Seduce Me by Miranda Forbes

majorly so, I didn’t really expect it to look the same. Still, I had hoped there would be similarities. But the orchards had gone, replaced by dull, suburban housing.
    â€˜I can’t say I really recognise it, sweetheart, so many houses.’
    My granddaughter looked disappointed. She’d planned this as part of a birthday surprise, a return visit to the house of my youth.
    â€˜Come on, let’s go to Biggin Hill, I’m sure you’ll remember something there.’
    I shuffled back into the car.
    â€˜Never mind,’ I said, ‘it’s been a lovely day and I’ve really enjoyed your company.’
    We drove along the busy ‘A’ road and the housing became less dense and the land became more open and the trees more abundant. And then, familiarity. The shape of the road, the lay of the land. I recognised several houses.
    â€˜I know that house,’ I said, excitedly, ‘I remember this road.’
    â€˜See grandma, it was worth it.’
    I remembered. The breeze in my hair, the laughter, the sun, the summer freshness and him. How could I ever forget him?
    It was June 1942. I was nineteen.
    â€˜Can I see you again?’
    I hesitated, not knowing how to react. I’d never been asked out by a man before.
    It was the end of a thrilling evening. A dance. The first I’d ever been to and it was the first time since the war started that I’d had such heady fun. There were a lot of men from the Biggin Hill air base, but he stood out. He breezed into the village hall with two others, laughing and loud, and every girl noticed them. They stood in the middle of the floor as if they owned the place and he looked around and his eyes fell on me and my girlfriends and a big, bright smile spread across his face. He nudged his friends and walked over to us.
    â€˜Could you teach us how to dance?’ he said. And he was handsome. He had friendly, Clarke Gable eyes and an Errol Flynn chin. He had Hollywood style. Of course I said yes. Coyness, playing hard to get, had its place but not if you might never see them again. He turned my head and left it spinning. He danced with me all evening.
    Johnny Genarro. ‘What kind of name’s that?’ I’d asked.
    â€˜My father’s Italian, my mother’s Irish, a passionate mix, could only produce a passionate son.’
    Everything about him reflected his love of life and he just carried me along.
    The orchard, that’s where he took me that first time. Mum was a bit unsure, had circumstances been more normal I don’t think she would have let me go. But this was wartime and Dad was away fighting and I think she thought why the hell not? And she could tell Johnny was OK, he won her over with his warmth. ‘We’re just going for a drive, Mrs Carter, won’t be long; I promise we’ll be back within the hour.’ And he was, although it seemed like five minutes. He picked me up in a car he’d borrowed from his base. There were hardly any cars around in those days, we had the road to ourselves. And he took me to the orchard and it was there that I tasted my first kiss. I can still taste his tongue, the shock and the pleasure, and his mouth on my neck and the thrills coursing through me. Those first few times he took me back home spot on time and left me longing to feel him again. After a couple of weeks he got bolder.
    â€˜Is it alright if I take Janey for a picnic tomorrow, Mrs Carter?’
    Mum was a little reluctant but she agreed. So he picked me up, gave Mum some tinned meat and he took me for a picnic and taught me how to fly.
    He’d spread out the blanket and we sat down and then he took me in his arms. We kissed and I felt his shoulders and back and rough chin and the smell of his oiled hair and his masculinity, there was no deodorant in those days. I pressed my body into his, feeling its warmth and strength and his hands were on my hips and waist and bit by bit moved over my bottom,