Hello. Don't know what to say but possibly it needs to be sorry. I have a few chapters written but had hoped to one day finish before posting but a very lovely lady had asked for updates and I felt a little guilty that this was still sitting gathering dust. Hope those fabulous people still out there reading (and to the amazing folk who are still writing - thank you) are doing well and sorry I'm coming back with a bit of a filler chapter.

"I need a favour?"

Charles' eyes widen. If I was a tad more paranoid, I might think he was shocked I had the audacity to be knocking on his door before 9am in the morning, but, thanks to the corners of his mouth twitching like my Nans' curtains when a car pulls up in her street, I'm perfectly aware he's desperate to laugh.

My hands on my waist, I give myself a moment to compose myself before I ask:

"Could you possibly nip out to the shops 'n' get me some caster sugar?"

There's a beat whilst Charles surveys from the tips of my slippered feet up to the top of my head before he asks in a serious drawl. "Are you planning on wearing that too?"

"Ha, bloody ha." I say, trying to keep at least a tiny shred of dignity whilst in my current state. Unlike me, who looks nothing like the younger version of Mary Berry I'd envisaged when dropping off some perfectly baked meringues, Charles looks every inch how I'd pictured him; far too attractive and very very fit with the added benefit of fun when he waggles his eyebrows and looks down his nose at me. In all my daydreams of when I'd next see Charles, which I won't lie there have been too many, never in my wildest imagination did I think it would be when I had two tonnes of sugar all over myself; lets just say making meringues is more difficult than I'd imagined. Especially when you have the great idea to substitute more granulated sugar for caster sugar… and forget to add the eggs.

"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what exactly happened?" He asks, interrupting my internal pondering of whether it's possible to sue the sugar companies for making too many kinds of sugar.

"No. I' don't 'spose I would." I respond smugly. Obviously, they never bothered teaching Officers the difference between a closed and open question when wanting information.

Charles leans against his door, relaxing one hip and gently laughs before gracing me with a wicked grin. "I'd like to point out here, that you..." a finger is pointed in my direction, "need me more than I need you, so I suggest you start to be slightly more forthcoming with your answers."

I straighten up to my full 5'3, I'm not sure it has the effect I'd like but I continue ignoring the butterflies suddenly doing a complicated dance in my tummy. "I'd like to point out I need caster sugar more than I need anything, else I wouldn't be standing here asking you to nip out to the shops for me - would I?"

"Oooohhhhh." He laughs. "Fighting talk… but….I'll make a deal, tell me what happened in as much detail as possible and I will trade you caster sugar for all the meringues once they're cooked."

It only takes a minute. I'd be rubbish in Special Forces. I sigh. "Alright. You know the top of the food thingy…"

"Food thingy?"

"You know, the mixer thingy."

"No I don't know?" He says, still looking blank.

I'm struggling for the right words because after all I never bought the bloody thing, it was just there when I moved in; so against my better instincts before I can think it through, I've opened my door and invited Charles in. Within seconds Charles is sniggering away at the sight of the marble worktops covered with a concoction of mismatched sugar.

"Next thin' I know - bloody puuufff." I say, extending my arms to show how icing sugar can travel - it's far, I wouldn't be surprised if some had reached my bedroom. "I dunno' what went wrong."

"I think you need to put a lid on it." Charles says, swiping some of the sugar off the side of the coffee table.

It's not the first time I've been told that, but it still hurts, after all I'm only trying to give him my side of the events. "You asked what happened." I huff.

Charles looks confused for a moment, before his mouth forms a perfect O as he realises how I've taken his comment. "No. Not you. On the food mixer. Though-"

"Don't even say it." I hold up my hand. Rewarded yet again with a wicked grin. I like this Charles. Especially when he takes his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans to check he has his cards for popping to the shops and asks "Do you want a coffee when I'm out?"

"No thanks."

"Tea?"

"I've got a perfectly good kettle, 'n' teabags so why would I want tea from a bleedin' takeaway?"

"Is there anything I can get you?" He looks a mix between impressed and not interested.

"A bacon butty. I'd kill for a bacon butty. It's just not the same when you make it yourself. And can I have it with tomato sauce? And if you can ask if they don't make it too crispy, I hate it when it's' all that crispy way 'n' it's just like eatin' burnt cardboard" Too many memories from the cook house in Bastion.

"You talk a lot." He says, then when he observes my hands on my hips ready for what I hope is going to be a pretty great quip, though I haven't exactly thought of it yet, quickly changes the subject. "Okay, you put the kettle on. I take my coffee black and I'll see you in a bit. Actually, can I get your number."

"Askin' me on a date already? Not sure I think of you in that way?"

"What. No. I just meant…" He looks up in horror and only when he sees that I'm taking the absolute piss, because it would be clear to the world and I'm including myself in that, him and I would never have enough in common. "That maybe I might need to phone you and ask if you wanted cream or strawberries…. If the corner shop has them that is." The corner shop is a high end delicatessen so I'm sure they will have freshly squeezed from the udder by maidens hands cream and picked from the garden of Buckingham Palace strawberries.

"Yeah I love strawberries 'n' cream. That would be a great idea."

"Well crack on with the baking and I'll see you in 15."

15 minutes is surprisingly enough time to clean the worktops, pop the kettle on and wash my face. I longingly look at the stick of maybelline lip gloss sitting on the shelf, that though slightly congealed, would be better than the sun dry chapped lips reflected in the mirror but I stop myself, aware that Charles might get the wrong impression that I'm trying to impress him. It is one thing to have a crush on your incredibly handsome neighbour, it is another for him to realise it.

Charles walks through the door, holding a brown paper carrier bag and smiles. "Mission accomplished."

"Bet that ain't the first time you've said that in your life." I grin, leaning in what I hope is a seductive way against the kitchen units.

He stops for a moment, thoughts flickering across his face whilst he unpacks the groceries. It is one of the things I like about him, that I can surprise him with my comments and he doesn't immediately try to think of something smarter, he accepts it, acknowledges it and then, when I'm not expecting it, surprises me with the same humour. He doesn't disappoint today, after he's thought about it I get an exhalation of a laugh and a shake of his head. "It isn't. And I'd make you blush telling you exactly when I said it."

He's partially right. He hasn't told me but I'm already blushing, my mind is going nuts.

"Did you really go to Eton?" I ask. We're sitting at the table watching the meringues cool down. I'm in heaven because Charles wiped a little bit of grease off the side of my mouth after the world's best ever bacon butty and my meringues actually look like they are meant to look.

"Yes."

"What were it like?" Imagining the tourists watching a young Charles resplendent with his school uniform wandering in line with his fellow students down the streets of Windsor. I'm thinking that because the one and only school trip I went to was Windsor Castle, and for some reason, they thought it would be good to show us Eton. Like what does every child need from an impoverished area but a glimpse into the world of what it would like to be entitled.

"Probably like anyone else's school days. You thought you were hard done to. That it was the epitome of life and you couldn't wait to escape. But, on reflection. They were the best days of your life." He takes a sip of his coffee.

"I hated school and didn't really bother going."

"Did your parents not make you?" He asks in surprise.

"Nah, meant I could look after my brothers and sisters if I were at home."

"Nice." He says, like it is anything but.

"So…." I say, checking my watch "Did you actually, really enjoy school?"

"Of course."

"Why? I think you must have been brainwashed to enjoy school. To enjoy people tellin' you what to do. To enjoy gettin' up in the morning to get there after doin' the middle of the night feeds for the two youngest and gettin' up to shut the front door 'cause you're old man was too pissed to shut it when he came in at 2am, 'n' your mum has barricaded herself in her bedroom 'n' is refusing to come out unless George bleedin' Clooney is there to whisk her off her feet. Then wakin' up 'n' realising you're late 'n' you're gonna' get a bleedin' bollocking for bein' late yourself never mind the disapproving looks of the school teachers when you drop your little brother 'n' sister off 5 minutes late…..."

"Polly."

"...Without a pack lunch 'cause there ain't anything in the house to make them …"

"Polly."

" 'n' your parents couldn't even be arsed registering for school meals, so you're gonna have to-" I'm Polly. I'm not Molly and I turn mid sentence to see a, what can only be described as a bewildered Charles, looking across at me. "Yes?" I ask, worried because he looks worried.

"You do realise your little soliloquy there; says far more about your family dynamics than your ability to attend and learn from school."

In that moment, sitting at a marbled dining room table that cost more than my parents have paid rent in the last 10 years I realise that Charles is right. Maybe I would have enjoyed school. Maybe my lack of intelligence is because I haven't had the opportunity in life. "If I knew what a soliloquy was I'd probably agree with you."

Charles appears to ignore me which is annoying 'cause I had expected him to see through my glib reply.

"If you could be anything, anything in this world. What would it be?" He asks, before offering. " I think you could be a baker?"

"I was hopin' for something a bit more exciting than that?"

"Like what?"

"I'd like to be a Captain in the Army."

"Why?" Charles rolls his eyes.

He has so fallen for this. "Because all it takes is ordering people around and being born with a silver spoon in your mouth?"

"Well I suppose I did ask."

His answer is dejected, and I find myself trying to make him feel better. "It wouldn't just be the ordering around, it would just be like, being respected, you know."

"If you had ever been an officer in her Majesty's Army, you'd realise it was never about being respected."

I take a moment to remember my mate Smurf, who could talk for hours about his Commissioned Officers and how wonderful they had been. I had been the opposite and to be fair to Charles, I was probably the one in the Platoon that showed a lack of respect and constantly found ways to question their authority. I was a right pain in the arse but it had been fun and passed the time. Deep down I do think I respected them though, just didn't like showing it. "Do you think you'll ever leave the Army?" Stretching as I stand up, I make my way over to the oven, pulling the door down and tapping a meringue with trepidation. My grin is huge as a muffled hollow sound is made. "Must be difficult with a kid, being away for so long."

"I might have to leave the Army" Charles looks sad, and I feel the grin sliding off my face.

"That's shit, surely they have to give you time?"

"I'm just not sure I'm ever going to be able to be on active service. I don't think I'd ever be able to trust myself to make the right decisions."

"What would you do, you know, if you left?"

"I think I'd maybe like to teach."

"Bit boring." The words are out my mouth before I've even really thought about them. "I just can't really see you sittin' behind a desk." I try to justify, except I don't think he's impressed, he's just staring at me. "You've got this kind of energy inside of you. Sittin' there 'n' teaching kids who don't want to be taught? People who teach have a calmness. Yeah, it is for some people, I just don't think you."

"You're the first one who's said that I shouldn't." He's almost surprised, both his eyebrows raised. "What do you think I should be?"

I watch him walk away from the table, heading back over to the meringues which have served their time of cooling down. He pops one in his mouth and I almost drool myself as he makes a face of pure ecstasy. It really is a sight to behold. Charles catches me watching him, and it's like he's trying to suss out exactly what the emotion is on my face. I have a panic that he's going to realise I might possibly have feelings for him. "A professional dog food tester."

"What?" He asks incredulously.

I've saved the moment. He's stopped trying to read me and now looks somewhere between amused and annoyed. I giggle. "You just made the strangest face eatin' that meringue. I kinda' could see you being a food taster."

"Yeah but a dog food taster. Jesus Christ Flawes. You must really dislike me." He laughs.

I wink. "Somethin' like that Mate."