Paul awoke to the loud ping of his phone. Rubbing his eyes, he leant across and retrieved it from the bedside table.

He stretched out in the single bed, noting Ben's absence; the crashing about in the kitchen gave a clear indication of where he had gone. This in itself had taken a long time for the Cokers to adjust to. They were a small family, who had always made sure their home life was as peaceful as they could make it.

Yes, the general unspoken rule was that if any member of the family was up before the others, they would go about their morning routine in the quietest way possible.

This soon came to an abrupt end. At first, the sound of slamming doors, chairs scraping across the floor and the radio blasting had been a major disruption to the family.

Paul had bit his tongue.

Les had faked a smile, claiming that it reminded him of the time Laurie had an exchange student live with them for that week back in 1991.

Pam, on the other hand, had been far less accommodating. Of course, she considered herself far too polite to take it up with Ben directly; however, she made a point of purchasing ear plugs and would suggest that if Ben really wanted a confrontation with his sister, shouting out to the street below from Paul's bedroom window was probably not the best way to do it.

As the weeks went by, Ben's presence in the flat became more and more frequent and after a while, they had learned to adapt. Les had made the first move, claiming that if they couldn't beat him, they might as well join him and that very morning, he sang in the shower for the first time in his life.

Pam had soon followed suit; there once was a time where the television would remain switched off until everybody was out of bed, however, she had soon discovered that early morning Jeremy Kyle was fast becoming a guilty pleasure of hers.

In a short space of time, their morning routine went from boring and dreary to a flurry of activity and madness. Just the other day, Paul had rolled out of bed, turned on the radio and danced around the kitchen in his underwear.

After the song was over, he had come face to face with his grandfather – he had braced himself for the telling off he once would have inevitably received, but instead, Les had simply laughed and complimented him on his impressive air guitar skills.

Yes, life for the family had changed and they were happier about it than what they ever could've imagined.

Bringing himself out of his thoughts, he unlocked his phone and read the message.

It was from Lauren.

The pictures turned out great. Let me know what you think xx

They had turned out more than great- They were perfect.

He studied the pictures, taking in every detail. He could still hardly believe that this was happening. Him and Ben were going to be managers of the family business.

He was still getting used to referring to it as Coker and Grandson, in fact, he had written it down several times in an attempt to gain familiarity and had asked Ben to call him several times, so he could practice saying it down the phone.

He quickly typed out his response.

Amazing! I love them all x

After a few seconds, the phone buzzed again.

So glad you liked them. Ps, how cute is this? X

He clicked on the picture attached and waited for it load. It was of baby Louis. He was curled up on Steven's lap like a cat and was wearing purple fuzzy onesie. Paul couldn't help but smile.

Adorable. I want one :P x

Her reply was lightning fast. Will Coker and Grandson one day be Coker and Grandsons? Xx

Paul blushed, embarrassed. Lauren had gotten the wrong end of the stick. Quick to put things right, he fired off his response. Haha, I was talking about the onesie, NOT the baby x

After a slightly longer pause this time, her reply came through. Well, if you ever did and it was a girl, you can call her Vada X

Paul frowned, as a child, he had encountered many My Girl references growing up. Very funny. I hate that film. x

This wasn't strictly true.

It was actually one his favourites.

After all, it wasn't as if any of the other children at school lived at an undertaker's. Therefore, whenever he was teased about it, or felt like no one could relate to him, he would track down the video and slot it into his Nan's old VCR.

He credited that film with helping him embrace his unconventional home life, but also cursed it for leaving him with a massive bee phobia.

I love it! I cry every time.

At this point, Paul considered it safe to reveal his secret. Okay, I lied. I've seen it a hundred times!

We should do a movie night! Lauren replied.

Yes, definitely, when me and Ben move into the flat, come over. We'll drink wine and cry together xx

Yea OFC :P xx

Paul placed his phone back on the table and wondered whether being friends with Lauren would be awkward (after all, she was Abi's sister.) Pushing the thought to the back of his mind where he hoped it would stay, Paul leant over and retrieved a brochure from underneath his bed.

As promised, Ben had gotten in touch with the customer from the garage who owned the flats around the back of George Street.

After dinner last night, Ben had met the man at the Vic and stayed until last orders. Ben had explained the situation and bought him drinks all evening.

By the end of the night, Ben had sweetened the deal. Therefore, with the promise of a free MOT at the garage and some expert haggling, Ben had practically cut the rent in half.

He had come in drunk, and had knocked over the kitchen table as he stumbled into it. Paul had gotten out of bed and was just about to start an argument, however, he was soon stopped in his tracks when Ben flashed him a winning smile and held up a set of keys to their new home.

Ben had already been for a viewing, but all Paul had seen was what was in the brochure.

What he knew so far was that they were going to be on the fourth floor, there was access to a roof terrace and the Wi-Fi signal was exceptional.

He looked at the photograph of the bedroom – it was huge compared to the box room he was in now.

Paul had never had anything bigger than a single bed in his life. Therefore, his one demand to Ben was that he wanted to go shopping for the biggest bed they could find - a double bed wouldn't cut it, he was thinking bigger, much bigger.

Ben had replied that Paul could buy a bouncy castle for all he cared, just as long as there was a pool table in the lounge – Paul was certain that it would dominate the room and look ugly, but for his bed, he was willing to compromise.

Flicking over the page, he was presented with the kitchen. It was fully furnished, which included a fridge that doubled up as an ice maker. Paul had been particularly excited by this, stating there would be far more space in the freezer, without ice cube trays cluttering up the place – At this, Ben had rolled his eyes.

The work surfaces were a black glossy marble and were arranged in an L – shape around the room.

An impressively large breakfast bar took centre stage of the room. Paul liked to imagine, him and Ben sat around it each morning, before heading off to work, and eating dinner at it after a long day.

He had even envisaged it at Christmas time, with a huge turkey in the middle and his grandparents, either side of him, glass of wine in one hand and a cracker in the other.

Finally, the flooring was a shiny wooden floor board – The kind that would send you flying backwards if you were to walk in wearing socks.

Paul saved the best page until last – The bathroom. It was truly stunning.

Not only did the shower have a built in radio, there was also a bath that had Jacuzzi jets in them. It was just like the time he went to stay with his Aunty Mim for the weekend.

Shortly after his Dad died, Pam had been consumed in her grief to such an extent that Les had deemed it necessary to shield Paul from it.

He had expected to stay in her dingy bungalow, but instead, she packed up the car and took him to the fanciest hotel he'd ever been in.

Staring at the page now, memories of that trip came flooding in; all it needed was to be stocked up with mini soaps and fluffy towels and it would be an almost exact replica of that hotel bathroom.

Suddenly, a thought hit him. Why stop at having the just the bathroom looking like the hotel's when he could decorate the bedroom in the same way?

Paul squeezed his eyes shut and brought the memory to the forefront. He could see it now – he had been in an adjoining room to Mim's. Even though there was only a door separating him and his aunt, at the age of nine, it seemed like the ultimate signal of independence.

He could still picture it now, the mattress was so soft, it felt like he would sink all the way into it, there was a picture of a carasoul hanging above the bed and on the wall, there had been a hi tech flat screen TV, complete with a DVD player.

Paul felt his lips form a massive grin. The thought of that trip always put him in a good mood, no exceptions. It had come at a time where he thought that he would never be happy again.

The morning he left to go and stay with Mim, Les had packed him a bag and told him to give Pam a kiss goodbye. He had shaken his head and dug his heels into the ground – There was no way his granddad was sending him away like this.

Les had knelt down and tried to reason with him, but Paul had had been a stubborn child. Looking back, it was at this moment when things finally fell apart for his granddad.

For weeks, Les had been doing his upmost to take care of his grieving wife and grandson. Pam had locked herself away in her bedroom and Paul had taken to misbehaving in a misplaced attempt at grieving for his beloved father.

Looking back now at the age of twenty, Paul could see what a mammoth task his grandfather faced.

Pam had completely retreated, leaving Les to deal with the funeral on his own.

Additionally, Paul's upbringing had once been a joint adventure his grandparents were on; however, Pam could barely get dressed in the morning, let alone look after a young, vulnerable child.

Therefore, Les had had to care for both Pam and Paul, do all the house work, and work full time to keep business the afloat - It would've been a daunting task for even a person half his age.

After weeks of keeping this up, it would appear that Les had just snapped.

Les had grabbed his arm with the strength of ten men and dragged him into the bedroom, kicking and screaming.

He slammed the door behind them, and whipped open the curtains, all the while, shouting at Pam to get up and say goodbye to her grandson.

At this, Pam had sat up in bed and begged Les not to take the young boy away – she needed him here with her.

She had gotten out of bed, grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. By this stage, Paul had broken down in noisy sobs and was holding onto his grandmother just as tightly.

Les had been harsh in his reply.

He told her that she had been neglectful of their young grandchild since Laurie's death and until she was able to be a proper grandmother, Paul was going stay with Mim.

Despite her tears, there was no way that he was backing down.

At the time, Paul had viewed his grandfather's actions as pure evil, however looking back now, he knew how heart-breaking it must have been for him.

Les had prised them apart by force and with a strength that no one would have ever guessed he had, he threw Paul over the shoulder and carried him out to the car and forcibly strapped him in.

This had not gone down well and Les had found himself kicked, scratched and bitten in the process.

Les had flashed a smile at the Nosy Spring lane neighbours, pretending that there was nothing unusual about the way he had manhandled the small child, or the epic tantrum Paul was currently throwing.

Paul could still remember how Les had seemed to shut down on the journey over there; he had gripped the steering wheel tighter than what was necessary and despite the fact his grandson had gone purple in the face from all the crying, he didn't move his eyes off the road for a single second.

At the time, Paul had felt ignored. As he grew older, he would reflect on that morning and slowly it dawned on him that Les had been so overcome by his grief and the weight of his responsibilities, his mind had simply shut it all out.

When they had finally arrived at Mim's, Paul had worked himself up into a frenzy, to such an extent that he was sick.

Les had barely batted an eyelid.

Mim, of course had been naturally horrified at the sight.

Stood in front of her was a nine-year-old child crying hysterically, his T-shirt soaked in his own vomit; even worse, her brother in law seemed to be doing nothing about it.

Mim gave Les her best death stare, wrenched the bag of Paul's clothes from his hand and pulled the child inside, not even giving the pair a chance to say goodbye.

There and then, Mim had decided that if she wanted to restore any sort of normality for Paul, she would have to do a lot better than keeping him cooped up in her bungalow. So, within an hour, she had bathed him, changed his clothes and they were on the road.

As it turned out, she had made the right call. Paul had loved the hotel and the swimming pool attached to it.

Every morning, he would have a breakfast of pancakes and waffles; every evening, Mim would take him out to a new restaurant.

In the past, Mim had hardly been eager to play aunty, however, she had really pushed the boat out on that trip.

She took him to the cinema, she bought him ice-cream and took him toy shopping, until eventually, Paul started to resemble the same happy go lucky child he had been before Laurie's death.

On the last night of the week long trip, Paul had climbed onto her lap and had told her it had been the best holiday ever, but he now wanted his Nan.

Mim, who usually commended herself on her ability to stay composed, allowed herself to become teary as she told him that Pam missed him too, very much.

When Paul had returned to Spring Lane, his Grandparents had put on a united front.

For the first time since Laurie had died, Pam had worn make up and had styled her hair; Les on the other hand had changed out of his usual undertaker attire and had looked so much more relaxed in a pair of baggy joggers and a green jumper.

They had taken him into their arms and promised him that they would take much better care of him from then on.

They kept their promise.

Tearing himself away from his thoughts, Paul leant over, opened the draw of the bedside table and retrieved Ben's credit card.

Last night, Ben had rolled into bed, reached into his pocket and had flung the card at Paul, telling him to go wild with it in IKEA.

Technically, Paul knew that he should probably double check with Ben that it was still ok to use the card now that he was sober, however, he didn't see the harm in buying a few, small, essential purchases before Ben withdrew the privilege.

oOo

Ben called out from the kitchen. "Tea?" Considering how close Paul's bedroom was to the kitchen, Ben's voice was probably several decibels louder than it needed to be. "Move it, the kettles boiled."

Dragging on his trousers, he emerged from the bedroom and tugged on his shirt. "I could get used to you staying over." He smiled, wrapped his arms around Ben and kissed him on the neck. "Have you seen the photos Lauren sent?" He scrolled through until he found the one he liked the best. "I reckon that one, it's got a nice family feel to it."

Ben let out a sigh. "What the Adam's family? We're a bit grumpy aren't we?"

Paul quickly withdrew his arm and took a step back wounded.

"I'm sorry." Ben quickly apologised. "I'm sorry, it's not your family that the problem anyway."

In that moment, Paul came crashing back down to reality. In all the fantasies he'd been having about their new life, Phil hadn't really crossed his mind; in fact, in his ideal little world Phil had faded into a state of non – existence. "You're still worried about telling your Dad?"

"I'm taking him to the hospital before work, I'm gonna tell him then." He voice was not dissimilar to an inmate on death row being led to his execution.

"Maybe he'll be proud?" Paul hoped he sounded reassuring.

"Have you met my Dad?" Ben replied. "It ain't just about managing Cokers, I gotta tell him I'm quitting the Arches an' all. "He slipped on his jacket, ready to go.

Paul reached out, placed a hand on Ben's chest. "What did you have for breakfast this morning?"

For a moment, a bemused look flashed across his face. "Uh, I just had a bowl of that." He gestured to the Corn flakes box that sat on the side. "I was gonna have some toast, but the bread was stale."

Paul took hold of Ben's hand, lead him to the sofa. Ignoring protests that they would both be late, Paul ran into his room, retrieved the brochure that he had left sitting on his bed. He took a place next to Ben on the sofa, pointed at the picture on the first page. "You see this kitchen?"

Ben nodded.

Paul continued. "When you live with me, that kitchen will never have corn flakes or stale bread in it, you hear me?"

Ben raised an eye brow. "What's wrong with corn flakes?"

"You'll never have corn flakes again, because I'm going to make you bacon and eggs every morning." He pointed to the oven pictured in the brochure. "And it won't just be fried eggs: I'm talking, boiled, poached, scrambled… the lot; it will be different every morning."

For the first time that morning, Ben raised a smile. "Oh yeah?"

"You betcha, and of course it won't just be bacon and eggs; it will be grilled tomatoes, fried bread, sausages and hash browns too."

"And Black Pudding and mushrooms?"

"Of course! Forget the breakfast your brother makes at the café; this will be in a league of its own." His voice was becoming ever more enthusiastic. "And forget about instant coffee, we're going to buy a coffee maker and have cappuccinos, mochas and hazelnut flavoured lattes."

Ben relaxed into a laugh. "Well, you got my card, you better buy it then."

"That's not all, on the weekends I'll make pancakes, with strawberry sauce and hundreds of thousands sprinkled on top." He shuffled in closer to Ben.

"Blimey Paul, if you did feed me up like that, I'll be dead by the age of thirty." He let out a hearty laugh.

"Can you see it though?"

Ben took a moment. "Yeah, I can."

"There you go then." Paul said. "That's what you have to keep in mind when you tell him later on. If he kicks off, just picture us at that breakfast bar; living the oh so very modern lifestyle." He shot him a cheeky wink.

With a renewed sense of energy, Ben took a deep breath and stood up. Regardless of what happened today, Ben was going to tell Phil. "Wish me luck."

"I'll walk with you."

The pair were halfway across the room when Pam came rushing out of the bedroom. "Oooh, Paul, can I talk to you about something?"

Missing the urgency in her voice, Paul gave her the biggest smile he could manage. "Nan, we got a flat last night." He picked up the brochure and handed it to her. "That's where Ben was last night. It's all arranged, the owners say we can move in next week after the cleaners have been in."

Pushing thoughts of Jenny to the back of her mind, Pam reached over and took the brochure into her hands. Her eyes widened in awe of the luxury in front of her. "How on earth can you afford all this?"

"Relax, Nan; Ben knows the guy who owns it." He glanced in Ben's direction, smiled. "We won't have to pay anywhere near the amount that is advertised."

Before Pam could reply, Ben spoke. "Paul, I really do need to make a move."

Paul shot his nan an apologetic look. "I'll tell you more about it later, ok?" He made to follow Ben.

"No, Paul, I really do need to talk to you." Pam said.

Paul wanted to walk with Ben and had no intention of pretending otherwise. "Well, can't it wait until I'm on the stall?"

"I'm at the trade fair all day." She countered. Ben and Paul shared a look of frustration. Pam could sense that this was the wrong moment, so she quickly changed tact. "I'll tell you what, why don't I make us a nice lasagne tonight and we can have a chat then?"

A look of worry flashed across Paul's face. "All this home cooking, is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's fine." Pam could tell herself that she wasn't quite convincing, however she prayed that Paul had bought it. She watched as they made to leave. "And Paul…" She added as an afterthought, "Just the three of us, if that's okay?"

He nodded in agreement; Paul found this strange and it was written all over his face too.

oOo

Paul followed Ben out onto the square. He looked back at the flat. "Did she seem okay to you?" His Nan had been acting strangely for a few days now.

"Hmmm?" Ben looked up from his phone, distracted.

"I said did she seem okay to you?"

He shrugged. "Seemed fine to me."

Paul forced a smile. "Yeah, I suppose." He reluctantly agreed. "Nervous about telling your Dad?"

"I'll just get him in the car and tell him straight I guess." Ben hoped he sounded more confident than what he felt.

"It'll be fine." He leant over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Ben took a step backwards, turned away from the attempt of affection. "Listen, I ain't got time for this, I gotta get to my Dad's, don't I?" He reached out a hand and clapped him on the back, in the same friendly way he would if he was saying goodbye to Jay.

Paul bit his tongue; it was infuriating but not worth the hassle of calling him out on it. "Right, yes." He cleared his throat. "Yes, you go."

With a nod of the head, Ben turned on heel. "See ya, then."

Paul lingered for a few moments, watching until Ben was around the corner and out of sight. He had barely taken two steps when he found his arm taken hold of, frightening the life out of him. He gasped in surprise, turned to see who had hold of him. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

It was Belinda.

"I didn't!" She replied. "You were too busy watching lover boy to notice."

Embarrassed, Paul felt his cheeks blush. "I wasn't watching, I was uh just…" Unable to defend himself, he trailed off and forced a smile. "Anyway, how can I help you?"

"Follow me." She gestured across the square.

"Belinda I… I've got to get on the stall."

"Your grandmother owns it; she's not exactly going to fire you, is she?"

Paul shook his head. "It's not that, the market inspectors don't take kindly to people opening their stalls later than the allotted times."

"Oh, sod the market traders." Not taking no for an answer, she grabbed him by the hand and gave a forceful tug. "Five minutes, that's all I'm asking."

Within minutes, Paul found himself back in the place where he used to work. Speechless, he took a few seconds to let it all sink in; the décor was so far removed from Blades, it was hard to believe that it was the same place. "Wow, it's different, I give you that."

"Fabulous is the word you are looking for." She flopped down in a chair and swivelled around a few times. "It's fabulous and its mine, all mine."

"Yes…I know." He raised an eyebrow. "You've been walking around the square doing your research for days now."

Belinda got to her feet, pulled up another chair and gestured for him to sit down. "Yes, the people around here have not experienced much as it goes." As he sat down, she moved from the side of him to behind him. "Judging by the state of some of their nails, I don't know why it was a surprise."

"Ummm, okay…"

"Take your jacket off."

"What, no I…"

"Take you jacket off." This time, her voice was much more forceful.

Not wanting to argue with the highly strung woman, he did as she asked. "What's this all about anyway? I told you when you were talking to me and Nan yesterday, I have had a pedicure and I wouldn't have one again, because I hate people touching my feet."

Belinda placed her hands lightly on his shoulders, began massaging them. "That's not why you're here." She moved her fingers around his upper back and up towards his neck. "The research may not have given me much to go on, but it did reveal one thing…" She paused, continued the massage until she felt the tension in his shoulders dissolve.

Paul relaxed further into the chair. "You're not coming on to me, are you?" He felt her thumbs against his spine, moving in a circular motion. "I really gotta get back to the…" Oh what the hell, this felt too good; he allowed his eyes to close, relishing the feeling.

Belinda smirked; this was far too easy. She moved away from the spine, up to the base of his neck. Extending her thumb, she rubbed up and down, applying light pressure as she did so. "How's that?" Sensing she was onto a good thing, she kept up this motion for a couple more minutes longer than what she had originally planned.

"Mmmm, good." All worries of being late to the stall had completely evaporated.

Belinda paused, picked up a small bottle of coconut oil, the smell flooding her nostrils within seconds of removing the cap. "You're on a beach, the sun is shining and topless butlers are serving you Pina Coladas." She took another second, his breathing was calm and steady. Pretty soon, he'd agree to anything.

"This is nice." His tone was lazy, almost as if he'd just awoken from a deep sleep.

"No need to talk." This time, Belinda kept her tone hushed. She picked up the stereo remote and pretty soon, sounds of the ocean flooded the salon. "There you go; can you see it Paul?"

So relaxed, he barely managed a nod.

Reaching over, she took hold of the band in his hair and gently untangled it from the mass of curls, allowing the hair to droop forwards. Slowly, she navigated her way through until her finger tips reached the scalp, something she suspected had been a long time neglected. "The sun is beating down on your face." She continued massaging the scalp, applying more coconut oil as she did so.

"Wow." Practically falling asleep, his voice was barely audible.

Belinda was triumphant, there were a few more tricks up her sleeve and once she was done, she was 100% certain that he would be at her beck and call. "Oh look, here comes your man, emerging from the sea. His hair is dripping wet and there's a surfboard under his arm." She looked down, a small, dopey smile had begun to grace his lips.

"What else is he doing?" He was now fully emerged in the scenario Belinda had created; his body may have been in Walford, but in his mind, he was firmly in paradise.

"He's running across the beach, kicking up the sand as he goes." She paused. "Think Baywatch."

"Hmmm." He was now passed the point of stringing a sentence together.

"Imagine him in front of you, the surf board drops to the ground and he climbs onto the deck chair with you." Belinda removed her hands from his head, dropping them down to his arms. She felt around, settling once she found the part with the most muscle, then she set to work on them. "Imagine his thighs against your own, he smells of cocoa butter and he's rubbing those strong mechanic hands up and down those biceps of yours."

Paul felt his heart rate increase. Before his mind had been on a million different things, from the flat, to the business, to ordering more carnations for the stall; not any more, there was one thing on his mind and one thing only. He couldn't banish the images in his mind and neither did he want to. "Keep going." His tone was that of a starving man begging for food.

Belinda smiled, picked up the coconut oil and rubbed it into his chest. "Imagine him, his hands move from your arms to your chest, rubbing suntan lotion all over."

He moved his hands to the side of the chair and gripped. A feeling of excitement washed over him, almost as if he was riding too fast downhill on a scooter; it wasn't a good idea but the rush he got was undeniable.

Belinda looked down in the direction of his trouser area, her eyes widened in surprise; she knew she was good, but she didn't think she would quite have that affect. This was her moment. She tilted the chair into the upright position and snapped her fingers in his face. "Right, let's get down to business."

Paul suddenly snapped back to reality. "Oh my…" Embarrassed, he scrambled for his coat and placed it over his lap.

She smirked. "I remember that feeling. I had this boyfriend when I was about your age, it didn't matter where I was or who I was with, just the mention of his name would be enough to make me…"

Paul raised his hand, signalled for her to stop. "Right okay, I get the message." He paused a moment. "And what do you mean let's get down to business?"

"Right… I'm just going to come out and say it." She proceeded. "I want you to work here as my stylist. The research I did may not have been much use in finding out what beauty treatments Walford needed, but I did hear rave reviews about you."

"You did?"

Belinda nodded. "Dean Wickes may have cast a dark shadow over that place, but people around here had plenty of good things to say about you." She continued onwards. "Mrs Jones said you made her look ten years younger and Linda Carter said that you transformed her daughter when she was a bridesmaid."

"What can I say? I know my way around a pair of GHD's." He paused. "I'm also the master of small talk and make one hell of a cup of coffee."

"Then what do you say?"

Paul looked around the shop. He really could see himself working there. He missed the customers and he missed the challenge of turning lifeless hair into art. He looked at the shelves, brimming with high end shampoos – they must have cost a fortune. "It would be amazing; it really would be." Already he was making mental notes of what he would do. He pointed to the table in the waiting area. "You should really think about adding a few glossy magazines and a bowel of sweets; the customers go mad for stuff like that."

"Oh yeah? You mean like Cosmopolitan and Grazia?"

He wrapped the jacket tightly around his waist, making sure it was secure. "That's exactly what I mean." He was on his feet now. He walked over to the shampoo stock that had caught his eye earlier, picked up a bottle off the shelf. "You should order a few extra bottles of these each month, display them next to the till and then sell them on for double what you paid originally."

"See, you know what brings the money in." She walked over to him. "When do you want to start?"

At that, Paul's smile suddenly slipped. He had become so wrapped up in the idea of working in a salon again that he had failed to think practically. "I really want to."

Belinda could sense where this was going. "There's a but, isn't there?"

He merely nodded.

"I don't see why not." Belinda shot back. "You're twenty years old, what would a boy of that age get out of working on some flower stall? It's exciting here, you'll be surrounded by people your own age, doing something that you actually care about."

He sat down again. "It's not the flower stall, Belinda."

"Then what is it?" She pulled out the seat opposite him. "I thought that a young lad like you would jump at an opportunity like this."

"The funny thing is, if you had come to me a week ago, I would've done." He elaborated further. "You see, my Nan and Granddad, they're moving away and me and Ben, we're going to run the business together, we've got a flat and everything."

"That would be romantic if it wasn't for the fact you're working with dead people." She shuddered. "At least my customers have a pulse and can make decent conversation."

He sighed. "I know and I appreciate the offer, but taking over the business and running it with Ben, it really means something."

At this, her face softened. "Well, all I can do is wish you luck I suppose." She paused. "Would you like to give feedback on the massage?"

Paul shook his head. "Let's just keep that between us."

She pointed to where the jacket was tied around his waist. "It gone down yet?"

His cheeks flushed a bright scarlet. "Okay, ok, I'll sign your stupid feedback sheet." He picked up a pen and hurriedly wrote a few sentences before passing it back to Belinda. "Happy now?"

She scanned the page. "It doesn't really convey just how much you enjoyed it, but it'll do."

"Now, I really have got to get to the stall." Awkwardly, he picked up the hair band that had been discarded on the floor, checked his appearance in the mirror and slipped out the door.

Paul checked his watch; he was indeed late.

Paul sighed. There was no way he could stand on the stall in his current condition. "Right; home, cold shower and I'll open up in the afternoon."

He had a feeling that today was going to be an eventful one.