by Anna Bell
‘She won’t be on her own, I’ll look out for her,’ says Gerry.
I’d actually much rather be on my own than grilled by Gerry, but I smile politely.
‘So, lovey, how are you getting on at the farm? Seen a lot of Jack around?’
‘Not recently, he’s been away for work, I think.’
‘Ah, his work,’ she says leaning in and sidling up a bit closer to me. ‘Has he told you what he does, per chance?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘what does he do?’ I wouldn’t usually indulge in such gossip, but I’m desperate to know.
‘I don’t know. No one does. He’s right secretive that one,’ she says tutting. If I weren’t so desperate to know, I’d probably admire the fact that he’s managed to keep his life so private from nosy Gerry and Liz. That must take some skill.
I look out the window to see how Rosie is getting on. I see her hang up the phone and start to cry. What’s going on with Rupert? Despite her calling him every couple of days they haven’t talked about what happened; why he came up or why he left so suddenly. If that was my husband, I’d have driven back down to the flat to have it out with him by now, but Rosie seems to have thrown herself into the DIY instead. I’ve been trying not to get involved, but I don’t think I can hold out much longer. If only I had the bloody Internet I could just drop him an email to get him to come up and see her.
The poster for the barn dance catches my eye, and I suddenly wish he’d come to it. Perhaps getting them together on neutral turf will be just what they need.
‘Have you got any extra posters?’ I ask Gerry, pointing at the wall.
‘We’ve got stacks of them. Liz always goes overboard. Just take that one, I’ll replace it.’
‘Thanks, Gerry.’
I unpin it from the noticeboard and, nabbing a pen from a sign-up sheet near the entrance, I scrawl a quick note as close as I can to Rosie’s distinctive loopy handwriting.
Ru,
I miss you. Please come to this so we can talk. I’m sorry for everything.
xx
‘Gerry, I don’t suppose I could pop this in the post now, could I?’ I say walking back over to her. I pull my purse out of my bag to look for some change for a stamp.
‘I can take it and post it first thing tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ I’m about to hand it over, when I realise a glaring error in my grand plan. ‘Bugger, I don’t have an envelope.’
She goes over to the small office of the village hall and pulls me one out. ‘There you go.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, smiling.
I quickly address it the best I can. With them living in the penthouse of their building, the address is easy to remember.
‘I don’t know the postcode.’
‘I’ll look it up for you,’ says Gerry, helpfully.
‘Thank you, that’s super kind.’ OK, so living in a tiny village might mean you don’t have any privacy, unless your name is Jack, but they make up for it with helpfulness.
Gerry tucks my envelope in her bag and wanders off.
‘You look miles away,’ says Trish as she walks up to me.
‘I think I was,’ I say bringing myself back into the room.
‘You and Rosie did well with the yoga. I hope that you’ll come back again?’
‘Absolutely. I mean, I’m not here for very much longer, but while I’m here I will.’
‘That’s great. So are you coming to the barn dance on Friday?’
‘That seems to be the hot topic of conversation at the moment.’
‘Well, there aren’t many occasions to get all dressed up. I mean, the Black Horse doesn’t really have a dress code.’
‘So everyone goes all out?’
‘Oh yes,’ she says, her eyes sparkling. ‘Well, I wear jeans and a shiny top, but I even put make-up on.’
‘Wow,’ I say, stroking my face and wondering when it was that I stopped putting mine on every morning.
‘Hope you’ve got some glad rags with you.’
‘Actually, I do,’ I say, thinking through my unsuitable suitcase full of clothes that I brought with me. ‘Will a tunic dress and leggings do?’
‘Absolutely. To be honest, anything goes, except the usual fleeces and hiking boots. It gets hot and sweaty in here with all those bodies, and the boots aren’t conducive for dancing . . .’
‘Good tip.’
‘Well, I must go and start putting the mats away as the bridge club are in at eight. But I’m so glad you came,’ she says rubbing my arm. ‘I’ll see you on Friday.’
‘See you then,’ I say, realising that the room has thinned out now and everyone’s returning their cups and saucers to the table in the centre of the room.
I hover for a minute wondering if I should help Trish, but she looks like she’s got the situation under control and I’d only get in her way. So, instead, I mutter my goodbyes and I go to find Rosie.
She’s sitting on the bench outside the village hall. The tears have stopped, but the melancholy look remains.
‘Don’t worry, sis. It’ll all be fine,’ I say, hoping that my letter in the post will be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Time since last Internet usage: 2 weeks, 5 days, 20 hours, 11 minutes and 9 seconds
I’m not sure if it’s last night’s yoga, the Cumbrian air, or the fact that almost three weeks of physical labour have left me knackered, but I seem to have slept in – again! – this morning. I wake up in a panic and gulp as I see that it’s after 11 a.m.
I know that I’m not being paid to work, and that I’m not on a help-ex arrangement like Alexis, but I don’t want to be a total slob.
I pull myself out of bed, feeling surprisingly supple, as the muscle ache I’ve had over the last few days has gone. Thank you, Trish’s yoga! Hastily, I throw on my old tracksuit bottoms and old misshapen gym T-shirt, which are destined to be splattered with paint over the next few hours, and I scrape my hair into a messy topknot.
Upstairs is eerily quiet, and if Rosie was working in the bathroom, the radio would be booming. I pad downstairs as I can hear voices from the kitchen, and feel instantly relieved that they’re all sitting around and not hard at work – although the relief is short-lived when I spot Jack at the table.
I freeze like a rabbit in headlights and my heart starts to race quicker than a Formula One car.
I wonder if I could creep back upstairs and maybe brush my hair, or at least my teeth, and put on some clothes that don’t look as if I’ve got my wardrobe mixed up with MC Hammer’s.
‘Ah, there you are,’ says Rosie, sliding a mug towards an empty chair and pointing at the teapot in the centre of the table.
Now that it’s too late to escape, I walk slowly towards the table, not wanting to draw any more attention to my baggy trousers than necessary.
‘Jack just came round to deliver us our post. The postman had put it in his box by mistake while he was away and he thought he’d bring it round in case we were waiting for it.’
‘That’s nice of you. When did you get back?’ I try and add an air of casualness to my question, despite already knowing that he was back, as I saw him kissing Jenny.
Jenny.
‘Oh shit,’ I accidentally say out loud. I forgot to go back and delete the other message from her.
‘What’s wrong?’ says Rosie snapping her head round.
‘I spilt my tea,’ I say, grabbing a tea towel and mopping up the non-existent spill on my trousers.
I chance a look at Jack, and he’s giving me a cold stare as if he knows what I did. Even though he doesn’t know for certain that I’m the guilty one. Alexis was there too, for all he knows he did it. Besides, I’m the one who should be cross with him. I may have accidentally deleted an answerphone message, an easy mistake to make, but he accidentally forgot to tell me he had a girlfriend when he was leading me on with his letters and near kisses.
‘Are you feeling all right this morning?’ whispers Rosie, taking back the mug she had passed t
o me and pouring tea into it.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, trying to smile and reassure her as she slides the mug towards me.
‘I got back yesterday,’ Jack replies holding my gaze. ‘Something urgent came up.’
And we all know what that was, or should I say, who that was.
Rosie picks up a brown envelope that looks suspiciously like it’s come from the planning office, and a postcard falls out from under it.
‘Ah, here’s one for you from Erica,’ says Rosie as she turns it over. I snatch it out of her hands before she gets a chance to read it.
Dear Daisy,
Just a quickie to say I miss you! We’ve got six viewings for the flat lined up for next week, which means I’ve become obsessed with my Rightmove app. I can’t wait to find my dream pad!
Anyway, I want to know about you and your men? How’s that search for a holiday fling going? You’d better get some action before you come home, with either handsome Jack or hottie Alexis, or else you’ll be in trouble with me! A fling is just what Dr Erica ordered. I want to hear all the gossip!
Love and miss you,
Erica xxx
I can’t believe she sent a postcard! It would have been bad enough if Rosie had intercepted it, but for it to have landed in Jack’s mailbox? Man alive. I reread it, and try and calm myself down, convincing myself that there were worse things she could have written. At least she only called him handsome . . .
‘So, we’re all set for the barn dance on Friday. Are you going?’ Rosie asks Jack.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve got quite a lot on work wise, and it’s a bit complicated.’
Work, my arse; I know exactly why it’s complicated.
‘Oh, right, work,’ I say a little sarcastically.
He looks at me, the scolding still there. ‘Yes, actually it is work. It’s very busy at the moment, and recently I didn’t get an important message,’ he says raising an eyebrow. I raise mine back and purse my lips. He’s not getting a confession out of me that easily.
‘It’s a shame you won’t be there,’ says Rosie, blowing on her tea, oblivious to the subtext of the conversation. ‘Oh well, Alexis will have to do lots of dancing with us, then.’
‘I’m an excellent dancer,’ he says.
‘Modest too,’ I say.
‘Bien sûr, of course, and my first dance will be with you,’ he says looking at me with his dimpled grin. ‘I am happy to be your boyfriend again.’
I notice Rosie looking at us with alarm, but before she can say what she’s thinking, Jack stands up, his chair dragging noisily across the floor.
‘Right, I’m off. I’m going for a walk with Buster over to Angel Hill. I’ll see you around, then.’
‘I guess you will,’ I say a little frostily. He might be pissed off at me that I rifled through his things and accidentally deleted a message, but that’s hardly the same as him concealing a secret girlfriend, is it?
‘This ’ill,’ says Alexis, ‘it’s tall?’
‘Yeah, it’s the biggest around.’
‘Can I go with you?’ he says quickly, his eyes lighting up.
‘Sure,’ says Jack, shrugging his shoulders with indifference.
‘It’s OK?’ he says looking at Rosie.
‘Fine with me, you’ve already done more than enough work this morning. Unlike some people.’
I try and hide my shame of waking after eleven.
‘I’ll get my shoes,’ he says hurtling up the stairs.
‘Thanks for the tea, Rosie,’ Jack says, heading towards the door, and it’s then that I realise Buster has been nestled under the table as he starts to jump excitedly around.
‘No problem,’ she says standing up and glancing out of the window. ‘Ah, there’s the electrician, I want to grab him before he starts work to talk to him about the barn.’
She hurries out the door to accost the poor electrician while he’s unloading his tools from the car.
Great. Now it’s just me and Jack while he waits for Alexis. Neither of us says a word to one another, and I’m just waiting for the tumbleweed to roll through.
‘It’s always a shame when you find out someone’s being lying to you,’ he says eventually, in almost a whisper.
At first I wonder if I heard him correctly. It’s as if he could read my mind.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I say, standing up and folding my arms defensively.
‘All that stuff you said about it being so hard to find a man who actually wants to commit, and how you’re ready to settle down but that men only seem to be after one thing,’ he says, shaking his head.
Now I’m confused.
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘The postcard and that article. I know you shouldn’t believe everything you read, but . . .’
Rosie comes through the door, chattering away to the electrician as she leads him to the lounge. She briefly looks at us, as if she senses the atmosphere, but she carries on explaining the work that needs doing.
I’m so lost in this conversation. What’s Jack talking about? What article?
He opens the door and it looks like he’s not even going to elaborate.
‘You can’t just go,’ I say, frustrated that he’s started something he’s not going to finish.
He hesitates as he steps over the threshold, before turning back and thrusting a piece of paper towards me.
‘You left this at my house,’ he says, handing me the letter from E.D.S.M.
My heart sinks. That incriminates me. It puts me at the scene of the crime of the answerphone.
I stare at the letter, I’d totally forgotten all about it, what with finding out about him and Jenny.
Jack doesn’t wait for a reaction, he simply follows Buster as he bounds off across the courtyard.
‘That was a swift exit,’ says Rosie as she walks back into the kitchen alone.
I try and laugh it off as I shut the door, but I can’t.
‘It’s a shame that he won’t be there for the dance,’ she says, not realising the magnitude of what just happened.
‘Is it?’ I say, walking over to the table and sitting back down.
‘Yes, he strikes me as a nice guy, and I got the impression that he quite liked you. He was most inquisitive about where you were this morning. He seemed very disappointed that you were still sleeping. You know, he took an awful long time over his tea,’ she says nudging my elbow.
I’m about to protest when Alexis comes bounding down the stairs.
‘’As he gone?’
‘Oh, I think Buster was getting restless. I’m sure he’s just up the drive,’ I say dismissively.
He gives us a wave and heads off outside.
‘What’s that?’ asks Rosie.
I’m busy thinking about Jack, and processing what just happened, so it takes me a second to realise what she’s talking about. I look down at my hands and see the letter from the mysterious company.
‘Oh this? It came for me in the post; I think it’s probably some type of joke.’
Rosie takes it and reads for herself and I replay this morning’s events over in my head.
I can’t believe he said I lied to him. I’ve been nothing but honest. He’s the one who’s been keeping secrets – about what he does, about him dating Jenny. And it’s not like I wrote that postcard; it’s not my fault Erica’s encouraging me to get some.
‘Wow. How random. E.D.S.M. – do you think it’s some sort of bondage company with a typo?’
I half smile. ‘I’m still not sure what to make of it.’
‘Are you going to phone them?’
‘I don’t know. It could be anyone, couldn’t it?’ I sigh and take it back off Rosie to reread it. ‘It does worry me, though, what if this is my only option? I can’t imagine that the job offers will be flooding in. You know, if I had the Internet I’d google them.’
‘Or look them up on Companies House to see if they’re legit,’ she says nodding. ‘Perhaps you should
just ring them to see what they have to say.’
‘But what if it’s like some fake sheikh sting?’
‘You sent one tweet, I don’t think you’re that famous.’
‘Maybe,’ I say. The thought of ringing someone work related makes me feel sick. It’s been so easy to hide away here with the Internet and to ignore my career meltdown. I don’t know if I’m ready to face all that yet.
I look around the kitchen and wonder what I’m doing here. Alexis is due to go next week and acting as a chaperone was the main reason I was staying for so long. I’ve also managed three weeks on my detox, which I’m sure even Rosie would agree is above and beyond what was expected.
Sooner or later, I’m going to have to face up to the muddle my life is in, and Jack’s outburst this morning has made it easier for me to leave.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Time since last Internet usage: 3 weeks, 20 hours, 28 minutes and 18 seconds
For the past forty-eight hours my mind’s been in a maelstrom. I keep replaying what Jack said over and over, analysing what I should have said to get to the bottom of it. Then on top of that, I can’t stop thinking about the letter from E.D.S.M. and wondering who they are and if I’m brave enough to give them a call?
Rosie must have twigged how distracted I’ve become as she’s summoned me over to the well for an emergency detox meeting.
‘So what is it, then? An extra special meditation session, whilst channelling the well’s magical healing powers?’ I say. ‘I was busy working when Alexis gave me the message.’
‘Busy working?’ she says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Is that code for flicking through Good Housekeeping again for inspiration?’
‘Maybe.’ She knows me too well. ‘It’s important to get ideas for the planning.’
‘Uh-huh. Sure. Sorry to have dragged you away, but I thought this was more important. You haven’t been yourself since you got that letter.’
. . . And I had that argument with Jack.
‘So, I was thinking, I think it’s time.’
‘Time for what?’ First Jack, and now Rosie. Why is everyone talking in bloody riddles?
‘Time, my little sister, to end the detox.’