‘Really? You live on the moon?’ Edward’s lips twitched and Isaac cackled with laughter. Although neither seemed to be quite on the same intellectual wavelength, they clearly shared the same sense of humour.
‘Noooo. Kentish Town.’
‘That explains it, then. Are you sure you didn’t count any of them twice?’
Isaac shrugged. ‘Maybe. It might have been a hundred.’
It seemed so natural to laugh with them. The obvious thing to do. ‘It was three hundred and forty-nine, wasn’t it, Isaac?’
‘That’s right. Three hundred and forty-nine.’
Edward nodded. ‘Impressive. That’s a prime number, you know.’
‘What’s a prime number?’
Edward shot a helpless glance at Charlotte and she shrugged. All of a sudden this quiet, reserved man had become almost talkative, and against her better judgement she actually wanted to hear what he had to say for himself.
‘It’s...um...it’s a very special number. There are lots of them. I dare say they’ll teach you about that at school.’
‘When?’
‘Er... Pretty soon, I imagine. Ask your teacher.’
‘Okay.’
Lucky escape. Charlotte mouthed the words at him and he raised one eyebrow, as if he’d been in complete control all along.
‘How many are there?’
She saw the line of Edward’s jaw stiffen as it became apparent that she had spoken too soon.
‘More than you can count. Even if you ride on the bus all day. The first prime number is two. Then five...’
By the time he’d worked his way up to twenty-nine and shown no signs of flagging Charlotte decided to step in. At this rate they could be driving to Birmingham and back before either Isaac went to sleep or Edward got to the point where he could no longer work out the next prime number in his head.
She turned in her seat to face Isaac. ‘Edward’s got to stop counting now, sweetie, because he’s driving and has to keep his eye on the road. I’ll explain all about prime numbers when we get home.’
‘Okay.’
* * *
It was nice having her in the car. She smelled good—like soap and roses. Rose soap, maybe. Edward ran through all the possibilities in his head and surprised himself with how delicious each of them was.
She didn’t just smell nice; she was nice. Whenever he saw her with the clinic’s clients she was always the same. Gentle, reassuring, and yet with a hint of fun about her. She made people smile. But Edward couldn’t help but think there was more. When he’d seen her at the bus stop the other day, huddled under her umbrella in the pouring rain, there had been a defeated slant to her shoulders that had made him want to stop, but his nerve had failed him. Getting involved with people wasn’t what Edward did.
‘You must like jazz?’ She was stretching her legs out in front of her. Smiling.
‘Very much,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘I don’t really know. I’ve not listened to much. I like this.’
‘Good.’ He could have left it at that. Would normally have left it at that. But against his better judgement he wanted to prolong the conversation. ‘Most people just automatically say they love jazz, irrespective of whether they’ve listened to any.’
She gave a little laughing nod, as if she knew just what he meant. ‘It’s one of those things that you’re meant to like, isn’t it? I mean if you admit to not knowing much about jazz, then it’s like owning up to being some kind of barbarian.’
‘I don’t think you’re a barbarian.’ He thought she was a damn sight more honest that most people.
He was rewarded with one of the smiles that she was so free with. This one seemed just for him. ‘That’s all right, then.’