Ivy Lane: Autumn: by Cathy Bramley Page B

flattered,’ I’d replied. In fact, I was thrilled! And although the prospect was a little bit daunting, the wonderful thing was that I knew I could do it. I enjoyed my job and the thought of having total ownership of a class certainly had its appeal. Mrs Burns had given me the half-term holiday to think it over, which was what I fully intended to do.
    I’d had some good news for Lee Garton, too. A spot of discreet digging had unearthed a young people’s soup kitchen based in a local church and now Lee and his brothers and sisters were sitting down to a hot meal each night after school. I’d also phoned his school and had a word with his head of year to get him a bit of support from that quarter. It wasn’t a complete solution – I knew that – but it was a start.
    Then Gemma had told me that she was giving up her half of plot sixteen and the committee wanted to know if I’d take it on. If it hadn’t come along at the same time as the job offer, I probably would have taken it. Plot 16 B had taken over my life this year, which had been exactly the right thing to do. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted the allotment to become an even bigger commitment; I rather thought my social life was the next item on the agenda. I was really going to miss all the fun Gemma and I had had this year at Ivy Lane, though, and had extracted a pledge from her to visit me at least once a week to keep me company.
    Since the fruit and vegetable thefts had stopped, Gemma, Charlie and I had kept our promise and not breathed a word about it to the rest of the Ivy Lane community. The plot holders were still puzzled by what had happened but, by and large, peace and harmony had been restored. Brenda had apologized to everyone who she’d accused and the community service team had finally been welcomed into the fold.
    And Aidan was coming back to Ivy Lane. Tonight.
    At seven o’clock, every single Ivy Lane plot holder was crammed into the pavilion. A large television screen kindly donated for the evening by
Green Fingers
dominated one end of the room. My stomach was fluttering as I tried to locate my favourite TV director amongst the crowd when Vicky bustled past.
    ‘You look nice, Tilly!’ she said.
    ‘Thank you.’ I smiled and did a little twirl.
    I wished I could say the same for my bedroom; it looked like it had been ransacked by the fashion police. What do you wear to a premiere of your very own episode of
Green Fingers
? It had been a difficult choice. On the one hand, it was only an evening in the pavilion, but on the other, Aidan would be there. Working on the principle that the last time I saw him I’d been wearing a dress and that seemed to have been a roaring success, I’d plumped for a plum-coloured wool dress with high-heeled boots.
    My breath caught in my throat as I spotted him. Far side, bottom perched on the edge of a table, arms folded, ankles crossed, head thrown back in laughter, flanked on either side by Peter and Nigel. A sudden memory of our summer kiss popped into my head and my heart performed a perfect somersault.
    His hair was a bit longer, his face deeply tanned – and he had the beginnings of a beard, but apart from that he was every bit as I remembered: totally gorgeous.
    Up until this moment, I hadn’t been sure what my reaction to seeing him again was going to be and now I had my answer. Goosebumps, quickening pulse and hot cheeks.
    Right, Tilly, if you get another chance with Aidan, do not burst into tears and do not turn him down again.
    What was I thinking? He’d given me his number and I hadn’t got in touch, why on earth would he risk rejection a second time? His card had been tucked into the corner of my mirror since August. But I hadn’t phoned him. I’d thought about it – I’d even keyed in his number on one occasion – but something had held me back and I’d invented a million reasons not to call.
    I was still chewing my bottom lip, quite possibly wearing my owl face, when he looked across and