‘I could spare some time to show you round, if that’s what you’d like.’ I pull both my hands back onto my lap and ignore the second half of his question.
Elephant in the room? What elephant?
‘Okay, thanks, JoJo, I’d appreciate that.’ He smiles and shakes his head a little.
Maybe he’s sharing a joke with the elephant.
Yep, it’s official. I’m losing it.
Poppy needs to spend some extended time at the gallery to organise a display so I’m looking after all the dogs the next day. All except Maxi who goes to work with Leo.
I’m getting ready to take them out and wondering if I can really manage all five or if I should do it in two runs when Cal comes down from his room.
‘I’ll help you,’ he offers, taking Barney and Pickwick’s leads from me. ‘I could use some fresh air and sunshine, a nice break from paperwork and planning.’
The offer is not phrased as a question. I can hardly turn him down when I clearly do need help. I don’t think he’ll let me get away a second time with not answering his question about why I’m avoiding him, so I give in. It seems the easier option.
We head off down the track to the lake, sun warm on our bare legs and arms. I’m living in shorts and T-shirts now the days are heating up. Poppy says she hasn’t seen me in leggings once since Cal arrived but that is purely coincidental.
Probably.
Flump hurtles off after Peanut and Treacle while Pickwick and Barney trot along at our heels. Cal’s good with the dogs, I can’t help noticing. They all seem to like him a lot and supposedly dogs are good judges of character.
It’s warm but not too hot, with a slight breeze ruffling the leaves in the trees and sending ripples across the surface of the lake.
‘So what made you go into TV rather than, say, stick with running your own restaurant?’ I ask.
‘Because I don’t think you should ever just stick with something because you’re comfortable with it. I believe you need to continually challenge yourself if you’re going to make the most of this life.’ Cal looks at me, his eyes serious. ‘You can’t be free in your comfort zone. And if you’re living in survival mode you’re stuck, you’re not growing at all. Who wants to get to the end of their life just to say, “Well, hey, I survived”? Not me.’
I stare out at the lake, watching reflected light dancing on the surface of the water. I’m not sure if he’s just talking generally or if the words are aimed at me. They could certainly be made for me right now.
I’ve got two choices. I can dial the conversation back down to small talk and spend the rest of Cal’s stay with us deflecting him when he talks about anything that matters … Or I could actually talk to him. Open up to him and be honest. There’s a novel idea.
‘So … how do you stop being stuck then?’ I ask cautiously.
‘You have to embrace uncertainty.’ Cal’s eyes seem to pierce through my defences, penetrating me, seeing the fear and pain I try to hide from people.
‘Hmm.’ Embracing uncertainty doesn’t sound too appealing to me at the moment. It certainly doesn’t sound safe but … he’s right. I am stuck. I’m certainly not living life to the full. I feel like I’ve spent too much time in stasis. Maybe this, Cal’s words, is what I need to hear right now.
‘If you’re never prepared to be wrong, to fail and to risk making mistakes, you’ll never do anything really worth doing,’ Cal adds.
I want to protest that it really isn’t that easy. I don’t want to get drawn into this discussion but the thoughts that ricochet around my head insist on expression.
‘What if you do make a mistake and it all goes horribly wrong?’ I blurt out, not meeting his gaze. I’m thinking about the post Aiden fallout, an example of ‘horribly wrong’ on a nuclear level.
‘Then you pick yourself up, you learn from it and you approach your next goal.’ Cal’s words are unequivocal, but his voice is gentle, like he’s sensing my mood. ‘You can’t be a slave to needing to know how things will turn out before you act. How can anyone learn or grow or create anything wonderful if they’re hobbled by fear?
‘I’ve read that humans fear loss far more than we value gain. Overcoming that bias is one of the most important things we can learn.’
His words resonate with me. I chew my lip. I’d love to be dynamic like Cal but I’m not feeling brave. In fact, the fear knotting me up is so visceral I don’t know if I can overcome it. Not without help anyway and asking for that help would involve reaching out properly and opening up all the darkness inside me for someone else to see. Can I really do that?
Maybe, possibly … Cal’s words are sinking into me, being absorbed by my cells as seeds of hope being sown, taking root. I used to be a risk-taker.
Even if I discount everything that happened as a result of taking a risk with Aiden and the television show, the last time before that when I took a risk was when I bought The Sticky Bun and built my own business. I poured my heart into that café, trying out hundreds of recipes and decorating the place myself, staying up to midnight each night for a week to get it finished.
Yes, it’s now in the loss column because I can never go back there and I’m going to have to face selling it. That bridge has been well and truly dowsed with petrol and burnt to a crisp. But the gain column also has plenty written in it. There were moments of intense satisfaction, of joy, of feeling supremely fulfilled and proud of myself for making it work. Those moments haven’t been invalidated simply because I’ve moved on to another stage in my life and they won’t be invalidated by my selling the café.
Maybe it is time to take a risk again, to come out from the bed I’ve been hiding under for the past year. If I don’t, the other option I have is to stay stuck and lonely with only the dust mites for company. Oh, and all the little dogs who can fit under the bed. They’ll keep me company.
That’s not me any more though. I am so over drifting through life like the ghost of the woman I used to be. I know now why I’ve been avoiding contact from my family and trying to dissuade Annabel from visiting. It’s because I can’t lie to them, and I know they’ll be able to see just how different I am from the JoJo they know.
We sit down on a grassy mound where the riverbank converges with the lakeshore. There’s an intricate network of exposed tree roots stretching down from the grassy bank to the river, looking like very complex drinking straws. The deeply rooted, majestic trees stretch up above us to the cloudless blue sky. Where we are sitting is a suntrap and the trees provide a welcome dappled shade beneath their silvery green dancing boughs.
Cal catches my eye, as I look up into the branches overhead.
‘It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?’ He peers up with me. ‘Have you heard of the Japanese healing tradition of Shinrin-yoku? It means the sense of well-being that comes simply from being in woods or a forest. Forest bathing is actually part of preventative therapies in Japanese medicine.’
‘No, I hadn’t heard that, but I really like the sound of it.’ I lean back against a rock so I can stare up into silvery green boughs and relax. I’m sure it’s psychological but I feel like the trees are having an effect on me already. I like talking to Cal, I realise. It’s been so long since I felt challenged or truly engaged in a conversation.
‘I have more interesting tree facts for you, if you like?’ Cal’s tone is playful.
‘Sure.’ I grin. ‘Hit me with your scintillating tree facts.’
‘I didn’t promise they’d be scintillating.’ Cal laughs.
‘Hit me with your moderately interesting tree facts then.’
‘Okay, did you know that tree parents live together with their offspring in communities? They support them as they grow and share nutrients with those who are sick or struggling. Because of their interactions, trees in a group are protected and live to a good age whereas solitary trees have a tough time and in most cases die earlier than those in a group.’
‘Really? I’ve never thought about it. If I had I might have
assumed they’d be competing for resources.’ I turn my head to him. ‘Okay, so that is kind of interesting.’
‘Really, it’s true. Scout’s honour and everything.’ Cal’s mouth twitches at the corner. ‘There have been lots of scientific studies in recent years that show trees are more social and intelligent than we previously thought. They even communicate by sending electrical signals to each other; they warn each other of approaching danger. Those underground connections,’ He gestures to the roots exposed at the side of the bank. ‘They are like a wood-wide-web. They warn about drought or disease or insect attacks and other trees alter their behaviour when they receive the messages. As well as slow pulsing electrical signals they communicate using pheromones and scent signals.’
‘So that’s basically geek speak for saying trees talk to each other?’
‘Yes, geek speak, otherwise known as scientific evidence.’ Cal’s tone is teasing. ‘There’s also something known as the Backster Effect. Backster was one of the leading experts on the polygraph for the CIA and he did experiments to see if hooking plants up to the polygraph machine produced any results. Nothing happened until he decided to get some matches to burn one of the leaves at which point the plant reacted and the polygraph picked it up. It wasn’t a fluke; he did the experiment over and over again. But I’m digressing. The important point in all this is how interconnected everything is.’
‘I guess. That is just freaky about the polygraph. I’m not sure what to think about trees communicating. Though I did always love the idea of trees talking to each other in stories. Perhaps Tolkien and Enid Blyton were ahead of their time?’
‘The Hobbit and the Magic Faraway Tree series? I loved those too.’ Cal grins and I see the echo of the cheeky boy he used to be. The cheeky boy he still is, sometimes.
As the dogs splash around in the river Pickwick decides to grab one of the tree roots and starts tugging, undaunted by the fact it’s as wide as his muzzle.
‘Pickwick, that isn’t a stick, you muppet.’ I roll my eyes.
‘And that tree is going to tell on you to all his tree friends.’ Cal laughed. ‘Perhaps we’d better make our escape before they start pelting us with dead branches.’
On the walk back I can’t shake the feeling that something inside me is changing. I like the idea of us all being interconnected. Maybe it’s time I put down roots. It’s got to beat hiding under the bed forever. I’m sure there’s a lesson here about needing to reach out and connect.
I don’t want to be that lone tree, unsupported and disconnected.
It’s hard to define exactly what I’m feeling. Stirred up is probably the best way to describe it. I need time to process these new ideas. I feel the pull of Cal’s charisma and the charm that seeks to pull me along in his wake. He casually links an arm through mine, and I start at the shock of desire that runs through me at the skin-on-skin contact.
It’s not holding hands but it’s certainly something. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed when I have to take my arm back so I can put Flump on a lead. I’m not sure how it’s possible to feel such contradictory reactions simultaneously. Yet I do. My body might feel bereft but my mind is glad of the distraction, of having to make sure Flump doesn’t take himself for a much longer walk.
Everything is happening a little bit too quickly for me. Cal’s passionate ideas and powerful sexual chemistry could easily sweep me away. I need to be totally sure if I’m going to let myself get closer to Cal. I’m fairly sure from the signals he’s giving me that he’s up for a whole lot more than linking arms but what exactly? What does he want from me?
Until I know that, until I can be really sure that his opinion of me has changed there can’t be any more than that.
Chapter 7
‘In nature we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else’
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
As the days grow hotter, we see the first of the sunflowers appear in the fields surrounding St Quentin. The plans and paperwork for The Barn are progressing at the usual laidback French speed, which almost threatens Cal’s positivity until he decides to ‘just go with it’ and ‘kick back a bit’. The ‘do-it’ list I share with Poppy for the wedding gets variously renamed the ‘do-I-have-to-do-it?’ list, the ‘we-must-get-on-and-do-it’ list and now the ‘just-do-it!’ list. Though sometimes we add a swear word or two between ‘just’ and ‘do’, if we’re having a bad day.
I’m up early, even though I haven’t any guest breakfasts to get, because I’d rather Flump hurtled around the garden like a furry nutcase before it gets hot. He throws himself into everything with such joyful abandon that it can’t fail to put a smile on my face. He is so innocently, unequivocally happy. It’s like he has effortlessly prised open a crack in my heart and for the first time in ages I feel pure love and an uncomplicated joy. What I feel for Cal, the cautious seedling hope that has been tentatively growing during our evening walks to the lake, is far more complicated and deeper.
One advantage of not being on duty in the kitchen is that I am still in my nightshirt. It looks like it might be a T-shirt dress though, so it does for Flump’s morning walks. As we are still toilet training I don’t exactly have time to hang about getting dressed and doing my hair and make-up.
Flump is now bounding about chasing a butterfly with such a comical look on his face that I laugh out loud. It’s a definite change in me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed properly, not just a polite smile at someone else’s joke, not before Flump and Cal came onto the scene anyway.
Loving animals is so much easier than loving humans. Maybe I should just be like Angeline and end up surrounded by lots of rescue animals. She seems pretty happy. I take a quick look at my phone and look again at the text message that came in from Annabel last night. I really must reply. Or add it to my ‘do-it-or-else’ list.
I don’t want to hassle you JoJo but you’re going to need to decide if you’re going to take the offer for the café.
Great. Do I accept the offer so that it’s all over and done with, even though it’s a low one? I rub my forehead, feeling a tension headache starting there. Then I look up and notice that Flump is nowhere to be seen. Ever since he ran out onto the road that time I’ve been plagued by panic when he disappears. Even though it’s usually only for a few minutes and it’s only to hide behind a bush or under the sofa, somewhere I hadn’t even known he could fit.
We’ve been training and he thinks recall is a good game. Unfortunately, he also thinks hide and seek is an even better game, for which I blame Peanut.
‘Flump, Flump, come here.’ I pace around the garden trying hard not to feel fraught. Logically I know he won’t have gone far. In this direction, behind the house, there are only fields and a neighbour’s garden, no roads really to worry about.
But still, he’s too much of a puppy to go missing. If he did get further afield he has no road or traffic sense yet. He doesn’t know to be careful of cows … What if there are cows in calf in the fields? Panic grips my chest and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I pace the perimeter of the garden, peering through hedges and fencing, becoming frantic when I can’t find any hole he could have escaped through or see a flash of creamy tail amidst any of the dense foliage.
‘Flump, Flumperooni, come here right now,’ I shout, resorting to one of his nicknames.
‘What’s wrong?’
I turn around to find Cal has joined me. I’m so relieved to see him I could cry. Cal always seems to be there when I need him nowadays. I’ll process that thought later. Right now, I need to focus.
‘It’s Flump, he’s gone. He was just here.’ I point at a spot by the hedge. ‘And now I can’t …’
Embarrassingly my voice wobbles.
‘Shh.’ Cal takes hold of my elbows and something about the firm gesture and the calm eyes that meet mine helps stop my panic spiralling. ‘Let’s listen for him.’
I nod and we creep up to the hedge.
‘C
all him now and then stay quiet,’ he says in a low voice.
‘Flumper, come here, Flumperooni.’
I ignore Cal’s eyeroll at the nickname and join him in listening.
I can hear the faint tinkle of Flump’s tags knocking together. I part the branches of the pine tree, trying to penetrate its darkness and notice that the wire at the bottom of the fence has been pushed up a little, perhaps by a fox or cat on its nocturnal rounds. I continue to push through, ignoring the branches scratching at my bare legs and also ignoring Cal’s suggestion that I wait.
Just as I am trying to squeeze through the bush and to swing my leg over the wire, I feel my nightdress tear and my leg snag on the same thorns. Fantastic.
Cal whistles for Flump and the little dog races happily towards the fence, ducks underneath it and hurtles towards Cal, ignoring me completely. I grind my teeth and try to pull free from the bush only to discover that I am well and truly stuck.
Oh, bloody hell.
‘Do you need some help there?’ Cal asks, peering in at me with Flump in his arms. They are both wearing identical WTF expressions, as though my behaviour is inexplicable.
‘I’m fine,’ I huff and try to disengage myself, to no effect except for another tear in my favourite nightdress. ‘All right, maybe I’m not okay. Can you help me?’
My request for help is tinged with an irritation that rationally I realise Cal doesn’t deserve, given he’s helping me yet again. Maybe that’s where my irrationality creeps in. Yet again Cal gets it right and I’m the one stuck in the thorny bush. There are real-life comparisons that could be drawn from this, I’m aware. And I’ve no doubt Cal is aware too.
There’s another, much more basic reason why I’m reluctant to let Cal help me and that’s because I don’t wear underwear under my nightdress. In hot weather it’s much more comfortable and it’s not like I ever bump into anyone when I’m doing Flump’s early morning toilet run. Not usually, anyway.
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