by Karen Clarke
‘Oh, they’re for you from Annie,’ Mum said. ‘She insisted I bring them. Just some of her lovely woollies, I’m afraid.’
‘You can never have too many,’ I lied. Annie Larkin, Mum’s best friend, had knitted me so many ‘lovely woollies’ over the years, I’d been gradually re-gifting them.
‘And your crackers,’ Ollie said, with a smirk.
‘I’m sorry?’
Mum tittered. ‘I brought some of our handmade crackers, too.’ She pointed to a neat little bundle beside the parcels, tied with curly ribbon. ‘In case I forget at Christmas.’
So she hadn’t been worried enough not to think ahead before she came rushing over.
‘Did you remember to put paper hats in them this year?’
She gave Ollie an exasperated look. ‘Honestly, I forgot once and she won’t let me live it down.’
He chuckled obligingly, then turned to me. ‘So, where did you go?’ he said, leaning back and crossing his ankles, his smile as warm as the fire still burning in the grate. ‘When I came downstairs, Craig was on his back on the sofa, and you were nowhere to be seen. I thought you’d shot him and done a runner.’
Mum’s laugh went on for ages. ‘Oh, Ollie, you’re funny,’ she said. ‘Lily doesn’t have a vicious bone in her body.’ She angled herself towards him, her face mischievous. ‘When she was seven, she found a dead mouse on the playing field at school and brought it home in her school bag.’
‘Mum,’ I protested.
Ollie seemed charmed. ‘Did it recover?’
Mum shrieked. ‘Hilarious!’
‘Very funny,’ I muttered. ‘I didn’t realise it was dead, I thought it was—’
‘In a coma?’ Ollie was feeding off Mum’s delight, and it struck me again how he thrived on female attention – any female. ‘You know, I asked her to be my girlfriend this morning.’ His eyes wandered lazily back to mine. ‘She hasn’t said yes, yet.’
Mum sobered up, looking from Ollie to me, as if trying to work out whether he was being serious. ‘That seems a bit soon,’ she said, uncertainly.
‘It’s for the show I was telling you about, but I actually really do like her,’ he said, one hand caressing the arm of the chair. ‘She’s a great girl.’
‘I know she is, but…’ Mum’s eyes flicked away from my face, and I guessed she was feeling bad that she’d told him about my last, disastrous relationship. ‘I’m sure you could make a good show without that element.’
‘I can speak for myself, you know.’ I stood up and threw another log on the fire, trying not to think about what it would be like to be Ollie’s girlfriend in real life. I imagined there would be a lot of competition. Not to mention leg-shaving.
‘Of course you can,’ said Mum. ‘I was just saying.’
‘Listen, I’m sorry if I was out of order. It was just a thought, and my trusty cameraman friend has already ticked me off.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s leave it there for now, shall we?’
‘Good idea,’ said Mum, clearly keen to get on his good side again, and I felt a little pang that he wasn’t going to pursue it. Did that mean I did fancy him? ‘So, what’s the plan for this show of yours?’ she added.
‘Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?’ said Craig, sticking his head round the door. ‘It’s ready, if you’d like to come through.’
‘Marvellous!’ Ollie leapt up and stretched. ‘And then we can discuss me directing one of your plays,’ he said to Mum.
Chapter Sixteen
‘What did Ollie mean about directing you?’ I grilled Mum after dinner, which Craig had produced with seemingly little effort, waving away our compliments and claiming that partridges were no more difficult to cook than tiny chickens.
Ollie had kept up a string of anecdotes designed to make us laugh, but Craig hadn’t spoken much, despite Mum doing her best to draw him out. Plans for the show hadn’t been discussed at all.
Now, Craig and Ollie were doing the washing up, while Mum and I relaxed on the sofa with mugs of tea.
‘Before you came back, I was telling Ollie that our director’s walked out,’ Mum said, ‘and he’s offered to help. Apparently, he directed a couple of episodes of Players and was rather good at it.’
I was beginning to wonder whether there was anything Ollie wasn’t good at – apart from acting. ‘Why would he want to direct a bunch of amateurs?’
Mum looked offended. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’ she said. ‘I expect he likes a challenge.’
‘I’m surprised he doesn’t want to be on stage instead.’
‘Ooh, I can see him being a big hit, with those looks.’ Mum went a bit swoony.
‘Maybe his looks, but that’s about all.’ I told her about The Vampire and Me, keeping my voice low so Ollie couldn’t overhear. ‘Perhaps he’ll be better suited behind the scenes.’ If he meant to keep his word. I couldn’t imagine him rocking up in East Finchley to direct the Acting Out bunch, who regularly fell out over who did what, according to Mum, as they all vied to be top dog.
She put down her mug. ‘Lily, I’m sorry I thought you’d got drunk and been taken advantage of by a stranger,’ she said. ‘I should have known better.’
‘You should, but it’s OK.’ I didn’t add that I suspected she’d wanted an excuse to come over. I was glad that she had.
She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where Ollie was singing the Ghostbusters theme in a bizarre baritone. ‘I actually think you’re in good hands with those two.’
‘Craig’s a bit quiet, don’t you think?’ He’d barely contributed to the conversation over dinner, although he’d been quietly attentive. At one point, while Ollie was helping himself to a slab of fruit cake, which I’d been planning to smother with icing and keep for Christmas, I’d been ready to quiz him about the ‘ideas’ I’d read. But then Mum had asked what I wanted for Christmas, and when I said, ‘Someone to massage my feet for an hour every night,’ Ollie’s grossed-out face had made us laugh.
This had led to us naming our worst-ever gifts: an empty DVD case for me, from my brother (though, to be fair, I’d given him a pine cone the year before); a motorised rolling pin for Mum from her mother-in-law; and for Ollie ‘a scuba-diving kit, because I already had two.’ Craig had smiled along when Ollie added, ‘For Craggers it was probably the Ferrari I bought him a couple of years back, because he made me take it back,’ but hadn’t commented.
‘I thought he was quiet, but he’s a nice man.’ Mum said it so firmly I looked at her in surprise. She had good instincts about people, and was rarely wrong, despite her misjudging ‘Lovely Dan’, but I couldn’t help thinking she was giving Craig more credit than he deserved. She’d always rated men who could cook, perhaps because Dad had been handy in the kitchen, his roast potatoes second to none. ‘I think Ollie needs someone like Craig around, to balance him out a bit.’ My surprise grew. I’d assumed she was completely captivated by Ollie. ‘Just don’t fall in love with him,’ she said, looking at me over her glasses.
‘Craig?’ I gave a snort. ‘Not much chance of that.’
‘No, silly. I mean Ollie.’ She patted my arm. ‘I can see he’d be very hard to resist, but a man like him…’ She pursed her lips. ‘He’s a heartbreaker, and you’ve had enough of those.’
‘I’m not planning to fall in love with anybody, and anyway, he’s in love with someone else,’ I said, repeating what I’d told Erin.
Mum shook her head again. ‘He might be, but he’s obviously very persuasive and not immune to a pretty face.’
‘Well, I’m glad you think I’m pretty, but I won’t be falling in love with anyone. If anything, I’m only having casual flings from now on.’
‘That doesn’t sound very sensible, either.’
There was a sound at the door, but when I looked round there was only a sliver of light cutting through from the hallway.
‘I’m a big girl, Mum.’ I stifled a yawn as tiredness descended. ‘I can look after myself.’
She looked as if she was going to say more, th
en glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost eight. I think I’ll make a move.’
‘Sure you won’t stay the night?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Better not. I’ve got to open the shop in the morning,’ she said, standing up and stretching. ‘Annie’s going Christmas shopping with her daughter.’
‘I can’t believe you came all this way because of a silly selfie.’
‘I think any mother would have done the same.’ She pulled me up into a hug. ‘And I’m really glad I did.’ She drew back, eyes dancing. ‘Now I can tell my friends I’ve met Ollie Matheson.’
‘Will they know who he is?’
‘Oh, they all watch Players.’
Did everyone watch Players apart from me, Barry Lambert, and Mr Flannery?
* * *
Ollie did his best to persuade Mum to stay, offering the new guest bed, joking that he could ‘bunk up’ on the sofa with Craig.
‘I’ll be sleeping in my car,’ Craig said, leaning against the kitchen door frame, his jumper sleeves pushed up to reveal hairy forearms.
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Mum glanced at me for support. ‘Will he, Lily?’
‘No,’ I said obediently.
‘Lily could cuddle up with me.’ Ollie gave me a merry look and my heart nearly sprang out of my chest.
Mum lightly slapped his arm. ‘Enough of that,’ she scolded.
‘’Bye, Mum,’ I said, steering her to the front door, where I enfolded her in a hug. ‘Let me know when you’re home.’
Once she’d left, Ollie suggested we go to the pub and ‘start mingling’, but my eyelids were starting to droop and I knew I’d be terrible company.
‘I’m tired,’ I said, unable to stop a yawn escaping.
Ollie did a boyish little pout. ‘Where is the nearest pub?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Me and Craggers can go for a pint and chat to some locals.’
‘There’s one called The Anchor, but I don’t know what it’s like.’ It seemed incredible, when so much had happened, that I’d only been in Shipley a few days and still hadn’t had chance to have a good look around.
‘Let’s turn in and start afresh tomorrow,’ Craig said, coming over and clapping Ollie on the back. He looked as tired as I felt, despite his earlier nap. ‘We could all do with some sleep.’
‘But I’ve already had some.’ Ollie leapt from foot to foot, like a boxer warming up. ‘I’m feeling pumped.’ Lowering his chin, he raised his fists and punched the air around him, his hair flopping up and down. ‘I haven’t been to the gym today. I’ve tons of energy to work off.’
‘You could go for a run,’ I suggested. ‘Or do some push-ups?’
‘Hey, that’s a great idea.’ Without warning, he did a combat roll over the sofa and started doing one-armed press-ups on the rug.
‘You’ve started something now,’ Craig muttered, as Ollie swapped arms and started counting out loud. ‘He could be at this for hours.’
We exchanged looks.
‘I need to sleep,’ I confessed. ‘Today’s been a bit much.’
‘Go on up.’ Craig jerked his head at the stairs. ‘I’ll keep him entertained.’
‘Don’t sleep in your car,’ I said, impulsively. ‘I haven’t got a spare duvet, but you could use your sleeping bag on the sofa.’
‘…nine, ten, eleven,’ Ollie puffed, barely breaking a sweat, the tendons in his neck standing out alarmingly.
‘I might do that,’ said Craig. ‘I could grab some more logs and keep the fire going.’
‘What is it about men and fires?’ I said. I’d meant to be jokey, but it came out as a criticism.
‘Maybe it appeals to our inner caveman.’ Craig’s smile deepened the fine creases around his eyes. ‘Luckily, we’re good at putting them out as well.’
Touché.
‘Make sure you put the fireguard across,’ I said primly.
‘Yes, miss.’
I wished people would stop saying that.
‘…twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven.’ Ollie was using both hands now, to lever himself up and down, and for a split second I imagined lying beneath him and heat washed over my face.
‘I’ll… er… I’ll just…’ I bit my lip.
‘Go,’ Craig said, and I had a horrible feeling he’d read my mind. ‘We’ll be fine.’
I didn’t need telling a third time. I hurried upstairs to the sound of Ollie counting, and heard Craig say, ‘If you can make it to a hundred, I’ll let you beat me at arm wrestling,’ before closing the living-room door.
Trying not to think of Ollie stripped to the waist, his biceps flexing, I undressed and brushed my teeth, then dived under my duvet with my phone. In the darkness, I strained my ears for voices downstairs, but they were faint and intermittent. After a while, the television came on and sitcom laughter flared, then someone went into the kitchen and I heard the crackle of foil. Ollie’s at the mince pies again. I’d have to bake a fresh batch.
I thought about Mum telling Ollie how Max’s wife had been horrible to me at school, but for once the memory didn’t bring the burn of mortification. Instead, I remembered Ollie’s response to Max’s poem and gave a stifled giggle. His poetry had been kindergarten level. In fact, my class of five-year-olds could have done better.
While I waited for Mum to text, to say she’d arrived home safely, I tried to fix a first paragraph for my novel in my mind, but only got as far as Nellie the elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus… before sleep dragged me under.
Chapter Seventeen
It was blissfully quiet when I woke, and I lay for a moment, absorbing the peace, feeling a lick of excitement about the day ahead.
Checking the time on my phone, I noticed Mum had texted around eleven to say she was back home, and Erin had Whatsapped How’s it going? and a salvo of angry faces when I didn’t respond.
Tempted to reply that Ollie and I were snuggled in bed, I typed instead,
‘Mum reassured, so should you be.’
I attached a photo of me grinning and doing a thumbs-up.
‘Well, that was scary,’
she replied.
‘I see you’re still in bed.’
‘On my own.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Why obviously?’
‘OK, I’m going to work now. Love you.’
‘Love you more.’
‘Ha ha. Keep me posted.’
‘Will do. X’
On my way to the bathroom I pressed my ear to the door of the spare room. I hadn’t heard Ollie come to bed, but detected some rhythmic snoring. So much for him not being tired. He was like a child, determined to stay awake in case he missed something, but out like a light the minute his head hit the pillow.
Unsettled at considering him childlike (with those muscles?), I headed for the shower, and after deciding not to fuss with my appearance – it looked a bit desperate and I couldn’t compete with Tottie or Puffy, or whatever the women he usually mixed with were called – and settled for jeans and a sweatshirt before tiptoeing downstairs, expecting Craig to be sleeping on the sofa.
The room was empty, the curtains drawn back to let in the pale morning light. A fire still glowed in the grate, but the sofa was bare apart from a sleeping bag folded up at one end. At least he hadn’t spent the night in his car.
He wasn’t in the kitchen either, but there was an empty mug by the sink, and a smell of toast lingered in the air. I opened the back door, shivering a little as cold air prickled my skin. His trainers weren’t there, so perhaps he’d gone for a run.
I felt oddly put out, as if his absence signalled his desire to be somewhere else, and was more convinced than ever that the plans I’d read on his notepad were nothing to do with Ollie. Perhaps he was sussing out the neighbourhood – filming without us knowing…
The floorboards creaked upstairs, and my pulse quickened. Closing the door, I busied myself making porridge, flicking the radio on to cover the toilet-flushing and showering sounds upstairs. I accidental
ly sloshed too much milk into the pan and compensated by tipping more oats in, until it was a bubbling mass.
Did Ollie like porridge? I should have bought some organic granola, or ingredients for a protein-based smoothie. And a smoothie maker.
I scoured the cupboards, shifting my favourite chocolate Rice Krispies to the back, and jumped violently when Ollie yodelled, ‘Honey, I’m home!’ behind me.
His hands landed on my waist and spun me round, and I barely had time to catch my breath, and register that his stubble had gone, before his head came close to mine and he murmured, ‘Look at you.’
‘S… sorry?’
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, lifting his hands to cradle my face, drinking me in with his eyes. ‘I’ve always loved the natural look.’
‘Natural?’ My voice had gone husky with shock.
‘Make-up free, no hair dye, no extensions.’ His gaze swept over my head, and I was conscious of having left my hair to dry naturally, and that it had probably lost its shape. ‘Proper curves.’ Dropping his hands back to my waist he gave it a gentle squeeze, and suddenly his mouth was on mine.
In the split second it took me to react, I imagined my lips parting and my hands snaking around his back and pulling him closer. I knew he’d be a good kisser, like Max had been – even though Max had sometimes kept his eyes open to check my reaction – but something didn’t feel right.
As I pushed him away, I saw Craig, holding his camera aloft, his face crowded with disappointment, or distaste – possibly both – I couldn’t tell in the heat of the moment, and as I sprang back, my elbow jogged the handle of the pan on the hob. It flipped over, tipping its gloopy contents over the floor, and some of the scalding mixture landed on my foot.