‘And if you get lost in the woods again, just scream and I’ll know it’s you.’
His handsome face breaks into a smile, which makes me feel a little breathless for some reason. Then he reaches across and pulls open the glove compartment. Drawing out a book, he hands it to me.
‘Have you read it? Every writer should,’ he says.
‘On Writing. Stephen King. No, I haven’t.’
‘Borrow it. You’ll learn a lot. I certainly did. And it’s a great read.’
I smooth my hand over the cover and smile at him, touched that he should trust one of his favourite books to me. ‘Thank you. I’ll … bring it back.’ I shut the door and give an awkward little wave.
He raises a hand and drives off.
*
As soon as I get inside, I grab my phone, flump down on the sofa and search on-line for ‘Jake Steele, author’.
A photo of him appears – making my heart miss a beat with surprise – and after studying it for a moment, I click on the books he’s written. There are three of them, all thrillers, and although they’re not my usual taste in books, I can’t resist ordering a paperback of the first in the series.
Later, I lie in bed, thinking about Jake in his ridge tent.
He’s so tall and broad, there definitely wouldn’t be an awful lot of room in there for anyone else. But I suppose that’s the whole point of his wild solo camping experience.
I don’t know why, but I get the feeling he’s here to escape from something. Or someone? Why else would you choose to sleep out in the forest with only woodland creatures for company?
I think about Toby, wondering how he’s getting on in his hotel room. I picture him lying on a massive bed, head propped against a dozen pillows, enjoying the luxury of Egyptian cotton bed linen. Padding across the thickly carpeted floor to run himself a bath and soaking there for ages, before calling room service to deliver a haute cuisine dinner.
It seems funny to think of Toby languishing in such luxury, while Jake, in his ridge tent, has all the creature comforts of a night in the jungle.
Where would I rather be right now?
The thought of squeezing into the ridge tent with Jake rushes into my head. It would be an intimate experience, no doubt about it. Would there even be room for more than one sleeping bag …?
But that’s far too disturbing an image and makes me feel oddly restless, so I get out of bed to make some tea. Which is when I find there’s no milk left.
Damn! I glance at my watch and peer out of the tent in the direction of Clemmy and Ryan’s house. It’s after ten but the place is flooded with light, and Clemmy did say I could call in any time if I needed anything.
So I slip on some jeans and a top, slide my feet into flip-flops and walk over the grass to the house.
Ringing the bell, I feel slightly guilty. But then Clemmy comes to the door and all reservations fly right out of my mind. Her eyes are red and puffy. She’s obviously been crying.
‘Clemmy? What’s wrong?’
She dashes the tears away and pastes on a smile. ‘Oh, I’m just all on my own tonight and being ridiculous. It’s nothing really. What can I do for you, Daisy?’
‘I just need some milk if you have any?’ I really don’t want to disturb her if she’s feeling down.
‘Yes, of course. Come in.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nods and I can see she’s trying to hold in the tears. ‘Where’s Toby?’
‘He’s staying in Guildford tonight.’
‘Fancy a hot chocolate? I could do with some company.’
‘Definitely.’ I step over the threshold and follow Clemmy into her big, cosy kitchen.
‘Sit down,’ she says, and I slide onto a chrome stool at the pale wood breakfast bar, watching as Clemmy takes milk from the fridge.
‘So … how are the wedding plans?’ I ask hesitantly. Looking at Clemmy’s swollen eyes, I immediately wish I hadn’t asked.
She sighs. ‘Fine. Everything’s organised. The venue, the ceremony, the flowers, the cars, the rings.’
I nod. ‘Great. So now all you have to do is look forward to being the blushing bride and making Ryan cry when he first glimpses you walking down the aisle!’
She smiles and nods.
‘You’re going to look beautiful. Will you wear your hair up or loose?’
She seems about to answer. Then as I watch in alarm, the façade slips and her face crumples.
‘I haven’t even thought about it, Daisy.’ A single tear rolls down her face. ‘To be honest, I’m not even sure there’s going to be a wedding.’
‘Clemmy, what’s happened?’
I jump off the stool and go over to her, but she turns her back on me and concentrates on pouring milk into a pan and setting it on the hob. After several failed attempts at lighting the gas, she cries out in anguish and thumps the side of the cooker. Gently, I move her aside so I can help.
‘Is it Ryan?’ I ask, and her shoulders start to shake.
I abandon the milk and lead her back to the breakfast bar, where she slumps on a stool, resting her head in her hands, her gleaming red hair tumbling forwards.
‘Maybe I’m just being silly but I don’t think I am,’ she mumbles. ‘Ryan and I – we had the perfect relationship. But everything’s changed.’
She looks up at me. Mascara is mixed with her tears.
‘How have things changed?’ I ask gently.
She throws up her hands. ‘We used to tell each other everything. I mean, of course the relationship wasn’t perfect. No relationship is. But we seemed so utterly right for each other and I always knew that he felt the same. He used to tell me he couldn’t believe his luck having me in his life and that I made him feel whole.’ She laughs sadly. ‘I know it sounds corny but it was one hundred per cent genuine. And I knew it because I felt exactly the same.’
I squeeze her hand. ‘It does sound perfect.’
She dashes away her tears. ‘It was. And then it wasn’t.’
I fish in my pocket and manage to find a clean paper hanky. She takes it and blows her nose loudly, and we exchange a little smile at the trumpeting sound.
‘So what happened?’ I ask.
‘He’s just … distant. That’s the only way I can describe it. And he’s working late so often. Tonight, he’s staying over in London and he never used to do that. However late his meeting went on, he always came home afterwards. I used to suggest he book into a hotel instead of having to make the journey back here after an exhausting day, but he was always adamant. A day wasn’t right, he used to say, if he didn’t start it and end it by my side.’
A lump rises to my throat. ‘Aw Clemmy, that’s so romantic!’
I can’t imagine Toby saying something like that to me. Well, actually, I can. But it would be: A day isn’t right if I can’t start it and end it with a phone call to the office!
Clemmy sniffs and gives me a watery smile. ‘I know. Isn’t it? But these days, it’s as if all the enchantment has gone out of the relationship. For him at least. I feel exactly the same as I ever did about him. Ryan will always be the only man for me.’
‘Maybe he’s just stressed about the wedding? It is one of the biggest stresses, after divorce and bereavement. Or so they say.’
She nods. ‘Maybe. I hope so. Because the alternative is that he’s got cold feet and doesn’t know how to tell me he doesn’t want to get married.’
I shake my head. ‘I think you’re jumping to massive conclusions there. Honestly, I do. I mean, he’s never said anything to that effect, has he?’
She shakes her head.
‘Well, there you are, then. And he’s given you no other cause for concern, other than that he’s maybe been a bit preoccupied and has to work late?’
She sighs. ‘I know. And until yesterday, I kept telling myself not to be so silly. Of course he wants to be with me. But now …’
‘What happened yesterday?’ I ask in alarm.
She stares down at her hands. ‘There was a me
ssage on his phone. You were here when I looked at it, actually. He was upstairs and his phone was lying on the table, and I know I shouldn’t but sometimes it’s impossible not to look at a message that pings through for someone else …’
‘What did it say?’
She looks up, her face ashen. ‘Of course it might be totally innocent. But it said: Can you get away tonight and meet me later?’
I stare at her, my mind reeling with possibilities.
‘That could mean anything,’ I say at last. ‘It doesn’t mean Ryan’s up to anything … with anyone. Was there a name?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Well, it might be a mate suggesting the pub, or a relative wanting to – um – give you a wedding present?’
‘But surely if it was family or a friend, the name would have come up.’ She’s right, of course.
‘Why not just tell him the truth, Clem? That you saw the message by accident and you were wondering who he was meeting? There’s probably a perfectly innocent explanation.’
She nods and attempts a smile. ‘You’re right. I’m probably over-dramatising it and reading something into the words that isn’t even there!’
‘Precisely,’ I say, forcing myself to sound certain.
Because how awful would it be if Clemmy’s instincts about Ryan are correct?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Next day, I poke my head out of the tent to the perfect summer’s morning. The sun is shining in a clear, forget-me-not blue sky and it’s obvious the forecasters have got it right.
It’s going to be a blisteringly hot day.
Toby phones and says he’ll be back around seven p.m., and I find myself feeling quite pleased at the prospect of another day on my own. I plan to settle down and read the Stephen King book Jake let me borrow.
It’s such an absorbing and entertaining read, and I’m learning so much and picking up so many tips, that it’s midday before I realise it.
Inspired by what I’ve been reading, I decide to take another look at my manuscript. I’ve thought of a new twist that I think will raise the story to a whole new level and I’m eager to start writing.
Clemmy pops her head in around two o’clock and our chat turns to the fruitless trip to Maple Tree House the day before yesterday.
‘I can’t stop thinking about it,’ Clemmy says, sitting cross-legged on the grass outside the tent, and reaching for the glass of chilled lemonade I’ve brought out. ‘I keep wondering if I should have tried harder to persuade you to speak to that woman when you had the chance.’ Her rosy cheeks are glowing and she looks genuinely anguished.
I sit down beside her, so we’re both staring out over the lake, and take a sip of my own drink. ‘I doubt you could have convinced me. I felt too frozen with fear.’
‘How do you feel now?’
I shrug. ‘My head is all over the place, to be honest.’
Clemmy gives a rueful smile. ‘I’m too impulsive. If I was in your situation, I’d probably have gone straight up to her and introduced myself and made a total hash of the whole thing, so I really admire your restraint. But …’ She shrugs helplessly. ‘I just can’t imagine how you must be feeling, knowing she might be the owner of the pink handbag. And she might be your birth mother. And yet not actually knowing.’
‘The not knowing is killing me,’ I admit softly.
‘I could drive you back there if you want,’ she offers. ‘I’ve got some time later on, if …’ She gazes at me expectantly.
I think of pulling up in Clemmy’s car outside that house again – and instantly, an entire flock of birds are flapping in my chest, making me feel panicky and breathless.
I shake my head. ‘Thanks, Clemmy. But not today. Can I take a rain check on that offer, though?’
‘Of course. Any time. Just say the word. I take it Toby is working again?’
I nod, trying to look cheerful about it. ‘Crisis at work. He didn’t want to go but I think he felt obliged to. The pressures …’
Clemmy nods understandingly, while I stand there wondering why on earth I’m always trying to make people see Toby in a better light. It was a complete lie about him not wanting to go to work today.
A rogue thought slips into my head. Does Toby deserve me sticking up for him? Aren’t I always thinking of what will make him happy? Whereas he knows how much becoming a published author would mean to me and yet he hasn’t even bothered to ask me how the book is going while he’s off working when we’re supposed to be on holiday. It’s fairly clear that, despite me doing well in the short story competition, he thinks my writing is just a little hobby and that I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of succeeding.
How would I cope if we ended up going our separate ways? There’d be no more evenings eating Chinese take-out, followed by a cuddle on the sofa watching The West Wing. No more lovely, cosy Sunday lunches round at his old family home. No more meeting Rosalind in town, laughing and chatting over coffee about everything under the sun. Just like I used to do with Mum.
Our parting would leave a gaping hole in my life, that’s for sure. A big lump rises in my throat at the very thought.
I’d miss Rosalind so much … and Toby, of course.
‘I need to get back,’ says Clemmy, standing up. ‘Poppy wants to chat about the stall for the summer fayre on Saturday.’
‘Sounds good. Where’s it being held?’
‘In a big field next to the Starlight Hotel. You’ll still be here on Saturday. You and Toby should both come along.’
I smile ruefully. ‘I can’t speak for Toby. I have a feeling he might be working. But I’ll definitely be there.’
‘Great!’ She peers at my book. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’
I show her the cover and, to my annoyance, find myself blushing. ‘It’s a book about writing. It’s a brilliant read.’ I’m about to tell her about Jake but something stops me.
To cover up my sudden awkwardness, I busy myself taking our empty glasses back into the tent. Clemmy calls that she’ll probably see me later and goes off, back to Lakeside View.
I sit on the bed, smoothing the cover of Jake’s book, thinking about its owner. It’s a well-thumbed copy, obviously much-loved. Perhaps I should return it to Jake now before he has a chance to start missing it.
Men can be very particular about their possessions.
Toby, for instance, is a bit funny about the Financial Times. Woe betide anyone who removes his copy from his bedside table to the magazine rack. I’m obviously talking about me here. I did that once and I think he thought I’d thrown it out. His face went so pale, I honestly thought he was about to keel over with shock.
This makes me think about the magazine I placed on his bedside table when we arrived. As far as I’m aware, he still hasn’t read my story. He’s said nothing about it if he has …
It’s just after four and Toby won’t be back for at least another couple of hours. Just time to go for a walk around the lake and into the forest …
There’s a buzz in my veins as I set off. I think it’s the thought of being able to talk books again with Jake that’s putting a spring in my step, because I really enjoyed that last night.
Toby glazes over almost immediately if I start talking about books. They’re just not his thing. And I can understand that. I get a bit glazed myself when he gives me his regular résumé of the week’s peaks and troughs in the stock market, when we’re reading in bed on a Sunday morning.
It never used to bother me that Toby didn’t take much interest in my writing. I told myself he probably played it down because he wanted to protect me from getting hurt by the rejections that would surely follow if I actually submitted the manuscript.
But now it’s starting to bug me.
I’m not sure I’m prepared to give Toby the benefit of the doubt any more. I should face facts. He doesn’t ask about my writing because he’s simply not interested. But he should be, shouldn’t he? If you love someone, surely you want to know everything about them …
Finding Jake’s camp again turns out to be easier than I thought it would be. It seems a much shorter distance this time – but that’s probably because I’m not absolutely exhausted today, it’s not late and pitch black, and I also know now that I shouldn’t deviate from the main path.
I’m feeling unusually hot and sweaty by the time I get there, so I lurk behind a tree and whip my can of antiperspirant out of my backpack. Pulling out the neck of my T-shirt, I give a good long refreshing spray, the cold sensation making me gasp. Then I tackle the slightly awkward task of aiming the nozzle under each arm beneath the T-shirt.
‘Daisy?’
I freeze at the sound of Jake’s voice behind me.
Not wanting to be caught looking dodgy, with my hand plunged down my top, I let go of the can and trap it with my elbow before it has a chance to clatter to the ground. Then I spin round.
He’s looking at me with a faintly puzzled expression, presumably wondering what on earth I was up to, fumbling with myself behind a tree.
‘Jake. Hi!’ I paste on a beaming smile. ‘You just caught me studying the – erm – flora and fauna.’
He looks surprised.
‘Yes, there’s so much to discover in a forest, don’t you think?’ I bluster on. ‘The trunk of this tree, for instance. It’s just so incredibly … erm …’
‘Brown?’ he says, looking bemused.
‘Yes! Brown. The colours in nature.’ I shake my head. ‘Amazing. I’ve brought your book back,’ I add hurriedly, just in case he thinks I’m a stalker.
‘That was quick! But thanks. I’ve just put water on to boil. Would you like some tea?’ he offers.
‘Yes – I couldn’t put it down! And I’d love some, thanks.’
Following him across the clearing to his camp, I swiftly rescue the antiperspirant can and pop it back into my bag.
‘Have a seat.’ He indicates the solitary camp stool.
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll just sit down here,’ I say, lowering myself onto a grassy patch and admiring the campfire.
‘Watch the snakes, though,’ says Jake. ‘Nothing worse than feeling one slithering up your trouser leg.’
Summer under the Stars: A romantic comedy that will have you laughing out loud this summer. Page 10