by Karen Clarke
He looked at her for the first time.
‘Fiona liked to support local businesses,’ he said, in a way that suggested Megan ought to have known. ‘My wife,’ he said to me. ‘No offence,’ he added to Jay, who was giving me daggers.
‘And that’s amazing,’ said Megan, recovering quickly and giving me a charitable smile. ‘But Carrie’s aunt runs a stall, which means she’s essentially a market trader.’ Her eyes shot to the pups. ‘I mean, the arrangements are lovely, but a little bit amateurish compared to what Jay can offer, and this is my wedding.’
‘I’ll pay for the flowers,’ Mr Hudson said.
‘But…’ began Megan, then clamped her mouth shut, perhaps sensing he wasn’t to be persuaded otherwise. When her eyes met mine they were like ice picks. ‘Fine!’ she said, her voice strained. ‘I was going to suggest she did the flowers for the reception, anyway.’
‘Were you?’ Jay’s voice could have frozen jelly.
‘Yes, I was,’ Megan said, with such conviction I nearly believed her. ‘I did kind of promise, after all.’
As he passed, Mr Hudson patted my shoulder. ‘Tell your aunt to send her invoice to me,’ he said. ‘Now, would you like me to show you out?’
Chapter Twenty-Four
I grabbed my bag and portfolio, my face hotter than a nuclear reactor, and thanked Mr Hudson before rushing out of the house.
After throwing myself in my car, I sat for a moment and wondered what had just happened. I glanced through the windscreen, half expecting someone to emerge, and sure enough Megan appeared as though I’d magicked her up. She trotted daintily across the gravel, a protective hand on her abdomen, as if to remind me she was pregnant.
Prepared for the inevitable onslaught, I lowered the window, only to find her eyes smiling into mine.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, miming a look of goggle-eyed confusion. ‘I’m sure Michael knew that Tom would be cross if I let Jay do the flowers, and that’s why he stepped in, but I thought it only fair to give Jay a shot.’ She pouted her bottom lip. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
Not really.
‘Anyway,’ she said, not waiting for a reply, tossing her hair like a pony. ‘I meant to say, keep Tuesday evening free.’ It took all my self-control not to recoil when she reached in and squeezed my shoulder. ‘There’s a new seafood place in Shipley called Off the Hook,’ she said. ‘Tom and I could meet you and Cooper there at seven thirty?’
Cooper? Oh god, she meant Toby.
I was about to make an excuse when it hit me that I’d done nothing so far to convince either Megan or Tom that I was fine with them getting married. I couldn’t bear that Megan’s lasting impression might be of a Miss Havisham type, hankering after a man who’d never loved her, and begrudging her once-best-friend the wedding of her dreams.
‘Sounds good,’ I said, jabbing the key in the ignition, and deciding not to react to anything that had happened inside the house. ‘I’ll check with Cooper and let you know.’ Providing Toby hasn’t come to his senses and blocked my number.
‘No hard feelings?’ She dipped her head and looked at me through her spiky eyelashes, almost as if she wanted me to challenge her.
‘No hard feelings.’ My smile was so taut my cheekbones were in danger of snapping. ‘Speak soon.’
‘I hope so.’ She straightened as Jay came out and called her name. In a patch of gloom from the overhanging roof, he was cast into ghoulish shadow, and looked as if he’d like to run somebody over. Probably me.
‘Got a bit of making up to do there.’ She gave a comedy eye-roll and a final, dazzling smile, before backing away with a wave. I didn’t doubt her ability to win him over. She’d clearly been honing her skills for the past ten years.
‘Oh my god, Jay, your flies are undone!’ she squealed.
He looked down, hands shooting to his crotch.
I waited until she’d steered him round the side of the house, their voices mingling hotly, before swinging the car around, and heading back down the drive.
The engine began to cough like an old man.
‘Oh, no, not now,’ I pleaded. ‘Just get me back to Shipley.’
As if it had heard and was willing to try, the car inched forward until we’d passed through the archway, where the engine promptly cut out.
No, no, no, no, no. Forehead itching with sweat, I turned the key and revved until the engine started again, then pressed my foot hard on the accelerator, shooting forward several metres. Just a bit further and we’d be on the hill back down to the village, where the momentum would give the engine the boost it needed.
‘Come on,’ I urged, picking up speed, just as Tom’s Land Rover came tearing around the corner.
‘Shit!’ I swung the steering wheel wildly to the left, taking the car up a grassy verge where it collided with the trunk of an oak tree. As I jolted forward, there was a sound of crumpling metal, and a bang as the airbag inflated and whacked me in the face.
‘AARRGGHH!’
In the rear-view mirror, the Land Rover braked and slewed to a halt, and the driver’s door flew open. I dropped my face onto the airbag and made a whimpering sound, and nearly hit the roof when a set of knuckles rapped urgently on the window.
Twisting my head, I saw Tom peering in.
‘Get out,’ he was shouting, pointing to the front of the car, and when I peered past the airbag, I noticed a plume of smoke curling from under the bonnet.
‘Oh, bumbags.’ I unsnapped my seat belt and shoved the door open, bashing Tom in the knees.
‘OW!’ He crunched over, grimacing in pain.
‘Sorry.’
‘No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry,’ he said through his teeth, as I staggered out. ‘Are you OK?’ His hand flew out to steady me, and I jolted away.
‘I’m fine.’
He looked at me closely, a furrow between his eyebrows. ‘Your cheeks are a bit red.’
‘Nothing new there,’ I said tartly. Resisting the moonlike pull of his eyes, I fidgeted with my clothes, which felt bonded to my body. My hair was drooping forward like tangled wool, and my headache was worse than ever. ‘I’m fine.’ I flexed my shoulders. ‘Which is more than I can say for my car.’
We turned at the same time and took in the damage, which wasn’t as bad as I’d feared – just a crumpled bumper.
‘It needs a new battery.’
‘It’s completely my fault,’ said Tom at the same time, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. He looked so achingly familiar, in faded blue jeans and a navy T-shirt, the sun picking out golden highlights in his hair, that I had to look away. ‘I took the corner way too fast. I was hoping to see you before you left.’
‘You were?’ I kept my eyes fixed ahead and fought to control my breathing.
‘The flowers,’ he said, ruefully. ‘Megan wanted me back, to help choose between you and that idiot Simmons. I wouldn’t have gone in the first place, but there was a whippet with chronic diarrhoea.’
The flowers. Obviously. Why else would he be hurrying back?
‘Sounds nasty,’ I said.
‘Apparently, it had eaten a packet of butter.’
I sneaked a look and saw he was watching me, concern etched on his face.
‘Not that I know much about flowers,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming she decided to go with you in the end?’
I managed a nod. ‘My aunt,’ I corrected. No point telling him I suspected Megan’s only intention had been to flaunt their relationship, and to humiliate me in front of him. ‘Your father had the final say.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘I didn’t think he’d still be here,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder, as if his dad might be racing down the drive.
‘He was… nice to me,’ I said.
‘Good.’ He rubbed his palm over a sprinkling of stubble round his jaw. ‘He’s mellowed a bit since Mum died.’
My brain hummed with questions, but they were too emotive. ‘Where’s Hovis?’ I peered at the wonky Land Rover, expecting to see his
whiskery face at the window.
‘I left him at the cottage, at the surgery,’ Tom said, and shook his head as if mentally reprimanding himself. ‘Megan’s allergic to his fur, so I tend not to bring him too often.’
I remembered how she’d swiped at Hovis earlier, and guessed it was more than his fur she was allergic to.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
I nodded, and a loaded silence fell, broken by the warbling of a blackbird in the oak tree. It was probably wondering why there was a car attached to it.
‘I suppose we’d better swap insurance details,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get the car back to Shipley.’ My eyes brimmed with tears, and I turned away so that Tom couldn’t see. ‘I was supposed to be going somewhere this afternoon.’ It suddenly felt imperative that I made the effort to talk to Peter. I’d imagined returning to the flat and telling Ruby that not only had I secured her the wedding booking (which she’d thought was secure, anyway), I’d found out where her son was and had arranged a joyful reunion.
Of the two, I knew which she’d be happiest about. I’d be able to go home with the knowledge that I’d done something valuable with my time in Shipley. It wouldn’t matter so much that my past had been raked up and shoved in front of my eyes; my stay would have been worthwhile.
‘I’ll sort out getting your car towed and pay for any repairs, so you don’t lose your no-claims bonus,’ Tom said, his voice becoming businesslike. ‘Maybe you could call your boyfriend?’
Boyfriend? Oh, bloody Toby again. Or should I say, Cooper. I was starting to feel haunted by the man, and I’d only met him once. Toby that is. I reminded myself that Cooper didn’t exist.
‘Megan mentioned bumping into you both last night.’
Of course she did.
‘He’s working today,’ I said quickly. It was far too presumptuous to ask Toby for this kind of favour – especially since I was already planning to invite him to what would probably be the most awkward meal of the century, on Tuesday evening.
‘Working?’ Tom’s eyebrows lowered. ‘Isn’t he a—’
‘War correspondent, yes,’ I snapped, regretting it when Tom’s face closed up. ‘He’s catching up on some paperwork at my aunt’s place, and anyway, he hasn’t got his car.’
‘Oh?’
‘He, um, came up on the train.’
‘Up?’
I wished I could transport myself to a distant cloud. ‘From London,’ I said. ‘He wanted a break from driving, he did a lot of it in…’ Where, where, where? ‘the… war zones.’ Oh god, was I making a mockery of genuine war correspondents, out in god-only-knew-where, in genuine danger?
Tendrils of hair were stuck to my face and neck and the sun was so hot I was beginning to feel faint.
‘Look, let me give you a lift to wherever you want to go.’ Tom ran a hand through his own hair so it stood up at a weird angle. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ I said, stomach pitching like a trawler. ‘I’ll take a taxi.’ As I reached into the car for my bag and keys, the wedding-pups peeped up at me from the canvas bag on the front seat. I felt oddly guilty as I slammed the door on their pitiful faces and locked it. ‘Do you have the number of a cab firm?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Tom was striding purposefully to his car, jangling his keys in his hand. ‘I insist.’
‘But what about…’ I daren’t say Megan’s name in case it conjured her up, but he interpreted my pause.
‘She thinks I’m working anyway,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Well, listen, just drop me back in Shipley.’ I trotted after him. I would have to work out a way to go and see Peter another day – or perhaps one evening, after I’d finished on the stall.
‘Just tell me where you were going, and I’ll take you there.’ Tom had pulled open the passenger door and gestured for me to climb in. ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘But it’s quite a drive and I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He paused, one hand on the open door as he studied my simmering face. ‘I’ll wait for as long as it takes.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘Sorry about the smell,’ Tom said, lowering the windows. ‘I had a hen with an infected eye in here yesterday.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, feeling shy as I examined the interior. It looked like an extension of his surgery, with a cat basket on the back seat, beside a box of latex gloves, and a brightly coloured felt garment that looked like a coat for a dog. There were several collars, and a couple of dog leads strewn around, and an opened packet of worming tablets on the floor. Tom bent to pick it up, and lobbed it into the glove compartment, his wrist brushing my knee.
I jerked away, my face tight with heat.
‘So where are we going?’ he said, seeming not to notice. He switched on the satnav, and although I knew the address off by heart, I burrowed the piece of paper out of my bag and studied Doris’s sloping handwriting.
‘It’s 21 Orchard Road, Christchurch, Bournemouth.’ I read out the postcode in an Australian accent and cringed. ‘Sorry.’
He smiled as he keyed it in, and I was overcome by an urge to stroke the faint dark hairs on his arm. It reminded me of the time I’d turned up early for a Sunday morning dog-walk and caught him coming out of the shower in a skimpy towel. Clapping eyes on his wiry chest and trail of fuzzy hair below his belly-button, had fired an urge to hurl myself at him.
Panic bubbled up. How was I supposed to act normally for an entire journey? What could we talk about that wouldn’t be inflammatory? Apart from his visit to the stall the other day, we hadn’t been alone together for ten years.
Did he still like science fiction films, and going for long walks to ‘burn off energy’? It was hard to envisage him doing either with Megan. She’d only liked films starring Brad Pitt, and used to make her mother drive her to school, despite only living a five-minute walk away.
As we set off, at a more sedate pace than Tom had been driving earlier, I dug out my phone and busied myself scrolling for new messages, even though looking down made me feel queasy.
There was a text from Sarah that made me smile:
Chloe just asked why ladies have beards on their front bottoms, and Jack said it’s because they’re called ‘furginas’!!!! Would have been funnier if Phil’s mum wasn’t here
I sent back a salvo of smiley faces and a love heart, then tried to discreetly WhatsApp Jasmine I’m in a car with tom but hit the wrong keys. It came out as iminent a vase with tin.
Did you sit on your phone??? she replied.
Feeling too sick to try again, I chucked my phone in my bag and twisted my head to the window, letting the air brush my overheated cheeks.
‘So, who is it you’re going to see?’ Tom said, as we drove through Moreton village and headed for the A351. ‘Sounded important.’
I turned to look at him, just as he turned to face me. Our eyes clashed, and blood surged to my face. ‘It’s a long story,’ I said, switching my gaze to the road ahead.
‘We’ve plenty of time.’ He spoke lightly, but I sensed his curiosity. ‘Is it something to do with your aunt?’
I thought about it. He was never going to meet Ruby, and I’d be back in Manchester soon. Would it matter if I told him?
I expelled a long breath. ‘It’s my aunt’s long-lost son,’ I said, the knot in my chest unravelling. ‘She gave him up for adoption when he was a baby, and now she’d like to get to know him.’
He flashed me a look of frowning surprise. ‘And she’s sending you as… What? Some sort of mediator?’
‘Not exactly.’ I looked at my knees, pressed primly together. ‘She doesn’t know I’m going.’
Tom slowed the car at a set of traffic lights, and pulled a yellow-and-white stripy bag from the doorwell. ‘Have a humbug,’ he said, taking one and passing the bag to me. ‘Then you can tell me the whole story, if you want to.’
By the time I’d finished
, I’d crunched through another humbug, my headache had eased, and I’d kicked off my sandals and tucked my feet beneath me. Tom had listened carefully, nodding occasionally, and had only spoken twice: once to ask if it was possible my dad knew, but wasn’t comfortable talking about it, to which I replied no, I was certain he didn’t, and second to ask if I’d thought about what I was going to say when I got there.
‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I was going to play it by ear.’
‘Not like you, Dashwood.’
My stomach dipped. It was what he’d called me sometimes. ‘I know,’ I said, stuffing another humbug in my mouth to hide my confusion. ‘I’m normally very organised, but since coming to Shipley and finding out Ruby’s secret’ – and that you and Megan are not only getting married, but expecting a baby – ‘all that’s gone out of the window.’
‘I think you’re acting instinctively,’ he said, turning the car as the satnav directed us away from the coast and down a sun-dappled road, where an elderly couple were strolling arm in arm, with a tiny long-haired dog that looked like a wig on a lead.
‘Maybe I am.’ I’d never thought of myself that way, but liked the sound of it. Or was instinctive bad, in the way being impulsive could be perceived as behaving recklessly?
‘Like when you stopped to rescue Hovis and brought him to the surgery.’ Tom flashed his wide-lipped smile, apparently unaware of the effect it had on my pulse rate.
‘Anyone would have done the same.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said, resting a hand on the gear stick. ‘Most people would have driven past, or not noticed.’
My neck and shoulders softened as I basked in his apparent approval.
Behave, I chided myself. He was being nice to an old acquaintance that was all. One he’d run off the road in his car half an hour ago. Driving back to see you.
NO!
I imagined the word as a big red cross, to stop my thoughts diving in directions they shouldn’t.
Think of Megan, I told myself. Think of the child she’s carrying, and the wedding that’s going to take place, less than a week from now.