by Heidi Swain
I may have had one drink too many, but I wasn’t so squiffy that I couldn’t see how much he was hurting. Part of me wished that Joe had been able to stay away, that everything was fine at the farm and everyone’s lives could continue as before, but there was another more practical part which knew that everyone was simply pretending and that until they ripped off the band-aid and let the wound get some air, it would never properly heal.
‘We just want you to be happy,’ I whispered.
‘And you have my best interests at heart,’ he cut in, more or less word for word finishing what I was going to say.
In my head I also had Joe’s name in the happiness and best interests mix and Hope’s and Charlie’s because they all deserved to be there, didn’t they?
‘Sam,’ I began, as I took another step closer, ‘you have to understand . . .’
I only wanted to close the gap between us a little, but my foot became caught around a chair leg and I fell forward, so that rather than simply standing a little nearer, I landed heavily in his arms and found my body pressed close to his.
‘What do I have to understand?’ he swallowed.
He wasn’t loosening his grip and I opened my mouth to tell him, but the words just wouldn’t come.
‘That my head has been all over the place from the very moment . . .’ he began when I didn’t answer. ‘That my heart . . .’
‘Go on,’ I urged.
I would have dearly loved to have heard the end of either of those sentences, but he didn’t finish them and before I realized what was happening, I found my head moving closer to his, my eyes locked on his lips and my desire to kiss him blocking out all reason and all thoughts that he already had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who also happened to be a very dear friend.
‘Tess.’
The sound of my name on his lips, spoken in such a sultry tone, was the most seductive thing I had ever heard.
‘Yes . . .’
I let out an unexpected and ungracious hiccup and thankfully came to my senses.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ I whispered, stepping unsteadily back. ‘I don’t feel very well.’
‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said, releasing me. ‘Otherwise, goodness knows where you’ll end up.’
*
It was only a few steps from the pub to the cottage, but when I woke the next morning on the sofa, under a blanket and with a plastic bucket – thankfully empty – next to me, I couldn’t remember taking a single one of them. Unfortunately, the embarrassing end to my time inside the pub premises couldn’t be so easily blocked out and I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head as I shamefully recalled just how close I had stupidly come to trying to kiss the man who was dating my wonderful new BFF.
When I woke again, I had a shower, attempted to eat a round of toast and swallowed down the painkillers I should have taken before I fell asleep. I pottered about for a bit trying to keep busy and inventing jobs that didn’t need doing, but it was no good. By the time I found myself thinking about de-scaling the kettle, I knew the game was up and I couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer.
‘Hope,’ I said as I stumbled over the pub threshold, but still keeping my sunglasses firmly in place. ‘Are you feeling any better?’
‘Much,’ she beamed, ‘thanks. And clearly better than you. Good night, was it?’
‘Tess,’ said Sam, appearing before I could answer and carrying two plates groaning under the weight of a hefty Sunday lunch. ‘I wasn’t excepting to see you today.’
‘Let me serve these,’ said Hope, quickly taking the plates from him. ‘Which table are they going to?’
Once she had gone, I hopped up behind the bar and followed Sam to the kitchen.
‘Look,’ I said, not going fully into the room, ‘about last night . . .’
‘What about it?’ he said, picking up a carving knife and making short work of a massive joint of beef.
‘You know what,’ I said, feeling both too hungover and embarrassed to spell out the incident which had almost, but thankfully not quite, happened.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, ‘I do and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
From what I could remember, he hadn’t said anything much and I was the one who was supposed to be apologizing. I was the one who had very nearly caused us to kiss.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said, briefly looking up. ‘Know what came over me, I mean.’
Although I wasn’t sure why he was feeling so guilty about something I had instigated, it did make apologizing a little less mortifying.
‘So,’ I tentatively asked, ‘can we just forget about it then?’
‘No one’s going to hear about it from me,’ he said resolutely, ‘and besides, nothing happened, did it?’
‘That’s right,’ I agreed, standing a little taller, ‘absolutely nothing happened.’
I shrugged off the thought that it so easily could have.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘great.’
‘Really great,’ I nodded, ‘and can I say, just for the record, that making a play for . . .’
I was going to add ‘someone’s other half isn’t my style’ but I could hear Hope coming through the bar behind me and stopped. Sam looked at me, but I shook my head. I could hardly carry on now.
‘Two more chicken dinners, please, Sam!’ she called out, ‘and they both want Yorkshire puddings with them.’
I stepped aside to let her through.
‘It’s busy out there,’ she said, sounding glad. ‘I thought you’d already gone again, Tess.’
‘Not yet,’ I said, ‘I’m just about to.’
The smell of the roasting meat was making me feel nauseous. Not that there was anything wrong with Sam’s culinary skills, but my hangover was still doing a fine job of making its presence felt.
‘I don’t suppose you could spare an hour to help out, could you?’ Hope asked me, ‘there’ll be a lunch in it for you and it would save Sam from having to keep walking in and out of the bar.’
It was the very last thing I felt like doing, but given that I’d almost kissed her boyfriend the second her back was turned, I didn’t feel in a position to refuse.
‘If that’s okay with you, Sam?’ she said, turning to him.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘but only as long as you haven’t got other plans, Tess.’
‘Other than nursing this hangover,’ I said trying to laugh as I eased off my sunglasses, ‘I haven’t got plans to do anything.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Hope, ‘come with me and I’ll run you through the menu.’
Chapter 18
I might not have been initially in the mood – physically or mentally – to be doling out platefuls of Sunday dinner, but my busy stint in the pub was the perfect way to get over what had happened the night before and by the time the rush was over, and I was tucking into the succulent roast beef I suddenly found I fancied, everything was back to normal and on an even keel.
I spent all day Monday at the café helping Sophie and Hope check the final details of the beach clean and solstice party and on Tuesday, as it was so hot, I went back to the beach for a lazy day of paddling, exploring the pools and soaking up the sun.
Not surprisingly, given where I was, my head was full of Mum in her yellow sundress, but left to its own devices, my mind skipped ahead and I saw her as the wealthy but solitary shopper who spent her days trying to make herself feel better about life by maxing out her credit cards and lunching alone.
Conversely, when I thought of Dad, first reading a newspaper in his deckchair and then years later, the only images I could conjure of him were ones where he had his head down at his desk and never on the arm of another woman or, as Mum’s diary had alleged, women. For some reason, my brain was reluctant to marry up with the truth I now carried around in my heart, but I tried not to let it all dominate my day in the sun.
I had j
ust stepped out of a refreshingly cool shower late that afternoon when someone began beating a tattoo on the cottage door and I hastily pulled on some clothes before rushing to answer it.
‘Just a sec,’ I shouted, fumbling with the key in the lock, ‘hold on.’
I opened the door and was faced with the biggest bunch of yellow roses imaginable. In an instant I was transported back to my parents’ garden and, remembering how beautifully the roses had bloomed this year, courtesy of the bunch Joan had arranged for me during my last attack of vertigo, I was completely convinced that my father was standing behind them – and I was amazed to discover that I hoped he might be.
My heart hammered hard as I tried to work out what I was going to say but I couldn’t come up with anything and it didn’t matter anyway, because it wasn’t him.
‘I’d all but given up on you,’ said Joe, his face appearing over the top of the blooms as he lowered them. ‘Are you going to ask me in?’
I stepped aside to let him in as my heart settled back down again.
‘These are for you,’ he said, handing the beautiful bunch over. ‘I remembered how much you enjoyed looking at the roses when we went for our afternoon tea.’
‘Hello, Joe,’ I said, finally finding my words. ‘They’re absolutely stunning. Thank you so much. It was kind of you to remember.’
‘There’s not much I forget,’ he grinned, evidently pleased with my reaction.
Aside from the first non-platonic kiss anyone had ever planted on my lips, of course.
‘When did you get back?’ I asked, brushing the thought aside.
‘Not long ago,’ he said, following me into the kitchen where I thought I’d seen a vase at the back of one of the cupboards. ‘I haven’t even been to the farm yet.’
‘Are you putting the moment off by any chance?’
‘In a way,’ he shrugged, ‘but I had a couple of things to do in the village and I wanted to see you. I’ve been feeling bad about how we left things last week.’
I thought back to how resolutely he had objected to my suggestion that he should go with me to the pub and how keen he had been to convince me not to try and ‘mend him’.
‘I hate the thought of you thinking that I don’t appreciate your concern,’ he said, looking at me intently.
‘I know you appreciate it, Joe,’ I told him, ‘and I also know this isn’t just any old run-of-the-mill sort of situation either.’
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair.
‘That’s all right then,’ he smiled, ‘that’s settled. And you know, I have high hopes for today.’
‘High hopes?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’m hoping we might be able to say goodbye without any confusion, mixed messages or argumentative undertones.’
I supposed that had become a bit of a habit.
‘Hey now,’ I said, finally locating the vase and plunging the roses into it, ‘don’t go mad. Let’s not count our chickens until you’re walking out through that door and heading back to the farm, shall we?’
I made us tea and halved the gargantuan slice of coconut coffee cake Sophie had sent me home with the day before.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind sharing this?’ Joe asked, appreciatively eyeing the plate.
‘It’s imperative that I do share it,’ I told him as I handed him a cake fork, ‘because if I keep eating everything Sophie tries to feed me, then I’m going to be at least two dress sizes bigger before I wave goodbye to Wynmouth.’
I hated the thought of saying my farewells, whatever size I was going to be when I had to do it.
‘That’s not going to be happening just yet though, is it?’ Joe asked.
‘What, me piling on the weight, or saying goodbye?’
‘Saying goodbye,’ he laughed. ‘I can see you’ve already put a bit of weight on.’
‘Hey!’ I objected, batting him with a cushion and almost knocking the plate out of his hand. ‘I thought you wanted to leave on friendly terms today?’
‘I do,’ he laughed, hiding the cushion down the side of the sofa. ‘I do. You know I’m only teasing. You aren’t really thinking of leaving already, are you?’
‘No,’ I swallowed, ‘not just yet.’
There was a part of me that was beginning to think about it though, in spite of my tipsy request to stay on. Not that I wanted to go, of course, but now, having decided that I was quitting my job, I needed to tell Dad and I also needed to clarify a few things that I had discovered in Mum’s diary because I just couldn’t get some of them to add up.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Joe, bypassing the fork and taking a massive bite straight from the slice. ‘Oh, my god,’ he groaned, after chewing for a few seconds. ‘Oh. My. God.’
‘Oh my god, stop,’ I sniggered, before taking a bite myself, ‘if anyone walks by, they’ll be wondering what the hell’s happening in here.’
‘You have tasted this, right?’ he asked, clearly offended that I thought his reaction was over the top.
‘Oh. My. God,’ I mimicked as I swallowed the sweet, moist mouthful down.
‘Exactly,’ he grinned. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s so good,’ I laughed.
‘So good,’ he agreed.
We sat in silence for a few seconds, chewing, smiling and swallowing until all that were left were a few tiny crumbs that even Bruce would have been hard pushed to sniff out.
‘You know,’ said Joe, picking up his tea, ‘over the years, I’ve been trying to convince myself that Sophie’s cooking and baking wasn’t really as good as I remembered it, but . . .’
‘It is?’
‘It’s better,’ he sighed. ‘If anything, even better than I remembered!’
‘I’m guessing you used to eat at Hope’s place a lot when you were together?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, ‘all the time and Hope used to come to the farm too, whenever she could get a lift out of the village.’
It was really sad to think that him, Hope and Sam, who had once shared so much, couldn’t now be a part of each other’s lives because of what had happened the night of the crash and because Hope was now in love with Sam. Don’t get me wrong, I did understand how difficult it all was and that it wasn’t a situation you could tie up with a neat bow and hand back fixed, but it was still sad, especially now they were all living in such close proximity again.
‘You know,’ Joe ruefully smiled, ‘the taste of that cake makes me want to go back to the café.’
‘You should go,’ I told him. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’
‘No way,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘it’s not worth the hassle. I wouldn’t want Sam to think I was talking to Hope or even trying to see her behind his back.’
‘She’s not in the café half the time,’ I said, ‘because she’s in the pub and, even if she was, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t think that.’
That said, given that I had seen Joe and Hope talking pretty furtively in the lane, he might be justified in jumping to that very conclusion if he also saw them with their heads together like that.
‘No,’ Joe shrugged. ‘I couldn’t do it. I know how it feels to have a mate muscle in on your other half and I wouldn’t want him thinking I was doing anything like that. Even if he has already done it to me.’
I didn’t point out that, if what I knew of the situation and the timings were correct, then Sam had still been in a coma when he and Hope split up and consequently capable of doing very little.
‘That’s something you might want to think about, Tess,’ he then floored me by adding.
‘What?’
‘It’s not nice when a so-called pal makes a play for your other half.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You and Sam after hours in the pub Saturday night . . .’
‘What about me and Sam in the pub after hours Saturday night?’
‘You kissed, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ I snapped, ‘we didn’t, of course we
didn’t.’
‘You’ve gone a bit pink,’ he said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Well, so would you, if I’d just accused you of doing something you hadn’t done. I’m angry, that’s why I’ve gone red!’
I couldn’t believe the turn the conversation had taken. Here we were eating cake, drinking tea, bathed in the scent from the beautiful and fragrant roses and he was accusing me of pinching someone else’s man!
‘I haven’t brought this up to make you angry, Tess.’
‘Then why have you brought it up and, more to the point, who told you about this non-event in the first place?’
‘I heard it in the pub,’ he further shocked me by saying. ‘I called here after I’d done in the village, but as you weren’t in, I risked a coffee in the Smuggler’s and that’s when I heard about it.’
‘I see,’ I said.
I was surprised that he had gone in unaccompanied.
‘And I’m mentioning it because as much as I hate to see Sam and Hope together, I don’t want her to get hurt. If you’ve started anything up with Sam, then please put a stop to it, Tess.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
‘I haven’t started anything up,’ I said, louder now, ‘with anyone. I have no idea who was gossiping but it’s all bullshit.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, sounding unconvinced. ‘I suppose this is my cue to go.’
‘Yes,’ I said, jumping to my feet and thinking that we were parting on less than ideal terms again, ‘I suppose it is.’
I slammed the door behind him and paced about the cottage wondering why the hell Sam had been talking about, and embellishing, what had happened when there was every chance that Hope might find out. It really didn’t make sense, but as the only person who knew about it, Joe couldn’t possibly have got his ‘first-hand’ information from anyone else, could he?
I grabbed my keys, slid my feet into my sandals and made a beeline for the pub, determined to get to the bottom of it all.
‘What can I get you?’ asked the lad behind the bar who was helping out on a regular basis now business had picked up.