‘It wasn’t like that, I promise. And there was no one else, it was me who reported Glenda.’
His admission only fuelled her fury. ‘Why …? Why would you do that? Do you have any idea how humiliated I feel?’
He closed his eyes. ‘That wasn’t my intention. I was trying to help.’
‘How was it helping?’ She shook him by the shoulders, forcing him to open his eyes. ‘Look at me!’ She dropped her hands, suddenly not wanting to touch him. ‘Do you realise you’ve put my kids at risk? Social Services will probably have a field day. The dumb single mother who can’t provide for her kids.’
‘Stop it, Lauren. That’s not going to happen.’ He stepped towards her.
‘How do you know?’ She stood her ground. ‘Suddenly you’re an expert, are you? You know what I need?’
‘Yes … I mean, no.’ He looked confused, his dark eyes radiating panic. ‘What I mean is, you’re too nice. You only see the good in people. You’d never have reported Glenda. I did it for your own good.’
‘My own good?’ The fury in her voice caused him to step backwards. ‘You sanctimonious prick. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do. My life is none of your concern. Do you hear me?’
He flinched. ‘Please listen to me, Lauren. The debt is unenforceable.’
‘What debt? I don’t know what you’re talking about …’
‘Stop pretending!’ His raised voice stunned her. It was the most animated she’d ever seen him …
Well, apart from when he’d rescued her daughter, but she wasn’t going to think about that, not when she needed to stay mad at him.
‘You’re angry with me, I get that. But please don’t punish yourself for something I’ve done.’ His voice softened. ‘I see how stressed and unhappy you are. Glenda’s making your life a misery. I’m not blind, Lauren. I’ve seen her bullying you, hounding you for money. It’s got to stop. She’s got to be stopped.’
The truth of his words only flamed her humiliation. ‘No one’s being bullied! And you know what, so what if I owe her money? It’s my life, my business, no one else’s. And I pay my debts. I have every intention of repaying every penny I owe.’
‘Lauren, please …’
‘Butt out of my life, Nate. This has nothing to do with you. You’re nobody to me.’ With one last weak shove in his direction, she sprinted back across the road, adrenaline the only thing fuelling her legs.
It was only once she was inside the sanctuary of her flat that she allowed the tears to flow. Hot, angry tears that stung her eyes and made her chest heave as she tried to suck in enough air to breathe, cry, and yell simultaneously. Falling onto the couch, she buried her head in the cushions, sobbing until every muscle in her body ached. It was only later, much later, when she was done crying and replaying the argument in her head, that she bitterly regretted her choice of words. He meant everything to her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saturday, 13 August – 10 days till curtain-up
Charlotte stirred slowly, her eyelids heavy with sleep, her right arm tingling with pins and needles. It was an effort to roll over, the cushions seemed softer, bigger and less lumpy. Her toes usually collided with the wall when she stretched out on the daybed; they didn’t this morning. The duvet smelt different too, less spilt Ribena and more … what was the word she was looking for? Manly? A warm, musky scent. Her eyes pinged open. She wasn’t on the put-you-up in Lauren’s flat. She was lying naked in Barney Hubble’s bed. Holy crap.
She tried sitting up, hindered by the rumpled duvet and dead right arm. She blinked furiously, trying to encourage her eyes to focus so she could assess how bad the situation was. Bright, morning sunlight sneaked through the small crack in the blue curtains, highlighting the white walls, pine furniture and single armchair in the corner of the room.
What time was it? She looked around for a clock. Discarded clothes lay strewn around the room: a man’s shirt lying on the floor, her top from last night bunched into a ball … her bra dangling from the arm of the chair. Oh, shite!
Mortification proved to be a good antidote to sleep. Shaking her arm, trying to restore blood flow, she forced her brain into gear. How had she ended up here? Her memory was sketchy. She remembered not wanting to stay home last night; her sister was in another bad mood and she didn’t want Lauren discovering she’d paid her catalogue bill. Lauren had complained of a headache – the same headache that had kept her away from rehearsal the previous night – and had retired to bed early. Declining her dad’s invitation to join him and the kids for a weekend away on his boat, Charlotte had headed out to Smugglers Inn to watch Barney’s gig.
She remembered enjoying his Beatles set, knocking back a couple of glasses of Prosecco, and dancing with Dusty. Dancing? Crikey, she never normally danced. Maybe she’d had more than two glasses? Suddenly the rest of the night’s events tumbled into her psyche: kissing Barney outside the pub, going back to his place, lying on the kitchen table minus her underwear, barely making it up the stairs before … Oh, God! Where were her knickers?
She scrabbled to an upright position, needing to get dressed and out of there as soon as possible, but the sound of the bedroom door opening scuppered her plans.
‘Morning, sleepy.’ Barney backed into the room carrying a tea tray. He was wearing snug-fitting boxer shorts, nothing else. ‘Hope you like crumpets.’ The sight of his tanned body, messy black hair and open smile was enough to still her efforts to flee.
Plus, she was naked.
She pulled the duvet closer. ‘What time is it?’ Her voice sounded croaky.
‘Just gone nine.’ He came around to her side of the bed and placed the tray down on the lamp table. ‘Did you sleep okay?’
She remembered now that she hadn’t meant to stay the night. Her attempts to leave had been overridden by Barney’s desire to ‘cuddle’ after they’d … Well, she didn’t want to think about exactly what they’d got up to. Suffice to say, it wasn’t her normal behaviour. What was wrong with her? She usually showed a lot more decorum. ‘I need to go.’
‘No, you don’t.’ He sat down on the bed, his weight pinning the duvet to the mattress.
‘Yes, I do.’ She tugged at the bedclothes. ‘I have somewhere to be.’
‘You told me last night you had nothing planned for the weekend. You were going to spend the day learning lines.’
Her irritation kicked up a notch. ‘Exactly. So, I’d better get on with it.’
‘Eat something first.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He responded by kissing her. It was so unexpected that it took her a good few seconds to object. His lips were warm and soft, the gesture so tender and very unlike the frantic exertions of the previous night. It was quite alarming. He pulled back. ‘Are you cold?’
‘No.’ Her shivers had nothing to do with the temperature. She tried to move, but was trapped by the entangled duvet and solid headboard. ‘Could you move, please?’
‘Not until you’ve eaten.’ He tore off a small piece of crumpet.
‘I told you, I’m not—’
He popped it into her mouth, the sensation almost as seductive as his kiss: hot, buttery and utterly delicious.
He watched her chew, a hint of smugness creeping into his smile. ‘Good?’
She nodded, albeit reluctantly.
He broke off another piece of crumpet.
She tried to take it from him. ‘I can feed myself.’
‘I know, but this way we both get to enjoy it. Open up.’ His gaze remained fixated on her mouth.
One more bite, she decided, and then she’d regain control.
‘How are you getting on with your lines?’ He licked his lips, mirroring her when she did the same. ‘You have a great mouth.’
‘Stop staring, you’re making me self-conscious.’ She swallowed another piece of crumpet. ‘It’s hard work and time-consuming.’
‘You did really well at rehearsal on Thursday.’
‘Liar.’
‘I’m not lying.’ He laughed, no doubt at her peeved expression. ‘The part is perfect for you.’
‘Excuse me?’ Had he lost his mind? ‘A mischievous green goblin who lives in a wood with a bunch of imps, has a highly suspicious relationship with the King of the Fairies, and flies around the forest planting spells on people whilst turning into various apparitions – including a horse?’
His laughter increased. ‘See? You’ve got it nailed.’
She poked her tongue out. ‘I’m still not happy about being coerced into taking the part.’
‘I know, but you’re very cute when you’re disgruntled.’ He fed her more crumpet, preventing her from speaking. ‘And I for one am very grateful.’
She accepted the mug of tea and took a sip. It was delicious. She certainly couldn’t fault his tea-making skills. She watched him take a bite out of his own crumpet, thinking about his other talents – and not just in the bedroom. The role of director suited him. He’d shown real maturity and sensitivity over the last two weeks, dealing with everything from upset actors, tearful children, and demanding backstage crew, to assuring Lauren he wouldn’t make her wear the awful dress Glenda had made for her. However much he protested, picking up responsibility and taking leadership suited him. He might not like it, but he was very good at it.
He seemed to sense her watching him and wiped his fingers on a paper towel. ‘So, you think Puck has a highly suspicious relationship with Oberon, huh?’
She sipped her tea. ‘Oh, please. All that master and servant stuff? Very dubious.’
‘I’m not sure Shakespeare intended it that way, but there’s no reason why we can’t develop our own interpretation’ – his lips brushed against her shoulder – ‘and explore their relationship in more depth.’
‘Stop it, you’ll spill my tea.’ He took the mug from her and placed it on the tray. ‘Hey, I was enjoying that …’
He kissed her.
However much her mind tried to fight it, her body betrayed her. He tasted of tea and hot buttered crumpet. Her senses flooded with pleasure as his weight settled on top of her. The kiss deepened … and then someone tapped on the bedroom door.
At the sound of Paul’s voice, Barney sat up, dislodging the duvet.
Frantically grabbing the cover, she only just managed to dive beneath it before the door opened. She lay perfectly still, hoping Paul hadn’t spotted her, or at least wouldn’t know it was her.
‘I’m off to work.’ Paul’s voice was muffled through the duvet. ‘I’m meeting Will for a drink tonight. Chances are I won’t be home till late.’
‘You’re not coming back to change into Dusty first?’ Barney’s movement made the mattress bounce, threatening to blow her concealment.
Sit still, damn you.
‘Will says he can’t have a serious conversation with me when I’m dressed up, as he puts it. He says Dusty’s too sarcastic.’
Barney laughed. ‘He has a point.’
Paul’s sigh conveyed his sadness. ‘That’s family for you.’
Charlotte had another flashback from the previous night. She remembered consoling Dusty for not being allowed to attend her brother’s wedding. She still found it hard to reconcile the mild owner of the boutique with his outrageous alter ego. They were very different beings.
‘See you later.’ Paul was leaving. Good. He hadn’t spotted her. She’d been saved from the indignity of being caught in a compromising position. ‘Bye, Charlotte.’
Damn it!
‘Nice bra, by the way.’ Paul’s laughter reverberated into the hallway.
She groaned. Would the humiliation ever end?
Barney peeled away the duvet. ‘You can come out now.’
She peeked over the top. ‘How did he know it was me?’
Barney smiled. ‘Who else was it likely to be?’
She gave him a knowing look. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Kayleigh, perhaps?’
His smile switched to a frown. ‘How many times …?’
‘Ah, so it’s okay for you to tease me, but not the other way around?’ She shuffled onto her elbows.
It took him a moment to realise she was joking. ‘That’s your idea of humour, is it?’ His hand slid under the duvet.
‘Stop it!’
‘No.’ His fingers found her midriff. ‘I deserve revenge. I’m still having nightmares about that woman.’
‘And so am I.’ She tried to wriggle away. ‘She’s the reason I got roped into playing Puck. Stop tickling me or I’ll go home!’
His hand stilled. ‘That’s blackmail.’
‘So is pinning me to the bed and force-feeding me crumpet.’
‘Yeah, but you secretly enjoy it.’ He delivered it almost as a question.
There was no way she was about to admit anything of the sort – even if her sister had been right when she’d said letting go would prove to be a great antidote for stress. Barney Hubble didn’t need any further encouragement in that department. He was a charming sweet-talker who’d coerced her into jousting, having intimate relations in public places, and had hoodwinked her into taking the role of Puck. Christ only knew what else he’d ‘persuade’ her to do if she let her guard slip any further. She needed to stick to her plan and ensure she was focused and ready for her employment tribunal in three weeks’ time. She couldn’t allow anything to derail her return to London, not even the enticement of a fit guy with an annoyingly engaging personality.
She shuffled back against the headboard, tucking the duvet under her arms so her breasts were covered. ‘Could you pass me my tea, please.’
‘Nice change of topic.’ He obliged, and then climbed into bed next to her. She tried to ignore the sensation of his arm brushing against hers.
‘Is that yours?’ She nodded to a framed picture of a George Eliot quote which hung on the wall. It’s never too late to be what you might’ve been.
He nodded. ‘It was my gran’s. It used to hang on the wall in her house. I always liked it.’
She sipped her tea. ‘Was she a doctor too?’
‘God, no. Gran ran her own catering company. She worked right up until she died aged seventy-four.’
‘Were you close?’
‘Extremely.’ His arms rested on his bent knees. ‘My parents worked long, unsociable hours, so I spent most of my youth at her house. She’s the one who encouraged my love of music. She’d put on Elvis films and we’d play along, her on the piano, me on guitar.’
He painted a nice picture. ‘Did you want to be a musician then, rather than a doctor?’
He rolled his head to look at her. ‘I don’t think I knew what I wanted. I still don’t.’ He sighed, his frustration evident. ‘My parents have decided they’ve been patient enough and have enrolled me on a specialist medical programme starting next month.’
‘And you don’t want to do it?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know.’ His head flopped back against the headboard. ‘My heart’s not really in it.’
‘Because you don’t think you’d be any good? Or because you genuinely don’t want to be a consultant?’
‘A bit of both.’
She handed him the empty mug. ‘Lovely cup of tea. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He stretched across to put the mug down.
She had to resist the temptation to trail her fingers down his back.
‘I don’t hate medicine, and I love helping people, it’s just the constant pressure and long hours I can’t stand. It’s relentless. Depressing.’ He settled next to her, closer than before. ‘I know you think I’m irresponsible and a waste of space.’
‘No, I don’t.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, I did.’ Her remark evoked another smile. ‘But that was before I got to know you. You’re not a bad doctor, whatever you might think. I’ve seen you in action. Look how you saved Jonathan.’
‘Not a good example.’
‘Why, because it left you traumatised?’
He flinched.
/> ‘It was a life-or-death situation and you didn’t have any professional back-up. I’m not surprised you found it upsetting. Anyone would’ve done, medically trained or not. Under the circumstances, you did amazingly well.’ She patted the back of his hand, feeling the need to offer some form of comfort, but not wanting to do anything too intimate. ‘But think of the other stuff, like how great you were with the kids on Wednesday. Freddie and Florence haven’t stopped practising their first-aid skills. I had to sit with my arm in a sling for an hour yesterday afternoon, and when Dad arrived to pick them up, they insisted on putting him and Sylvia into the recovery position. You made a real impact on them.’
He looked dejected. ‘So, you’re saying I should suck it up and return to medicine?’
‘No, I’m saying you should find a way of using your talents in such a way that it makes you happy. You’re fixated on what your parents want and how they see your career panning out. Surely all that medical training must be useful for something other than being a consultant?’
He raised both eyebrows. ‘You mean like working on a cruise ship, or something?’
She shrugged her shoulders, which was a bad move, as it dislodged the duvet, revealing a little too much flesh. ‘Possibly, but there must be other roles, like working abroad helping with emergency relief, or running clinics. Maybe even getting into education. You’re a natural teacher. I bet there are all manner of opportunities once you start looking into it.’
It was a mistake to get onto such a personal topic, especially as she’d just flashed her breasts at him. They weren’t in a relationship, they were ‘friends with benefits’, two people needing the distraction of physical pleasures to occupy their bodies and minds whilst they both sorted out their lives. Nothing more.
It was time to switch focus, particularly as his pupils had dilated and he was staring at her neck. ‘So, are you going to help me with my lines, or not?’
He moved her hair away from her shoulder. ‘Of course. Do you need me to get my script?’
‘Let me try without first, see how I get on.’ She refused to acknowledge the flutter of butterflies in her tummy when he kissed her shoulder. ‘I’ve learnt the bit with Oberon in the forest.’
The Summer Theatre by the Sea Page 22