The following day started off a little bit cloudy but, by mid morning, the sun had come out and the temperature began to rise. By lunchtime, I was really regretting my decision to wear stockings and I began to obsess about somehow sneaking off to the ladies and slipping them surreptitiously into my bag. But, being sole charge, that luxury was presently out of the question as the morning crowds thronged through the market and I was kept suprisingly busy.

As the heat increased after lunch, the crowd began to thin out. The elderly tourists made for cooler indoor activities and beleaguered mothers pushed their screaming, red-faced offspring towards any semblance of shade, their strollers congesting the pavements beneath the canopies of the venerable Lindens in the square. By mid afternoon, the intense radiated warmth from the tarmac had driven all but the hardiest souls to seek comfort elsewhere yet I remained at my stall, enervated, somewhat frazzled and hankering desperately for something cold and refreshing.

Two blond, tanned, scantily-clad women strolled past and my gaze followed them enviously as they each savoured an ice lolly. I was transfixed; so much so that my mouth began to water furiously and I was momentarily insensible to everything around me, including the fact that someone had wandered up behind me.

"Allo, allo," I heard a voice say, in the corniest of French accents. Somewhat lethargically, I turned around to respond and I was met with the beaming and slightly cheeky grin of my acquaintance from the previous day.

"Andrew!" I said with surprise.

"Louisa, how are you faring in this ridiculous heat?" He said, tilting his head and pulling a comically concerned face. He was wearing a straw hat today and it suited him.

I laughed mirthlessly as I reached behind me in a vain attempt to separate my one hundred percent polyester frock from the clammy, feverish skin of my back.

"I'm not actually!" I replied, feeling the rivulets of moisture running down my stomach and wondering how bad my eyeliner bleed was at that current moment. I couldn't imagine that I had any makeup left in place.

"I thought of bringing you an ice cream but I wasn't sure of the rules. Couture and sticky coagulated fats didn't seem like a good idea, if you know what I mean." He said with a cheeky smile.

"That's a shame." I replied, a little disappointed "But you're probably right. It would have just melted over everything."

He swung his little knapsack from his shoulder down onto the pavement and, to my delight, pulled out two small bottles of Ginger Beer, placing one into my hand. I smiled gratefully and pressed the cold glass to my forehead momentarily before wrenching at the lid.

He watched me knock it back with an amused light in his eyes before taking a more delicate sip from his own bottle.

"Someone's jolly thirsty!" He said and his tone was almost admiring. "I'm truly sorry I didn't get here earlier but I had rather a mess to clean up after the party."

"Oh God, no, don't apologise! It's actually lovely of you to think of me." I replied quickly. "How was it anyway? The Hideous Fancy Dress, wasn't that what you called it?"

"It was as hideous as I predicted."

"Oh. Well, it was nice of you to stay and clean up. I'm sure you didn't have to."

"Aaah, Louisa, I fear I did." Andrew replied, smiling ruefully and scratching his short hair with a contemplative frown. "I may have neglected to mention that it was actually my party. At my flat."

I started to laugh at him, and shook my head in disbelief.

Without averting his eyes from mine, he again reached into his bag and pulled out a box.

"I've never been so complimented about my attire as I was last night, resplendent in the beret you found for me." He said, as his smile broadened and his dark eyes twinkled merrily. "So I bought you these as a token of my genuine appreciation."

"Oh yes?" I said enquiringly, holding out my hand and taking the box from him. "What's this then?"

He had an infectious giggle and it threatened to overcome him as he peered down his nose at me and attempted to control his amusement.

"Sparklers." He said matter-of-factly. "I mean, who doesn't love sparklers Louisa? I don't know why, when I thought about you, you just seemed like someone who would just adore sparklers. Please tell me that you do?"

I looked at the box in my hand and then back up at him enquiringly.

"What?" I said and started to laugh again. "I don't know!"

"You can bring them with you when we go on our our picnic if you like." He said, suddenly serious.

"What?" I repeated, and my eyes narrowed at him. "What picnic? What are you on about?"

"I'll tell you all about over dinner." He said, and the cheeky smile returned to his face. "Shall I come and collect you when you finish here, or do you need to go home first?"

I stared at him in disbelief but I was, I suppose, just completely won over by his bare faced cheek and the sheer force of his personality. His lean good looks didn't hurt either if I'm honest. So, I heard myself agree without hesitation and then, without me even really noticing how he did it, Andrew just became my second real boyfriend.

That night, he'd taken me to a great little Chinese restaurant and he told me yet another outrageous tale about how he'd discovered it accidentally after he'd tailed some poor unsuspecting Hong Kong tourists one evening after he'd seen them leaving their hotel. He was adamant that, as soon as he'd seen that there was not a single European in the restaurant that he knew he was on to a winner and he frequented the place to the point where they greeted him by name. I came quickly to realise that Andrew was a bit different and I admit I did find it quite charming.

He told so many stories that I wasn't convinced that the experiences he had claimed had, in fact, actually happened to him but he was so amusing and so easy to talk to that I wasn't bothered really. In between listening to Andrew the raconteur, I did manage to glean a little bit about him, despite his insistence, with a twinkle in his eye, that he was really and truly exceptionally uninteresting. He had just sat his Bachelor of Arts finals and was reasonably confident of honours. He freely admitted, with a theatrical grimace, that he had no idea what he was going to do next and whether he would ever use his degree. His father in particular was keen for him to return home for the summer but Andrew was resisting. Eventually, he admitted that his father was a vicar and that returning to the small parish where he had grown up, and felt continuously observed from behind the village curtains, was not very appealing.

He was the youngest of four, and his two brothers had both taken up the law. Dour and humourless was how he described them, apparently in the mould of his serious and God-fearing father. He adored his mother but worried about her constantly, telling me that she seemed to be shrinking away as a human being each time he saw her. Andrew blamed his father, and the dreary and dull way he believed his mother was forced to live; subverting her joy for life and her wry humour in order to maintain peace in her home. I saw a flash of bitterness but Andrew quickly moved on, treating me to an anecdote about his sister being expelled from an exclusive girls school for selling black market cigarettes. It was strange to see him take such amusement from the apparent shame it caused his dad but I wasn't going to judge him for that. Goodness knows, we all have to try and exist within the families we were born into, in whatever way we can.

I was actually pleased that he didn't really ask me much about myself on that first dinner; it was good not to have to explain my own humiliating circumstances and not be pitied or appraised. I was happy to listen to him, and watch his animated face as he shared yet another humorous reminiscence. There was something about him that was very attractive and, even if he knew it, he projected himself in such an appealing way; coming across as self deprecating, funny and so sweet. In fact the only disappointment of the evening was when he smoked two cigarettes rapidly, one after another, after we finished our meal. Even though I wasn't a smoker, and I didn't really like the idea, it amused me to see how elegantly he held his cigarette and how he relished the experience; throwing his head back and exhaling in a long drawn out breath, like some nineteen forties movie idol.

He escorted me home, gently teasing me on the bus about my accent before admitting that he actually quite liked it. Just before we got to my stop, he asked me for my phone number, scrawling it across the front of his cheque book in his sweeping extravagant hand but not offering me his details in return; and of course I didn't ask. When we got to the door, without hesitation, he kissed me on my forehead and told me that he looked forward to seeing me again, perhaps on the following Friday if he could juggle some other commitments. Then, he gave my hand a squeeze and was gone, bouncing jauntily along my street before turning the corner and disappearing from view.

It was barely ten o'clock and I was home to an empty house, which was a shame because I would have loved to share my evening's experience with Libby, and maybe even Holly, and try and make sense of what had just happened to me. The flat was stuffy; airless and slightly malodorous, and definitely too warm for sleeping. I turned on the shower, shed my clothes and stepped in underneath the pulsing stream of water and, as the stickiness and grime of the day was washed away, I thought about funny, handsome, irrepressible Andrew, and smiled.

I was grateful for the next few days off. I did some grocery shopping, got my washing out of the way and caught up on my sleep. When Andrew called on the following Thursday night, I was starting to feel just a bit lonely and bored, and I was actually quite thrilled that he was keen on a second night out with me. On Friday night we went to the theatre, a strange play at a small alternative venue which I didn't really understand but which seemed to thrill Andrew. Once again I was accompanied home and, once again, I received a chaste kiss, this time on the back of my hand and then again on my forehead. I was just a little disappointed to be honest but I was also determined not overthink it; one of the things that attracted me most about Andrew was that he was so different from the boys I'd resigned myself to meeting. We'd had fun and I liked him, and I tried very hard to be satisfied with that. Wasn't I the same girl who was affronted by the sneaky, unwanted fondles, and tedious chat-up lines, that I'd been subjected to almost continuously since I'd considered myself an adult? No, Andrew was definitely quirky and left-field, and I was learning that that was a good thing. If I wanted him to move a bit quicker then I was just an outrageous hypocrite. Much better to enjoy our time together and let things develop if and when they did. I went to sleep thinking about him though and, despite my protestations to the contrary, I was a bit impatient for more.

I was quite surprised when he called, again, on Saturday morning, just before I ran out the door for work, and suggested he bring a video over to my flat that night. I was secretly delighted and, of course I agreed. I was busy all day on the stall and the hours flew by; I arrived home in time to shower and change, and I was just loading a selection of CDs into Holly's stereo when Andrew knocked at the door. He greeted me with an affectionate hug and a kiss on the cheek, which took me by surprise, not only because it actually felt really nice but also because he slid his hands down over my bum before he finally let go and that, to me, felt like definite progress in the right direction as far as I was concerned.

He'd hired 'License To Kill' and we sat on the couch; eventually he slipped his arm around my shoulder, and I tentatively leaned my head on his chest. Occasionally he would stroke my hair, or comment on the film, and when I looked up at him I realised that he was transfixed by the screen; staring at the images in total wonderment. I couldn't help but think it would be nice to have him stare at me like that but perhaps I was getting just a tiny bit ahead of myself.

As we watched the action scenes unfold, he would twitch and writhe as if he himself were wrestling with the villain. He gasped audibly as the hero dodged danger by millimetres and, slightly disconcertingly, he would giggle during the love scenes and pretend to cover his eyes in embarrassment. Considering that he was a few years older than me, it did strike me as a little bit odd but, because of my psych papers, I was well aware of the different rates of maturation between the sexes and I wasn't unduly alarmed. The thing that actually bothered me was when he awkwardly suggested that we pause the film and I thought that he must need a loo break so I agreed, even though I couldn't understand why he was so hesitant to ask. But, I was clearly wrong as, watching him duck out the front door, I immediately caught a pungent whiff of cigarette smoke. I realise now that I was quite keen on something happening between us because, rather than being a bit disappointed that he had a habit which usually disgusted me, I rationalised his behaviour by actually being grateful that he so thoughtfully hadn't lit up inside the house.

While Danny had made me feel constantly under pressure to acquiesce to his physical demands, Andrew was, perplexingly, his polar opposite. After we cuddled on the couch, I readied myself to gently fend off whatever ideas he might now have, but none arose. He seemed more than content to just cuddle and it was actually me that initiated our first tentative proper kiss. I have to admit that I was disappointed that I didn't inspire more of a passionate response from him but I also lost a bit of enthusiasm myself when faced with the acrid taste of a smoker's mouth. I tried to act normally but I really needed to think about it carefully though because how do you tell someone, who is otherwise so sweet and lovely, that their breath is unpleasant? How can you do that to someone without hurting their feelings? I had no answer to that.

After a few more minutes, he removed his arm and sat forward, swivelling around to look at me.

"Dear, sweet Louisa, I fear the hour has come that I must bid you adieu. " He said, and flashed his dazzling white-toothed smile at me. "Thank you for a lovely evening."

He leaned in, kissed my forehead and stood up quickly as I stared back at him in quiet confusion. I hauled myself up from the sagging softness of our ancient sofa, and followed him to the door.

"Thanks for bringing the video. It was great."

The dreamy look reappeared on his face and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his loosely fitting linen trousers.

"Aah, Louisa, in another life I could have fancied myself as James Bond, or at least some daring secret agent, full of pluck and derring-do." He said theatrically, smiling back at me until, suddenly, his face fell and his expression became quite forlorn. "I've waited for MI6 to pluck me from the obscurity of a pointless Arts degree but I fear they have overlooked me."

He opened the door and turned back towards me.

"The real tragedy is that I have no Plan B." He said, softly, over his shoulder, and closed the door behind him.

I stood watching him leave, and was clueless on how to respond. I was so used to his exaggerated, almost camp, way of speaking, as if he were from a more romantic and elegant bygone age, but his little speech had surprised me. He genuinely seemed lost and, well, sad and I was immediately concerned for him. As I lay in bed that night I wracked my brain for clues because I had this strong sense that he reminded me of someone but I couldn't think who it was and, eventually, in the stuffy heat of my tiny bedroom, I fell into a very restless sleep.

On Monday, Holly returned and, in the afternoon, we went shopping and she regaled me with the details of an investment banker that she'd met at a posh bar when she had spent an evening in Brighton. As I listened to her discussing all his merits, it did strike me that she and I did have quite different needs when it came to potential partners. It had never even occurred to me to estimate Andrew's earning potential, or worry about his place in the social hierarchy. I suppose it was just another example of my naivety but I honestly could never ever see myself marrying for money or prestige. I knew what it was like to be poor and I could deal with that. I also knew what it was like to feel unloved and rejected and I would, hands down, choose poverty over abandonment any day of the week.

I was, by now, looking forward to Libby's return because I desperately wanted her cool perspective on my unconventional new admirer. She was due back at the end of the week and I had the idea that we could all go to the pub on Friday night and I could introduce Andrew to my friends. I would ask him when he called, and I hoped he wouldn't think it was too forward of me or indicative that I was too needy or keen because I wasn't really. I suppose I just wanted to have the sort of normal boyfriend that everyone else had.

Libby did return and immediately the atmosphere in the flat changed; her energy and sense of fun was contagious and I had this sense that I could finally have the summer I'd always dreamed of, ever since I started thinking about what I wanted from a grown up life. I waited for Andrew to call, but I heard nothing. The weekend came and went, and I hid my disappointment as well as I could, mainly because I couldn't bear for Libby to think that I'd somehow got myself tangled up in yet another pitiful and embarrassingly one-sided liaison. When Tuesday night came around again, and I was preparing myself for the working week ahead, I had all but resigned myself to the fact that I would never hear from him again. Holly brought home pizza and the three of us shared a bottle of her dad's homemade Blackberry Wine while we, disinterestedly, watched The Bill and chatted idly about nothing much in particular. I was just heading off to bed at around ten o'clock when the phone rang. Assuming that it would be for one of the others, I ignored it and kept walking but I was soon summoned by Libby's insistent calling of my name.

Ignoring her wide-eyed, quizzical stare, I took the receiver from her as casually as I could and uttered a cool hello.

"Hello, Louisa, it's Andrew." I heard a sheepish voice say, echoing and murky as if it were emanating from the depths of the earth.

"Oh, hello." I replied, relieved that I had managed to sound cool and uninterested.

"I really must apologise. I meant to call you earlier but I got a bit caught up in somewhat of an imbroglio." He said, and I listened impassively, determined not be charmed by his blustering affectations, however much they amused me.

"Right." I intoned, giving him nothing.

"You won't believe where I'm ringing from." He said, and I'm sure i heard him stifle a giggle.

"Ok, not sure if I have time for this actually." I said coldly. "I was just about to go to bed. Some of us have work in the morning."

"Oh, right, thoughtless of me, ummm, sorry, it's just that it took me a while to find a pay phone that worked. I really must apologise Louisa, you must think me so rude."

"Andrew, what do you want?" I snapped, my frustration with my own inability to secure a normal relationship suddenly boiling over.

There was silence at the other end of the line and it seemed ages until he finally spoke, his tone cowed and apologetic.

"I suppose I just wanted to let you know that I'm in Barcelona. Honestly, I'm as astonished as you are, believe me. It's a long story but, Louisa, umm, I'm going to try and get home for the weekend and I'd hoped, well, rather, I'd really like it if you would have dinner with me. Somewhere nice. By way of an apology for being such an arse."

I frowned, and took a deep breath.

"Call me when you get home. I'll think about it." I said, as cool and calm as anything, before slowly replacing the receiver and realising I was trembling.

Libby took a casual step forward from where she had been leaning against the fridge, shamelessly listening in, and gave me an enquiring look.

"Oops, that sounded ugly." She said with a little grimace.

"Men!" I cried in despair and stomped off, angrily, to my room.