Dolphin-san: Hey there again! So I've got to say a quick sorry to those who don't particularly like the little side story with Max, but he's going to be tied in with the rest and I'd prefer to have his time during this mentioned as well. After all, he's a character too, you know? Well it's just the way I've planned this so unfortunately for you guys, it's going to continue.

Chapter 19

Wheeling herself to the front door, Florence pulled it open. The man on the doorstep was coatless, shivering and soaked to the skin. With his long blonde hair plastered to his head, stuck-together eyelashes and blue cotton shirt clinging to every curve, he looked like a merman unceremoniously plucked from the sea.

'Mrs Curtis? Sorry I'm wet, it was sunny this morning so I didn't bother with a coat, I didn't think it was going to rain –'

'Even the weather's against you.' Reversing the chair, Florence waved him through. 'Come in, Max. And call me Florence, for goodness' sake.'

Florence set a great store by first impressions. It never took her more than a few minutes to decide whether or not she liked someone. She had done it with each of her husbands, and with Ray too, when the arthritis had worsened last year and she had been forced to advertise for a lodger-cum-helper.

Twenty-three uninspiring applicants later – when Florence had been on the verge of giving up hope – Ray had arrived. Apologising profusely for being late because he'd been so busy eavesdropping on the tube that he'd sailed right past his stop, he had promptly launched into the risqué joke he'd overheard.

They had taken to each other instantly. Florence, her life at the time being something of a joke-free zone, had offered him the flat practically on the spot. And Ray, with no family of his own – his parents having died in a car crash three-years earlier – had been entranced by Florence's bawdy, irreverent attitude to, well, pretty much everyone and everything. He had moved in the next day, thrilled to be there and amazingly eager to please, and had making Florence laugh – not always intentionally – ever since.

A cup of tea and twenty minutes in front of the fire, meanwhile, had done wonders for Max. His blonde hair was almost dry and the colour had returned to his cheeks.

He didn't look as though he was about to reel off a string of jokes, but given the circumstances, that was understandable.

'So you phoned your husband last night,' Florence prompted when Max paused halfway through the story.

'Humiliating, I know. But I was desperate.' Max's shoulders rose and fell. 'Not that it got me anywhere. Even if I did manage to drag him through the courts . . . well, that could take years.' Sadly he shook his head. 'Anyway, I'm not the dragging-through-the-courts type.'

This, Florence thought was more than likely what Bruce was banking on too.

Intercepting her thoughtful gaze, Max straightened his back and swept his hair away from his face.

'I know it seems pretty unlikely, looking at me now, but I do actually have some pride. If my husband's that desperate not to have any contact with us' – his hand touched his stomach in an unconsciously protective gesture – 'well, then I don't want his money. I'd rather do without it, manage by myself.'

The cobalt-blue eyes were clear, the set of his jaw determined. If he had been crying earlier – and Florence was pretty certain he had been – there was no sign of tears now.

Down but not out, Florence noted with approval. The spark had been well hidden, but was still there.

'You've worked for my son for over three years and he's sung your praises more times than I can remember. Don't worry about your job,' she told Max. 'I'll make sure he doesn't give you the sack.'

Max breathed out slowly. 'That's really kind. You don't know what a relief that is.' Sensing that the meeting was at an end, he glanced at his watch. Six thirty-five. He'd missed the first appointment, but id he hurried he could just about make the second.

'Where are you going?' Florence raised her eyebrows.

Reaching for his backpack and levering himself to his feet, Max said apologetically, 'Florence, I'm so grateful. But I hope you don't mid if I rush off. You see, I have to –'

'That isn't why I asked you to come here. I could have told you that on the phone. Oh well, you're up now,' Florence sighed, 'you may as well take a look before you go.'

Max was confused.

'Take a look at what?'

'You'll have to go up on your own.' Florence indicated her wheelchair. 'Top of the stairs, third door on the left.'

What was in there, Max wondered, Bruce's old cot?

'Okay. Um, what am I looking for?'

If it was a cot, he hoped Florence wasn't expecting him to take it away with him now – to tuck it under his arm perhaps, and lug it home on the bus.

'I'm asking you to look at the room, child.' Florence's tone was suddenly brusque. 'It's empty. If you want it, you can have it.'

'Honestly, it's terrifying, like being a double-agent!' Ray had to shout to make himself heard above the roar of the vacuum cleaner as he belted around Florence's sitting room hovering up biscuit crumbs at a rate of knots. 'I keep telling myself I'll wait until Bev hasn't mentioned Hiro's name for a whole day. Then, when that happens, it'll mean she's over him and I'll be able to confess. But I'm beginning to wonder if it's ever going to happen. She talks about him practically nonstop. The only time she stops is to ask me how things are going with my new boyfriend. I'm telling you, it's fraught. One slip of the tongue and I'm dead.'

He was kneeling on the floor now, bottom in the air, energetically hovering under the sofa. Florence, from the safety of her chair, said, 'So what do you call him?'

'Nothing!' Leaning back on his heels and pushing his spiky fringe out of his eyes, Ray reached across and switched off the vacuum cleaner. 'Just "my boyfriend", or "my chap". Of course, Bev's convinced the reason I won't tell her his name is because he's called something awful, like Horace or Percy. Or Engelbert.'

'Wouldn't it be easier to call him Engelbert?'

Ray gave her a measured look.

'No, it would not.'

It was seven thirty and Hiro – the boyfriend with no name – was due over at eight. Ray kept glancing compulsively at the clock on the mantelpiece.

'Go on, run upstairs and get ready.' Florence shooed him towards the door.

'What's this?' Bending down, Ray dug a blue hair band out from between the sofa cushions.

'I had a visitor this afternoon.' The hair band must have fallen out of Max's bag, Florence realised. 'I'll tell you about it later. You go and have a bath.'

The doorbell rang at seven forty-five. Mr Keen, thought Florence with amusement as she wheeled herself through the hall. From upstairs came the sound of Ray still splashing away happily in the bath.

'He's here,' Florence yelled up the staircase. 'Don't worry, I'll be gentle with him!'

Pulling open the front door, she came face to face with Ray's new boyfriend. Two-toned hair and dark brown eyes, Florence noted with approval; she had always gone for men with dark eyes herself. The clothes – old jeans and a faded black polo shirt – were something of a disappointment, a bit casual for a hot date in Florence's view, but that was young people today. Anyway, the body beneath the shabby clothes more than made up for it.

'Hello, come in, lovely to meet you at last.' He reminded her of someone; an actor, she guessed, from the telly. 'I've heard so much about you from Ray. He's in the bath, by the way, so I'll look after you until he's finished tarting himself up.'

'Oh, right.' He looked surprised but pleased. 'Fine by me. It's nice to meet you too.'

'Through here.' Reversing, Florence expertly guided him past her into the sitting room.

'You aren't going to run me over with your wheelchair, are you?' he said with a grin. 'Ray warned me you might.'

'Why would I want to run you over? Now, tell me what you'd like to drink. I've got a bottle of wine open, but there's beer in the fridge if you'd prefer.'

'Wine would be great. We'll try not to lose your glasses this time.'

'My glasses?' Florence wondered why he sounded so amused. She hadn't the faintest idea where her glasses were – buried at the back of a drawer somewhere, probably. 'To be honest, I never wear them. Too vain.'

When she turned around, Ray's boyfriend was giving her a slightly odd look.

'I meant the wine glasses you left behind on Parliament Hill.'

'Oh, those! Ray told you about that, did he?' Florence laughed, remembering their abrupt departure. 'Ha, that was a funny old day.'

'Actually –'

'So were are you taking him tonight?'

'Um, I think we've got some wires crossed here.'

Click click, went Florence's brain. She put down the bottle she was in the process of pouring and gazed steadily across at her visitor.

There was definitely something about those dark-brown eyes.

Click click click . . .

'Oh dear,' she exclaimed at last, 'you must think I'm completely dotty. You aren't Hiro, are you?'

He smiled.

'No, I'm not Hiro.'

Now Florence knew why he had seemed so familiar. He didn't resemble a television actor at all; he was someone she had seen before in the flesh.

Only fleetingly, mind you. And from a fair distance. Not to mention minus the spectacles she never wore but perhaps should think about wearing . . .

'You're Hungry and Homeless,' said Florence.

'Well, kind of. But you can call me Kai,' he replied with a grin.

He might not be who she thought he was, but Florence had already made up her mind. She liked him.

'So you aren't Ray's new boyfriend,' she announced, holding his glass out to him. 'Pity. Never mind, you can still have a drink.'

When Ray had heard the shrill ring of the doorbell earlier, his immediate instinct had been to leap out of the bath and race downstairs. Well, maybe throw on a few clothes first.

But Hiro was early, he hadn't even washed his hair yet and he'd been looking forward to this bath all day. Besides, Florence was there to entertain him.

Maybe I shouldn't rush down, Ray thought, sinking lazily back into the steaming, scented water. Let them have time alone together; that way, they can get to know each other in peace.

'Here he is,' Florence announced twenty minutes later. 'Darling, you look a treat.'

Having been encouraged by the explosions of laughter filtering up the stairs – Florence and Hiro were clearly getting on like a house on fire - Ray had taken his time getting ready. Now, completely thrown by the sight of the wrong two people getting along like a house on fire – well, right woman, wrong man – he ground to a halt in the doorway.

Was Jeremy Beadle responsible for this?

Dolphin-san: Yay! Kai's popped back in for a visit! I think I'll leave it there for today, so please review peoples! Ja Ne.