Love Is a Four Letter Word by Claire Calman Page B

not a veteran plant-collector? So do you want somewhere for eating out? A bolt-hole from the rat race? Place to sunbathe in privacy? All of the above?’
    â€˜What was the middle one again? I don’t know, I don’t know. But privacy’s a must. I want a secluded corner somewhere with lots of traily things hanging down. I hate feeling people are looking at me. Does that sound terribly paranoid?’
    â€˜It must make life pretty awkward.’ Will jotted something down in his notebook.
    â€˜What? Being paranoid?’
    He shrugged as if it were obvious.
    â€˜No – just – well, I imagine you get looked at quite a lot.’ He raised his eyes from what he was writing.
    â€˜Next question?’
    Bella looked down into her mug of coffee, then started to watch his hands to avoid his penetrating gaze. Why did he have to look at her like that? It was quite rude really. Now he had made her feel selfconscious. He was obviously only saying it to wind her up anyway. No-one could find her attractive the way she looked this morning in these grotty old jeans and baggy jumper. Her hair was loose and she hadn’t even bothered with lipstick, never mind the whole routine that she needed to feel even half-presentable.
    â€˜Any kids?’
    â€˜Nope. What’s that got to do with it anyway?’
    â€˜Play space. You might want a sandpit. Swing. Whatever. Any on the horizon?’
    â€˜The Vatican will declare me a modern miracle if there are.’
    â€˜You’re not keen on kids then?’
    â€˜Is this really part of the questionnaire?’
    â€˜Not really. I’m just nosy.’ That look again.
    Bella laughed. At least he was honest.
    â€˜It’s not that I don’t like them. I just—’ she shrugged. ‘I – anyway, I’m— More coffee?’
    Bella spent some time fiddling with the lid of the kettle, loudly opening and closing cupboards to look for biscuits.
    â€˜Don’t bother. Really.’ Will got up to go. ‘I’ve been here way too long already. So, think about exactly what you want in the garden, any must-haves and so on. Make a list.’
    â€˜Right. List-making, I’m good at that. Will you really design it to suit my every need?’
    â€˜Not at all. I’ll nod and say, “I see. No problem,” a lot, then ignore you and do whatever I thought of in the first place.’
    Will held out his business card.
    â€˜Call me. Here – let me give you a few in case you want to pass one on.’
    Bella smiled. ‘You had too many printed, didn’t you?’
    â€˜Well, it’s ever so cheap if you have a thousand done.’
    â€˜A thousand? Grief. Give me a stack. I can do shopping lists on the back.’
    â€˜They’re quite good for sticking under wobbly table legs in restaurants too.’
    There were no spare drawing pins on her kitchen pinboard, so Bella tucked one of his cards behind the corner of a photograph. The one of her and Patrick. Her finger rested for a moment on the pin, feeling its cold hardness solid beneath the fleshy pad of her fingertip.
    She had been cooking when she heard the news.
    âˆ¼ ∼ ∼
    Bella is stirring her sauce, giggling at Viv’s description of some pompous pillock she has had to endure at her all-day conference.
    â€˜So she offered him this piece of Brie and he said, “Actually, I’m a Stilton man myself,” and laughed, expecting us to acknowledge him as a great wit. Jill and I couldn’t look at each other. And he was wearing a blazer, with those shiny buttons with little anchors on them.’
    â€˜A blazer, eh? Hangin’s too good for the likes of ’im.’
    The telephone rings.
    â€˜Get that, will you? I have to keep whisking – this is looking a bit blobby. It’s probably Patrick. Running late. Can we save him some supper? Blah, blah. Tell him we’ve got baked bananas – that’ll speed him