But the wind whipped his words away. Savannah was backing off, dragging the dog with her.

The dog, a black and tan Jack Russell, began barking furiously, leaping up on its back legs.

Tugging harder to keep it under control, Savannah almost dropped her bag of shopping. Then a ferocious blast of wind knocked her off balance and sent her staggering sideways into the verge.

She let out a shriek of alarm as the hedge bordering the lane bent and swayed, grasping at her with branches like mad spiky fingers.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Gabe yelled above the noise of the wind, advancing towards her. ‘I just wanted to ..

The words faded in his throat and he stopped dead, gazing in disbelief as the furiously waving branches clawed at her hair and, having yanked it free, waved it like an ecstatic contestant on Supermarket Sweep. Savannah Hudson let out a whimper of anguish and dropped the shopping as she attempted to shield her exposed head – click – from Gabe. Letting go of the dog’s lead, she used her other hand to grasp helplessly – click click – at the blonde wig caught up on the spiky branches.

Jesus Christ, she was as bald as an egg. This was a major scoop, bigger even than his petrol station exposé of Tom Dutton and Jessica Lee. Appalled, Gabe hastily sidestepped as the dog raced up to him barking furiously.

‘Sshh, it’s OK, don’t do that.’ Reaching down, he grabbed the dog’s lead before a car could come along and mow it down. Together they made their way over to the verge where Savannah Hudson was still battling to free the wig. It was a hawthorn hedge and the spikes were needle-sharp. Tears swam in her eyes and she ducked her face away at Gabe’s approach, flinching as a thorn scratched her wrist.

‘Here, let me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do it,’ said Gabe. ‘You just hold the lead.’

‘Please,’ her voice broke, ‘just leave me alone. Bunty, shh.’

Bunty, what a name for the world’s yappiest terrier. The yaps were actually making his ears hurt.

Ignoring the scratches his hands were amassing, Gabe grimly disentangled strands of hair from the vicious branches and finally managed to liberate the blonde wig, although it did look as if it had just been dragged through a ... no, no, definitely not the moment to make a joke.

‘Thank you.’ Tears slid down Savannah Hudson’s white face; angrily she dashed them away.

‘Sorry,’ Gabe said again as she crammed the wig onto her head, covering her naked scalp and pulling up the hood of herjacket for good measure. He retrieved the dropped carrier of shopping from a clump of dead stinging nettles in the ditch and handed that back too.

‘Sorry? Really? I doubt that.’ Savannah’s lip curled with derision. ‘I should imagine you’re jumping for joy. You’ve got just what you wanted, haven’t you?’ She indicated the camera around his neck and said sarcastically, ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself.’

Gabe reached for the camera; earlier, Pavlovian instinct had taken over and he’d barely been aware of taking the photos. But – he checked – yes, there they were, clear as day on the screen, ready to reveal Savannah Hudson’s secret to the world.

She’d now turned and was already hurrying on up the lane with her shopping and her ridiculous yippy-yappy dog.

‘Wait,’ Gabe called out. He caught up within thirty seconds and put a hand on her arm to slow her down.

‘Please, just leave me alone.’ Snatching her arm away Savannah said evenly, ‘And don’t touch me either or I’ll have you for assault.’

‘OK, OK, just stop for a moment and watch me.’ Closing his mind to what he was about to do, Gabe waited until he had her attention. His hands trembled as he showed her the photos on the camera screen. ‘OK, see the delete button? You press it.’

If he’d expected Savannah Hudson’s rosebud mouth to fall open, for her to turn to him in wonder and whisper, ‘Seriously? Do you mean it? Are you really sure?’ he’d have been disappointed. In a nano-second her index finger had shot out, pressing the button and deleting the images forever.

Dink, dink, gone. Just like that. And if Gabe had been expecting her to fling herself at him in gratitude crying, ‘Oh God, my hero, thank you, thank you,’ well, he’d have been sorely disappointed there too. Instead she turned away, muttering, ‘And don’t tell anyone either.’

He watched Savannah Hudson trudge up the hill with Bunty still yapping at her side. Then they rounded the bend and disappeared from view. A smattering of icy rain hit Gabe in the face and he shivered at the realisation of what he’d just done.

Damn right he wouldn’t be telling anyone. If he did, they’d only call him a prat.

Chapter 35

In retrospect, Lola was able to acknowledge that she’d made a big mistake in confiding to the others at work — OK, boasting to the others at work — about having been asked out — OK, practically asked out — by EJ Mack. Now, at least half a dozen times a day someone would clutch their chest and exclaim, ‘Oh my God, here he is! Lola, EJ’s here to beg you to go out with him ... quick, look, he’s crawling on his knees through the shop ... he’s saying, "Pleeeease, Lola, pleeeeease will you go out with me?" ... Oh look, and now he’s crying, there are tears dripping all over his lovely blue anorak.’

Which might have been mildly amusing the first couple of times but was altogether less hilarious now.

Anyway, concentrate on the books that needed to be ordered. In the back office, huffing her hair out of her eyes, Lola returned her attention to the computer screen and double-checked a list of ISBNs.

Across the desk, after hastily swallowing the last mouthful of her lunchtime prawn sandwich, Cheryl picked up the ringing phone.

Seconds later, windmilling her free arm in front of Lola, she squealed, ‘It’s for you! You’ll never guess ... it’s him!’

‘Who?’ Lola couldn’t help herself; her ever-hopeful heart leapt at the idea that it might be Doug.

‘EJ Mack!’

God, weren’t they sick to death of playing that game yet? Cross with herself for even thinking it could have been Dougie, Lola said, ‘Well, tell him sorry, but I don’t want to speak to someone who has the nerve to go out in public wearing a turquoise anorak. Tell him to bugger off and pester Madonna instead.’

Hastily covering the receiver, Cheryl hissed, ‘You berk, I’m serious. It really is him.’

‘She’s right,’ EJ confirmed when Lola took the phone. ‘It really is.’

‘Oops. Hello.’

‘And I’ll have you know, the anorak is Jean Paul Gaultier.’

‘OK,’ said Lola. ‘Sorry. I’m nothing but a fashion heathen.’

‘The trouble is, you think I dress like a trainspotter because I can’t help myself. Whereas in fact I choose to dress like a trainspotter because I am a leading proponent of cutting-edge, postmodern, pseudo-supergeek fashion, as featured by Jean Paul in his last Paris collection.’

Shit. ‘Right. Sorry again.’

Gravely, EJ said,’That’s perfectly all right.You can’t help being a heathen. How are your feet now?’

‘What’s he saying?’ mouthed Cheryl frantically, her eyes like saucers.

‘They’re ... much better.’ Lola ignored her.

‘And you’re not feeling too shattered?’

No, I’m fine, thanks.’

‘So if I were to ask you if you’d like to meet me tonight, do you think you might say yes?’

Yeek! Cautiously — because he’d caught her out last time — Lola ventured, ‘I might.’

‘Shall we do that, then?’

It was like, Are you dancing? Are you asking?

‘If you want to,’ said Lola.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Do you really want to see me?’

‘Sorry, I’m playing it cool. Deep down I’d really like to see you.’

‘Progress at last. Do you play snooker?’

‘Er ... crikey, not very well.’

‘Great, more chance of me winning. Can I ask you something else?’

‘Fire away.’

‘If I looked like me and dressed like me but my job was collecting trolleys in a supermarket, would you still be agreeing to see me?’

Lola thought about it. Finally she said, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

He laughed. ‘Good for you. A bit of old-fashioned honesty does it for me every time. When shall I pick you up?’

‘Um, eightish?’ How long did it take to play a game of snooker? ‘I live at—’

‘Don’t worry,’ EJ cut in, sounding amused. ‘I know where you live.’

When Lola had put the phone down, Cheryl let out a parrotlike shriek of excitement. ‘He actually rang! You’re going out on a date with EJ Mack! What was it he asked you when you said no you wouldn’t?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Lola shrugged and studied the computer screen. ‘He just wanted to know if I’d sleep with him while he was wearing his geeky anorak.’

‘My leg looks as if it’s gone fifty rounds with Mike Tyson,’ Sally complained. ‘The sight of it’s starting to make me feel sick.’

She had a point. In the ten days that had passed since the accident, her leg from the knee down had morphed into something grotesquely discoloured — it was literally black and blue — and so swollen it looked ready to burst. Lola, feeling faintly queasy herself, finished gingerly unstrapping the bright blue gel pack from Sally’s overheated calf and said as the doorbell rang,

‘It’s defrosted, I’ll get the other one out of the freezer. Who’s that?’

‘Oh,’ Sally looked at her watch, ‘is it seven already? Mum and Philip said they’d pop over.

Could you buzz them in?’

Adele, super-svelte in a pale grey wool suit and a cloud of Arpège, acknowledged Lola with the kind of distant smile one might bestow on a friend’s uninteresting five-year-old grandchild.

Crossing to the sofa, she gave Sally a kiss and said,’Darling, how horrendous! Did you get our card?’