by Suzanne Snow
Tom pulled out a chair opposite her, and a glance was enough to recognise the tension in his face, the tautness across his shoulders. How to start, how to find the beginning of this story, she wondered, when they seemed to already be in the middle of it?
‘So.’ Olivia’s voice was her usual crisp, professional one, even though she was irritated that she was finding it hard to meet his eyes. She’d met hundreds of people during the course of her career and didn’t want to be concerned about the worry she expected to find in Tom. ‘Maybe you could start by telling me a bit about yourself and how you know my dad.’
‘Olivia, it’s fine,’ Tom said firmly, an edge to his tone. ‘I really don’t want to be interviewed like I’m applying for a job; I’ve had enough of those. I’ve thought about it overnight and I can’t stay here. Your dad was very kind to invite me but I think he must have forgotten that you were going to be here too.’
Olivia doubted it very much. Her dad was certainly frailer than he used to be but that was in body only. His mind was sharper than hers half the time and she was quite sure he knew what he was doing. Which was more than she did right now, her plans for work on a short pause.
She watched as Tom took a sip of his coffee. ‘So where will you go?’
There was an evasiveness now too in his face and she knew he didn’t like being questioned. She couldn’t really blame him, most people would object to having to reveal their most private and possibly wretched circumstances to anyone, least of all someone they’d met once in a pub. ‘Tom? I can’t just let you leave if I don’t know what you’ll do.’
‘You can’t actually stop me. And it’s not your business either, is it?’ There was a resentment in his words he didn’t attempt to disguise.
‘It sort of is,’ she replied reasonably, slipping her glasses off. ‘You’re already an invited guest and it’s not my house. I don’t get to pick and choose who stays or goes, that’s my dad’s prerogative. Even if I am being forced to share.’
‘You sound almost as though you don’t want me to leave now. Have you had a change of heart?’
Olivia’s heart was already softening towards Tom in a most unusual way, that was the problem. She’d liked him, had been attracted to him that first evening, and seeing him again had made her realise that both of those things had not changed. But she was far too busy for anything else, and he was, well, what was he? She still didn’t know. But she could do this. She could work, meet clients, order in a basic Christmas meal for her and dad. Here, with Tom staying. She’d have to. She couldn’t clear the house from Manchester and they were running out of time.
‘You surprised me last night, Tom, that’s all. You can imagine how shocked I was to find someone else here, and then to discover that it was you, after that night…’ Her gaze was elsewhere again and she decisively brought it back to face him. ‘But what happened between us was just a moment of madness and if we’re both staying here then we have to make sure there isn’t another one.’
‘Absolutely.’ Tom sounded perfectly clear about that.
‘Good.’ Reassured, though slightly disappointed by the ease with which he’d agreed, Olivia carried on. ‘I’m really busy with my work, I don’t have time for any distractions and I have to make a start sorting this place out soon. I’ll be back in Manchester at some point. You’ll be…’
His laugh was short, without humour when it followed her pause. ‘Neither of us really knows the answer to that one, do we?’
‘Stay.’ She felt ridiculous, almost pleading with him now when last night she had been ready to sling his bag straight after him through the front door. He was her dad’s friend and that meant he must trust Tom. It seemed she would have to do her best to put up with it.
She’d faced far worse in her time than sharing a house with a handsome man. Olivia knew her dad would feel she had let him down too if she were the reason for Tom leaving, especially when she had her own home to return to and Tom apparently didn’t. And why he looked slightly familiar, she still couldn’t work out. She was certain she had never seen him here before.
‘Please, Tom. We’re both busy and the house is big enough for us to keep out of one another’s way.’ She pointed at the window and waved an arm to the weather, hating the thought of him with nowhere to go. ‘It’s freezing out there.’
She wasn’t prepared for the rush of relief in his face that he quickly disguised or the way her breath caught at the sight. She tried to lighten the moment with something more friendly and relaxed. ‘We’ll have to draw up a rota for the bathroom, though. I don’t want to be crashing in when you’re showering or vice versa, and there’s no lock. Dad never got around to replacing it when it broke.’
Olivia didn’t really think she’d mind crashing in when Tom was in the shower and gave herself a silent telling-off, reaching for a loaf of bread on the table so that he wouldn’t notice the sudden flush plastered on her face.
‘Would you like some toast?’ Two pieces were as easy to make as one but it was something else they’d need to think about. She didn’t really cook and she wasn’t going to be planning meals for two, even if they did go straight in the microwave. ‘My dad makes the best marmalade and there’s still some left. And er, sorry, this must be your bread. I haven’t been shopping yet.’
‘It’s fine. Thanks.’ Tom waved that one away, refilling his coffee and she nodded when he pointed to her cup. ‘He gave me a jar the last time I was here, it’s really good.’
‘You’ve stayed before?’ Olivia slid another piece of bread into the toaster and found a second plate. Her dad had clung on to the dinner sets he’d had since her mum had died and there were only about four side plates left, half of them chipped. She knew it was one of his ways of remembering his wife, the life they’d lived before she’d been lost to illness far too soon.
‘Yes, usually when the literary festival was on in town.’
‘Of course, you mentioned that. Visiting the festival.’ That night, but she didn’t add those two words. She put the plate and Tom’s toast down in front of him and he smiled at her in way she could really do without, especially given they’d just agreed to avoid each other as much as possible.
She retook her seat, the beginnings of relaxation following, a strange relief that Tom wasn’t leaving the house and she the reason for it. Her phone was flashing with a call and she let it go to voicemail. ‘So you know about Dad running a bit of a retreat here then, during the festival? You were part of it?’
‘Yes, I was lucky enough to be included in his famous hospitality.’
‘What, the dodgy sausage rolls he made himself and the weird salads?’ Her dad was better than her in the kitchen these days but only just.
‘You’ve missed out the prawns served with sultanas and lentils.’
‘I’d forgotten that one! I was convinced he only invented that dish to try and put people off coming back.’
‘Even that couldn’t keep them away. He’s a great host, Olivia.’
She and Tom were both smiling now, a quick recognition of the humour they’d shared in the pub as their eyes met then moved away.
‘I only came a couple of times during the festival.’ Olivia had finished her toast and sipped the last of her lukewarm coffee. ‘Was it as lively here as he used to say?’
‘Absolutely. Writers, artists, journalists, everyone was welcome and I loved it.’ Tom was wistful, one hand resting on the table. ‘There were some great debates and a few fireworks over the years. If these walls could talk, and all that. I think a few highly successful deals were done here.’
‘And you’ve stayed friends with my dad? You mentioned you’re a writer.’
‘We have, he’s been really good to me. Supported my book when it came out, invited me up for signings, asked me to speak at the festival. Promoted me wherever he could.’
‘That sounds just like him. His absolute favourite thing is discovering a brilliant new writer and he loves to champion them. And you’re writing a second
book? A third?’ Olivia heard the pensive note now that her dad was no longer in his beloved shop, at the heart of the bookselling trade he adored. ‘Are you a really famous author and I don’t even know it? You still haven’t told me your full name.’
She saw Tom lean back in his chair, becoming evasive again as he crossed his arms.
‘Come on, Tom.’ She made her voice deliberately warm, adding a confiding tone as she tried to draw him out. They were sharing a house after all, and she deserved some details. His name at least. So much for years of human resources and managing interviews, she wasn’t doing very well with him. But then, she reasoned, she hadn’t ever kissed the candidates who had sat before her to talk through their applications.
‘You won’t have heard of me,’ he said lightly. ‘My book’s not that well known.’
‘Try me.’
‘Okay. My name is Tom Bellingham.’ He was watching her through eyes that seemed to be waiting for some sort of recognition, and Olivia grinned.
‘You’re right, I’ve never heard of an author called Tom Bellingham. Sorry.’ She thought for a moment, the few words he had offered prompting a memory. ‘Wait, isn’t that the name of an actor, that guy from some period drama who drove everyone crazy when he took his shirt off? I never saw it but I do remember people in the office going on about it. Someone even tried to put up a poster!’
She saw Tom’s faint smile, the hand he lifted to push through his hair, heard the quick sigh. Her eyes widened and she stared at him. Tall, dark hair, probably the right age now, a few years on, if she remembered correctly what she’d overheard at work. And definitely still gorgeous. It fitted.
‘No! It’s not! I mean, you’re not… Are you?’ Olivia was aghast, babbling, and he nodded slowly. Her gaze shot away from his face to roam over his shoulders, the briefly famous chest, safely covered in a chunky sweater, before landing back up somewhere near his right ear.
She was furious to find herself blushing, remembering how they had kissed, the feel of his frame beneath her hands. Well, she thought wildly, the surprises just keep on coming. No wonder he was such a great kisser, he’d probably had plenty of practice. It really was a good thing she hadn’t kneecapped him last night with the atlas.
‘And that’s why it’s always better not to tell people who I am if they haven’t already worked it out.’ Tom stood up and collected their plates, took them to the sink. ‘Years of training and professional roles and it all comes down to my shirt. Or the lack of it,’ he finished dryly.
Chapter Five
Tom Bellingham!!! You didn’t think to tell me?
Olivia fired off the text to her dad, shaking her head. She’d left the house and found a table in the restaurant at The Courtyard, which was busy with shoppers wandering through the studios or sharing brunch. She settled down with her laptop and phone at hand, ignoring the Christmas music softly playing and the beautiful decorations scattered around the light and modern building.
She ordered coffee, noticing that most people seemed to be appreciating the festive atmosphere, unlike her. Her client in the States was anxious and she scheduled a call with them for this afternoon. She had planned to go and see her dad but it would keep until tomorrow. Heavy snow was apparently forecast but she ignored the notification from her weather app. She hadn’t got time for that either.
She had a property to view in Cumbria on Monday and the elderly vendor was concerned, checking the time of the appointment again and whether she would actually come if it snowed. Olivia already had a client in mind for the house so she smoothed things over, assuring the vendor that she would be there except in the absolute worst of the weather.
Sipping coffee, she picked up a flyer advertising the seasonal activities taking place in Thorndale, surprised by how much was going on since she had last bothered to take note. There was the carol service that Annie Beresford had mentioned, and at which Olivia’s dad usually did a reading.
She hadn’t known about the Christmas tree sale the fell rescue volunteers were holding each weekend outside their barn, offering refreshments in return for buying a tree to support the association. She wouldn’t have minded having a go at the cocktail workshop here in the restaurant, but she definitely wouldn’t be turning up for the wreath making one or the cookie baking classes. She slid the flyer back between a small poinsettia plant and a menu.
Christmas Day was only three weeks away and she had plenty of work to get through before she could think of taking some of her annual leave, never mind the shopping she still needed to do. A reply arrived from her dad and she clicked on it.
You wouldn’t have come if I had, Liv, we both know that. Tom is a wonderful writer whose life has not always been easy. He deserves another chance and I’m glad I can help. Looking forward to seeing you but don’t come in that ruddy car if it snows. Love Dad.
He always made her smile, the way he finished his messages with ‘Love Dad’, as though she had no idea who had sent them. Olivia forced away her irritation of how he had manoeuvred her into a corner over Tom by not telling her he had invited him to stay. It wasn’t all her dad’s fault; he didn’t know about the night in the pub with Tom and how awkward things were between them.
Her lovely dad knew her so well and he had such a good heart. Better than hers, it seemed. She sent him a grimacing emoji that she knew would make him laugh. She didn’t want to go back to the house yet, so she ordered brunch, almost drooling when the plate of eggs Benedict with juice and a decaf coffee arrived not long after. She had no idea how Tom was spending his time here, other than writing, and wasn’t quite ready to bump into him again just yet.
Two women appeared at the table beside hers a few minutes later and she lifted her head long enough to give them a brief smile of acknowledgement. They replied in kind, settling down and chatting noisily above the Christmas songs. Olivia tried to ignore them but it was difficult; they were enjoying an early glass of Prosecco and she couldn’t help catching some of their conversation as she ate.
‘Nope, no social media, not a single one.’
‘There’s that group on Facebook, the fan one.’
‘That’s nothing to do with him, though. He probably doesn’t even know it exists.’
Olivia heard the dismissiveness in the first woman’s reply. She saw them scrolling through their phones, presumably on social media, carrying on their conversation without looking at one another. Her juice was gone and she was happy to linger over coffee, her most important emails done.
‘Are you absolutely certain it was Tom Bellingham you saw?’
Olivia sat up a little straighter, only pretending for once to be interested in her phone. The two women were quite loud and it was impossible not to hear what they were saying from where she was sitting.
‘Of course I am. I was about to turn onto the high street, and I had to pull over so he could cross the bridge. He was in running kit, all muddy and messy. I didn’t realise it was him until he caught my eye and then he did that thing, when he sort of smiles but doesn’t, all sexy and mysterious. He’s such a stone-cold fox for an older guy.’
Olivia’s lips twitched. She wondered what the two women would’ve made of Tom smiling at her over the breakfast table a couple of hours ago and felt her own pulse patter a little faster at the thought. She shook herself crossly.
‘I know, right? But what’s he doing in Thorndale?’
‘No idea. He hasn’t acted for ages, he’s supposed to have given it up so it can’t be filming unless he’s planning a comeback. Family maybe? Or he’s moved here? I might check out that Facebook group, see if anyone else has noticed him.’
‘What’s the betting his series will be repeated over Christmas. They always show it.’
‘Your mum will be happy.’
‘She’s not the only one.’
Their conversation moved onto something else and Olivia tried her best to tune it out this time. She opened the family group chat of just her, her dad and Ellie to see some images from her
daughter. Ellie was good at keeping in touch, knowing that her grandad missed her and therefore dropping anything in the group she thought would interest him – books and bookshops mostly. Her dad had already replied to Ellie by the time Olivia had looked at the messages, her thoughts still flitting through the comments she’d overhead about Tom.
There was another message too, from her best friend Gina, who lived near Ripon. She and Gina had met in the first year at high school and had been friends ever since, despite the years, marriages, divorce, house moves, children and differing careers in between. They didn’t catch up in person as often as they’d like, their messages an ongoing conversation no matter how many days in between.
Whenever Olivia wanted a brief time-out, she would head to Gina’s messy home, filled with her partner and four teenage boys, and Gina herself busy with her dog training business. She and Gina would walk the dogs for miles, catch up, de-stress, then sit up late and drink wine together as they put the world to rights. Being gathered into the heart of this large family was so different to Olivia’s more solitary life in the city and she always felt rejuvenated by the fresh air and hearty home cooking.
She would reciprocate when Gina wanted a bit of city sophistication, fewer demands on her time and considerably less mud. Her friend would head south on the train to Olivia’s apartment in Manchester for lazy mornings drinking coffee and wandering around the city before cocktails and a night out in the Northern Quarter, often in the bar managed by Olivia’s assistant’s boyfriend.
Now Gina wanted to know if Olivia had arrived in Thorndale yet and how her dad was, checking in with typical haste and usual care. Olivia replied but made no mention of Tom. There was little to say, other than Hey, did you know Dad’s got me sharing the house with a writer and famous actor who I might accidentally have kissed in a pub? That would bring a reply straight back and the thought made Olivia smile to herself.