After a glass or two of fizz, I’m feeling woozy and emotional, and I start talking about Dan. Then the whole sad story comes out. About me being a complete idiot, thinking there was something between us, then finding out he was getting back with Monique.
After such a frank, tear-soaked confession, I’m expecting an emotional response. Maybe a consoling hug? Some words of wisdom about the nature of love?
But all she does is give me a rallying pat me on the knee. ‘Chin up. You’ll be fine.’
Then she’s back to talking about her outfit for Saturday.
I can’t help feeling let down.
I know she’s excited about her date, but I’d expected more from her. Especially in light of our recent chumminess.
I drift through the next few days, feeling increasingly as if I need to get back to reality. There’s no point putting it off. I’ve got to face it, whatever ‘it’ turns out to be.
My mother’s alarmed reaction to the news that it’s time for me to go home is typically selfish.
‘Oh, but you can’t go today!’
‘Why not?’
‘Erm, well.’ She glances around, looking sheepish. ‘I need your support on Saturday before my big date.’
I smile at her. ‘No, you don’t. You’ll be fine. You’ll have a great time.’
She’s not convinced. And even when I’m standing at the door with my case, she’s still trying to tempt me to stay another night.
‘I’ll let you know what happens with Jamie,’ I say, getting into the car.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him,’ she says, arms folded against the biting cold. ‘I have a feeling he won’t be bothering you for money any time soon.’
I stare at her, uncomprehendingly.
She’s looking suspiciously smug.
‘Mum?’
‘Well.’ She shrugs and stares up at the sky. ‘I might have warned him that I know all about his dodgy deals on the trading floor.’
My mouth falls open.
‘And that I’m a good friend of his boss. And wouldn’t it be terrible if I had to tell him of my suspicions?’
‘You wouldn’t know Jamie’s boss from Santa Claus!’
She looks at me, all wide-eyed innocence.
‘Yes, well, Jamie doesn’t need to know that.’
‘Mum! So basically, you blackmailed him.’
‘Well, I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that.’ We grin gleefully at each other. ‘But all right, then.’
I put the window down to say goodbye.
She leans in and kisses my cheek.
‘Good luck. And phone me!’
JANUARY
January rolls around again!
My head is filled to bursting with plans for the garden. I’ve seen intriguing pictures of a vegetable called kohlrabi, which I’m going to attempt to grow this year. It looks a little comical – like one of those Sputnik satellite thingies, with its squat bulb and antennae-like leaves. Apparently you roast the bulb and cook the leaves like cabbage.
I was also reading the other day about a new thing called ‘farmers’ markets’ where growers take their produce and sell it direct to the public in an open-air setting, usually in a town centre.
What a marvellous idea!
I often struggle with surplus produce – especially at the height of the summer season – so instead of having to palm it off on all and sundry, how brilliant it would be to get myself a stall so the general public could enjoy the fruits of my labours, too. (And the profit could go straight into the Venice fund!)
I’m definitely getting the hang of this ‘living in the country’ lark.
When I first moved here, the peace and the isolation were a shock to the old system – especially after the hustle and bustle of the metropolis. And I think I swung the other way, becoming a bit too reliant on my own company.
Now, though, I think I’ve found a happy compromise.
Posy has become a really good friend and we look out for each other.
The other day when we were clearing out her garage and taking a load to the dump, she mentioned she thought I sounded a bit breathless. I must admit, I had noticed I didn’t seem quite as fit as usual but I’d put it down to lack of gardening exercise over the winter months. But Posy keeps nagging at me to get it checked out, so I think I will.
I’ve made lots of good friends here.
I feel very lucky.
I’d never go back to my life in London. The country truly is my home now. I’m not sure if it’s an age thing – or whether it was always the sort of life that suited my personality best.
Who knows?
I’m just very grateful to have ended up here.
Lucky?
You bet I am!
Chapter Forty-One
On the drive home, a little spark of hope ignites in my chest.
If Mum really has persuaded Jamie to back off for now, perhaps I could pick up where I left off?
I’ve got a solid base of customers already. And with Alison already on board, I could expand into other areas. Maybe even employ someone to deliver the boxes?
It would give me a focus, which I badly need.
I think about it all the way back to Fieldstone. I’ve got that tingle of excitement inside that you get when you know you’re on to something.
Being away at Mum’s has made me realise how much I’d miss the business if I gave it up. Yes, it’s been tough at times. But I built it up from scratch and it’s all mine. I’ve never before felt such a satisfying sense of achievement.
As I drive through Fieldstone, I’m already running through in my mind the villages I could add to my delivery schedule.
The first thing I do when I get in is check the mail, sorting through it quickly, barely breathing, looking for a cream envelope with a distinctive logo.
Nothing.
I put the heating on and sink down at the kitchen table, thinking about Mum and how I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when she was lecturing Jamie.
I must make sure to phone her on Saturday before her big date.
I glance around the kitchen. It’s clean and tidy. Everything’s in its place. The only sound breaking the silence is the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
It feels odd, the aloneness, after all that time at Mum’s. Thinking back, it felt really good being looked after. She made me promise to visit more often and I will.
I look in the fridge. It’s empty. I need to go shopping and then I can start making my plans.
Because making plans will get me through this.
Keeping my mind and body occupied with the business will consume all my energy.
If I cram every waking minute with activity, I might not have time to think about Dan so much.
And that will be good because he’s been on my mind constantly. Ever since the party.
Everything is a reminder.
Aliens, Formula One, marathon runners, make-up artists, scooters, people called Dan. People who aren’t called Dan but remind me of him because they’re male. Even those stupid sickly French fancies. Because they’re French, like Monique.
Honestly, it’s exhausting.
Even when I’m not being reminded of Dan by something tangible, I’m remembering the times we ran together, laughed together and shared confidences the way you do with someone you know you could absolutely trust with your life.
Mostly, I try not to think about The Kiss.
Sometimes, though, when it’s all too much to bear, I allow my mind to drift and it feels like heaven for that one moment …
Shopping, I remind myself.
I need to get food in. Concentrate on the practicalities instead of longing for something that will never happen.
I leave the house, running through the things I need in my head.
I’m about to get in the van when a sudden sound distracts me.
My stupid heart gives a hopeful leap. I glance back towards the road. But it’s just a car I don’t recogni
se with a noisy engine.
Then I freeze, my eyes on something else altogether.
What the … ?
No, I must be seeing things. It must be the angle I’m at …
Abandoning the van, I start running down the main driveway and arrive panting at the entrance.
I press my hands to my face in shock.
The gates have gone.
I glance wildly around me, not really believing the evidence of my eyes. They can’t have gone. Who would have taken them? They must be here somewhere.
I look slowly from one gatepost to the other.
Then I stare at the space in between.
Someone has stolen them.
Some lousy, stinking lowlife has detached them from their moorings, loaded them in a van and driven off with them.
I walk away, into the road, and stare out across the fields.
If Jess were here, she would try to be positive, for my sake, but she’d struggle. Jess believes wholeheartedly in signs. And if ever there was a sign from the Universe that I should give up, this surely is it.
A swell of emotion rises up inside. My shoulders move up and down.
And I start to laugh.
It must be the shock but I can’t stop. It feels quite therapeutic. So I experiment with a full-on belly laugh, bending over in the middle of the road, thinking vaguely of the men in white coats and when they’ll be coming for me.
Then, abruptly as it started, my laughter turns into sobbing.
So when a massive truck comes careening along out of nowhere, heading straight for me, I’m actually standing in the middle of the road, my face in my hands, weeping so hard I almost don’t hear it.
The agonised squeal of brakes hits me like a slap in the face and I freeze, the truck only a few feet away.
The door opens and the driver jumps down from the cab.
Dan?
Oh my God. Is it really him?
Maybe I didn’t escape death by inches after all. Maybe I died and this is heaven.
But he’s walking over to me and he looks reassuringly solid in jeans and black puffa jacket. Heart-stoppingly real, in fact. And unbelievably gorgeous with a smile that’s just a little hesitant, and his dark hair longer than I’m used to and slightly ruffled, flopping into his eyes.
I stare at him with an amazed smile. And he comes over and pulls me into his arms and I start sobbing all over again, into his shoulder. But this time it’s with happiness because he’s the person I wanted to see most in the world and miraculously, he’s actually here.
Finally, he steps back to look at me and our eyes meet. And I swear to God, his face lights up in the most incredible smile I have ever seen. A shiver goes through me and my heart starts hammering so fast I can barely breathe, let alone speak.
I’m smiling as much as he is. I can’t help it. My cheek muscles have taken control. It’s the kind of situation where even if I was discussing something really serious – like the parlous situation in the Middle East or whether there should be an eighteen-month-old age limit on the wearing of jumpsuits – I still wouldn’t be able to stop beaming from ear to ear.
We must look like an advert for whitening toothpaste.
‘Great to see you,’ he says, while I smile some more and try to surreptitiously fluff my fringe.
‘You too.’ I’m soaking up every detail of him: the lovely grooves at the corners of his eyes when he’s smiling so broadly, how great he looks in jeans, the way the pale blue shirt beneath his jacket accentuates the deeper blue of his eyes …
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he murmurs.
I smile some more. And he leads me over to the truck and throws up the back.
I look inside and my mouth falls open.
Gleaming in a feeble shaft of winter sunlight are the gates.
All the rust has gone. They’re all smooth and pearly grey. As good as new.
‘You had them restored for me?’ I laugh. ‘I thought they’d been stolen.’
He grins. ‘I know. Sorry about that. Your mother was supposed to hold on to you for a day or two longer. But you came back early and spoilt the plan.’
I swing round, astonished. ‘She was in on it? But how … ?’
He rubs his chin. ‘Long story. She phoned me for advice on how to contact Jamie and I – erm – pointed her in the right direction. Wise woman, that one.’
My face must be a picture.
‘So then we chatted about you and cooked up this plan between us, to have the gates restored.’
‘But why? I mean, it’s great that you did, but …’
He looks down at his feet. ‘I needed to make it up to you.’
‘Because you charged through them that time?’
‘No.’ He laughs. ‘Because I felt terrible that night at your party. You looked so happy. And it killed me having to break the news about Monique and me.’
Monique.
I swallow hard.
Suddenly, it’s as if the sun has disappeared behind a cloud.
I tell myself to calm down. Get real. Accept that Dan did this amazing thing for me out of friendship and nothing more.
Carefully, I say, ‘So … Monique doesn’t mind that you did this for me?’
‘No.’ His mouth twists. ‘Although to be fair, I haven’t asked her. She’s in Hawaii on a photo shoot.’
‘Oh.’ My heart starts up a hopeful hammering. ‘But I thought she was going to give all that up?’
‘Yeah well, so did she.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘She was convinced she could settle on the farm, be a stay-at-home mum and maybe find some work locally. I honestly don’t think she realised how hard it would be for her.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, at first she seemed OK. But after a couple of months of taking Zak to school then kicking her heels all day while I was at work, she got really bored and started to look for reasons to run back to London. A day visiting friends. A night at the theatre. Even the occasional weekend away.’ He grins. ‘Forcing Monique to do without her glamorous friends and chic apartment is akin to asking you to give up Farthing Cottage.’
‘Never gonna happen,’ I say firmly, and a wave of happiness washes over me.
He grins. ‘Precisely.’
‘So anyway, after a while, she started trying to persuade me and Zak to up sticks and move to London. But I’d really hate that and Zak wasn’t keen either. He loves his mum but I think it made him realise how much he likes his life on the farm, with all his friends close by. So the arguments turned into simmering resentment on both sides. You could have cut the atmosphere with a carving knife.’
‘Gosh. So Christmas wasn’t great, then?’
‘Actually, Christmas was really good.’
‘Oh.’
Not that I wanted them to have a horrible time over the festive period, but …
Dan sees I’m deflated. Smiling, he pulls me closer and murmurs, ‘Monique left in mid-December.’
‘Oh.’
I have an urge to make a ‘Result!’ gesture then run around ripping off my shirt like a footballer who’s scored a goal. But I stop myself because obviously, it’s all been very traumatic for everyone.
‘She pretended it was because her old company wanted her to do one last job,’ Dan is saying, ‘but we all knew she wasn’t coming back permanently. I was worried about Zak but he seemed just as relieved as Monique and I were to get back to our old way of life, just him and me. So we had a quiet Christmas. Monique came for a few days, which was nice for Zak, but he was quite happy to wave her off again when she returned to London.’
I open my mouth. Then I shut it again.
I’ve been framing an important question in my mind.
But I’m almost too afraid to ask it in case I don’t like the answer.
‘Yes?’ Dan gives me his lovely, lopsided, knee-trembler smile.
I shrug. ‘I was just wondering if Monique was likely to change her mind again and come back to stay?’
‘No.�
��
He answers immediately, which is reassuring. But once bitten …
‘Really?’ I can’t help feeling sceptical.
Dan shrugs. ‘She may have doubts in the future. But I definitely don’t. I know exactly what I want. If she’ll have me.’
Gently, he brushes mascara from my face. ‘Really. It’s for good this time.’
‘And Zak? Is he OK about it?’
He nods. ‘We had a good chat, man to man, and he confessed he hated living in a “shouty house” and would much rather things went back to the way they were.’
‘In spite of the raw carrots?’
‘Because of the raw carrots,’ Dan laughs. ‘And he likes you, by the way. He told me that.’
‘So you’re really fine about Monique leaving?’
‘Totally. I think I knew from the start that her moving back was never going to work. But I had to try for Zak’s sake. Otherwise I’d never have been able to live with myself.’
‘So it’s going to be fine, just you and Zak?’
He nods. ‘The love died a long time ago. Monique wants different things.’
‘And what do you want?’ I ask him, my heart racing.
‘I want you.’ He smiles into my eyes and my insides dissolve with joy.
‘I thought you just wanted me as a friend.’ I feel suddenly stupidly shy. ‘I thought I didn’t stand a chance with Monique around. She’s so stunning.’
He moves closer, his hands around my waist.
‘So are you.’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. You must have thought I was a total idiot when I lobbed that shoe into your bowl of carrot and coriander.’
He laughs and pulls me even closer. ‘You’re gorgeous. You’re funny. Clever. Kind. And good with vegetables. And I fancy you more than I’ve ever fancied anyone in my life.’
‘You do?’ It’s music to my ears but I still can’t quite believe the things he’s telling me.
‘Right from the first time I met you,’ he confesses, nuzzling my neck.
I laugh. ‘What, that day you knocked me over in Fieldstone High Street? Or the day you pitched up, full of attitude, with my first delivery?’
Green Beans and Summer Dreams Page 33