by Fay Keenan
‘All right?’ Holly stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. ‘You seem a little bit away with the fairies.’ Her breath on the back of his neck sent a tingle down his spine and reminded him, as if he needed reminding, that, despite the fact they’d not known each other very long, they were getting closer to the next level of their relationship.
Charlie grinned as his eye was caught by two little blonde girls dressed as actual fairies. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, pulling her a little closer. ‘I’ve just never seen anything quite like this before.’
‘Willowbury’s proud of its roots,’ Holly replied. ‘And, I promise you, once you’ve done one Folk Festival, you’ll keep this weekend free every year.’ She tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear with her free hand. Charlie was struck with erotic thoughts about just what else he wanted her hands to touch.
As the band at the top of the High Street struck up a fast-paced fiddle tune, Charlie pulled Holly closer to him so that they were face to face. ‘Fancy a dance?’ he teased as his arms tightened around her. She was wearing a strappy, flowing summer dress which kept catching in the breeze, and as he drew her towards him, he was instantly aware of the heat from her body pressing against his. Trying to mentally talk himself down from the effect that having Holly so close to him was having, he whirled her around in a loose approximation of a jig until she was helpless with laughter in his arms and her hair, loosely tied back in her habitual messy bun, had all but come down.
Slowing down as the music calmed, Charlie looked at Holly. Her face was flushed from the heat and the dancing, and her eyes were sparkling with amusement. As if his mouth had a mind of its own, he dipped his head, searching for her lips. They’d kissed a lot, but he was still slightly nervous of her response. Feeling her breath quicken, he met her mouth gently, tasting the sweetness of the elderflower wine, organic of course, that she’d been drinking. He closed his eyes in pure pleasure as her mouth opened to deepen the kiss, lifting a hand to run it through her hair.
‘Isn’t this a little too public for your liking?’ Holly breathed as they broke a millimetre or two apart. ‘You’ll be all over Twitter before you know it.’
‘I don’t care,’ Charlie murmured. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong.’
Holly smiled into the kiss. ‘I’m glad you feel that way.’
As his arms tightened around her, everything else but the heat from their bodies seemed to melt away. Charlie had never felt such a sense of rightness, of coming home, as he did with Holly in his arms.
‘Break it up, you two!’ Rachel’s voice interrupted their private world as she tapped her sister on the shoulder. ‘You’ve both got a rep to protect, remember? And Charlie’s got a speech to make after the fancy-dress competition.’
‘Bugger, I’d forgotten I’d agreed to that,’ murmured Charlie. ‘What do I have to say again?’
‘Oh, something diplomatic and bland, as usual,’ Holly teased. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage.’
If he’d had more blood flow to his brain at that moment, rather than other areas, Charlie would have been able to think of a suitable pithy response, but as it was, he let it slide.
Slipping a hand into Holly’s, he smiled back at her and Rachel. ‘I’d better have a look around, then, hadn’t I? Get a feel for the standard of fancy dress.’ Although, he thought, it would be difficult to tell who was actually going to be entering the competition and who just dressed that way normally, as far as Willowbury was concerned. As a bearded, barefooted, purple-cloaked man strolled past them, tambourine in hand, Charlie shook his head. No matter how well he thought he’d settled into Willowbury, the place and its people never failed to surprise him. As he and Holly watched Rachel walking, or, rather, being dragged away, by Harry to see a stall that was selling a wide variety of sugary treats, especially designed, it seemed, to attract younger visitors to Willowfest, he really did feel as though he was becoming a part of this friendly but unusual place.
The bunting that flapped between the lamp posts on the High Street paled in comparison to the multitude of colours that the people of Willowbury themselves were wearing. Everywhere Charlie looked, there were jugglers, stilt walkers, people wearing jesters’ hats, fairy wings, medieval costumes, and sometimes all three at once. The air was alive with the different sounds of folk music blended with more Eastern-inspired cymbals and instruments, and, rising above it all, some plainsong emanating from the ruins of the Priory behind the High Street. It was a riot of sounds, colours and activity, and Charlie, who should have been overwhelmed, felt strangely at ease.
Of course, that may have been more to do with having Holly beside him to guide him through the town. She pointed out things as they wended their way towards the grounds of the Priory, where a more structured concert was due to start in the mid-afternoon.
‘You were right,’ Charlie said, eyes still on stalks as they wandered. ‘This really is like nothing else I’ve ever seen before.’
‘It must give Westminster a run for its money,’ Holly smiled. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing Hugo here.’
‘He probably barricaded himself in at home with a bottle of Scotch and the weekend papers!’ Charlie laughed.
‘Or a batch of Miles’ scones,’ Holly said, smiling wryly. ‘Probably wouldn’t trust anything he could buy here.’ She regarded him levelly. ‘You seem far more suited to this place than he was, even in the short time you’ve been here.’
‘I think he was definitely more Stavenham than Willowbury,’ Charlie said. ‘Although, to be fair, it’s a fine line to walk between the two places, as I’m finding out.’ He reached out a hand to take one of the tempting-looking chocolate brownies that a trader, armed with a ribboned tray, was handing out as she wandered up the street, but Holly grabbed his hand.
‘I, er, wouldn’t, if I were you.’ Her eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘Elsinore’s Artisan Confectionary is notorious around here for including somewhat, er, alternative, ingredients in her brownies.’
Charlie was struck with a vision of the little old lady from The Vicar of Dibley who provided the refreshments for the parish meetings. ‘As in, sardine and chilli-flavoured brownies?’ he asked.
Holly grinned. ‘You are so adorably naive, sometimes. Perhaps it’s better if you think that, but I still wouldn’t recommend risking it.’
Charlie’s eyebrows shot up as he realised what Holly was getting at. ‘Fair enough. But I’m not as square as all that, you know. I did inhale at university.’
‘Really?’
‘Well… sort of. Spent the rest of the evening throwing up, though, so I guess it was a bad batch.’
‘All the more reason to be cautious of Willowbury residents offering you brownies, then!’ Holly grabbed Charlie’s hand again and steered him back towards ComIncense. ‘I’ve got a picnic for us that I just need to pick up while I check back in with Isabella. And I promise there aren’t any illegal substances in any of it!’
‘Sounds good,’ Charlie replied. ‘After all, “MP eats hash brownie and streaks naked through historic religious ruins”, probably won’t do much for my majority.’
‘Actually, in Willowbury you never know,’ Holly smiled. ‘But perhaps over the bridge in Stavenham they might have more of an issue with it.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Charlie kept smiling. ‘I’m glad I’ve got you by my side to guide me through all this.’
‘I’m glad too,’ Holly said softly. She paused in the street and tugged at Charlie’s hand so that they were close together again. ‘It’s lovely to share this with you,’ she murmured.
As they headed back to ComIncense to pick up their refreshments, Charlie felt a tingle run down his spine. It was as if the stars had all aligned over Willowbury, and he and Holly were at the centre of them. There was definitely magic in the air, this Willowfest weekend, he thought.
28
‘How are you feeling?’ Holly asked as she looked across at Charlie, who was lying, legs stretched out on the picnic blanket, sipping
languidly at his glass of mead.
‘It’s all so beautiful,’ Charlie breathed as he looked around at the grounds of the ruined Priory, and as his gaze alighted back on her, Holly smiled at his wonderment. Hanging from the broken lumps of the former building were strings and strings of amber-coloured lights, and atop the tallest pillars and arches were huge altar candles, burning into the darkening sky. They were sitting on a picnic blanket, sharing the last of a bottle of Monk’s Mead from one of the stallholders. They’d spent the day nibbling and sampling their way around Willowfest, but they’d also walked what felt like miles, as well as danced to a variety of different bands and singers in the grounds of the Priory itself. The concert – the headline event of Willowfest – consisted of several of the UK’s biggest folk acts, including a final set by Alan Somerville himself, who was now belting out his biggest hit on the makeshift stage that had been set up in the ruined nave of the Priory.
‘It’s like nothing else, ever,’ Holly replied. ‘Willowfest has its own charm, its own energy. It’s like someone managed to distil all of the best bits of living here into one evening and put it on show for everyone to enjoy.’
‘That’s a great way to put it,’ Charlie took another sip of his mead. ‘It’s like the air itself feels alive. Of course, that could just be the mead!’
‘It’s got quite a kick to it,’ Holly warned. ‘I wouldn’t drink much more after this one, if I were you.’ She drew a little closer to him. It was a warm evening, but she was at the point where she wanted there to be as little space between their bodies as possible.
As Alan Somerville approached the end of his set with a couple of acoustic guitar songs, Holly found they’d finished their bottle of mead. They’d also finished most of the picnic they’d brought with them, as the fresh air had stimulated their late-evening appetites.
‘Snap for the local paper?’ A cheery voice broke into her thoughts. Kyle Jones, the junior reporter for the Willowbury and Stavenham Gazette was standing in front of them with his smartphone and a smile.
‘Sure,’ Holly said. ‘If you don’t mind, Charlie.’
Immediately, she saw Charlie’s back stiffen. ‘That’s fine,’ he said.
Holly felt him shift slightly away from her and, as she watched him, he composed his features into an expression suitable both for the occasion and for the face of the local Member of Parliament.
Holly, amused, turned back to the reporter and gave her best, unguarded smile.
‘How have you found your first Willowfest, Mr Thorpe?’ Kyle asked, tapping his phone to record Charlie’s answer.
‘It’s been a great day,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’m so impressed by everything that Willowbury has to offer.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Kyle said. ‘It’s good to see you supporting a local event. Any comments on the progress of the planning for the motorway junction as yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Charlie replied. ‘But thanks for asking. We’ll keep you posted.’
‘And can I just have your name?’ Kyle turned his attention to Holly. ‘For the caption?’
‘Holly Renton, owner of ComIncense on the High Street,’ Holly supplied.
‘Much obliged.’ The reporter smiled at them both. ‘Thanks for your time.’
As Kyle headed off in search of more snapshots, Holly felt Charlie relax again.
‘You still don’t like being interviewed, do you?’ she said softly.
Charlie shook his head. ‘We had some media training as the new intake, but I’d far rather be the one asking the questions.’
‘That’s a first, surely, in your job,’ Holly teased. ‘A politician who doesn’t get off on the sound of his own voice?’
‘There you go again,’ Charlie said, but there was amusement rather than irritation in his voice. ‘Can we just forget what I do, and what you do, for one night, and focus on who you are, and who I am?’ He pulled her closer to him on the picnic rug. ‘Because I really want just to walk you home and spend the night with you.’
Holly’s pleasurable gasp was swallowed as Charlie’s mouth met hers. From a couple of metres away, neither registered the flash of the young reporter’s camera phone as he snapped a couple of cheeky shots to spice up his Twitter feed.
‘That sounds good to me,’ Holly murmured once their lips parted again. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Absolutely,’ Charlie murmured.
Swiftly, they packed up the picnic basket and then folded the blanket. Alan Somerville was just coming to the end of his last song, and as they wandered hand in hand back through the grounds of the Priory, an almost palpable tension seemed to radiate between them. At once Holly felt that the walk home was too long and not long enough. This was it, she could feel it. All of the yearning, all of the near misses, all of the barriers between them, were about to come tumbling down.
Neither said much as they headed up the slight incline of the road behind Willowbury High Street that led to the back entrance to Holly’s shop and home. The moon was rising, giving them ample light to see by, and Charlie’s hand in hers was warm and dry. Again, she was reminded of that night so many years ago when they’d walked hand in hand through Covent Garden in search of a taxi or a Tube station back to her hotel. His palm had been clammy, then, as he’d seemed as nervous as she was about what may or may not happen after they’d reached their destination. Now, there was no such doubt. Both ached for this night to continue, both yearned for it, and both knew exactly where they wanted to be.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ Holly asked as she pushed open the door to her flat.
‘No, thank you,’ Charlie replied. ‘Christ, Holly, I don’t want anything else except you.’
Holly laughed. ‘There I was thinking you had a problem with expressing yourself.’
‘Not so far as you’re concerned,’ Charlie said huskily. He kissed her forehead, then her nose and then found her lips again. ‘And I want you to know that I am very, very happy right now.’
‘I can see that, and feel it,’ Holly teased, to disguise how touched she was that he was being so open with her. This naturally guarded, instinctively rather reticent man was opening himself up to her, letting his defences down, trusting her. And she felt herself melting as she realised what a big step they were about to take. Pushing up against him so that his back was pressed against the wall of her stone tiled hallway, she groaned as she felt his arousal, and wanted there to be no more layers between them.
‘Come upstairs,’ Holly murmured between kisses. ‘And yes, I am sure.’
‘I’m glad,’ Charlie replied. ‘And for the record, I’m sure too.’
‘Good,’ Holly teased. ‘I wouldn’t want to be accused of doing anything without your consent.’
‘Consent given,’ Charlie murmured.
Breaking apart to negotiate the rather steep stairs that led upstairs, Holly felt as if every nerve ending was tingling with anticipation.
The moonlight shone through Holly’s bedroom window, casting her white bed linen in a silvered, ethereal glow. She wandered over to the window and threw it open, letting in the warm night air. She raised a hand to draw the curtains but then thought better of it; she wasn’t overlooked, and the light was so beautiful. Arthur, coat silvery rust in the moonlight, prowled the fence that separated Holly’s back yard from next door.
Charlie was still standing in the doorway, and as she glanced back behind her, Holly caught a glimpse of that adorably shy boy he’d once been. There was something about the tilt of his head as he regarded her, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was standing there, in her bedroom, that took her back again to the night they’d met. In a way, she was comforted, but in another moment, as he moved towards her, the boy had gone, to be replaced by a man with hunger in his eyes, a bucket more self-assurance and the warmest hands.
‘Come here,’ she whispered as she wandered over to her bed. Reaching out a hand, she pulled him down to the mattress, on top of her, his weight both comforting and energising.
‘If y
ou make any jokes about honourable members, I’m leaving,’ Charlie murmured between kisses.
Holly giggled. ‘Don’t worry, I promise to behave.’
Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t say I wanted you to do that.’
And so, after weeks of dancing around each other, and more false starts than were sustained at the annual Mendip cheese rolling contest, they began to explore each other. As Holly slithered out of her dress and pulled Charlie’s T-shirt over his head to reveal his finely toned chest, she felt the current spark between them as their bare skin touched. She was down to her knickers in a few moments more. She wanted to touch and explore every inch of him, and take her time in doing it, despite the haste with which she’d discarded her clothes.
Charlie gently pushed her back onto the soft, downy pillows and ran his hands down her body from her neck, over the curve of her waist, to her thighs. Leaning over her, he planted feather-light kisses from her jaw, down her neck and over her breasts, breathing warmly over a tautening nipple before taking it gently into his mouth. Holly arched her back in the sheer pleasure of it. Mouth occupied, his hands were still exploring, running over her body and up the inside of her thighs to the junction where her knickers were the last barrier to her warm nakedness.
Holly sighed in ecstasy, but, not to be outdone, she pulled Charlie down next to her, kissing his neck and working her own way down his body, kissing and caressing the tantalising line of hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his tight jersey boxer shorts. Crooking a finger under the elastic, she gave a swift tug and Charlie’s full, erect and ready form was on display in all its glory. She glanced upwards and felt a sharp pinprick of desire hot and insistent in her core as, legs spread and a look of absolute pleasure and abandonment on his face, Charlie groaned as one of her warm hands wrapped around his generous length.