Rules for a Successful Book Club (The Book Lovers 2)

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘Not confidently,’ Jago said as he finished off his chips.

  Polly studied his face and found it hard to imagine that the Jago she had come to know over their brief time together could be anything but confident.

  He looked up and caught her staring at him. Polly looked away.

  ‘Have you had enough to eat, Archie?’ she asked him.

  ‘I’m still eating,’ he said.

  ‘Well, don’t be too long about it,’ she told him, suddenly feeling awkward sitting there in the small space with Jago next to her. But things were about to get even more awkward.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse. As Polly unwound her window to let out some steam, she saw Antonia Jessop marching along the pavement, heading right towards them. Of course, Antonia saw Polly and noted that her window was open and so thought nothing of sticking her head through it.

  ‘Antonia!’ Polly said, shocked by the intrusion.

  ‘Polly,’ Antonia said with a tight little nod. Her eyes which, by nature, were narrow, narrowed even further as she saw Jago in the passenger seat.

  ‘We’ve just had fish and chips,’ Archie blurted from the back seat.

  Antonia looked at the heaps of vinegary paper which they all held in their laps.

  ‘I see,’ she said, glancing down into the foot well and up onto the dashboard as if looking for evidence that it was more than fish and chips that was going on in the steamed-up Land Rover.

  ‘Been to the village hall?’ Jago asked politely.

  ‘I have,’ Antonia said sharply.

  Polly saw the basket she was carrying. ‘Buy anything nice?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Antonia said. ‘I bought a pot of mulberry jam which looks much too runny and flapjacks which look much too hard.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Jago said, unable to hide his amusement.

  ‘But one has to support these things, doesn’t one?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Polly said.

  ‘Right,’ Antonia said, fixing the brown hat she was wearing more securely on her head and giving Jago one last glare, ‘must be off.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Polly said, quickly winding her window up before they were assaulted by anybody else. ‘I have never met anybody quite as disagreeable as Antonia Jessop. To be able to find fault in a pot of mulberry jam and a batch flapjacks is quite remarkable.’

  Jago laughed and Archie joined in.

  ‘Shall we go home?’ Polly asked and they nodded.

  They drove back to Church Green and, after parking, Polly didn’t even ask Jago if he wanted to come in because she just assumed that he’d follow them inside and that was fine.

  They all took their coats and shoes off. Polly let Dickens out in the back garden and then put the kettle on whilst Jago and Archie went into the living room. When Polly joined them, she saw that Jago was rifling through the CD collection again.

  ‘I thought you were going to bring some of your own CDs over,’ she said.

  ‘I was, wasn’t I?’

  She nodded. ‘You should. We’d love to hear them.’

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked as he turned his attention back to the collection.

  Polly looked at the CD he was holding up. ‘It’s the Travelling Wilburys.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Please tell me you’ve heard of them, Mr Music Student.’

  ‘Erm, no,’ he said.

  Polly’s eyes were almost out on stalks at his admission. ‘Jago Solomon, you should be ashamed of yourself. The Travelling Wilburys was one of the first super-groups. Now, I’m guessing you’ve heard of Bob Dylan?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘Well, he’s in it along with Tom Petty, George Harrison from The Beatles and – I’m going to play you Rattled, okay?’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Jago said.

  Polly popped the CD in the player and went straight to her favourite song and the infectiously happy music filled the room.

  ‘Hey, that’s a pretty good sound,’ Jago admitted.

  ‘Of course it is!’ Polly said. ‘You’re not the only one who knows about music.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘You should borrow the album. You’d like the Wilburys – they’re five really cool guys and their guitars.’

  ‘Mum – stop talking and do the conga!’

  ‘Oh, Archie, no!’

  ‘You do the conga?’ Jago said. ‘Can you do that with two people?’

  ‘You’d better believe it!’ Polly said.

  ‘I’ll lead,’ Archie said and Polly grabbed hold of her son’s tiny waist.

  One, two, three, kick! One, two, three, kick!

  ‘Come on, Jago! Join in,’ Archie hollered.

  As they passed Jago, he placed his hands on Polly’s hips.

  One, two, three, kick! One, two, three, kick!

  ‘Is the beat in this song right?’ Jago asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Polly asked.

  ‘The rhythm doesn’t feel quite right!’

  ‘It feels right to me. Anyway, this isn’t a music exam, Jago!’ Polly cried above the music. ‘Just conga!’

  ‘Yeah – just conga, Jago!’ Archie shouted from the front of the shortest and possibly the longest conga line in Suffolk that day.

  Jago laughed, and the three of them did the conga as best as they could round the small living room with Dickens the dog joining them from the kitchen.

  ‘Mum?’ Archie cried. ‘MUM!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can hear banging!’

  ‘What banging?’ Polly asked, stopping the dance so abruptly that Jago crashed into the back of her.

  ‘Sorry!’ he said, quickly removing his hands from her waist.

  ‘Oh, it’s old Mrs Letchworth. We’d better turn the music down,’ Polly said as the CD ploughed unapologetically into the next track.

  ‘She’s such a spoilsport,’ Archie said with a frown.

  ‘Hey – maybe we could do it really quietly?’ Jago suggested.

  ‘Yeah!’ Archie said.

  And so they did, Jago replacing his hands on Polly’s waist and the three of them doing the quietest version of the conga ever.

  ‘I’ve got to stop!’ Polly said at last.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Archie complained, trying to get hold of Dickens to see if spaniels could conga.

  ‘I’m not as young as I once was,’ she said, aware that Jago’s hands were still upon her. She turned to face him.

  ‘That was fun,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes but it fell right back again. Jago’s hand reached out and gently brushed her hair back. Polly swallowed hard, almost flinching at the touch of his skin on hers.

  ‘Mum – you’re all red again,’ Archie said, taking his eyes off Dickens who took his opportunity to leg it to the relative sanity of the kitchen.

  ‘I’m not used to dancing, that’s all,’ she said, turning away from the two of them and taking the CD out of the player and returning it to its case, hoping that her face would calm down quickly.

  ‘Hey, Arch – how about we have a little strum?’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Archie said.

  ‘Okay with you?’ Jago asked Polly.

  Polly nodded. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  She left the living room and stood at the kitchen sink, wondering what on earth was happening to her. Oh, dear, she thought. She really was beginning to have feelings for this wonderful young man and, the curse of it was, she couldn’t confide in anybody about it. Normally, with things like this, Polly would turn to Bryony, but how could she do that when she’d match-made her sister and Jago? What a horrible, horrible muddle.

  But not an unfixable one, she told herself. She would just have to stop feeling this way. For a moment, she thought it might be best to cancel Archie’s guitar lessons, but how could she do that to her son when she’d just promised him that she was going to buy him his own guitar? She couldn’t do that nor did she want to. No, she’d just have t
o distance herself from Jago and do nothing more than answer the door to him in the future. Fish and chips in the car, supper in the kitchen and conga lines in the living room would have to end. It was as simple as that.

  Trying to put the fact that Jago was just in the next room out of her mind, Polly picked up her copy of Far From the Madding Crowd and turned to the chapter where Gabriel Oak warns Bathsheba to be “more discreet” in her dealings with Sergeant Troy. Polly gave a shiver as she read the words, thinking of the glances she and Jago had received at the village hall and the disapproving look that Antonia Jessop had landed them with. Thomas Hardy’s novel had been published in 1874 and yet women were still expected to handle themselves with decorum – perhaps not to such an extent as back in Victorian times, but Polly had felt the full weight of her neighbours’ curiosity when she’d been seen with Jago.

  She wasn’t aware how fast the time passed when she read and got a genuine shock when Jago’s head appeared around the kitchen door.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘It’s time I was off.’

  Polly looked up from her book and was surprised to see the kitchen clock read five.

  ‘Oh, we’ve kept you all day!’ she said, getting to her feet.

  ‘No you haven’t. I’ve chosen to be here.’

  ‘I can’t think why,’ she said as they walked down the hallway, reaching the door a moment later.

  ‘Can’t you?’ he whispered. She turned from the door to look at him and, not for the first time since Jago had arrived, Polly didn’t trust herself to speak and so said nothing.

  ‘Polly, I–’

  ‘Can I have a go on your guitar next time, Jago?’ Archie said as he suddenly ran into the hallway.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that,’ he said as Polly opened the door. ‘It’s been a great day.’ He turned his attention back to her. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it.’

  ‘Me too,’ Polly managed to say.

  ‘See you, Arch!’ He waved a hand at the boy and Archie waved back and Polly shut the front door, feeling her heart racing as she did so.

  Archie ran upstairs to his bedroom and Polly stood in the silent hallway. She thought about the little details of the day like the way Jago had poured the salt and vinegar on all their portions of fish and chips and then carried them to the car before handing them out. She thought about Archie’s smile as he’d walked back with Jago across the village hall, and she thought about the weight of Jago’s hands on her hips as they’d danced in the front room.

  And she knew what it was. She knew what was making her feel so breathless and confused. It wasn’t just the stirring of romantic love she was feeling for Jago. It was something much more powerful than that. She was beginning to feel secure around him, happy and contented. That’s what it was, she thought. The strange little unit which the three of them had formed was beginning to feel like a family.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maureen Solomon was sitting in the living room flipping through one of the rather tired magazine which she was in the habit of bringing home from the doctor’s surgery she worked at. Jago really wished that she wouldn’t. They were probably full of germs.

  ‘You’ve been out a while,’ she said as he came into the room. ‘I thought you were just giving that Prior boy a guitar lesson and then coming back.’

  He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I kind of spent the rest the day with them,’ he said. He found it hard not to be honest and there was no point hiding the truth from his mother. She would be bound to hear it from one of her friends who’d seen him at the village hall or at the chip shop. Castle Clare was that kind of place.

  ‘We baked some brownies and took them to the “Bring and Bake” sale in town.’

  ‘You baked brownies with Mrs Prior?’

  ‘And Archie.’

  Maureen raised her eyebrows. ‘What exactly is going on with you and them?’

  ‘What you mean?’

  ‘I mean you’re seeing a lot of them.’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  Maureen put the magazine on the coffee table in front of her and stood up. ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ he said but, even as he said it, he knew the direction his mother was going in.

  ‘I thought you were seeing her sister. What’s her name?’

  ‘Bryony,’ Jago said. He’d been right about his mother’s direction. ‘I am seeing her.’

  ‘And yet you’re spending all this time with Mrs Prior.’

  ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘I’m just making an observation.’

  ‘Mum, you never just make an observation.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re young, but you’re not foolish, Jago. I don’t want you getting hurt and I certainly don’t want you going around breaking the hearts of as many Nightingale women as you can.’

  ‘I’m not going to break any hearts,’ he said with a frown. ‘How on earth would I do that?’

  ‘By doing exactly what you’re doing at the moment. You’re playing a dangerous game.’

  ‘I’m not playing any game.’

  ‘Besides, Mrs Prior is a married woman. Her husband might be missing, but what if he turns up tomorrow? What would happen then? I just don’t think you should be involved with her.’

  ‘I think it’s up to me who I’m involved with, Mum,’ he said with a sigh, leaving the room and going upstairs.

  Shutting his bedroom door, he couldn’t help pondering on his mother’s words. What exactly was he doing? He’d certainly never planned any of this and the speed at which it had all happened was quite overwhelming.

  He tried to think back to when he had first started having feelings for Polly. It certainly hadn’t been on his first call there when she had as good as thrown him out. His relationship had been with Archie. Polly had been cool and aloof, but there had been a gradual warming of her manner towards him and he had caught her little looks and seen her little gestures.

  But then she had persuaded him to go out with Bryony. What was that about? If she was beginning to have feelings towards him then why would she set him up with her sister? And where did that leave him now? He certainly didn’t want to come between two sisters, but he had a feeling that that was exactly what he was going to do if things continued the way they were. And he liked them both, didn’t he? He liked Bryony’s vivacity, her openness and the fantastic colours she wore which seemed to be an extension of her personality, and they’d got on so well the night before. But she wasn’t Polly, was she?

  Jago had to admit that he was drawn to Polly’s quiet sweetness, and admired her so much for the way she was raising Archie. And he could definitely feel that there was something between them even though she seemed to be doing her best to deny it.

  He shook his head. He had never been in such a situation before. His time in America had been full of nothing more than light flirtations. He hadn’t met anybody whom he’d thought he could really get to know and yet he’d only been back in Suffolk a short time and was already embroiled with two amazing women. How crazy was that?

  His phone went and Bryony’s name came up on the screen.

  ‘Hey, you!’ she said as he answered it.

  ‘Hey!’ he said, stunned by the timing of her call. It was as if she knew he’d been thinking about her.

  ‘Listen,’ she began, ‘I know we only just went out together last night, and I know we don’t really know each other properly, and I know this might seem really strange and you have every right to say no and I won’t blame you if you do–’

  ‘Bryony?’

  She sighed. ‘I’m babbling. I’m too nervous to ask you, but I really want to.’

  ‘Ask me what?’

  ‘If you’ll come to Sunday lunch tomorrow at my parents’ house.’

  Jago wasn’t sure how to react, after all, it could be extremely awkward if Polly was there.

  ‘Jago?’ Bryony asked. ‘You still there?’

  ‘I’m still here.’


  ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’

  ‘No, of course you haven’t shocked me!’

  ‘I’ve gone and ruined things. I always push, you see? I always go and push and spoil things.’

  ‘Bryony – I’d love to come to Sunday lunch with you and your family.’

  ‘You would?’

  ‘I really would.’

  ‘You’re not just saying that to be polite because you don’t need to be. You can be honest with me, Jago.’

  Jago swallowed hard. He very much doubted if complete honesty at that moment would go down well at all.

  ‘How about you give me the address and I can bike over there?’

  Bryony gave him the address together with directions and he scribbled it down, promising to be there for eleven thirty the next day.

  When he hung up, he knew that it would be in his best interests not to tell his mother what his plans were for Sunday other than saying he wouldn’t be around for lunch. To be fair, he was still trying to work it all out himself. But one thing was for sure: when he’d accepted Bryony’s invitation, he wasn’t thinking about her which he knew was wicked of him. He was thinking of the fact that he’d get to see Polly again.

  The road to Wintermarsh was slick with rain which turned it a wondrous silver when the sunshine hit it. Polly’s Land Rover splashed through the puddles. How fed up she was of winter and how she longed to see the primroses coming up in the garden and the first jolly bunches of daffodils. For some reason this winter seemed to be a particularly long one and she couldn’t help feeling that they were locked in some Narnia-like curse and would never see summer again.

  She slowed to take the turn into the driveway of the family home, parking in her usual space.

  ‘Jago’s here!’ Archie cried from the back seat.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Polly said, thinking that her son had Jago on the brain and that she’d have to calm him down a little on the subject of the young guitar player. Heaven only knew that she was finding it difficult enough to keep him from her own mind.

  ‘But that’s his bike,’ Archie said and Polly looked at the old motorbike that was standing to the right of the front door of Campion House. It certainly looked like Jago’s bike, but what would he be doing there?