalls.  Not that she’d felt comfortable in them, or anything else, this week.  Not with Raphael in the house.  His blatant sophistication and good looks were far too intimidating.  Thank heavens the kids were coming with them this evening.  She couldn’t have handled going out with him alone.  She’d only survived the week because he’d spent most of his time at the hospital, not returning to Lovelace Lane until Jess and Harry were back from school.  A fact for which her nerves would be eternally grateful. 

 

Chrissie had booked a taxi to ferry them to the party, the venue of which was a quaint pub on the outskirts of the city.

‘Blimey.  You lot scrub up well,’ commented Paul, greeting them all at the door. 

‘You look gorgeous,’ concurred Meg, embracing Chrissie warmly.  ‘And your date doesn’t look too bad either,’ she whispered in her ear. 

‘He’s not my date,’ Chrissie hissed back, as Raphael shook hands with Paul. 

‘Shame,’ giggled the newly-wed.  ‘He’s a dish.  Not that I’m looking, of course.  I’m a happily married woman now.’  She winked at Chrissie, before turning her attention to Jess and Harry, bringing up the rear.  ‘Now, kids, there’s a chocolate fountain over there that needs testing before we open the buffet.  You two up to the job?’

‘Too right,’ gushed Harry, scuttling off with Jess at his heels. 

Suspecting it might be a while before she saw the two youngsters again, Chrissie made her way through to the lounge area, where the rest of the guests were gathering, all the while acutely aware of Raphael’s expensively-scented presence behind her. And all the while fretting about how she was going to keep him entertained.  Exhausted just thinking about the boredom-banishing task, and wondering if perhaps it would have been better to be the only person attending without a “partner”, she’d almost reached the bar when a familiar voice called her name.

It belonged to Olly. 

Who, she discovered as she spun round, was heading towards her in his duffel coat.  A sight which not only caused her heart to skip several beats, but her stomach to perform an Olympic-worthy somersault.  

‘Hi,’ he said, upon reaching her.  ‘I thought it was you.  Although I did do a double take.  It’s the first time I’ve seen you in… you know… proper clothes.’

Chrissie pulled a face.  ‘Crikey. I suppose it is.’

He chuckled, brown eyes twinkling at her from behind his specs.  ‘You look very… nice.’

As his cheeks turned pink at the compliment, so, too, did Chrissie’s.  Honestly.  Thank goodness she wasn’t driving.  She’d never felt more in need of a drink in her entire life.  But, as she didn’t yet have a drink, she’d have to soldier on. 

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she puffed, mustering a smile.  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

He grinned at her.  ‘Nor I you.  I didn’t realise until tonight that Meg’s new husband is your ex.  Meg and I go back years - to my medical days.  We trained at the same hospital.’

‘My, what a small world,’ exclaimed Chrissie, lips now curving into a genuine smile as her shock subsided and it occurred to her how lovely – if not a little disconcerting – it was to see him. 

A polite cough from Raphael, though – whose presence she’d all but forgotten - jolted her out of her reverie. 

‘Oh.  Sorry.  I’m completely forgetting my manners,’ she blustered, salvaging what little she could of her diminishing equilibrium.  ‘Raphael, can I introduce Olly, who’s staying with his brother on Lovelace Lane.  Olly, this is Raphael, Valentina’s father from Brazil.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Olly, stretching out a hand to the visitor. ‘How’s your daughter?’

While the two men engaged in polite chit-chat, Chrissie pieced together more bits of her scrabbled composure.  She’d experienced several weird coincidences in her life, but Olly knowing Meg definitely ranked amongst the strangest.  Still, it was rather nice him having a link – albeit tenuous - to her family.  Not that it made any difference to anything, of course.  On the subject of differences, though, as the two men chatted, Chrissie couldn’t help but notice the gargantuan contrast between them: Raphael, the smooth epitome of class, everything about him reeking of style and money.  And Olly, slightly ruffled in his duffel coat, resembling the eternal student. 

‘Olly, you can take your coat off now.  I’ve found us a table,’ announced a beautiful, willowy blonde in a red chiffony dress, appearing like an apparition at his side.   

Bringing an abrupt halt to his conversation, a shadow of something Chrissie couldn’t decipher briefly hovered over Olly’s face as his eyes darted first to her, then to the new arrival.  ‘Oh,’ he muttered, evidently doing his best to rally, while simultaneously pinning on a smile.  ‘Er, Diana, can I introduce you to Chrissie.  She lives next door to Carl and Sally.  In the house that’s being renovated.’

Diana turned cool turquoise eyes to Chrissie.  ‘Oh.  Right.  Yew Tree House, isn’t it?  Sally tells me you’re doing most of the work yourself,’ she remarked, in a so-sharp-Chrissie-wondered-she-didn’t-cut-herself cut-glass accent.

‘Only bits and pieces,’ she replied, wondering if anyone would notice if she sloped off home.  As if having 008 in attendance hadn’t been awkward enough, she now had a Bond girl to contend with too.  ‘And this is Raphael, our exchange student’s father. From Brazil,’ she managed to croak. 

‘Oh, I love Brazil,’ gushed Diana, flashing Raphael a smile so dazzling it almost brought on one of Chrissie’s rare headaches.  Thankfully, the brilliance dimmed, as she then launched into a stream of what Chrissie assumed must be Portuguese.

Raphael, apparently delighted at this development, reciprocated in an equally foreign tongue.   

‘Diana’s spent a lot of time in Brazil,’ Olly whispered to Chrissie, in a tone that hinted at the apologetic.  ‘Researching river dolphins in the Amazon Basin.’

‘Riiiiight,’ uttered Chrissie, nodding as if she’d always known there were river dolphins in the Amazon Basin.   

 

With most of Paul’s family at the party – many of whom Chrissie hadn’t seen for years – she managed to spend an enjoyable few hours catching up with people, relieved of her hostess duties by the multi-lingual Goddess Diana, who’d insisted Raphael join her and Olly at their table.  Apart from an impressive foray onto the dance floor – to perform a tango with Diana that had everyone on their feet applauding - he had remained there the entire evening. 

‘Diana used to be a Latin American dance champion in her youth,’ Olly had explained – with marked reticence - as he and Chrissie had watched the slick routine.

‘Riiiight,’ Chrissie had replied again. Resisting the urge to add, ‘Of course she did.’  ‘Well, she’s obviously an extremely talented lady,’ she’d commented instead.  ‘You must be very proud.’

Olly hadn’t replied, regarding her a little strangely, before clearing his throat and saying, ‘Actually—’ 

At precisely the same moment Jess and Harry had bowled up, squabbling about the chocolate fountain.  Leaving Chrissie wondering, as she stood at the bar now, observing the trio – Raphael completely absorbed in a tale Diana was relating, and Olly looking more bored than the wood she’d drilled holes in yesterday – what he’d been about to tell her.   

 

Raphael returned from the hospital the next day, grinning from ear to ear.  ‘Valentina can fly home in two days.’

‘Fantastic,’ gushed Chrissie, relief pulsing through her at the news.  Not just because Valentina, although far from her usual robust self, was making a remarkable recovery, but because, as nice as Raphael was, she was finding it incredibly wearing having him around.  Always so well-groomed, with never a hair out of place, he constantly made her feel like a bumbling Blob the Builder.   

Her relief, though, was fleeting.

‘I haven’t forgotten my invitation to take you to dinner, though,’ he said, cobalt blue eyes twinkling at her, ‘which is why I’ve booked a table for this evening.’

 

‘I told you he fancied you,’ snorted Paul, when Chrissie informed him of her dinner plans.

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ she tutted.  ‘He just wants to thank me for letting him stay.’

‘Yeah, right.  I’ll bring the kids over here for the night.  Just in case you want the house to yourselves later.’

‘Why would we want the house to ourselves?’

‘Well, if you can’t work that one out, then it has definitely been too long since you had a date.’

 

The conversation with Paul served only to shunt Chrissie’s nerves higher up the jittery scale. She’d attempted several – admittedly pathetic - excuses to wriggle out of the date, but Raphael had deftly whacked them all aside.  Leaving her with the sensation of being squeezed into a very tight corner.  A sensation that had intensified as the day dragged on.  By the time the taxi rolled up that evening, her stomach had knitted itself into the world’s largest Gordian Knot, and her legs were shaking so much it was all she could do to stagger down the drive in her new purple frock and scramble into the vehicle.

Raphael – cutting an even more dashing figure than usual in his suit, and almost reaching a 009 on the scale of sexiness – refused to tell her where they were going.  But, when the car pulled up outside Simeons, reputedly the best restaurant in the north-east, Chrissie experienced only a flicker of surprise.  With a man like him – clearly used to the best of everything - she wouldn’t have expected much less. 

Living up to its esteemed status, the restaurant was stunning, the food sublime, the wine superlative and the service second to none.  Add a hot date to the mix and all the ingredients conspired to make the perfect evening.  Yet, despite the overwhelming perfection, Chrissie had remained on edge the entire time; feeling like she was acting a part in one of Gwen’s am-dram productions; not being herself at all. 

‘I’d love you to come over to Rio,’ Raphael had uttered, over a sumptuous dessert. 

Which had made Chrissie wonder, after having caught him looking at her a few times, if Paul might be right: the man did fancy her.  But while she had little doubt that Raphael could provide all the travel, glamour, romance and excitement her life lacked, it had hit her – while preparing for bed that evening – that that wasn’t what she wanted at all.  She was much more at home in her scruffy overalls than a posh frock.  And she’d enjoyed the evening in her dusty kitchen, in her dressing gown, with no electricity and a plate of spicy meatballs, much more than she had dressed to the nines in a Michelin star gastronomic haven.   

Because that evening had been with Olly. 

Who she now knew, without a shadow of doubt, she not only fancied, but had also tumbled ever so slightly in love with. 

However, just as there was no point pining for Olly – because he was with Goddess Diana - there was also no point starting anything with Raphael.  Her heart simply wouldn’t be in it.  Which meant, she concluded, yanking up the duvet and scarcely even noticing the after-dinner mint wrapper there, if this evening had been her one and only opportunity to find love on Lovelace Lane, then she had well and truly blown it.