by Smith, L. T.
“I just wanted to make sure you could come, Emily.”
Once again—NO! She was doing it again. She was trying to fix me up. This was the first I’d heard of Abbie throwing Rob a party. He hated parties.
“We would love to have you there, wouldn’t we, Ellie?’”
I just glared.
“It’s nothing big, like, not even a party, so you don’t have to get dolled up.”
See? Not even a party. I wouldn’t be surprised if she invited Cherie to come, so I would feel like a double dickhead.
“I’d love to.” Emily’s voice was so warm, so happy, that when she turned to me and said, “If that’s okay with you, Ellie.” I couldn’t say “Like fuck it is,” like I wanted to.
“Of course. It will be a night to remember.” You could bet it would be, too, if Abbie had anything to do with it.
“Aunty Wellie, look! Jessie wants to say hello!” Grinning her gap toothed grin, Lily was holding the lead to a very excited Jack Russell. “Wanna walk her wiv me?”
This was not the time to tell my sister what I thought of her scheme. The words I wanted to whisper through gritted teeth should never be in earshot of a six-year-old.
“Sorry, hon. Gotta go to work.” I ruffled her hair, making her laugh. “And hello there, Poppy.”
“Jessie.”
The dog whined with excitement and stood on her back legs to greet me.
“You are a pearl, aren’t you, Poppy?” I lowered my face to accept kisses from the pooch, sniggering at the overzealous attention I was receiving. I could hear Abbie talking to Emily, but their words were too soft for me to make out. That didn’t keep me from knowing my sister was up to no good.
I dropped Emily at her house and didn’t even linger to be invited inside. I could sense she wanted to say something, but I didn’t give her the opportunity. I spluttered something about work waiting and needing to get going.
It was true. I was busy. Too many jobs and not enough hours in the day, especially if I was to take on the job for the woman who was campaigning for Dog Owner of the Year by Saturday morning.
Sorry. That sounded bitchy, I know. But my life used to be so simple. Work. Home. Eat. Shower. Bed. Then the same the next day…and the next and…ad infinitum.
Shit. Saturday morning, I was supposed to start working for Emily Carson. She would be my employer, and then I would have to be sociable when I was with her. I know taking Charlie out for a walk could be classified as being sociable, but it wasn’t. I said it before and I’ll say it again—it was necessity.
Who was I trying to kid? Myself? So it seemed.
The day continued in a whirl of planting and making appointments to meet with prospective clients. I made a booking to speak to a Mr Davies the following day at 11, and only suffered a little pang of guilt when I thought of Emily’s face when I told her I wouldn’t be joining her to see Charlie on her next visit.
You are probably very much aware that I am lying at this precise moment, aren’t you?
I felt a lot of guilt, especially because it wasn’t imperative that I meet with him at that time, although if you were to speak to Mr Davies, you might think that 11 was absolutely the only time slot I had available, as I had made him believe.
All afternoon, the guilt gnawed at me. I needed to tell Emily that I had changed our appointment, but I was delaying the inevitable. It wasn’t as if I wouldn’t get to see Charlie, that was a given. I couldn’t not go and see him. A little voice kept whispering, “But you want to see her, too, don’t you?”
I growled and thunked my spade into the ground, following that with a hefty stomp of my dirt covered boot. Being with Charlie was different. Making a commitment to him was so totally unlike making an arrangement with Emily. I hoped that he would become part of my family, something Emily would never be. Yes. She was attractive, and yes, I was attracted to her. But I didn’t want to feel she had the upper hand in the decision about where Charlie was to live. If she thought I felt something for her, maybe she would use that to my disadvantage.
It was surprising how time spent digging in the cold hard soil could give a woman a sense of perspective, fucked up though it might be. I was being irrational. Spending time with Emily didn’t mean squat unless I allowed myself to be manipulated.
Whoa. Hold them metaphorical horses a minute. Would Emily manipulate any situation? Images of her leapt into my mind—her warm smile and soulful eyes, the sound of her laugh, the way she tossed her head back to move her fringe from her face. That didn’t sound like the actions of a woman on the take. And she had seemed genuinely concerned earlier. She had slipped her hand through my arm to check how I was feeling; she had offered the lead to me and let me have my time with Charlie. It even seemed as if she wanted to spend time with me.
Aw shit. I fucked up.
I called Mr Davies and tried to change the appointment, but he had made other plans. Apparently, as soon as I’d hung up the phone, he’d made arrangements for everything from a doctor’s appointment to having his hair cut. I did try, honestly. But…no. He couldn’t do it at any time other than 11, when I should’ve been picking up Emily. At one point, I even contemplated telling him that I couldn’t take the job on, but in this economy a person couldn’t afford to turn down work. At least I couldn’t.
So that, as they say, was that.
For the rest of the day, I kept taking out Emily’s card and attempting to call her to explain, but I found out that I was, in fact, a spineless fucker who couldn’t seem to get beyond the first three digits of her number. Eventually I sent her a text explaining what’d happened, and I cringed as I pressed the “send” button.
Ten minutes later I received a reply assuring me that the change in our plan was okay, and I was a little disappointed. One minute I was trying my damnedest to distance myself from Emily, and the next I was fucked off because my agonizing was not shared. Go me, and my lack of ability to understand myself, never mind anyone else understanding me.
Five minutes later, I received a second text asking, “Have I upset you?”
No. I’ve upset myself. Instead of answering straight away, I did the British thing—I made a cuppa. Instead of stewing the tea, I stewed in my own thoughts. Emily hadn’t done anything wrong, so why would she think I would be upset with her? I was a business woman with commitments that sometimes couldn’t be avoided—or sometimes could, but I made out they couldn’t—so why…
The ringing of my cell phone made me slop my tea over my fingers and swear out loud. I wasn’t even surprised to see the name that flashed on the screen: “Abbie Home.”
Maybe it was coincidence.
“Why have you cancelled seeing Emily tomorrow?”
“How did—”
“Why?” she persisted. “Is it because I invited her to Rob’s bash?”
Bash? What the fuck?
“If you must know, I like the girl.” Girl?
“It would be good to have her over so she can see that you come from a good home. She shouldn’t have to just base her opinions on the picture of you that you’ve presented.”
What did she… “Hey!”
“If you want her to give up her claim on Charlie, then you’d better toe the line.”
Shit. I’d been bollocked by my big sister. “I’ve got a meeting with a client, if you must know.” Her harrumph made me grind my teeth. “And why did you wait to ask her to come to Rob’s bash until she was with me? It’s obvious you two are talking on the fucking phone to each other.”
“Ah…erm…we’re not.”
“Bye, sis.” End of call.
Before Abbie could call me back, I called Emily’s number without even pausing to deliberate. “Em? Hi. Ellie Anderson.” Why had I introduced myself in full, and why had I called her Em? I didn’t give her a chance to get past the hello
stage before I launched into another mini life story, almost a “Day in the Life Of.” All she could get out in between was “erm” and “okay,” followed by an “I see.” Eventually I stopped rambling and let the woman talk.
“Did you want me to go and see Charlie on my own tomorrow then?”
Huh? Hadn’t she been listening to my explanation? I thought I’d summed it up quite well.
“I could, erm, go later. I don’t have to go at eleven.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m surprised I can actually walk and talk at the same time.
“Three?” Was I too eager? And does anyone actually give a shit?
Emily’s laugh filtered through the phone, and, for some stupid girly reason, I had the urge to hug the plastic electronics to my chest.
“That would be fantastic. Maybe after we’ve been to the Trust, you could give me some ideas of what you plan to do first when you start making my garden presentable.”
“Sure thing.” Was I turning American on my own ass? Obviously, as I would have said “arse.” When I said my goodbyes, I positively felt lighter. And I didn’t exactly know why.
The night was full of dreams, wild dreams, dreams that were not nice at all. I woke up bathed in sweat, got up, and tried to do some invoices. I couldn’t concentrate. Echoes of the dreams kept flitting through my head. An ache thrummed in my chest as images of Toby mingled with the looks from my parents as I had packed boxes into my car and left home. Why I’d dreamed about them, I don’t know. It had been years since I’d allowed them to infiltrate any part of my life—conscious or subconscious. Toby, I could understand, but them? No. They meant nothing to me.
I left the house before six a.m. and got started with work. Eleven o’clock came around too quickly, as I hadn’t really given myself to think about anything but work. It was too painful to keep dwelling on past events. Work was a no-brainer, something I could do without thinking too much. In other words—safe. The meeting with Mr Davies went smoothly enough, and I bagged the job. It wasn’t a difficult one—he just wanted a pond put in his back garden, somewhere where he could sit with his wife when the weather became warmer. Seeing him with his wife made me regret being fucked off with him the previous day. Even though they had been together for over fifty years, love still radiated from them. Imagine being with the same person for all that time and loving them just as strongly as when you first met. I know I was not privy to their life in full, but it was apparent that those two were meant to be together.
For a fleeting moment, I wanted that. I wanted to be content, to be happy, and to be madly in love with the same person for the majority of my life. I wanted a fish pond life.
At a quarter to three, I was arriving at Emily’s. Not surprisingly, she was already waiting. A little part of me wanted her to comment about me being early again, just so I could say “And you are waiting,” so I could hear her musical laugh again. However, I didn’t. I just grinned idiotically while pointing at my watch. Couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t resist seeing if I could make her laugh. When she did, my stomach flip flopped like a prize pancake.
Before long, we were out walking with the furry little tyke. This time we decided to take him to the village instead of through the woods. Charlie loved all the attention he was getting from everyone who saw him, plenty of head rubs and paw shakes to last him the rest of the day. When we walked past a shop where he caught sight of his reflection in the front window, he stopped, his neck went rigid and his ears stuck out comically.
“Woof!” His head flicked back as he must’ve thought the “other” dog had barked in response.
“Woof!” A little deeper, but this time he lowered his head as if he was sussing out the situation. He tentatively stepped forward and pressed his face against the glass. Swipe. A very pink tongue came out and licked his reflection, again and again. He was totally getting into it, but it was apparent my lad didn’t have a case of canine narcissism—he was showing us he knew it was a reflection. Bless his adorably furry paws.
I know you are probably thinking “WTF?” but if I have to listen to straight people telling me “comical” stories about their kids, I am definitely entitled to return the favour.
The walk seemed shorter than usual, although it took the same length of time. Instead of remaining quiet, like we usually did, I had bitten the bullet and asked her something more than her age. Listening to her chatter about her business, I soon realised we were not dissimilar. Not once did she mention socialising, friends, or even the last time she had eaten out. The last bit burrowed itself inside my head and insisted, Ask her out for something to eat.
No. Thankfully the answer was internal too.
The internal voice became more persistent. Ask her!
No! I turned and grinned at Emily. You know the look, the one that screams, “Dickhead Alert!”
This time my internal voice apparently decided it was through being coy, as it drew in a huge mouthful of metaphorical air and bellowed, For fuck’s sake! Ask her!
“No!” I bellowed in return.
Emily jumped.
So did I.
Charlie stopped sniffing the extremely interesting blade of grass and turned and flashed me a “What?” before eating the grass. Even my dog was telling me eating was a good thing.
“What?”
I tried for innocent. “Nothing.”
“You shouted ‘no’.”
“Did I?” I couldn’t exactly admit to my inner dialogue? “I…erm…I said ‘oh’.” And that is better, how?
“So, why ‘oh’?”
Was this a rap? “I was just…” my eyes flicked about, finally landing on a woman across the street walking her dog, “warning you about the dog over there.” Fuck-ing lame. Lame, shameful lame.
Emily looked over at the tiny Yorkshire Terrier and back at me, her frown showing her confusion.
“You can’t be too careful with those dogs. They will tear your ankles off in a heartbeat.”
After another glance at the miniscule dog, Emily snorted, and then laughed. “Have you seen the size of it? My ankle is bigger than its mouth.”
Charlie lifted his head and sniffed the air, then turned and gave the Yorkie a glare.
I was embarrassed. And when I get embarrassed, it is guaranteed that I will do something even more stupid—like dropping my phone in the toilet. “Fancy grabbing a bite to eat after we take Charlie back?”
Emily stopped laughing and looked at me as if she was trying to work me out. If she did, I really hoped she would let me in on her discoveries.
It seemed as if time stopped, and I was the only one experiencing the stillness. Nothing around us moved, apart from Emily’s hair, which wisped deliciously around her face.
“I’d love to.”
Bam. Time started again, then stopped when she flashed me her crooked grin. She turned away from me and tugged Charlie’s lead, making him trot beside her.
I stood for a few moments and watched her walk away, my heart hammering in my chest.
It was only a pub meal, but the thought was there. After Emily had agreed to eat with me, and we’d taken Charlie back to the kennels, I couldn’t think of anywhere half decent to go without it seeming too much like a date. It wasn’t a date; it was food. Good food, but still only sustenance, and a necessity. People had to eat after all; it didn’t hurt to share a meal with another human being.
Who was I kidding? Being with Emily over spaghetti carbonara was totally satisfying. Watching her expertly wind the spaghetti around her fork was becoming addictive, and it was only the attraction of her eyes, her voice, her smell, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was talking that distracted me. I’m lying. It wasn’t just that; it was everything about her. Even the way she wiped her mouth on her napkin or sipped at her fruit juice.
B
ollocks. What was happening to me? I didn’t want this. But I did. God, I did. I felt myself staring at her lips, feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, experiencing feelings I had never felt in the whole of my life before that moment. I ached to feel the softness of her lips, longed to press softly, gently, tease her mouth with the tip of my tongue, allow her breath to mingle with mine before I truly tasted her.
“You okay?”
Heat flooded my face and I clasped at my drink, raising it up to cover half my face. “I’m great. Why?”
A smile slipped over her face before she softly said, “Nothing.”
By the time we got back to Emily’s house, it was too dark for me to look around and make suggestions for her upcoming renovations. Instead of bidding her farewell in the car, I got out and walked her to her front door. Standing there in the light coming from her security lamp, I felt like a teenager delivering her date home after a night out. All that was needed to complete the image was a kiss at the doorstep.
I felt awkward. I wanted to kiss her—too much. I wanted to take her into my arms and show her how much I wanted to kiss her, but…but… Charlie. Would she think I was only doing this because I wanted him? Was I actually only interested in her because of him?
It was as if someone had sneaked up behind me and chucked a bucket of ice cold water over the moment.
“Eleven tomorrow, okay?” I asked. Had she always been standing so close to me? Did her eyes always seem so intense? And why didn’t she answer? “Or three, like today?”
“What?” Whatever she’d been thinking about was suddenly supplanted by the realisation that she had missed what I had said. “Three, like today?”
“Three it is, then.” I stepped back, not quite ready to relinquish the moment. “Thank you for tonight. I really enjoyed it.”
Before she had time to respond, I was gone.
Chapter Five