by Kate Ryder
It was an exciting time and energy coursed through my veins. Storm took over the cottage completely and was often found lying on my bed when I’d forgotten to shut the bedroom door. Charming and cheeky, he liked to be involved in everything and amused me for hours jumping at the strips of wallpaper hanging from the walls. I was busy and happy and not at all lonely, even when Dan phoned and excitedly announced he’d met someone whilst filming in Wales.
‘She’s a freelance props dresser and has worked on loads of historical pieces. You’d really like her, Mads. She’s such fun!’
I declined to comment on that.
‘Where does she live?’ I asked lightly.
‘Bristol for the past four years but it’s too parochial for her. She’s wanted to move to London for ages to further her career.’
I snorted. So, she was already moving in on him and they’d only known each other just over a month. How naïve men could be…
‘Careful, Dan,’ I said. ‘What baggage does she come with?’
He laughed. ‘Usually just an overnighter.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I think there’s an “ex” lurking somewhere, but she hasn’t got any kids. She’s great, Mads.’
I raised an eyebrow at Storm sitting in the chair by the inglenook, watching me. Trying to steer the conversation to another subject, I asked whether any of his contacts were looking for a freelance writer. He’d always been supportive of my creative side.
After a pause he said, ‘Do you remember Colin, my old university pal? He’s recently launched an “eco” magazine. I bet he wants “green” articles. I’ll give you his number.’
Grabbing a notepad, I jotted down the details. I could tell Dan still wanted to talk about the girlfriend and, sure enough, before long the conversation came back to her.
‘I’ve got to tell you, Mads, life’s pretty good at present. She’s so vibrant and full on. It’s sugar for the soul. She’s making an old man very happy.’
Old man? What was he talking about? Dan was a mere six years older than me.
‘How old is she for God’s sake? You haven’t gone and got yourself involved with some Lolita, have you?’
‘She’s thirty-three, same age as you.’
At least I hadn’t been thrown over for someone older.
‘I just know you two will hit it off,’ he continued enthusiastically. ‘I really want you to meet her and I wondered if we could come down next weekend.’
The bombshell. Hell! How was I going to get out of that?
‘I don’t know, Dan. You see, I work Friday and Saturday nights now,’ I said, feeling guilty at looking for an excuse.
‘We’d be no trouble, Mads. We’ll do our own thing and meet up with you when you’re free. I really want you to meet – two of the most important women in my life!’
And so I met Lucy.
*
The following Friday night I was behind the bar, pouring a pint of bitter for one of the regulars, when the door to the Blacksmith’s Arms opened and in walked Dan, looking slightly flustered, with a tall, leggy blonde in tow. He smiled at me sheepishly as he quickly covered the distance from door to bar. Introductions followed and I noticed how Lucy stood very close to him, possessively touching him at every opportunity. Slim and attractive, with a wide, generous mouth, she wore jeans and a short white T-shirt that exposed several inches of toned, tanned stomach. Her tousled blonde hair looked as if she’d only just got out of bed.
I was surprised at how easily the thought popped into my head; it was unlike me to be quite so catty. She possessed a winsome appeal which, instinctively, I felt was carefully manufactured, laughed easily – loudly and a lot – and appeared to hang on Dan’s every word. She never left him alone and constantly touched his arm, his face, his hand, or fiddled with his hair. Inwardly, I groaned.
It was good that the pub was busy, as it provided me with a legitimate excuse to escape. I suggested they ate in the restaurant and if I hadn’t finished my shift by the time they were ready to leave, they could go to the cottage and settle in. This pleased Lucy well. Throughout the evening I found myself stealing glances at their table. Lucy’s laugh rippled across the restaurant and they appeared to have no end of things to talk about. Dan seemed enchanted.
It was an unusual situation for me. Dan and I had always enjoyed a casual, companionable friendship but, even though both of us had seen other people during the time we’d known each other, there had never been a ‘significant other’. I felt Lucy’s eyes boring through me a couple of times during the evening but I refused to meet her gaze. On the occasion she did catch my eye, her gaze quickly slid away.
They left at eleven.
Working the bar beside me, Brian commented, ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’
I gritted my teeth and shoved back the fingers of jealousy threatening to choke me.
‘Where did he find her?’ he asked.
‘In Wales,’ I said, concentrating hard on stacking dirty glasses in the washer.
‘What, up a mountain?’ Brian laughed.
‘While filming a documentary. She was on the props team, or something,’ I said, avoiding his eye.
‘Do I detect a slight green note, Madeleine?’
The grin in his voice did not go undetected.
‘No chance!’ I answered, slightly too swiftly.
He laughed out loud and I looked up smartly, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.
‘Never a more interesting development in a relationship than when a bit of competition comes along,’ he said. As he walked out from behind the bar to collect more empty glasses he looked at me and winked.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had my chance with Dan. We’d known each other for eight years and our relationship had never cemented into anything approaching solid. Surely, if it was going to it would have done so by now? I wiped the counter with extra gusto and tried to rid myself of an uncomfortable, unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sighed heavily. Ahead of me stretched two whole days with them. Thankfully, I was due to work the following evening.
By the time I finished at the pub it was past midnight. As I walked slowly back across the village green towards the cottage I noticed the light on in the guest bedroom. Before opening the front door, I paused. I knew Lucy’s type and was sure she’d be in a hurry to let me hear how well she and Dan were getting on. I let myself in quietly. Dan sat on the sofa, idly flicking through a magazine. He looked up and smiled.
‘How you doin’ kiddo? You must be exhausted.’
‘Oh, I’m quickly getting used to the pressures of being a barmaid,’ I answered flippantly. ‘As long as I keep moving, my feet don’t hurt too much. It’s very sociable.’
‘Yeah, I could see that. Everyone wants you to serve them,’ he replied easily. ‘You’ve obviously made your mark.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Your hair’s grown,’ he observed.
During the time Dan had known me, I’d always kept my hair at a manageable shoulder length, spending many a minute studiously straightening out its natural curl. But, since moving to Dorset, I’d let it do its own thing. It was now longer and a mass of loose curls.
‘It suits you,’ he commented. ‘You look softer. A true Irish country lass.’
I didn’t know what to say. Commenting on my appearance was not something Dan indulged in. And, besides, I wasn’t a ‘country lass’ – I was Dublin born and bred.
‘Do you fancy a nightcap?’ I asked.
Dan and I seemed out of synch.
‘No thanks. I’m bushed. Think I’ll turn in. It’s been quite a week, what with one thing or another.’
He rose, stretched and crossed the few yards between us.
‘’Night, Mads.’ He kissed me lightly on the cheek.
‘Goodnight,’ I responded, thinking how only a few weeks ago that kiss would have been directed at my mouth.
With a sudden sinking feeling, I knew sleep would not
come easily that night. And so it was. I tossed and turned and kept checking the time, which, irritatingly, progressed only in ten-minute segments. I was hot and restless and the brief moments of sleep that I did manage to snatch were littered with strange images and shadowy figures… and somewhere a child cried. At around five, I gave up.
Without switching on the landing light, I tiptoed downstairs to the bathroom. As I reached the bottom step I had the strongest sensation there was someone else downstairs. Silently, I entered the dining room and glanced towards the open kitchen door. Lucy stood, naked, at the sink with a glass of water in her hand; her body silhouetted in the pale moonlight. She was oblivious to my presence and stared out of the window with a contented smile on her face, quietly humming to herself. I couldn’t help but notice the long shapely legs and the lithe, feminine curve of her body, and a sickening knot settled in the pit of my stomach. I retreated and quietly opening the bathroom door, slipped in.
Two whole days!
By the time I emerged from the bathroom Lucy had gone. As I passed the spare bedroom door I heard low voices coming from within. I climbed back into bed and lay there with my mind racing, growing progressively hot and bothered. Eventually, I could stand it no longer. I got up and showered.
The day passed in a blur. Dan and Lucy appeared mid-morning, glowing in mutual contentment, and I busied myself making breakfast and fussing over their needs. True to form, Dan immediately made himself comfortable on the sofa while Lucy joined me in the kitchen. She talked with a light, carefree banter, but occasionally the mask slipped.
‘Dan tells me you were the assistant director at Hawkstone.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Placing bowls and a selection of cereal packets on the kitchen counter, I rummaged in the drawer for spoons. Although moving out of the way for me, Lucy watched me like a hawk.
‘Don’t you find it very quiet down here?’ she asked, her voice innocent. ‘I mean, when you’ve been used to London and a life in the media circus, the charms of the countryside must surely wane after a while.’
‘Not at all, Lucy,’ I replied evenly. ‘I can go to London any time but, to date, I haven’t felt the need.’
I indicated that she should help herself to cereal and held up a box of cornflakes to Dan, knowing this would be his choice. He nodded. All the while, Lucy carefully watched the two of us. I poured cereal and milk into two bowls and carried them through to the sitting room.
‘But what on earth do you find to do?’ she asked, continuing her interrogation as she followed me into the room.
I handed Dan a bowl and sat down next to him.
‘There’s so much going on in the country,’ I said, careful to suppress any hint of rising defensiveness.
The look on her face was one of complicity, suggesting she knew I was lying but was prepared to go along with it.
Irritated by her supposed superiority, I said, ‘And people make time for each other, which isn’t always the case in the city.’
‘But being a barmaid must be so dreary after being in the centre of all the action on set?’ she persisted, as she sat in the opposite chair and elegantly arranged her legs, knowing exactly the pretty picture she presented.
I sensed Dan’s gaze appreciatively travelling up her long shapely limbs, following the toned curve of her belly, savouring the firm, pert breasts before finally coming to rest upon her face. I glanced at him and was taken aback by the lust and adulation in his eyes. But there was something else too; something unsettling. A madness that reminded me of the addict desperate for his next fix – only Dan’s ‘fix’ was Lucy.
I glanced over at Lucy and immediately realised she was fully aware of the power she had over him. Panicked by what was unfolding, I spoke to her as if speaking to a rather dense child having trouble understanding a simple truth.
‘No, I assure you, Lucy, I haven’t found it to be so. There are so many characters in the pub and it’s giving me plenty of material.’
Hearing the tone in my voice, Dan shifted uneasily.
‘Mads is writing again, Luce,’ he interjected.
With a fixed smile, Lucy studied me a while longer; her eyes cold and calculating.
‘Well, I just know I couldn’t survive down here in the sticks.’ She beamed across the coffee table at Dan. ‘I just have to be in London with my Danny Boy.’
As Dan smiled back adoringly, I wondered if I had time to reach the bathroom before throwing up.
Suddenly, I felt the need for wide-open spaces and suggested we went to Chesil Beach. Dan was instantly up for it, enthusiastically informing us that it stretched for more than ten miles from the Isle of Portland to Abbotsbury and, in places, stood as high as forty feet. Lucy looked dubiously out of the window at the grey, overcast sky and opened her mouth to say something. I watched dispassionately as she glanced at Dan and, quickly swallowing her words, feigned excitement at the outing.
The curve of the beach was magical and awe-inspiring. We walked a good way along the shingle bank that was separated from the mainland by a lagoon and Dan bombarded us with facts about the area. Lucy appeared to lap up his every word. Skittishly she ran round him, goading him to chase her across the pebbles. He willingly obliged. Dashing after her and catching her around the waist, he lifted her high into the air and swirled her around. Her laughter was light and flirty above the sound of the sea and the gulls, and Dan glowed in the attention she bestowed upon him. But it didn’t ring true with me.
We stood for a while and watched a man and boy line-fishing from the shore, and were soon mesmerised by the crashing waves. The rain kept away until mid-afternoon, by which time we’d returned to the car, driven past the famous Abbotsbury Swannery and found a teashop in the village in which to while away a couple more hours. It was hard going and I felt sickened by what was unfolding between the two of them.
That evening I left Dan and Lucy at the cottage and walked over to the pub for my shift. I was happy to escape for a few hours and felt comforted by the warm and hearty atmosphere of the Blacksmith’s Arms.
‘How are the two lovebirds?’ asked Brian as I entered the pub. He was not at all gentle with my sensitive soul.
‘Cooing nicely,’ I replied.
He laughed and then informed me a table of twenty had booked in the restaurant.
‘Vera’s enlisted Janet’s help in the kitchen so you and Gayle will waitress,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll look after the bar.’
He had no idea what he’d asked of me; I was certainly no waitress. However, as the restaurant filled, soon I didn’t have time to worry and I became immersed in the role.
The group of twenty turned out to be members of Bridport Arts & Crafts, out for an early pre-Christmas gathering as their tutor, a great-looking guy called Nick, would be in Australia over the festive period. They were a lively, cheerful crowd and teased me mercilessly for my non-waiting skills.
I did my best but had to laugh when Nick asked, ‘What is it that you actually do, Maddie, ’cos waitressing certainly ain’t your bag?’
I was attempting to balance precariously stacked plates while trying to prevent a wayward piece of cutlery from falling into his lap for the second time that evening. Deftly, he caught the fork and handed it back to me with a smile.
I muttered something about painting and decorating and that I could pull a mean pint.
‘Ah, a girl after my own heart,’ he said, looking very directly at me.
I felt myself blush.
‘Oh leave the poor girl alone, Nick,’ said one of the other men with a laugh. ‘She’ll drop the lot if you’re not careful.’
I excused myself and hurried to the kitchen. As I went through the swing doors Brian caught my eye.
‘Remind me not to employ you as a waitress next time!’ he teased.
At eleven-fifteen the art group began to depart amidst much noise and with a great display of hugs and kisses. I was sitting at the bar, perched on a stool, chatting to Brian who had poured me �
�a well-earned drink’ when Nick approached to settle his party’s bill.
As Brian processed his credit card, Nick turned to me. ‘I hope I didn’t offend you earlier over the waitressing thing.’
‘Not at all,’ I replied lightly. ‘You’re lucky to be leaving unscathed!’
Was it my imagination or did the sounds of the pub diminish and become suddenly muffled, as if coming from a great distance? And where had all the people gone? It seemed to me there were only the two of us in the room.
‘You did a great job,’ he continued graciously, his clear blue-grey eyes meeting mine. There was an amused glint in those eyes as he added, ‘for a painter and decorator.’
I laughed good-naturedly.
There was something distinctly familiar about Nick. Perhaps he’d been in the pub on one of my previous visits when I was there with the film crew. The room beyond appeared undefined and out of focus but there was nothing whatsoever blurred about the man standing before me.
He hesitated… and I waited.
I noticed it all: the fall of his hair; the sharp cheekbones; the shape of his nose; the sensual lips; the set of his chin. And those eyes! I was mesmerised.
Reaching into an inner jacket pocket, he extracted a business card and passed it to me. ‘If you ever need a carpenter just give me a ring.’
Instantly I thought of a hundred and one carpentry jobs that needed urgent and immediate attention. Aware that Nick’s eyes were on me, I quickly thanked him and mumbled something about it always being useful to have a list of good tradesmen. He smiled.
Turning to Brian, he said, ‘Great evening, Brian. Thank Vera for me. She did us proud.’
He looked back at me, smiled again, and then followed the last of his group out of the pub.