Bryony sighed. She couldn’t imagine how horrible it must be for somebody to say that about a parent and she realised how very lucky she was to be a Nightingale and to have experienced nothing but love and support her whole life because not everybody did.
They drove round the outskirts of Sudbury and then took a back road out into the Stour Valley to where the pub was.
‘You know, I’ve always had a secret ambition to be a groupie,’ Bryony confessed.
‘Really?’
‘Truly.’
‘Well, don’t get too excited. We’re never likely to hit the charts and go on tour.’
‘You never know,’ she said. ‘Have you ever thought of auditioning for one of those TV talent shows?’
Jago grimaced. ‘Not my style. I prefer obscurity.’
‘Really?’
‘I don’t want to be rich or famous,’ he said. ‘I just want to make a living from what I love doing.’
‘Sounds like me and my family. People rarely work with books for any other reason than for the love of them.’
‘I think having a passion for what you do is more important than having a full bank account, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ Bryony said. ‘That’s what I tell myself every time I go overdrawn.’
‘Me too,’ Jago said with a laugh. ‘Ah, here it is. The King’s Head.’
Bryony looked up at the swollen head of Henry VIII on the pub sign and pulled into the car park. Judging by the blackboard outside the door, it was kind of place which had something going on almost every evening from darts tournaments to karaoke evenings, pub quizzes to live music, and there was already a good crowd inside when they entered.
‘I’ll get us some drinks and then we can order some food,’ he said, taking his coat off and helping Bryony with hers.
Bryony chose a table near the roaring fire, warming her hands by the flames. Jago joined her a moment later with a couple of menus and it didn’t take them long to place their orders.
‘Tell me more about Sean,’ Jago said once the meals had arrived. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Bryony said. ‘He was–’ she looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘an acquired taste, I’d say. I never really gelled with him and I did try. But I could see that Polly adored him and I did my best to get along with him as you do with in-laws.’
‘What didn’t you like about him?’
‘I didn’t dislike him exactly,’ she said. ‘It was more of a feeling that he wasn’t to be trusted, you know? I mean, I never had any reason to mistrust him, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about him – something he wasn’t telling us all.’
‘Did you ever find out what it was?’ Jago asked.
Bryony shook her head. ‘Perhaps he’s got another wife somewhere and he’s gone back to her.’
‘You think?’
‘No, not really,’ she said, taking a sip of a drink. ‘I don’t even want to try and guess what’s happened to him. It’s too awful to think about.’
‘I don’t how Polly coped with it all.’
‘She didn’t in the beginning. Mum wanted her to move back to Campion House, our family home, but Polly insisted on staying where she is in case Sean came back. We all kept an eye on her, of course, but you could see that she was in a real state. I’ve never seen her like that before. She was always the strong one in the family. The one you turn to if you’re in trouble.’
‘I wish there was something I could do,’ Jago said.
‘If you’re encouraging Archie with his music then you’re already doing the very best thing ever.’
Jago smiled.
They finished their meal, rambling easily from subject to subject and then Jago got up from the table just as three young men entered the pub.
‘Bryony – these are the other members of the band. Mike on keyboard, Davy on guitar and Briggs on drums.’
Bryony stood up and shook the hands of three attractive young men. Of course, they weren’t as attractive as Jago, but you could do a lot worse on a Friday night in rural Suffolk.
‘I don’t even know what your band’s called,’ she suddenly said.
‘One More Song,’ Jago said.
‘That’s unusual,’ she said. ‘I like it.’
‘We’d always get to the end of a session – whether in rehearsals or playing a gig and it might have been us who said it or a member of the audience, but they are the words we always hear: one more song. It kind of stuck. Anyway, we’d better get to work.’
Bryony smiled as the four young men made their way to the far side of the bar which had been left empty for them. She watched them setting up, fascinated by the amount of equipment that was needed in order to play a few songs.
By the time they were ready to start, there wasn’t a spare seat left in the pub and everybody soon got into the spirit of things as the music started. It was really very good indeed, with the four men playing and singing together in perfect harmony. It was a nice mix of gentle songs and toe-tapping numbers and the audience was very appreciative. Bryony couldn’t remember when she’d last enjoyed an evening out so much. This, she thought, was a definite improvement on the calibre of dates she was getting from the dating agencies she’d joined.
After about forty minutes, the band stopped and was greeted by rapturous applause as the lads made their way to the bar where drinks were handed to them. Jago then wove his way through the crowd to join Bryony at their table.
‘Wow!’ she said. ‘That was really brilliant.’
‘You liked it?’
‘I loved it!’
‘Good, well, we do what we can.’
‘You’re so modest,’ she told him. ‘Everyone was absolutely rapt.’ She leaned forward across the table. ‘I think you could have your pick of the women here tonight.’
‘Oh, really?’ he said with a grin. ‘You’re offering me up, are you?’
Bryony laughed. ‘Just making an observation.’
‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’
‘I wasn’t trying to get rid of you,’ she told him.
‘Good,’ he said, and his eyes locked with hers.
‘So, you guys write your own songs?’
‘Of course.’
‘That’s impressive.’
‘It’s what a band should do.’
‘Yes, but it’s often easier for new bands just to regurgitate old favourites, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but not us. What’s the point of that? I mean, we’ve done requests for special occasions and it’s fine if you want a familiar, fun warm-up, but there’s no real joy in that as an artist, is there?’
‘I suppose not,’ Bryony agreed. ‘It would be like a writer just copying out somebody else’s book.’
Jago nodded and that’s when Briggs, the drummer, motioned at him from across the pub.
‘Better get back to it,’ he said. ‘You okay here?’
‘I’m fine here. I’m loving it. Now, get on with the show. Your public demands you!’
She watched him cross the room with that tall grace of his, gaining several admiring glances as he went.
He’s with me, Bryony thought to herself, wondering if she could sneakily take a photo of him with her phone as he was singing or if that would be a little weird.
Jago cleared his throat and then switched his microphone back on.
‘I’d like to dedicate this song to the lovely woman who came here with me tonight,’ he said.
Bryony nearly fell off her chair in surprise and felt several pairs of eyes turn to glare at her. Was her face heating up? Very likely. Was that her heart hammering in her chest? Most definitely.
She listened intently to the words which Jago sung. They were about a girl that was trying to find her way. A girl who seemed a little lost. Had he chosen that song especially for her? She swallowed hard. Was that how the world saw her? As a lost soul? She took a sip of her drink.
It was rather special to
be sung to, Bryony thought. He had one of the warmest voices she had ever heard and she loved the way he closed his eyes to sing some of the lyrics, as if he was really living and feeling the emotions he was singing.
She liked the shape he made as he sang, his shoulders slightly hunched. She liked the way he held his guitar. She liked the way he occasionally nodded his head in time to the music or tapped his foot. His whole body was involved in the process of singing a song, not just his voice. She liked the way he would sometimes lift his right shoulder and, because he sang so much with his eyes closed, when he opened them, the impact was great indeed. Bryony could see several women in the pub had forgotten the partners they’d come in with and that there’d be an almighty scrum at the bar to buy Jago a drink once he’d finished. Poor Mike, Davy and Briggs didn’t stand a chance.
But Jago’s with me, Bryony said to herself, pride warming her wonderfully.
When the song was over, Bryony swallowed hard and smiled as Jago opened his eyes and his gaze met hers full on. Then the spell was broken as Briggs’s drumsticks beat out a rhythm and a new song began.
When the evening was finally over and they’d driven back to Great Tallington, Bryony pulled up to 7 Church Green and cut the engine. What was the protocol, she wondered, when a woman dropped a man home? Did she get out of the car and walk to the door with him? She didn’t think so.
‘I’ve had a brilliant night,’ she told him, deciding to stay inside the car.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it. You did, didn’t you? I mean the music? You’re not just saying you did to be polite?’
‘Jago – you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met,’ she told him honestly. ‘You’ve got an amazing voice. You must know that.’
He simply shrugged. ‘I get by.’
‘You could really make a go of things if you tried.’
‘You think so?’
‘I do.’
‘Wow, thanks. That means a lot.’
‘Thank you for my song,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Do you sing to all your dates?’
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Just the ones I like.’
‘You’re a bit of a charmer, aren’t you? My sister didn’t warn me about that.’
‘No? What did she say?’
‘I’m not going to betray that sisterly trust,’ Bryony said with a little smile.
‘Fair enough. I’ll just have to imagine.’
‘Jago?’
‘Yes?’
‘That song – did you choose it for me? I mean, the words–’
‘The Lost Girl?’
‘Is that how you see me?’
‘A little,’ he said. ‘You seem – you seem a little unsure of yourself. As if you’re on the verge of something, but aren’t quite there yet.’
Bryony twisted her fingers together in her lap. ‘I do?’
Jago nodded. ‘You do.’
‘I – erm – I guess...’
Jago’s hands reached across and folded around her own. She looked up at him in the darkness of the car and wondered if he was going to lean across and kiss her, but he didn’t.
‘I’ll call you, okay?’
She nodded. Her throat had gone dry and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she watched as he got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve his guitar. He raised his right hand in a wave, his long coat blowing around him in the cold night air.
Bryony sat in the car for a little while longer, wondering if she should call round to Polly’s and tell her about the evening, but it was pretty late and she didn’t want to wake Archie who would have been in bed a long time ago.
There were so many questions buzzing around her brain. Did Jago really like her? If he did, why hadn’t he tried to kiss her? Had the hand-holding thing been a gesture of affection or just kindness? He’d said he would call her, but when?
And how did she feel about him? He certainly made her heart beat faster, that was for sure. He’d made her feel special by singing to her, but his song choice had made her feel a little apprehensive too because it was as if Jago had seen something in her that all of her recent disastrous dates just hadn’t even noticed – that she was lost.
But was Jago the man to help her find herself again?
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Polly came off the phone from Bryony, something inside her felt numb which was crazy really because shouldn’t she have been happy for her sister? After all, it had been Polly’s idea that Bryony went out with Jago. Surely she should be pleased that the date had gone so well. But she wasn’t and it took her a moment to identify the emotion she was feeling.
Jealousy.
She cursed herself. Ridiculous. Who was she to be jealous? She was a married woman, for goodness’ sake. She had no business to feel jealous that Jago was seeing her sister. Even if she was available – which she most definitely was not – Jago wouldn’t look at her in a million years. She was a middle-aged mother. Well, nearly middle-aged. As good as middle-aged in Jago’s young eyes, she told herself. Besides, she wasn’t looking to get involved again even if she was available and even if she thought Jago would consider her. Jago was a sweet young man who had shown her son great kindness, that was all. He’d made her smile and laugh. That was all, wasn’t it? She didn’t really harbour romantic feelings for him, did she? The idea was absurd.
The phone went again, making her start.
‘Hello?’
‘Polly, it’s Jago.’
Polly gasped at the coincidence.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘You sound out of breath,’ he said.
‘I’m fine. What is it?’
‘I was wondering if I could come over early for Archie’s lesson today – say in half an hour. Would that be okay?’
Polly looked at her watch. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Great,’ he said. ‘I’ll be with you shortly. Oh, and thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For suggesting I see Bryony.’
Polly swallowed hard. ‘You had a good time?’ She forced the question from herself out of politeness.
‘I did. We did. At least, I hope she did.’
‘Oh, she did.’
‘You’ve spoken to her?’
Polly sighed inwardly. Now why had she gone and said that? ‘Erm, yes. She really enjoyed ... your music.’ There, that was all he was going to get out of her.
Jago laughed. ‘Good. Well, I’ll see you in half an hour, okay?’
‘Okay.’
When she hung up the phone, she ran up the stairs to the bathroom and grabbed her hairbrush, unclipping her hair and brushing it.
‘Who was on the phone, Mum?’ Archie asked, appearing in the doorway.
‘Jago. He’s coming round in half an hour.’
‘Cool!’
‘Make sure you’re ready.’
Archie nodded and returned to his bedroom and Polly looked in the mirror at herself as she retied her hair. Her pale face stared back at her, her dark eyes large and with a slightly startled expression.
Don’t go there, she told herself. You do not have feelings for Jago Solomon. You love your husband. Your long-missing husband. You can’t forget about him. You mustn’t forget about him.
She opened the bathroom cabinet and reached in for her make-up bag.
It’s to make yourself feel better. She nodded at the lie as she reached in for the foundation she rarely used. She was lucky in having a very good complexion which didn’t really warrant make-up at all and she never usually wore anything more than a lick of lipgloss and a tickle of mascara, but something in her today wanted more and she squeezed some of the creamy foundation onto her fingers.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’ Archie asked a moment later.
‘I thought you were getting ready for your lesson,’ she said as she went over her face with her make-up sponge which had to be immers
ed in water for a good minute to revive it. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been used and it had shrivelled and hardened into a walnut.
‘I am ready,’ Archie said.
‘Is your room tidy?’
‘We’re not having the lesson in my room.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked you, was it? Go and tidy it.’
He sighed and made a big thing of turning around and stomping back to his room.
Polly resumed the work on her face, adding a touch of powder, the merest hint of blusher and the usual delicate application of mascara and lipgloss. It was barely enough to be noticeable, she told herself, and yet she felt so much better for having made an effort. It had been so easy to slip into the role of Archie’s mum and pay very little attention to her own needs especially since Sean had left them. Polly hadn’t had the energy to do anything other than the basics and so the no-make-up-hair-scraped-back Polly had emerged.
It might just have been her imagination, but she was quite sure that Dickens the spaniel gave her a double-take when she entered the kitchen and Archie peered at her closely when he entered a few minutes later.
‘You look all red,’ he told her.
‘I do not,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got slightly higher colouring than normal.’
‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘You look kind of funny.’
Polly chose to ignore him and busied herself with the laundry.
By the time Jago came round, she’d almost forgotten she was wearing make-up until he stared at her intently as he entered the house. ‘You look different,’ he said.
‘Do I?’
He nodded. ‘You’ve got more colour in your cheeks.’
‘She’s wearing make-up,’ Archie said as he joined them in the hall.
Polly felt herself die inside at her son’s traitorous revelation.
‘Well, you look very nice,’ Jago said. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Nope,’ Archie answered for her.
Polly placed her hands on her hips. ‘I might be.’
‘She never does,’ Archie said.
Jago laughed and then caught Polly’s shocked expression. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘From out of the mouth of babes.’
‘I think you two had better start the lesson, don’t you?’
Rules for a Successful Book Club (The Book Lovers 2) Page 12