by Rhoda Baxter
“Tracey, love!” Angie rushed over and hugged her. “We were worried sick. We had no idea where you were.” She looked up at Vinnie, then back to Tracey. Uh oh.
“I went up the hill to get some phone reception,” Tracey said, quickly, before her aunt got ideas. “I got caught in the blizzard. Luckily, Vinnie was at the cottage and let me in. We... I thought it was better to try and get down here, rather than be stuck up there with nothing to eat.”
“I have nothing in but biscuits,” said Vinnie, cheerfully. He pulled his hat and gloves off and shook snow off them.
“Well, we’ve got soup and rolls at the bar.” Angie smiled at them. “We’ve had all sorts of people coming in. Local folk, mostly, but a few people who were driving through and had to abandon their cars because it was too slippery.” She ushered them in. “We’re making up beds for as many as we can.”
“I’ll help.” She’d done maid duty at the B&B often enough to know what to do. She knew better than to offer to do soup duty. In the state she was in, the task of ladling hot liquid into containers was going to be impossible.
“You get yourself some soup first, love. Then we’ll see.”
The bar was being manned by Harriet who worked in the corner shop. She seemed to recognise Vinnie immediately and served him a big bowl of soup. “It’s Vinnie, isn’t it?” she said, as she handed him a bread roll.
Vinnie smiled. “That’s right.”
“Funny,” said Harriet, as she got a bowl off the stack. “You don’t look like a Vinnie.”
Was she flirting with him? Tracey felt a stab of irritation. She shot a glance at Vinnie; he was looking puzzled.
“What’s a Vinnie supposed look like?” he said.
“I dunno. More ... tough, you know. Butch.”
“So basically, all men called Vinnie should look like Vinnie Jones?” he said. “What if they’re called Vincent? Who do they look like?”
Harriet glanced at him from under her lashes. Yep. She was definitely flirting. “Vincent Van Gogh?” She passed his soup across. “He’s alright.”
“Vincent Price?” Tracey cut in. This soup was taking a ridiculously long time.
Vinnie grinned at her. “I hope not!”
She felt the warmth of a joke shared. Vinnie moved along.
Harriet watched him leave until Tracey cleared her throat. “Oh hello, Tracey. Soup for you too?” said Harriet, with none of the warmth she’d shown Vinnie.
The pub got more crowded as the night wore on. A frightened looking man came in to say that he’d left his family in the car over the hill and could someone come help. A few men grabbed torches, shovels and blankets and went out. They returned an hour later with the couple and two tired and hungry children who had had to be carried all the way across. Tracey helped to settle them into one of the rooms.
Closing time came and went, but no one was going anywhere. Tracey spent most of the night running around, finding bedding and blankets. Rooms had to be shared. She was grateful that her little room up in the eaves was too small to fit another bed into it. She noticed as she passed through that Vinnie seemed to have settled into the crowd. At one point she saw him in the kitchen, washing up soup bowls. Harriet was drying up, chatting to him. Clearly, she had her eye on him. Tracey noted it, but was too busy to do anything about it. She wasn’t sure what she’d do anyway.
VINNIE HAD A PULL OUT sofa in a room where two other people were already asleep on the bed. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. This was certainly not how he’d pictured this weekend going. Thank goodness Hayleigh wasn’t there. She’d have had a blue fit having to slum it. On the other hand, if she hadn’t thrown a spanner in the works, he would have been organised and done the food delivery as planned. He and Hayleigh would have been able to sit tight in the cosy cottage and wait for the weather to clear. None of this would have happened.
But then he wouldn’t have had the surreal trek down the valley with Tracey. He thought of the look on her face when she had stumbled into the house. She had been terrified. He wasn’t sure he entirely understood the problem with her sight, but to be out in a snowstorm in the dark was a pretty scary thing at the best of times. If, as she said, she couldn’t judge depth and distance, it must have been a completely freaky experience. Yet she’d pulled herself together and got on with things. He could barely begin to imagine how much strength it took to do that.
He pictured the determined set of her face and smiled into the darkness. He liked Tracey. More than that, if he was honest. When they’d got into the pub, he’d been careful to give her some space, but when she stopped by to chat, his whole body prickled with awareness.
He thought back to the moment in the cottage, she’d walked into the kitchen wearing those trousers that were too big for her. The sight of her standing there, dishevelled and defying him to comment, had set off something primal in him. An urge to stride across and taste her. To feel her too pale skin slide against his. Reality had reasserted itself in an instant, but that moment of attraction had surprised him with its strength. He had only been single for three days. He couldn’t do anything about his attraction to Tracey, because it was probably just his body recoiling from Hayleigh. Because he liked Tracey. Genuinely. As a person. She was more than just a body to clasp to him in the snow.
He briefly thought of Harriet. Now there was a body which was willing to be clasped. She had all but pinched his arse whilst he was doing the washing up. She was, older, attractive and... well, certainly willing. He had turned her down as tactfully as he could. He might even have been too subtle. He wasn’t totally sure she’d actually got the message.
Vinnie shook his head. Yes, this was definitely not turning out how he’d expected it to. He had a crush on a girl who was too spiky to like him, whilst at the same time being propositioned by the lady who ran the corner shop. It was definitely going to be a holiday to remember.
Chapter 10
By the time she woke up the next morning, Tracey had an idea about how to help her aunt. She wanted to talk to Angie about it, but as soon as she got downstairs, she was put in charge of frying bacon. Instead of the usual full English, Angie had opted for huge mounds of bacon or egg sandwiches and tea or coffee. Harriet had brought round what was left of her stock of fresh milk, so there was cereal for the children. The pub was now the centre of operations for the town.
After breakfast, all available spades, shovels and brooms were pressed into service and groups of people were sent out to clear paths. With the phones down, Angie made lists of people who were elderly, sick or otherwise vulnerable. Tracey, Angie and Sue from the bakery made up food parcels to be taken out in case anyone was in dire need.
Standing behind the bar, wrapping parcels of food, Tracey spotted Vinnie, bundled up against the cold. He waved to her and came over.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you,” he said.
“What for?”
“For making me come down here. If you hadn’t showed up, I’d have sat there all smug and not even thought about the weather until I ran out of food.” He looked over his shoulder. “And I’d have missed all this. I’d hate to think that all this was happening and I hadn’t even thought to help.” He looked back at her and smiled. “So... thank you. I owe you.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She deftly wrapped another parcel. She was getting fast at doing them. Giselle would have choked on her quinoa to see her making beds and cooking. “What’s Uncle Phil got you doing now?”
“I’m heading out to help clear some paths,” he said.
“That’s nice of you to help,” said Tracey. “You’re not even local.”
He looked surprised. “I’d glad I can help.”
She beckoned him closer. He leaned across the bar towards her. She whispered, “I think Harriet might have plans for you.”
He straightened up and pulled a face. “I know. You know, she’s got some space in her house. Cosy, but, in these difficult times, she’d have been willing to squeeze me in,” h
e said with a perfectly straight face.
Tracey giggled. “Did you tell her things haven’t got that desperate yet?”
“I offered to let Angie know so that any new waifs and strays could be sent to hers.”
“You’re a wicked man.”
“Me?” He made a shocked face. “I’d better go,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
She waved him off. She must have remained staring after him because Angie’s voice made her jump.
“He seems nice,” said Angie. She had a pile of clean tea towels under her arm. She nodded to where Vinnie had disappeared. “He’s mucking in too, even though he’s a guest. Seems a good lad. Not too foreign.”
“He’s from Wantage.”
“Exactly. Not like he’s from Bradford.”
With that comment, her aunt went back into the kitchen, leaving Tracey baffled.
VINNIE WAS BOILING. Shovelling snow was hard work, especially as there was nowhere to put it apart from piling it on top of the snow that was already on the side of the path. The group had cleared narrow paths on the pavements and checked on all the houses in that particular street now. It was strange to be standing waist deep in a trench of snow, in the middle of a normal street. He looked across at the nearest window. A small boy waved at him. He waved back.
He’d already removed his jacket and tied it around his waist. He wondered if he could do the same with his jumper. Some of the other men were down to t-shirts now. He put down his snow shovel and pulled off his jumper.
Phil, who had just knocked on the last door in the cul-de-sac came back out. “That’s the lot, lads. Let’s head back.” He gave them all a nod in turn. “Take your time getting back, if you like. Or our Angie will have you out on errands again.”
“Where are you going then, Phil?” said one of the others.
“Me? I’m going to go stand by the church wall and have a smoke,” said Phil. “Don’t you lot show me up.”
The men ambled off, complaining that the only place they wanted to go to was the pub, but the pub was full of bossy women. Vinnie tied his jumper on top of his coat and picked up the snow shovel. He had enjoyed the work, but his hands and back were starting to feel it. He followed Phil back towards the pub. When they neared the church yard, Phil leaned against the snowy wall and lit a cigarette.
Vinnie carried on past him until he was alongside the church. He paused to look at the view. Now that the snow had stopped the air had a crystalline clarity about it. The hillside was a vision of dazzling white.
The church itself had a thick layer of snow over the roof. The gravestones stood out, dark against the white. It was just begging to be sketched. He pulled out his phone and took a couple of pictures. They would be something to work from. There was still no reception on his phone, he noticed. As he put it back in his pocket, he thought of Tracey. It was her simple question ‘what do you do for fun?’ that had taken him back to drawing. Meeting her had changed his holiday from one full of brooding and resentment to one of rediscovering the things that made him happy. He smiled. Tracey made him happy too.
TRACEY STOOD INSIDE the church, patiently waiting for the vicar to tell her where to put the stack of blankets she’d brought over. The idea she’d had overnight was playing over in her mind. Giselle, in her quest for ‘champions’ for Nifty Gift It had made a long list of contacts who were lifestyle bloggers. If Tracey could get a couple of them to visit the Trewton Arms, preferably in the summer, it would get the pub some attention. With her London adapted eye, Tracey could see that the very things that made the village feel isolated and closed to some, would make it look authentic and quaint to others. There was an appetite for all things different and off the beaten track at the moment. If they could just tap into some of that enthusiasm, they could bring some much needed tourism money into the village.
Sue’s bakery deserved some recognition and there was the bistro to cater for those with more cosmopolitan tastes. The lack of phone signal was a problem, but, she was sure it could be spun as part and parcel of the experience. Summer holidays like they used to be ... or something like that. Giselle would know.
The vicar turned up and she gratefully handed over the bags she’d brought over. She asked the vicar if she could take a couple of photos inside the church. She was trying to record the way the village pulled together to make sure that the elderly and vulnerable were okay in the snow. She needed to talk to Angie and explain the plan. If she took a few photos and gave Angie some contacts, she was sure her aunt would be able to get the story put into the local newspapers. Who knows, with the level of human interest... maybe even a national paper.
Tracey had been in the national newspaper once, when Nifty Gift It was first sold. It has been a desperately difficult experience for her, but Giselle had been delighted with the coverage. This time, she reflected, she would make sure she stayed on the right side of the lens. She called her goodbye to the vicar and stepped out, still thinking about what she could do.
VINNIE CARRIED ON ALONG the path they’d cleared until he was around the corner. A figure appeared at the church door, pulling the door shut. The streak of red on black told him it was Tracey. She pulled her collar up, but didn’t bother with her hood. She was frowning as though thinking deeply about something.
Vinnie smiled. If anyone needed to unbend a little and enjoy herself, it was Tracey. He crouched down so that she didn’t see him and gathered up a handful of snow. This was good snowballing snow. He made a couple of snowballs and waited until she was within range before standing up and pelting her.
Tracey shrieked as the snowball landed in her hair. She looked up, shaking snow off her head. “You.”
She grabbed a handful of snow and threw it back at him. She didn’t quite have the range. He chucked another snowball at her. She dodged and ran forward.
Her next snowball came pretty close. He took his eyes off her to get more ammunition and suddenly, she’d cannoned into him and pushed him over. He landed in the bank of snow, flat on his back. Tracey landed on top of him. She pushed against his chest to raise herself off him and said, “you git.”
She was so close. Her hands were on his chest. Her lips were only a few inches away. Suddenly, he wanted, more than anything, to see what those lips felt like. She was so delectable — he loved everything about her. Even those horrendously hipsterish glasses. His breath came short. So close. All he had to do was lift his head a bit. Just ... a ...
“You alright there?” Phil’s voice came across. He couldn’t see him because of the snow and Tracey blocking his view.
“Fine. Uncle Phil. Both fine.” Tracey’s voice cracked a little. “I’ll just, get off you...” she said, her face flushing red. She wriggled backwards and tried to struggle back upright.
Sudden pain seared his groin. In trying to get up, she’d accidentally kneed him in the groin.
“Oh. Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to — Oh god. Here let me help you up. Are you okay?” She was upright now and offering him a hand.
He ignored her hand and struggled up into a sitting position. The pain receded from blinding to mere agony.
“Are you okay?” she said, fluttering slightly with an anxious expression.
“Yah,” he said through his teeth.
“Bit harsh, that,” said Phil. “He only threw a snowball at you.”
“I didn’t mean—” She stopped and looked from him to Phil and back again. Phil was grinning. Vinnie scrambled up to his feet and managed a tight smile.
“You’re winding me up,” she said. “I’m going back to the pub.”
She set off. Phil gave Vinnie a sympathetic look and went after her. Vinnie sighed and, limping slightly, followed. A clump of snow that had caught in his hair fell off and slid down his neck. Ugh. Great.
Chapter 11
Vinnie sat at a table in the pub, feeling warm and sated after a decent meal. He had a pint, which he was drinking slowly. He didn’t need a headache tomorrow. The exertion from the day was ca
tching up with him and he was struggling to stay awake.
The pub was less crowded that evening, but still busy. Most of the people who had crashed overnight had made their way home in the brighter light of day. Around the bar, Angie, Phil, the vicar and a few other key players in the village were catching up on what was going on. Behind them, Tracey was sitting at the bar, watching the TV screen which was showing the news. Every so often she would pull out her phone, look annoyed, and put it back.
With her colourful hair and chunky glasses, she looked out of place in the cosy pub setting, but having seen her in action, bundling up food parcels and providing reassurance to frightened people that help was on its way, he knew she belonged to this community. If she hadn’t done before, she certainly did now. He noticed the subtle change in the way people spoke about her. ‘Young Tracey’ had become ‘Our Tracey’ to most. She had been there when she was needed. She belonged. He wondered if Tracey herself had noticed.
He felt as though he belonged too, in a weird way. Most people seemed to know his name now. Of course, he was easy to identify as the only non-white person in the snowed in village, but still. It was as though, by helping out, he’d earned an honorary place in the village, temporarily at least. He liked that. It had been a long time since he’d felt any sense of belonging.
He smiled and took another sip of his pint. He felt... content. It was something else he hadn’t felt in a long time, which was strange considering he’d been about to get engaged a few days ago. He had thought his life was perfectly well organised, but how could it have been if he hadn’t been content? Had he even been happy when he was with Hayleigh? In the beginning, he must have been. But lately? The people he’d got to know in Leeds were her friends. They’d been to all her favourite places, done all her favourite things. Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped doing the simple stuff that he liked — walking along the canal, going to the cinema, the drawing class. How had that happened?