Saving Miranda: A Love...Maybe Valentine eShort

‘Miranda? Are you in there?’

Rufus! My heart pings.

Rufus is supposed to be in Berkshire, rescuing a pair of historical oak trees. He must have saved them in double quick time and driven back early.

I pull the plug and lurch from the bath so fast, a mini tidal wave follows me out, sloshing water all over the floor. A swift glance in the mirror reveals a slight case of panda eyes (could it pass as the ‘smoky’ look?) and a blonde ponytail all limp from the steamy bath. I rip out the hair tie, fluff out my locks then pull on my robe and abandon the chaos.

I’m closing the bathroom door firmly behind me just as Rufus walks in.

My heart performs its usual triple flip of pleasure.

Rufus Leybourne.

My boyfriend of five months.

Tall and dark. Gorgeous. Sexy. Dynamic.

Plus he’s absolutely brilliant at saving the planet.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’ He gives me that smile that makes my insides turn to melted chocolate and brushes my lips with his. ‘So what have you been up to dressed like that at two in the afternoon?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ I slip my hands inside his jacket and snuggle against his favourite waistcoat. It’s made from one hundred per cent recycled worsted wool (whatever that is) and it’s a bit scratchy, but I don’t care because it’s imbued with that lovely Rufus smell: a blend of musk and lemon with a hint of something spicy. ‘I just had a shower – an, erm, very quick shower.’

A loud gurgling noise erupts from the next room.

‘A shower, eh?’ Rufus shakes his head in mock despair.

I smile foolishly.

The emptying bath sounds like the agonising death throes of a drowning monster.

I do try. Especially since meeting Rufus. He’s taught me so much about protecting the planet. I know full well that showering is the way to go if we don’t want our bad habits to affect generations to come. But sometimes I just long for a bath …

Furtively, I shove the banana skin deeper into my dressing-gown pocket. Bananas are a bit of a guilty pleasure these days. Rufus won’t have exotic fruit in the house. (It’s the air miles, you see. Utterly appalling. Carbon footprint and everything.)

He’s kissing me now. Urgently.

I once had a boyfriend who couldn’t work up the will to shag me if Arsenal lost. But if the team was riding high on the crest of a wave – well, lucky old me! In a similar way, Rufus is extremely passionate about the environment.

And when he pulls me into the bedroom and rips off my dressing gown, I can tell he’s had an astoundingly successful day rescuing trees.

*

The first time I saw Rufus, he was in vigorous form, compelling the wide-eyed attention of passers-by at my local shopping centre, handing out leaflets and passionate declarations under a banner that read: Stop Airport Expansion. It’s Just Plane Ignorant.

It was a Saturday morning in August and I was out shopping with my friend, Eliza.

She nudged me. ‘I need one of those leaflets. As a matter of urgency.’

‘Why?’ I shot her a look. ‘Are you intending to take all your clothes off and lie down on the runway?’

‘No, but I’d definitely lie down on him.’

I laughed and followed her gaze – and found myself transfixed.

It was his passion that got me.

He was practically roaring with fury at the injustice, slamming a leaflet with the back of his hand to emphasise the point. ‘We have to act before it’s too late! Did you know that aviation emissions are rising faster than in practically every other sector?’

We sidled over and a girl with long red hair, behind the little podium, passed a leaflet to Eliza, then one to me. But we were mesmerised by the main event. Two thirty-four-year-old adolescents with their tongues practically hanging out.

Suddenly, those furious dark eyes landed on me. ‘Guess how many people in the world actually get on a plane!’

I gulped. ‘What? Me?’ I glanced over my shoulder.

‘Yes. Go on. Guess! Give me a percentage.’

‘Er – fifty per cent?’

‘Wrong! It’s five per cent! That’s all. A measly five per cent! So the rich world produces the emissions but it’s the poor world that suffers most from the devastating effects of climate change. Where’s the fairness in that?’

I had to admit, he had a point. (And impressively broad shoulders.)

‘Are you interested in green issues?’ He moved closer to me and I flinched.

Yikes. Was I interested in green issues? Didn’t most people do their bit? I mean, I was fairly good about putting the right stuff in my recycling bin. And I sometimes reheated the previous night’s pizza and had it for breakfast. Did that count?

‘Er, yes, I am, actually. Passionately interested.’

Eliza snorted and turned it into a cough.

He was eyeballing me with great intensity, silently urging me to get all my environmental worries off my chest.

I glanced in desperation at the banner above his head.

‘Yes, I – erm – I say No! to airport expansion.’ I gave the air a feeble punch, which sadly was less hail the revolution and more what the hell was that? ‘No, I say! Because it quite obviously is an – erm – travesty of the highest order. I mean, really. Puh! Cuh!’

I turned to Eliza for help and she frowned in agreement.

Then we both nodded furiously, like a pair of Churchills desperate for a bone.

Rufus took me out to dinner that night, which made Eliza go all sulky on me. But I knew she wasn’t one to bear a grudge. And sure enough, next day she was on the phone pronto, demanding a blow-by-blow account and snorting with laughter at the unintended pun.

So I told her about Rufus picking me up at eight. And how he was obviously a little bit nervous because he talked non-stop, all the way to the restaurant, about the incredible anti-gas-guzzling properties of his brand new Prius.

Then I described how good it felt, staring deep into those dark, tortured eyes as he spoke about methane gas and cows’ farts and all manner of worrying things like that.

‘What does he do?’ Eliza asked. ‘Apart from single-handedly saving the planet.’