‘It must have been more than that. He thinks you’re amazing now.’
‘Maybe now, but back then I was an annoying little twerp. A useful one, but annoying just the same. He quickly realised that if he was nice to me it made Jasmine happy. It was nothing to do with us having anything in common, he was just using me.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘I don’t suppose he knew he was doing it. But that doesn’t change anything.’
‘Is that why you’re frosty with him now?’
‘Do we have to do this?’
‘No… but I just thought it would be less tense if we talked about something.’
‘I’d be less tense if we talked about Man United’s defence last season.’
‘Why do you still hate him after all this time?’
Dylan stopped. ‘What makes you think I hate him?’
‘It just seems that way sometimes.’
‘That’s because you don’t know the facts.’
‘So, fill me in.’
Dylan began to walk again, Millie keeping pace alongside him. ‘I just don’t always trust him.’
‘It’s funny, because I think he feels the same way about you.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Nothing in particular…’
‘He’s warned you away from me. I’m the original Casanova, right?’
Millie smiled wanly.
‘I’ve had a few girlfriends, there’s nothing wrong with that. He ought to try it. That’s why I don’t trust him. What’s he waiting for?’
‘The right woman?’
‘Or the woman he’s wanted all along.’
‘And there was me, flattering myself that you were jealous there might be something going on between me and Spencer.’
‘Nah… Although Ruth told me she was convinced there was, especially as he’d been with you all afternoon and you wouldn’t answer the door. I think she was hoping for a tale of debauchery and large amounts of rubber. I put her straight when we took the kids to the Dog and Hare.’
‘How can you be so sure my afternoon didn’t feature large amounts of rubber?’
‘I know Spencer.’
‘So you say. But he can’t pine for one woman for the rest of his life. He’s not Greyfriars Bobby.’
Dylan was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, Millie wished he hadn’t. ‘Love makes us do strange and silly things. Surely you know that better than anyone.’
She had no answer for that, so Millie concentrated on keeping the torch trained on the ground and watching where she put her feet.
After another five silent minutes, Dylan held up a hand to halt their progress.
‘D’you hear that?’
‘Sounds like Jasmine… and Rich!’
Relief flooded through Millie. They began their trek again, following the voices. And then a scream split the night air.
18
Spencer and Jasmine had sprinted through the village and over the fields in their haste to get to the old rope swing. They were both soaked through, ankles were twisted and curses were muttered, but they kept going, calling Rich’s name as they went. Jasmine was so grateful to have Spencer’s lean outline marching alongside her. After all that had happened in the past, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he never wanted to speak to her again, but not once during the year he had been back in Honeybourne had he shown any sign of bitterness. He had endured the knowledge that she was married to another man and had three children with him; he taught her children and showed them nothing but kindness and fairness, as he did to everyone he knew. She loved that they could still be friends. If she couldn’t have Dylan or Rich beside her now, there was no better substitute than Spencer Johns.
Having left in a hurry with no flashlight, Spencer was using the torch on his phone. The light was feeble and he had to use it sparingly to avoid it getting soaked in the rain, but it was the best they had. He fished it from his pocket now and swept the landscape with the meagre beam. Then he stopped and caught his breath.
‘Good news… The rope swing is up ahead.’
‘Is there bad news?’ Jasmine asked, fear hollowing her out.
‘I’m not sure. I thought I saw something but I can’t be certain.’
Taking great care, they picked their way, almost blind, up an incline before scrambling and sliding down the bank on the other side to where a rope swing hung from a platform over the river. Usually the river was shallow in this part and fairly tame. In all the years that kids had been playing up here nobody had ever been seriously hurt… at least not in the river. But back in the seventies two suicide victims had been found hanging from the trees nearby within six months of each other. There had been nothing since then, but there were tales of hauntings and spirits, embellished by teenagers, and the place had come to be known as Hangman’s Hill.
Tonight, the sheer volume of rain had inundated the riverbed, and they could hear the rush of water below them, a dangerous and invisible force.
Spencer dug his phone out of a sodden pocket and flashed the light around again. And suddenly it lit up a pale and eerie face. Jasmine screamed. Until she saw that it was Rich, sitting under the swing platform, caked in mud and distinctly bleary eyed, clinging onto a bottle. He turned to face them, but said nothing as he struggled to focus.
‘Pissed as a newt,’ Spencer said, the relief evident in his voice. ‘Nice one, Rich.’
‘What the hell!’ Jasmine shouted, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm her all night. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you!’
‘Why?’ Rich slurred.
‘Why the hell do you think? Nobody had any idea where you’d gone!’ She waved a hand at the river. ‘For all we knew you could have been face down in there!’
‘Probably the best place for me,’ Rich said. ‘I thought about it…’ His eyes rolled as he looked up into the dark canopy of trees. ‘I thought about swinging from one of them… but I was too scared in the end. Pathetic, eh?’
‘Richard Green… If I ever hear you say anything like that again I’ll push you in the river myself!’
‘Yeah, but you’d be better off without me. Let’s face it, I’m crap.’
‘Stop it!’ Jasmine shouted. She dragged in a deep, calming breath and bent down to sit next to him under the platform, her voice softer now. ‘I don’t know what I would do without you. I’ve never been as scared as I was tonight.’
He waved the almost empty bottle around as he spoke. ‘I don’t know why you put up with me. You could have any man… any man… and you stick with me… argghhh, Jas, I can’t offer you anything. I don’t have a proper job and the one I have I can’t—’
‘Shush!’ Jasmine said, taking the bottle from him and placing it to one side. ‘You have no idea, do you? It doesn’t matter what job you do, whether we’re poor or rich, whether you get fat and bald and fart in bed… I just want you, whatever you are or do. You mean the world to me, and my life would be pointless without you in it. I will never, ever stop loving you. The sooner you get that into your fat head, the sooner we can get out of this rain and go home.’
‘You can’t mean that…’
‘Of course I do.’ She reached over to kiss him lightly before pulling away with a grimace. ‘You stink. What the hell have you been drinking?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go… Leave me here to rot…’ He looked up, trying to focus on Spencer who had bent down to join them in the now cramped space under the wooden platform. It was damp and dirty, but at least there was some respite from the rain. ‘Spencer, for instance…’ Rich slurred, ‘would be much more deserving of your affections. I bet you fancy her a bit, don’t you, Spence?’
‘Stop it,’ Jasmine said again.
‘Come on, Spencer… Take her home, look after her like I can’t…’
‘Rich!’ Jasmine looked hopelessly at Spencer, her heart sinking with every word her inebriated spouse uttered.
‘Jasmine Johns… It h
as a ring to it!’ Rich laughed. ‘A good honest day’s work from Mr Johns, regular pay packet coming in and someone who can actually help the kids with their homework.’
‘Right, that’s enough,’ Spencer cut in. He sounded close to breaking point and Jasmine was suddenly more afraid of what he might do than Rich. ‘You really want me to take her off your hands? I’d be more than happy to. She doesn’t deserve a self-absorbed loser like you.’
‘Spencer… don’t…’ Jasmine pleaded, but he continued.
‘How about this? I love Jasmine, and I’ve always loved her. I’ll fetch you a rope and I’ll help you fix it to a sturdy tree, you narcissistic cretin, and then when you’ve done twitching I’ll take her home and have the life with her that you stole from me.’
‘Spencer!’ Jasmine squealed. ‘Stop it!’
‘Stop what? Stop telling your husband that he should quit feeling sorry for himself and be thankful that he has a beautiful wife and three beautiful children? That he should be thankful he doesn’t sit alone night after night wondering about what could have been when the only woman he ever wanted runs around after an egotistical pig trying to make him happy? But of course, he’ll never be happy because he’s Richard Green and the world owes Richard Green. He’s just listened to you pour your heart out and that’s still not proof enough of your love for him. If you want me to stop then I will, but only because you’ve asked me to.’
Rich stared at Spencer, his mouth hanging open stupidly in the shadows cast by the feeble glow from Spencer’s phone. ‘I should punch your lights out.’
‘Do it!’ Spencer goaded. ‘I’d take great pleasure in the excuse to throw you off this ledge right now.’
‘Please…’ Jasmine began to sob. ‘Please, Spencer, don’t.’
‘Then…’ Spencer paused, heaving breaths, ‘tell your husband to stop being a dick and get on with making his marriage work. Because he’s right, there’s a queue of men waiting to take his place.’ Without another word, he started the climb back to the top of the riverbank.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rich said in a small voice.
‘I just want to go home,’ Jasmine replied.
Rich nodded. With Jasmine’s help he emerged from the shelter of the wooden platform and they stood, surveying the steep incline, Spencer’s shadow clambering up it.
‘Can you make it up there?’ Jasmine asked.
‘I’m sorry I’m pissed. You must hate me right now.’
Jasmine pressed her lips together in a hard line. She was angry as hell and irritated with both men, but she couldn’t imagine what Spencer must be feeling right now. She wished there was something she could do for him. She guessed that part of his speech to Rich had been to galvanise him into action, but in doing so, he had opened a rift between them for ever. How could they go back to being friends now that Rich knew the truth? It was another selfless act in a history of selfless acts on her behalf. She could never love him like she loved Rich, but she loved him nonetheless, and his words were still ringing in her ears and breaking her heart a little more every time she thought of them. She tried to shake the melancholy that had replaced the blind panic of the previous hour and think about how to get Rich back to safety. The bank was far more treacherous on the way up than it had been going down just ten minutes earlier.
‘It’s dangerous and the rain has loosened the soil. We’re going to have to take it steady and check every bit of ground before we put our weight on it.’ She turned to Rich. ‘You understand? I can’t have you being a drunken idiot now; save it until we get home.’
He nodded slowly. She wondered whether to call Spencer back to help her but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she resolved to get Rich up there herself, whatever it took.
Even as these thoughts ran through her mind, a whip-crack of lightning tore across the sky, followed closely by a deafening roar of thunder. The flash lit the whole river bank so that each nook and cranny was clearly illuminated. Jasmine thought quickly, making a mental note of as much as she could from that brief glimpse.
‘Come on, we’d better get up there.’ Jasmine guided Rich by the elbow towards the simplest looking path, the proximity of the storm filling her with a new sense of urgency.
Rich scrambled and slipped, using clumsy handholds in the rock-strewn mud. They slid down almost as many times as they made steps of progress up. But after what seemed like hours, they had almost caught up with Spencer, who hadn’t got much further despite his head start.
He turned and waited for them on a narrow ledge. ‘It’s desperate up here. God knows how we’re going to make it.’
Jasmine grimaced. Even though she was now genuinely afraid that they might have to spend the night there, waiting to be rescued, she was glad to hear that all the rage from Spencer’s voice had subsided and he sounded more like the old, reliable Spencer she knew and loved.
‘Do you think I should call Millie, see if she can get the emergency services out to us?’ he suggested
‘That seems a bit extreme,’ Jasmine said doubtfully. ‘Surely we’ll be able to scramble up there eventually.’
‘This bank’s been baked hard all summer and it’s now been flooded with a month’s worth of rain. It’s coming away in chunks up here, Jas. If we miss our footing, the river is raging below.’
‘We won’t fall,’ Rich shouted back. ‘And the river isn’t that deep anyway… A Munchkin could wade down and be in the Dog and Hare, barely wet, in half an hour.’
Spencer clenched his jaw shut. There was still tension between the two men and Rich’s comment had obviously been a dig at Spencer.
‘Rich…’ Jasmine hissed, ‘he’s just trying to be sensible. One of us has to be and you’re certainly not capable. Take a look…’ She glanced back at the river. In the dark it was hard to make out at all, but the water gurgled and rushed, the crack of waterborne debris hitting the banks every now and again telling her that it was much deeper than normal.
‘I’ll call Dylan,’ Spencer announced, ‘get him to bring a rope or something to help us up.’
Even as he spoke, Jasmine heard a sort of sucking, squelching sound. Loose stones and twigs skittered down the riverbank towards her, followed quickly by larger clumps of soil.
‘JAS—’
Spencer’s cry was cut off. There was another blaze of light across the sky, and as it lit up the landscape she saw a shadow, hurtling towards her. Shoving Rich aside, she grabbed desperately for a flailing arm but missed. Spencer disappeared below them as the sky went black again and a rumble of thunder filled the stunned silence.
When they heard the ominous splash, Jasmine’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘SPENCER!’
There was no reply.
‘Spencer!’ Rich yelled. ‘Spencer, mate, are you alright?’
Still nothing.
‘Spencer… Please!’ Jasmine shouted into the inky void. She turned to Rich. ‘We’ve got to get down there.’
They began to make their way down at a speed entirely dictated by the unstable riverbank beneath them, and suddenly heard a shout that filled Jasmine with unutterable relief.
‘Hey! Is that you, Jas?’
At the top of the bank, Dylan stood silhouetted over the drop as he called down. He was joined by a second shadow.
‘Yes! Thank God you’re here!’
‘We heard a scream,’ Millie said, ‘is everything ok?’
‘I think Spencer is hurt. We can’t see him but I heard him go into the river and he’s not responding.’
‘Shit… I’m coming down,’ Dylan shouted.
‘It’s too dangerous!’ Jasmine shifted her weight to get a firm foothold as another section of riverbank began to move.
There was another flash of lightning. In the brief moment that the scene was lit up Jasmine saw that someone was already making their way down much faster than was safe. But it wasn’t Dylan, it was Millie.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Jasmine shouted.
‘I can help here,’ Millie sa
id.
‘If she’s coming down then so am I.’ Dylan began to follow her, skidding down so quick that he had caught up in seconds.
Moments later they were level with Jasmine and Rich. Millie didn’t stop, but continued to shuffle and slide down on her backside, leaving the other three to follow in her wake.
At the river, Jasmine grabbed a nearby tree root to halt her progress and prayed that everyone else would be able to do the same. She squinted against the beam of torchlight that Millie was sweeping across the bank to search the river. They had to find Spencer, but the state he might be in filled Jasmine with a cold fear. If anything had happened to him, on this night, in these circumstances, she would never forgive herself and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forgive Rich either. The river looked clear, apart from twigs and leaves racing over its bubbling surface. They were silent as they followed the beam wider to search further down the river, and then along both banks.
That was when they saw it. The shapeless mass of clothes and limbs sprawled at the base of the incline not far from where they were. He was motionless, face down, leaves in his dark hair, water churning around him, though thankfully he was on the bank and away from the torrents that would carry him further downstream. Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat.
‘SPENCER!’ she cried as she waded towards him.
Rich and Dylan dragged Spencer clear of the water. Jasmine barged past and bent to him, turning him over, her heart beating wildly and a cold sickness creeping over her. He had a gash on the side of his head that was bleeding badly and the unforgiving torch beam lent him a grey pallor. It looked bad.
Millie handed Dylan the torch and gently guided Jasmine out of the way. ‘Let me see.’ She bent to Spencer and listened. ‘He’s not breathing. He must have water in his lungs.’
Jasmine watched, half fearful, half in awe as Millie worked to save him. She had never seen anything like it and neither had she seen this new Millie: calm, knowledgeable and confident, calling out orders for help with Spencer’s positioning and the torchlight, until, after an anxious few minutes, he began to cough.
The Little Village Bakery: A feel good romantic comedy with plenty of cake (Honeybourne Book 1) Page 21