Chapter 5

I don't care whether it's a date or not, Tuesday afternoon arrives and I am getting ready to go out with Scott. True to his word, he's taking me to see a movie, and then we are going for a beer and a pizza. Alan's still sulking, but that's nothing to do with me now. It annoys me that the moment a man looks at me, he gets jealous. Even when it's his own brother!

I try on one outfit after another until my door buzzer goes.

"Tin-Tin," Scott's voice calls from the other side. "If you don't get a move on we'll be late."

I picture him standing there, impatiently checking his watch.

"Coming, Scott," I shout, finally settling on a pretty patterned dress and red sandals, topping the outfit off with my cropped denim jacket.

"Nice," says Scott when I open the door, "and it only took you three hours."

He himself is wearing black denims and his battered leather jacket, under which is a soft cotton shirt in his favourite shade of blue. The top two buttons are undone.

I follow him down to the aircraft hangar where his own jet, Freebird, stands waiting.

"Alan's not happy," he says.

"I don't care about Alan," I snort. "I told him he wasn't to do this, get jealous when I see other men." I realise what I've just said. "Er...not that I'm seeing you, Scott."

He laughs, throws his arm round my shoulders. "I love it when a lady blushes," he grins.

"And I'll bet you've seen your fair share of those," I reply.

The flight to the mainland is uneventful, but it's wonderful being in that small space with him. The last time we flew to the mainland together was Christmas two years ago, but it never felt anything like this. I am full of anticipation for the evening ahead, watching the clouds go by and trying to gaze surreptitiously at his handsome profile. Luckily, he seems oblivious as we chat and make small talk.

In the cinema Scott picks two seats near the back and we settle down with giant tubs of popcorn which he has already begun working his way through. The film is an action thriller, but turns out to be badly acted and predictable. Scott's unhappy with the plot and grumbles through mouthfuls of popcorn. That character would never do this, and this character would never do that.

Midway through the film, he puts down his empty container and starts digging into mine. A character on the screen is trapped underwater by chains.

"He's been down there at least twenty minutes," he gripes. "The guy would be dead by now- he's not Aqua Man, for Pete's sake."

"It's only a movie," I whisper, "that people are trying to watch."

He rubs both hands over his face, then does that theatrical yawning thing and drapes his arm across the back of my chair. I don't hesitate to snuggle against him. He moves his arm to my shoulders and thrills me by giving my arm a little squeeze.

"You okay, Tin-Tin?" he asks. "I know the movie's not up to much, but this is nice, don't you think?"

"Mm, it's lovely," I agree.

"Popcorn's good, too," he says, stuffing a handful from my container into his mouth.

Eventually the man onscreen frees himself from the chains with a plastic toothpick.

"Oh, now, that is unbelievable!" I declare, and shrink down in my seat as I'm shushed.

The pizza Scott buys us is huge. I watch in amazement as he unglues one thick slice dripping with cheese- he has to hold it in both of his hands. Cheesy strings hang from his mouth as he eats, great huge mouthfuls that make his cheeks bulge.

"Get stuck in, Tin-Tin," he mumbles, "or there won't be anything left."

I pick at my bowl of mixed salad, but I must say, the pizza looks tempting. Warm cheesy pepperoni smells waft over, and soon I am helping myself to a slice that's the length of my forearm.

"Mmm!" I mumble through a mouthful of doughy goo. "This slice is a meal in itself!"

"You certainly look like you're enjoying it," he grins through oil-slicked lips. "Better than a bit of old salad any day. It's not as if you need to lose weight, either. You're perfect as you are."

"Thank you," I blush, "but if I ate like this every day, I'd be a small mountain. How on earth do you manage it, Scott?"

He rubs at his mouth, looks at me naughtily. "Invisible calories," he says. "When you eat with a friend, they don't count. When you eat with a special friend, you work it off later."

Oh God. Unbidden thoughts arise, of him and any one of his 'special' friends 'working off' their dinner.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I utter.

"Of course you don't, Tin-Tin," he grins.

After pizza, he takes me for a beer. We sit on a low wall outside a noisy bar and he chugs his drink straight from the bottle. My stomach is bloated with dough and cheese and the glass of Sprite I drank earlier. It's not the most romantic night out in the world, but I'll take any chance I can get.

"So, Tin-Tin, have you had a good night?"

"Oh, I have, Scott. I've enjoyed every minute."

He taps my glass with his bottle. "Here's to many more," he grins.

We sit there in silence for ages. There's a fat, buttery moon hanging low in the sky, its face peering out from between two buildings. Scott sits with his left leg drawn up, his foot on the wall, his left arm resting on his knee. His dark hair shines in the light, his dimples are accentuated by shadow.

"You're very quiet," I tell him. " You're not normally one for contemplation."

"First time for everything, Tin-Tin, and I'll try anything once."

I look up at the sky, the myriad of stars. "John's up there somewhere," I muse.

Scott drains the last of his beer, sets the bottle down on the ground. "If only it were Alan. We'd have peace and quiet for a whole month."

I thump him on the leg. "Scott Tracy, that wasn't very nice."

He laughs again. I love the sound of Scott's laugh. He can be so serious sometimes but when he laughs, when he finds something really funny, he sounds as delighted as a little boy.

"Ouch, Tin-Tin!" he protests. "Anyway, you know he'd say the same thing about me."

"Yes, he would. And it would be true."

He gives me a sideways glance. His eyes are filled with mischief. He nudges me. I'm not expecting it and I almost topple off the wall. I nudge him back, hard. He nudges me back even harder, and soon we are laughing and tussling. I adore playing like this with Scott. It doesn't happen as often as I'd like.

"Where's Alan now, eh? Where's Alan now?" he teases, while I struggle like a trapped cat.

"Help!" I call out. "International Rescue, help!" In the middle of all my contortions, my foot catches Scott's empty bottle and sends it clattering and spinning across the ground and onto a strip of brown grass.

"Whoops," I mutter breathlessly.

He lets me go and I stagger upright, giggling. "Enough," I gasp. My clothes are rumpled and askew and my hair is stuck to my face. "You're a maniac, Scott Tracy."

He gets up. He towers over me. He smoothes down my hair, pats my shoulders.

"Had enough excitement for one day?"

"Is that your idea of excitement? Beating people up?" There are red marks all over my arms. That boy doesn't know his own strength.

"Beating people up! I don't know, Tin-Tin. The things you come out with." He pulls me into a bear hug. "There. Is that better?"

"Much better."

If only he knew how much better.