That first week with him past by like a blur. A reflection of the fun she was having, as well as one of the nasty side-effects from the home-brew cider Martin had plied her with on a picnic trip to their local car boot sale.
Who would have thought romance could bloom in such an unlikely setting? Yet who would fail to be impressed by the effort he’d made?
His preparations that day had been meticulous. He’d picked her up at 7:00am sharp armed with a bunch of her favourite flowers, a 20 piece Iceland buffet platter and one of the Headingley steward’s high visibility tabards. An item of clothing which when worn gives you an air of undeniable authority; an illusion Martin used to his advantage by directing traffic away from the site of the car boot sale and down onto a long winding side-road that eventually led to a overgrown railway siding.
With the event’s regular clientele boxed in and unable to turn around, there was plenty of space for her to lay out their provisions whilst Martin aggressively haggled down the price of some used cricket equipment from the owner of an Austin Allego desperate to sell to the one and only customer in view.
Later, as they set off for home, he’d waived his newly acquired jock-strap in triumph under her nose.
“Told you,” he said, “customer is king when no one’s bidding against you. Look at that! Fifty pence and only slightly distressed round the gusset.”
A smile of impressed contentment crossed her face as they drove away, oblivious to the convoy of British Transport Police vans headed in the opposite direction towards a large group of confused bargain hunters about to be arrested for trespassing on Network Rail property.
Extract reproduced by kind permission of Ms Davina Masterson