Junction X by Erastes Page B

left hand turn a little too fast and Alec might have slid across the polished leather…but with the armrest down, that was never going to happen. As it shouldn’t. Of course.
    The children kept us occupied for the journey, first discussing what might be at the fair, then roping us all into a game of I Spy which descended into argument and recrimination at Alec’s “Something beginning with S” which turned out to be escargot. Although he swore that he had actually seen a snail on a fence post, and that, anyway, snail did begin with an S, the children were outraged at his cheating. I had to smile as I saw them in the rear view mirror going into a huddle as they planned their revenge for the return journey, no doubt with fiendish methods.
    As the twins went silent, I had a chance to speak to Alec, but I was suddenly tongue-tied. I had to force my fingers to grasp the steering wheel tightly just to prevent my right hand from resting casually on the seat beside me, to stop myself from touching his leg. It was like a sickness, a craving. I had no idea back then that the pangs of longing that I was suppressing were nothing— nothing —to what they would be like later.
    Alec eventually shifted in his seat and turned his head towards me. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
    I could feel the answer bubbling up in my mind. I risked a look away from the road and met his eyes, warm and grey and deadly to me. How had I not seen how very clear they were?
    “Not really.” As I spoke, I wondered if I should have had a cover story ready. Obviously Alec hadn’t realised that this trip was a farce, a cover screen, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. If he didn’t, then I was free to admire him without his knowledge, but if he did …that was a different story altogether, and one I dared not hope could ever be true. But if he didn’t—and I stopped myself before I drove myself insane. “The twins aren’t interested in trains.”
    “We like Alec’s trains,” Mary said, crowding forward. “He’s got a farm, and a mountain and a roundtable…”
    “ Turn table,” John said, with the world-weary sigh of an older brother. Seventeen minutes older.
    “Anyway, just going round in circles is boring.”
    “Well, I’m not getting you a layout like Alec’s,” I said, firmly, ignoring the wails of disappointment from John. “That takes years of collecting. We’ll see what else is there.”
    “It’s good of you to bring me,” Alec said.
    “It’s not good of me. It was essential.” I meant that it was to give me a buffer against the over-enthusiasm of the twins; they were wearing in large doses. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head snap around to stare at me.
    I wanted to look back, but by then I was negotiating the Bentley into the narrow car park. I worried, my stomach churning into knots as I carefully parked in a sheltered spot behind the pavilion. What if he suspects my true motives? What if—what if?
    As I got out of the car, I gave myself a severe talking to, the first of many. If you are going to embark on this madness, I thought, then you need to get a hold of your reactions. If you go flinching or staring at every look, every movement of his, you are going to scare him away. You mustn’t give him any reason to bolt. I was more than happy that he was prepared to spend time with a man old enough to be his father for no apparent reason other than a shared interest in trains. I was grateful for whatever reason he had decided to befriend me, and I wanted to hang on to it, whatever it was, for however long it lasted.
    I locked the car. The children had run ahead and were waiting by the entrance, but Alec was standing by the boot, seemingly staring at the gravel, his cheeks flushed a dull red. Again my stomach contracted in fear, and I wondered if this ‘admiring from afar’ was going to be possible if I shuddered with fear every time Alec looked nervous or upset.
    I