‘I did.’ There’s a long pause. ‘I thought we really had something good.’ He is staring out of the window, but then glances back my way. ‘Laura was the first woman I’d imagined living with, starting a family with.’
‘Oh.’ It’s the first time he’s shared something so personal with me. We sit in silence for a moment. ‘I guess sometimes you see what you’re looking for, not what is actually there. At least that’s what I’ve ended up deciding, and I reckon I tried too hard.’ I shrug.
‘But that’s the idea, you’re supposed to try hard, aren’t you?’
‘You are.’ I nod.
‘You can love somebody, care about somebody, but still be the person you want to be. The person you should be. In fact, if they love you back, then they should want you to be you, shouldn’t they?’
‘True. That’s the part I messed up though, I forgot about what I wanted.’ Who I was. ‘And I don’t think Liam wanted the real me, he wanted his version.’ I stop and think about the words I’ve just said. I’ve never said them before, in fact I’d never realised that was how our relationship had been. It’s odd, but talking to Jake seems to make things clear in my head.
‘Laura never forgot what she wanted.’ He gives a short bitter laugh, and Harry licks his chin. ‘You still don’t expect the people you thought you knew to cheat on you though. Nobody deserves that.’
‘No.’ His words sink in, and I forget about Liam. ‘You said people? Did you know the guy who Laura cheated with?’
‘Oh yes.’ He hugs Harry closer to him, and I wish I could join in the group hug. But I’m driving. ‘Anyway enough of that crap, this week is about fun.’ He opens his eyes wider, which instantly makes him look exceedingly naughty. ‘What sports do you do?’ He really doesn’t know me at all, but it seems like he’s determined we move on. ‘Favourite one? Apart from the obvious of course.’
I ignore the suggestive wink. ‘I don’t swim, I hate water it’s too—’
‘Wet?’
‘Definitely wet. I can’t throw a ball straight and have never ridden a horse.’ I rummage around in my brain trying to find something. Jogging is so boring, gyms are too competitive. ‘I used to enjoy playing football with my dad.’
‘Any good?’
‘Excellent as a four-year-old. My dribbling was superb.’
‘Rugby?’
‘Are you mad?’ For a moment I take my eyes off the road and stare at him. ‘Rugby is just weird, who wants to get squashed under a pile of men?’ Probably the wrong choice of words. ‘All that scrambling about getting plastered in mud.’ Still wrong. He’s grinning. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘I am. Any birthmarks I should know about?’
Talk about speed dating, even my mum doesn’t know some of this stuff, and Liam definitely doesn’t.
‘No, but I’ve got a tiny tattoo.’
‘On your ankle?’
‘Now that would be predictable. No, on my hip.’
‘Right or left side? Just for research purposes, of course.’
‘Right.’ It’s there to remind me, just before I take the plunge.
‘Butterfly?’
‘No, bluebird.’
‘Oh.’ He pauses. ‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘You’re not the type of girl that does things without a reason. Why the bluebird?’
‘It was a song that Gran used to hum, by The Monkees. Okay, okay I know they’re ancient, it was called “I Wanna be Free.”’
‘Like the bluebirds flying by me?’
‘You know it?’
‘Not that well, but … and do you?’ He’s looking at me intently, I can see out of the corner of my eye. His tawny gaze steady. ‘Want to be free?’
‘Gran used to tell me to remember that I could always be me, even if I wasn’t free to do whatever I wanted. She said that was the secret to a long relationship.’ Not that I was having much success on that front.
‘Short break?’ He points at the motorway services sign.
‘My mum doesn’t know about the tattoo, so don’t you dare mention it!’
He glances sideways at me, and he’s got a look of mischief about him. ‘I wouldn’t dare…’ He pauses and raises an eyebrow. ‘Anything else your mother shouldn’t know about?’
‘Depressingly enough, not a lot.’ There isn’t these days, but there used to be. Oh God, I really am turning into her. ‘I was never bad, but I did used to be the kind of girl who acted on impulse now and then, and did mad things like get a tattoo.’ I pause. ‘Before I met Liam.’
He smiles. ‘I think that girl’s still in there, and I fully intend to winkle her out and let her free!’
We have burger and fries, and Harry has a pee and a poo (on command) then I kindly agree to Jake’s request to drive my car. He might have actually been dying to have a go because it was his favourite model, or he could have just been trying to charm his way into the driver’s seat because he thought he was the better driver, but I decided I didn’t care. Either way, I somehow drop off to sleep and am woken up with doggy kisses. Well, I call them kisses, but I think he was probably licking the dribble off my face.
‘Refreshed?’
I wouldn’t say refreshed. More hot and smelling of dog, and with a sticky face. But to be fair I do feel a bit perkier and more positive. Especially when I look out of the window.
‘Stop for a brief break and stretch our legs?’ Even as he speaks, he’s pulling off the road into a layby. Turning off the engine.
All around us the stunning scenery is bathed in soft afternoon light. I get out of the car and stretch, and I’m suddenly glad I’ve come. It would have been criminal to miss this, to miss my best friend’s wedding.
Harry shakes himself then jumps on top of the stone wall, and looks at us, asking us to follow.
‘Sorry mate.’ Jake ruffles the fur on his head. ‘Tomorrow. You can chase all the squirrels you want tomorrow.’
‘He’s not your dog, is he?’
‘Nope, looking after him for a—’ there was the tiniest hitch ‘—friend.’
‘You look after him a lot?’ They seemed to have a bond that went beyond the paid dog-sitter thing.
He strokes a hand over his eyes, then looks at me. ‘Okay, I said we should be honest. He belongs to my ex.’
‘He’s your ex’s?’ I didn’t expect that.
‘Well he was…’ He pauses, one of those big, fat, pregnant (no, I’m not obsessed) pauses. ‘Ours, then…’
‘You’ve brought your ex’s dog to my best friend’s wedding?’
‘Is that a problem?’
One of us with an ex in residence is enough to cope with, and this just seems weird. She betrayed him. I wouldn’t look after Liam’s socks, let alone something like a dog after what happened between us. ‘But why would you want her—’
‘Our.’
‘—dog, after what happened?’
‘It’s just a dog.’
Harry put his head on one side, so I cover his ears. ‘He’s not just a dog!’ Why am I hissing? ‘But he’s hers.’
‘Ours. Well, she got custody and I got visiting rights. Look, hang on, you’re saying you don’t mind me bringing a dog, just not Laura’s dog?’
It’s the ‘ours’ bit that bothers me. Though it shouldn’t. ‘It’s not that at all.’ Maybe he can’t let go, maybe he’s hoping that though she betrayed him, she will come back. And Harry is his way of keeping a connection between them. I feel irrationally angry. I don’t want any part of her, the woman who hurt him, butting into our week away.
‘Well?’
‘What if she decides she wants him back, comes to pick him up?’
‘She won’t.’ He sighs, and leans against the car.
‘You’ve not packed her away in here somewhere as well?’
He raises an eyebrow, and doesn’t look like he’s going to answer. ‘In a car with a boot this size?’
He deserves the scowl I give him. Just as I was about to
get reasonable, he spoils it.
‘Okay, okay, sorry. That was out of order. But we split up ages ago.’
‘Ages?’
‘Ages. Look. Bringing him along wasn’t my idea at all, though I have him quite a bit. She asked me yesterday to look after him, because she’s got a busy week on. She’s away, stuff.’ I wonder what ‘stuff’ is. Is that ‘stuff’ the thing he needs a distraction from? ‘I said no, then after you’d been round I said no again. But when I got up this morning she was knocking on the door. She just passed me the lead and said she’d tie him to the gatepost if I didn’t take him, and that I was being a selfish bastard and trying to spoil her special day because I was jealous.’ He sounds quite gruff now. ‘Okay? I didn’t feel I had a choice.’
‘Do you still love her?’ I say it quietly, because half of me doesn’t want to hear the answer, but the other half of me has to ask. And offer him hugs.
‘It’s complicated Sam.’ I hate that word complicated. ‘I fell out of love a long time ago, but you know, well, there are still twinges.’ Yeah, I do know, I know all about stupid twinges. ‘And maybe hanging on to Harry isn’t the best thing for either of us, because it means we still have to see each other, and she’s still taking advantage, but I love the daft mutt and…’
‘I’m being stupid.’ I feel horribly guilty for pushing this, and stirring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. ‘It’s fine, you bringing him. Fine. He’s a cute dog.’
‘You are being a bit daft.’
‘You’re not supposed to agree. But what if somebody asks?’
‘Really?’ He’s brightened up. ‘Somebody might want to know who he belongs to? I’ll say he belongs to a friend, nobody is going to care, Sam. Are they?’
I look at Harry. He looks back. All cute button nose and dark brown eyes.
‘I miss him.’ Jake shrugs, but he’s looking at me all sad dog eyes as well. ‘That’s partly why I go to the rescue centre. I’m too busy to have a dog, but I do miss H.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, let’s get back in the car.’ Any minute now I’ll be tempted to throw away my rulebook which would be a disaster. He is so not my type. And I do not need a man in my life right now, I just need a man for the wedding.
‘Any sexual fantasies?’ He asks as he starts the engine up.
‘What? Why?’ No way can I tell him about the fireman and pole thing, or the chocolate smothered… ‘You can’t ask that!’
‘I just did.’ He laughs, a deep, rumbling, sexy, dirty laugh that is very disconcerting and makes me feel even hotter than I did when I was trying not to think about my unrepeatable sexual fantasies. I think he’s trying to distract me from the Harry and Laura thing.
‘Well, I’m not going to answer. You don’t need to know.’
‘True. I know I don’t. I was just curious.’ He’s chuckling away to himself and I end up smiling. It’s impossible not to. He’s impossible.
I probably shouldn’t ask. But he’s asking stuff he shouldn’t. ‘So, this stuff you need a distraction from?’
‘It’s a long story. Later. Look.’ He points. ‘I think we’re here.’
Here is a bit misleading because we don’t actually seem to be anywhere, apart from at a large set of stone gateposts. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Ahead stretches a road, across nothingness. There is grass, and heather, and trees, and, well sky. Rather a lot of sky. The horizon seems to have dropped, maybe it’s because we’re so far north. I nearly share this thought, then decide it might be better not to.
I now understand why it takes thirty minutes to get to the supermarket. From here we can’t even see the castle, or whatever it is, that we’re staying in, let alone a loch. And they’re both pretty big aren’t they? As in bloody massive type of big?
I take a deep breath as he turns the car in through the entrance and repeat my new mantra in my head. I can do it. I wish I actually had stuck his envelope in my handbag so that I could stare at the words and not just think them. Then they’d be more real.
‘This is going to be fun.’ He rubs his hands together and grins. I grab the steering wheel, as we veer towards the grass, and he puts his hands back over mine, and winks.
I have just realised that it is perfectly possible to control my direction in life, even if a man appears to be sat in the driving seat. So I smile back. ‘This is going to be awesome!’
Chapter 14
Holy crap. ‘You are not wearing that!’ I sound like my mother already, and I’m not even thirty. Normally I would be embarrassed about unpacking my knickers in front of a man I hardly know. But I’ve seen what he has got in his own suitcase and completely forget that I have a lemon bra in one hand (to match the maid of honour dress), and black knickers in the other (because black is more me, and nobody will know).
I’d been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking that maybe this would work. This was because:
1. There was no welcome party when we finally stopped in the parking area of the castle, so we could sneak in with the help of a butler and without any kind of interrogation.
2. Our room is big enough for a family of four who never want to bump into each other. There’s even one of those screen things to change behind, and a bathroom that’s nearly as big as my entire house.
I am wrong. Not about points 1 and 2, just about the possibility this will work.
‘That’s a bit sexist, you wouldn’t be happy if I said that to you.’
‘I have one word for you.’ I give him my schoolmarm look, and drop the knickers quickly hoping he hasn’t seen them. ‘Honesty! I’m not saying it wouldn’t look good on you, that you wouldn’t look great, er, sexy…’ I say er a lot when I am flustered. ‘But, but…’
‘But?’ He’s picked up the offending article.
‘It’s a skirt!’
‘It’s a kilt.’
‘A kilt, a man skirt, what’s the difference?’ David Beckham is the only man I’ve ever seen pull it off, and that was a close run thing. But it didn’t put me off my porridge. This might, that’s if they really serve as much porridge as I’ve heard they do in Scotland. ‘People will be able to see your knees, and er…’ I gulp. Well, is it true about what a Scotsman wears under his kilt? Or is that irrelevant seeing as he’s English? Maybe I need to phone a friend, ask Sarah. She’ll know, she’s full of facts that are totally useless apart from the one per cent of the time they’re useful.
‘We are in Scotland.’ He says it in his reasonable tone of voice.
‘You’re not Scottish.’ My hiss isn’t quite as reasonable, in fact it’s verging on sarcastic, which my father says is the lowest form of wit.
‘Who says?’
I try saying Porter in my head in a Scottish voice and can’t do it, even when I put an ‘och aye’ and a ‘mac’ in front. Even Jock McPorter doesn’t cut it.
‘I think you’ll find we have a tartan.’ OMG does that mean he really does know how to do things properly? Is he going to do the full Monty? Go commando? I’ve heard of method acting, but this is going too far. He points at the kilt. ‘We’re proud of our ancestry.’ He does that wink thing.
If he is a real, proper Scot then I’m in trouble. ‘What if somebody knows you then? Recognises you? That.’ I point at his kilt. ‘All Scots know each other, don’t they? All those clans, it’s like the mafia – but hairier.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He’s chuckling, any minute now and it’ll be a belly laugh and somebody will come to find out what we’re up to. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if my mother is eavesdropping at the door right now. ‘This is Scotland, not some remote tribe in the rainforest.’
I wish I was in the rainforest. Give me face paint and war dances any day over pretend boyfriends with drafts up their skirts.
‘Chill.’
I want to tell him that chill is not an appropriate word – it’ll be him that’s chilly if he wears that.
‘It’ll work. Trust me.’ I want to trust him, I really do, but look where that got me
with Liam. At least none of the men will be in a fit state to put a bun in anyone’s oven if all their bits have shrivelled up and gone into hiding because they’re used to being wrapped up all snug and warm.
I wave a sheet of paper at him, which was on the bed when we arrived. ‘Well. I bloody hope so, because our itinerary says we’ve got to be in the bar for drinks at eight, so we can all get to know each other properly.’ I already know everybody pretty well, apart from him, and Jess’s Uncle Bert and Aunt Edna.
‘I’d grab those back if you’re going to need them.’ He points, and grins.
Harry is wrestling with a rat on the bed. Except it’s not a rat, it’s my knickers. I make a dive and he’s off, hurtling round the room with his trophy in the air. ‘Oh God, those are one of my favourite pairs.’ As in one of the few pairs that hasn’t got a hole in the lace where I stuck my finger through trying to pull them up too quick, haven’t gone a funny colour (that’s why I buy black), don’t have a shag-memory attached, and don’t creep up between my bum cheeks like a cheese slicer.
‘Nice doggy.’ I try and head him off at the table, with my best ‘come and see what I’ve got for you’ voice, but he’s not having it. My fingertips brush his furry tail as he hurtles across the room and dives under the bed, woofing though a mouthful of black satin and lace. ‘Come here you bugger.’ I’m halfway under the bed, and he’s just out of reach. One more wriggle and I’ll have him, then I realise that if I go any further I’ll be leaving my jeans behind.
‘Shit.’
Jake’s face appears, upside down, at the other end of the bed. ‘Need a hand?’
‘Can you just…’ Pull me out by the feet? Grab Harry? My mobile starts to ring.
His face is replaced by his feet. Then his face reappears. ‘It’s Jess.’ He waves the phone so I can see the contact name.
Double shit.
‘I’ll answer it.’ And all I can see is his feet again.
The Wedding Date Page 12