City Girl in Training by Liz Fielding

when I’d said how proud his mother must be, he’d said, ‘Must she?’
    â€˜They don’t.’ Then, ‘Your turn.’
    â€˜For what?’
    â€˜Secrets. You don’t think I’d tell just anyone that my family disapproves of me, do you?’
    â€˜Well, no.’
    â€˜So, tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone else.’
    I glanced at him, not sure how to take that, but he just lifted his eyebrows encouragingly. ‘There isn’t anything. I’m an open book,’ I said. And then blushed. Because of course there was something. But I couldn’t… ‘Well, I’m really, really scared of spiders,’ I said. I had to say something.
    â€˜And you’ve managed to keep that a secret?’ He knew I was hiding the real secret, but he played along with me. ‘How? Do you have a special quiet scream that no one can hear?’
    â€˜No, really, it’s true. I pretend. I’ve been pretending all my life. When you’ve got three big brothers who’ll exploit any weakness, do anything to make you scream, you must never let them see that you’re afraid. Even when they put them in your bed, then hang about on the landing waiting for you to let rip.’
    â€˜Oh, charming.’
    â€˜Spider in the bath? I just scoop it out of the window as if I’m not in the least bit concerned. And thenI take a shower…’ Just talking about it made me shiver and Cal put his arm around me.
    â€˜If you find any spiders while you’re living next door to me, just come and get me.’
    â€˜My hero,’ I said, and laughed.
    â€˜And you can tell me the other secret, the one that made you blush, when you know me better.’ He didn’t wait for my protest, but stopped to watch a grey squirrel hurtling around the trunk of a tall tree.
    â€˜You’re going to be late,’ I warned him.
    â€˜I know.’ But he didn’t hurry.
    â€˜Tell me some more about Africa,’ I said. ‘The cheetahs. When is your film going to be shown on television?’
    He began to talk about what he’d seen, the horrors, the wonders, unimaginable beauty, so that I lost all sense of time until he took his arm from my shoulders, raising his hand to hail a cruising taxi. I looked around in surprise to discover that we’d reached the far side of the park, then at my watch. It was nearly half-past one.
    â€˜Oh, good grief, look at the time!’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it. Have you got a mobile phone?’ he said.
    â€˜What? Oh, yes.’ He raised his eyebrows for the number and I rattled it off. He didn’t write it down, but he’d taken out a card with his name and number on it.
    â€˜This is mine. If you have any problems,’ he said, opening the taxi door, ‘if you get lost—need help with anything—call me.’
    â€˜Problems? Me?’ I said, laughing, letting go the feeling that I’d just come close to the heart of Callum McBride. ‘What can you mean?’ But I took the card and tucked it safely in my bag feeling—well, there was only one word for it—cherished all over again. Then as I climbed aboard he spoke to the driver, giving him the address of the apartment and money to cover the fare.
    I didn’t waste my breath protesting, but leaned forward in the seat. ‘Thank you for today, Cal. And yesterday. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
    â€˜You’d have coped.’ And he touched his lips to my cold cheek. Then, ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said almost abruptly, stepping back and shutting the door.
    I was still feeling the roughness of his stubble as the taxi pulled away from the kerb and I twisted in my seat to look back out of the window. Still drowning in a complex combination of scents that clung to me and gave meaning to that old phrase ‘I’ll never wash that cheek again’.