Earlsfield, March 14th

Lyla looks up at the clock which hangs over the large stone fireplace, thick wooden beams creating a mantelpiece across the front, and catches herself. The clock says quarter to nine, as it has for the past 3 years she has been coming to this pub. She pulls back her sleeve to check her watch: twenty minutes past five, he is late.

She turns her eyes to the television screen which broadcasts the highlights of a cricket match. Lyla has always like cricket, but never been able to watch it for the extended periods of time that Sam does. She takes a sip of her pint and sits back on the bench.

The door opens and Sam enters, coat over his head – it must have started to rain again. He lets it fall back around his shoulders as he scans the room. Lyla watches his face until his eyes stop on hers and his mouth settles into a smile. She loves that smile – it means he’s left the day behind.

“Sorry I’m late,” says Sam as he stoops to kiss Lyla. It has become his standard greeting.

“Don’t worry,” she replies, closing her eyes briefly, smelling his skin.

Sam takes off his coat and hangs it over the back of the wooden chair. “You alright for a drink?” he asks.

“Fine,” smiles Lyla.

She watches him find his way to the bar, loose fleece covering his broad shoulders, his hair never properly combed. When she sees the barmaid fix her eyes on Sam, Lyla takes another sip of her beer and turns back to the cricket.