by Jo Victor
“And who do you suppose it is that has the contract, and has had since 1963?”
“Pretty impressive, getting the contract almost two decades before your birth.”
“So I couldn’t possibly have taken over the business from Uncle Reg when he finally retired, could I? Have some more coffee—I think your brain’s still lying in bed where you left it.”
“Oh, excuse the hell out of me.” The hurt that flashed over Cam’s face and just as quickly vanished was like a punch in Alex’s gut. She put down the coffee and got to her feet. “Look, I’m sorry.” She reached out a hand toward Cam, who just stood there, stock still, the few inches between them an unbridgeable gap. Alex let her hand drop. “Really, I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. And I haven’t even properly apologized to you for the dance, and the night after.”
Cam summoned up a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Least said, soonest mended, Mum always used to say, and I reckon she was right.”
“But I really feel like I should try to explain—”
“Leave it.” Her tone was so harsh, Alex involuntarily backed up a step. “Sorry, lass.”
“It’s all right.” Cam’s eyes were searching her face, so she planted on a smile, hoping it was convincing. “Really, it’s fine. You’re right—it’s best if we just let it go.” For now.
Cam went back over to the stove. “I’d better get back to it. Aunty Elspeth will be cross if I don’t have everything back in trim by the time she turns up.”
“Aunty Elspeth?”
“She really is my aunt—my great-aunt, actually.”
“Is everyone in the whole village related to each other?”
“Huh. I never really thought about it, but I suppose you’re right—except for the Foundation folk, of course. And we do have a few new families.”
“That have only been here what, a hundred years?”
Cam looked up and smiled at her. “Something like that.”
Alex sat down and finished her coffee while Cam worked.
After a while she put down her tools and sighed in frustration. “I’ve never seen the like. Been at this a solid hour or more, and I’ve yet to find a thing wrong with it. I’d swear everything was fine, except that Aunty Elspeth says that when she tried to turn it on first thing this morning, she couldn’t get it to work for love nor money. Nor, for that matter, could I.”
Alex got up and came over. “Maybe it was some kind of clog or kink somewhere and just by taking everything apart you got rid of the problem. Have you tried putting it all back together to see if it will work now?”
Cam started to reply—and from the look on her face, the response would have been a sarcastic one—but she stopped dead, obviously thinking over what Alex had said. “Why not? I’m blessed if I can think of anything else to try.”
Cam went back to work with renewed energy. Alex got herself something to eat and by the time she was finished, so was Cam.
As Cam reached over to try the stove, Alex said, “Just a minute.”
She picked up the teakettle, emptied it and refilled it with fresh water, then set it on a burner. “For luck,” she said.
“Right. You do the honors. It was your idea, after all.”
Alex turned on the burner and it worked perfectly. Her eyes met Cam’s and they grinned at each other like they’d just won a prize. The look went on just a fraction too long. Cam turned away.
“Would you like a cup?” Alex said to the teapot as she measured out the leaves.
“Ta very much, but I’ve got to be getting on.” Cam’s voice was muffled, and Alex glanced over to see her with her head down, very busy stowing away her tools. She stood up, case in hand. “Tell Aunty Elspeth if this happens again, we may have to get someone in.”
“Considering how upset you say she was that it broke in the first place, maybe I’ll just let you be the one to mention that possibility. I’d hate to be responsible for giving her a catastastroke.”
Cam chuckled. “Aunty Elspeth’s tougher than you think. She’s more likely to just toss the thing out of doors and cook in the fireplace.”
“Is that even possible, or safe? It must be two hundred years old.”
“And still in good working order—I make sure of it. Aunty Elspeth says there’s nothing like an open fire for certain things.”
“You don’t say.”
After Cam left, Alex poured herself some tea and sat drinking it, staring into the fireplace and imagining what you could create with it, if only you knew how.
*
Fortunately the Dawson House cooker remained in working order, and there were no more indignant phone calls from Aunty Elspeth. And no more encounters with Alex, either, complete with offers to explain all about her and Rosamund, as if Cam needed, or wanted, to be told. Or to tell her how she was sorry but she really did like Cam, just not in that way, and could they still be friends. Or whatever it was she thought needed saying that Cam couldn’t figure out right well on her own, thank you very much.
Of course, not seeing Alex didn’t stop Cam from thinking about her all the time, wondering what she was doing, missing her, kicking herself for her own foolishness. But there was no help for any of that, was there?
At least work was all right. Just some easy jobs round the village, and a few past due accounts that needed chasing after. Things were going so well, in fact, that on Friday Cam decided to treat herself to a night out at her local. A pint or two and a friendly game of darts sounded like the perfect way to end the week.
When she got there, she discovered she was in luck. Vera was tending bar instead of her husband. Aside from being easy on the eyes, she was always good for a bit of fun. Cam had been practicing her chat-up skills on Vera since forever. And Vera, despite being at least a couple of decades older—not to mention resolutely straight and happily married—had taken it all in good part, never making her feel awkward or unwelcome even early on when she doubtless had far more enthusiasm than appeal.
As soon as she managed to make her way through the crowd to the bar, Vera brought over her usual. “Evening, love.”
“Gorgeous as ever, Vera. Please tell me you’ve given Stan his marching orders and can finally make me the happiest woman on earth.”
Vera grinned and gave her a friendly rap on the arm. “Clear off. Can’t you see I’ve no time for your cheek?”
The bar really was quite busy, so Cam found a seat in a quiet corner. As she sipped her cider, she thought about those early days. Looking back, she suspected that she had borne a closer resemblance to a golden retriever puppy than the suave charmer of her teenage ambitions. She had to smile as she pictured her younger self, sauntering in with a casual slouch copied from some film star, trying her best to look and act confident, all the while secretly terrified that she was doing it all wrong and no girl was ever going to want her.
And here she was back again, almost full circle. Older certainly, and without the desperate need to rush down the road of life that had driven her then, all the way to London. And Rosamund. Painful memories began to surface but she pushed them away. She was definitely in no hurry now.
And in many ways that was a good thing. Bramfell suited her. The easy pace, the rhythm of a life that was still in touch with the land and the seasons, the beauty of the countryside that both stirred and soothed her, like the old songs that she loved. As much as she had enjoyed London, there had always been a sense just under the surface that something wasn’t quite right, although it had been so overshadowed by all the excitement that she hadn’t paid it much mind. She hadn’t realized what she really needed, deep inside, until she found herself alone and in pain and far from home. As horrible as losing her mother had been, she was grateful to be back where she now knew for certain she belonged.
And yet she had apparently learned very little from that experience, because somehow she had managed to make the exact same mistake again. Not paying attention to what she was feeling, not realizing what it was she really wan
ted, needed. But this time, she had come to her senses too late. Alex was with someone else. That the someone was Rosamund was just salt in the wound.
Why had she been so blind? Thinking back, it should have been obvious what was happening between them—or had it been happening only to her? All those little moments, the accidental touches, the uncomfortable silences that seemed to mean something, could have been nothing at all to Alex.
And Alex had certainly had plenty to say about not liking the way Cam did things—or Cam herself, half the time. For her part, Cam had found herself opening up to Alex, sharing things that she rarely talked about with anyone. But what Cam had taken for a growing understanding between them, Alex might have seen as just friendly conversation, a way to pass the time.
Even their physical closeness, the way it had felt holding Alex in her arms, falling under her spell on the dance floor, could have meant little or nothing. After all, based on what she had seen that night outside the club in Leeds, Alex wasn’t the least bit shy about acting on her passions. That she had never done anything remotely like that with Cam ought to be the clincher, surely—Alex just wasn’t attracted to her.
That ought to make sense. Except that her gut was telling her something different. Well, not her gut, perhaps. Possibly something a bit lower down. And that might just be because she was lonely.
Wait—she wasn’t lonely, was she? Was she?
True, she hadn’t been with anyone for a while, but that hadn’t seemed like a problem. Really, until she had started to recover a bit from losing her mum, she’d been in no fit state to be with anyone, and instinctively she’d known that. She had needed to be by herself for a time, to deal with the pain and learn how to be in the world in a different way.
But the worst of that had long since passed, and she still hadn’t done much about finding someone. Someone who wasn’t Rosamund. Losing her had been painful, but looking back it was clear that having her had hurt even more.
If she’d ever really had her at all. She had thought Rosamund was the love of her life, worth any sacrifice. But the more she thought about what happened, whatever their relationship had been, it wasn’t that.
When she’d truly needed Rosamund, Rosamund had called her selfish. Selfish. She hadn’t expected Rosamund to actually do anything to help take care of her mother. She had wanted Rosamund herself, for her to just be there. To come with her to Bramfell, to help her get through the worst thing she had ever had to face. Not forever. Just for a while, just until she could get her feet back under her.
But Rosamund had reacted as if Cam was demanding that she give up her entire life, and everything that mattered.
And just what had mattered so much? Rosamund hadn’t spelled it out, but Cam knew. London, of course, and her posh friends, and the parties and clubs, and a hundred other things. Rosamund had actually offered her money. She said she’d pay to have Cam’s mother put somewhere, tidied out of sight like a shabby bit of furniture you didn’t want to show to visitors. Taken away from home to some cold, bare place where she could be seen to by strangers, because that would be easier. Easier for Rosamund, no doubt.
And when she had refused, trying to explain that what her mother needed now was her, the way she needed Rosamund, Rosamund had walked away—but not before laying into her right and proper, the cruel and bitter words cutting more deeply than any knife could have.
It wasn’t so much what Rosamund had said, or even that she was so angry. After all, as time went by and Cam was able to think more clearly, she realized that in some ways she had hurt Rosamund. Since she was the one who left, it was she who was abandoning Rosamund, and not the other way around.
Of course, even knowing that didn’t lessen the pain of being called stubborn, uncaring, cold, unfeeling, and all the other things Rosamund had thrown at her. Not least of which had been common, low class, ignorant, uneducated, and obvious—apparently that meant butch, a word Rosamund could never bring herself to say out loud. Not that Cam had ever denied being any of those things. They were honest descriptions, if harshly worded, and how could the truth be an insult? Cam knew who and what she was and had made peace with it long ago.
No, it was the way Rosamund had flung the words at her, like drops of poison she wanted to burn into Cam’s skin. It was the nastiness of it, the desire to injure and damage her, that had taken everything that had ever existed between them and made it into a lie. Rosamund didn’t actually say, I never loved you. She didn’t have to.
That’s what had finally turned Cam’s heart to ashes—realizing that she had given herself body and soul to something that had never been real.
It had taken a long, long time to recover from that, but she’d been so certain that she was past all of it. That she was ready to move on, to try again, to welcome someone into her life. It was just that she wasn’t in any great hurry. When the time was right, when the right woman turned up, it would happen.
Except that the right woman had finally come along, and it hadn’t. And she had no one to blame for that but herself.
Staring down at her now empty glass, she decided she wanted another. Getting to her feet, she looked around. The room was full of people—people she had known all her life. Laughing and joking, or just sitting quietly together, mostly groups of three or four, with a few courting couples here and there. She was the only one on her own. Of course, she could easily have joined up with some of the others, but just at the moment that held less than no appeal.
Drinking alone didn’t sound much better. She’d never been one to look for her solutions in the bottom of a glass. Maybe she should just go home and try to get some sleep. At least that way she could forget about everything for a while—especially Alex.
As if she had conjured her up, the door from the restaurant side opened, and there she was. So pretty. Smiling at her companion—Rosamund, of course. They were arm in arm and both looked happy. Obviously they had just enjoyed a pleasant meal and now were moving on to the next stage of their evening. They paused in the doorway, surveying the room as if looking for a place to sit.
Cam knew she should do something other than just stand there staring at them, but she felt frozen. Both of them spotted her at almost the same time. Rosamund’s smile grew wider, a bit spiteful, but Cam didn’t waste more than a fraction of a moment on her. Alex, on the other hand, captured and held her gaze.
Cam felt her heart race and her stomach flip-flop. Seeing Alex like this, on top of everything else, something inside of her snapped. She wanted to rush over and grab hold of her, tell her something, that she had made a mistake, that she was sorry, if only Alex would listen, would just give her a chance. In front of Rosamund, in front of everybody—it didn’t matter so long as she said yes.
Alex’s smile disappeared in an instant. She looked stricken, almost horrified. Cam couldn’t imagine what she had done to put that look on Alex’s face. Then Alex turned away, saying something to Rosamund, and they left.
Cam sat back down, stunned. Whatever had just happened, it was clear that Alex wanted nothing to do with her. Pain rolled through her like a wave. Clearly she had to stay as far from Alex as possible and hope that, in time, the need and the hurt would both go away.
*
Alex walked along, only half listening to Rosamund’s chatter. She kept seeing the look on Cam’s face, the pain and the longing as she stared at her and Rosamund together. Nicola was absolutely right. Not only had Rosamund broken Cam’s heart, but she was clearly still so deeply wounded that just the sight of Rosamund with someone else was enough to tear her apart, so badly that she couldn’t even try to hide it.
Cam had looked like she was about two seconds away from rushing over and pouring out her soul, begging Rosamund to take her back, in spite of all the people around, in spite of Alex herself standing right there. Face it. Cam is still in love with her. You never had a chance.
How ridiculous her little twinges of jealousy about Cam and Nicola seemed, now that she knew the truth. Everythi
ng finally made sense. The way Cam had seemed interested in her, but never followed through. She was so naturally charming, she probably flirted with every woman she met. It didn’t mean a thing.
And the times Cam had been so angry, like that time after the dance. Alex remembered that she had been talking about Rosamund, about dancing with her, about Nicola’s crush on her. Talking and talking and talking, and every word must have been like nails on a chalkboard. No wonder Cam had lost her temper. Or the other morning when she had tried to apologize, and Cam had just about bitten her head off for even going near the subject.
Seeing her with Rosamund must be torture, and Alex hated the thought of what she was doing to Cam. Whatever else might be going on, she felt connected to Cam in a different way than with most people. She really liked her—despite her many shortcomings—and she hated, hated, hated that she was hurting her. If just seeing her and Rosamund standing together in the pub had put that look on her face, watching them kissing that night must have just about killed her.
Oh sweet Goddess, Cam probably thought she and Rosamund were already sleeping together. She came to a dead stop, a feeling of dread coursing through her. Before she could try to analyze exactly what it meant, Rosamund cleared her throat loudly, reclaiming her attention.
“You know, darling, for the past five minutes I’ve been reciting nursery rhymes, just to see if you would notice. A person could begin to get just the teensiest bit peeved, you know.”
“Oh, Rosamund, I’m so sorry.”
“Did I do something to upset you? Did something happen over dinner, or perhaps afterward?”
She didn’t look or sound angry. If anything, the look on her face was one of amusement.
“No, no. Absolutely not. I’m having a lovely time. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Hmm. Well, all I can say is that I hope one of the things you’ve got on your mind is me.”
“Oh, definitely. Believe me.” She smiled, trying hard to recapture the way she had felt earlier sitting in the restaurant, enjoying the plain but delicious food and the pleasure of being in Rosamund’s company.