Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1)

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘Like you youngsters have the monopoly on sexy bedroom shenanigans,’ Daphne chuckled. ‘That book injected a bit of passion back into our lives and led to David’s hip replacement operation being moved forward. They couldn’t understand how it had worn down so fast from his last X-ray.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I moaned, as Georgie continued to snort.

  ‘I’m pretty sure you mean the book Fifty Shades, Daphne, but if there really is a saucy one called Fifty Shakes, I might have to look it up,’ she added.

  ‘Really, it’s shades and not shakes?’ Daphne mused as I finally uncovered my eyes, wondering if I was dreaming this frankly awkward conversation. ‘I thought it was shakes because it was the amount of times his penis was milked. I did try keeping count of all of the sex scenes, but was too busy trying to re-enact some of them.’

  ‘Hahaha,’ Georgie screeched, throwing herself back in the armchair and clutching her sides as some tears rolled down her face, while I sat with my mouth ajar. ‘Please … stop, you’re … killing me,’ she gasped, trying to wipe her eyes. ‘So I have a saucy author living next door to me? What does she look like? You’d imagine them to be sexy minxes, but I’ve heard some of them look like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.’

  ‘No idea, dear,’ Daphne replied, picking up her knitting and sitting back in the chair. ‘She moved in while I was having my afternoon nap yesterday. Why don’t you nip around and introduce yourselves?’

  ‘I think we ought to. Come on, Abbie. It’s not like we can eat the rest of our cream tea.’

  ‘Not since you burned it,’ I reminded her.

  ‘True.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood to be nice. Can’t we just look over the hedge and see if we can spot her first? It’ll give me time to adjust to this disturbing news about … all of our neighbours.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t read those kind of books, Abbie Carter,’ Daphne scoffed as her knitting needles clacked together, and she gave me a look over the top of her glasses. ‘We’ve all heard the noises coming from your bedroom in the hot summer months, when Miller stayed over and you left your windows open.’

  ‘Ok, that’s it. Disturbing sex talk tolerance has reached its maximum quota,’ I said firmly, shooting up from my seat as Georgie giggled and nodded her agreement. ‘Let’s go check out this mistress of erotica, then I’m going to bake a fresh batch of scones and we can start this weird afternoon all over again and erase it from my mind with our usual afternoon tea banter.’

  ‘I quite enjoyed this, I haven’t laughed so much in ages,’ Georgie stated as she stood up. ‘You’re not coming to spy on our neighbour, Daphne?’

  ‘Much as I’m dying to meet her and grill her, I’ll invite her over one afternoon. Or better yet, invite her around now, or at least come back with the gossip for me. I’m warm and comfortable and I want to finish this new jumper for Mr. Sumo. They’ve forecast snow for tomorrow.’

  ‘He does love them,’ I agreed, bending to give her a quick peck on the cheek. She smiled back at me and I felt my cheeks flush. I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed at her hearing my sex noises or at the thought of her and David with handcuffs … no, don’t go there, Abbie.

  ‘Why are we doing this?’ Georgie complained as we crawled on our hands and knees along the thin strip of green grass that bordered the naked field running along the back of all of our cottages.

  ‘We don’t want her to see us watching her,’ I replied as we approached her garden.

  ‘Why can’t we just knock on the door with a cup of sugar, like most neighbours would do?’

  ‘Because apparently I’m so out of sorts, I’d give her a cup of salt and likely poison her!’ I retorted, still annoyed with myself. ‘Besides, she’s probably sexy and glamorous. I don’t want to meet her when I’m looking like crap, dressed in my leggings and a baggy jumper.’

  ‘Honestly,’ Georgie huffed, then squealed when I pushed her flat onto her front. I’d found a gap in the hedge which would be perfect for spying, as our new neighbour was the only one of us that didn’t have a back gate. ‘What now?’

  ‘We watch and we wait,’ I replied as I lay next to her, our eyes trained on the back of the cottage. The plot of land that all four cottages had been built on was a sort of triangular shape, with this cottage having the smallest rear garden, and mine, at the other end of the lane, the largest. We were much closer to her house and could see right into her lounge and kitchen through the expanse of modern glass bi-fold doors the previous owners had put in. We could see piles of boxes in the middle of each room, and I felt sorry for this woman. I remembered being surrounded by them when I moved into Dad’s cottage and not knowing where to start.

  ‘I can hear a tractor in the field next door,’ Georgie whispered. ‘It’ll be all around the village if we’re spotted lying here, spying on our neighbour.’

  ‘Sssshhhh,’ I warned, spotting movement in the kitchen. ‘You know old Richard Davies is as blind as a bat. He won’t spot us over the hedge as he goes past.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be driving full stop with that eyesight. Have you seen his glasses? Like the bottom of beer bottles. Honestly, I’m more worried about him missing the hedge and ploughing right through it. And us!’

  ‘Sssshhhh, look, she’s there.’ I nudged Georgie as our new neighbour came and stood at the glass doors of her kitchen diner to look out over the garden.

  ‘Wow, so not what I expected.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I agreed, as we looked at the very pretty blonde around our age. She was shorter than us, petite with a curvaceous figure à la Marilyn Monroe. ‘I’d always imagined that authors of the racy books I read weren’t in fact sex Goddesses who typed away in stockings and suspenders, sexy basques and fluffy pink marabou feather slippers, but were middle-aged women in food-stained pyjamas with matted bed hair and unbrushed teeth.’

  ‘Does anyone even buy marabou slippers anymore?’

  ‘I bet Daphne has a pair. I’m seriously disturbed after hearing all of that this afternoon.’

  ‘Me too,’ giggled Georgie. ‘Oh my God, have you just farted?’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed, shooting her a look.

  ‘Has Sumo followed us out here?’ she mumbled, as she hauled her jumper up to cover her nose.

  ‘Jesus,’ I groaned, doing the same. ‘Georgie! Even Sumo’s eyes would water with that.’

  ‘It’s not me, thank you very much!’ she huffed, raising her voice over the roar of the approaching tractor.

  ‘Well, I doubt it’s our new neighbour. Look at her, with her perfect figure. She looks too angelic to fart. All she’s missing is a halo on top of those ridiculously gorgeous blonde curls.’

  ‘Everyone farts,’ she scoffed, ‘even little Miss Perfect there. And I bet even if she doesn’t bottom burp, with the amount of sex she has to have to come up with the material to write those stories, she probably fanny farts all the time.’

  ‘Fanny farts,’ I giggled, for the first time in weeks. ‘I love you, Georgie, you can always pull me out of my pit of gloom.’

  ‘Abbie, seriously, what have you eaten?’ she yelled as Richard the farmer drew level with us over the hedge to our left.

  ‘It’s not me! Trust me, I’ve never farted something that toxic before,’ I yelled back.

  ‘Can we go home now that we’ve seen her?’ Georgie shouted. ‘It’s raining now as well, we’re going to get all muddy.’

  ‘Fine,’ I agreed with a sigh, then a cough and a choke as the God-awful smell became unbearable. My eyes widened in horror as I saw the light “rain” splatter on Georgie’s cream jumper. ‘Shit!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘I know, I should have put my wellies on,’ she grumbled as she struggled up onto all fours and her jumper slipped down from her mouth.

  ‘No, shit! It’s raining shit,’ I shrieked, as a large dollop smacked her in the side of the face and the brown liquid mess started sliding down her cheek. She looked at me wide-eyed and screamed as we both got pelted with forceful
jets of wet cow manure coming over the hedge from Richard’s muck-spreading machine. I scrunched up my eyes and protected them with my hands as I just lay there, waiting for it to pass, while Georgie tried to get up to make a run for it. Plop after plop of poo fell onto my back, the warm mess weaving itself into my hair as my eyes watered from the smell. Great, just … great!

  ‘Abbie!’ Georgie screamed. I slowly pushed myself up to sit back on my feet and used my hands to smear the poop-soaked wet hair back from my face, shuddering to feel the hot, thick sludge coating me. I looked around to see Georgie had tripped and was lying face down in the ploughed field, so much poo on her back she almost blended into her surroundings. I started giggling. The giggle became a laugh. Then the laugh became a full-on roar as my shoulders shook. ‘It’s not funny. First salty scones, then I found out my pensioner neighbours were having more exciting sex than me, then I get covered in cow poo, now mud. I’ve had a seriously shitty day,’ she howled as she struggled up, then turned to face me, a combination of poo and mud coating her front as well.

  ‘A shitty day! That’s the understatement of the year,’ I laughed as I scuttled on my hands and knees away from our neighbour’s back hedge, though I was sure she’d have heard the noise we were making.

  ‘How can you laugh at this?’ Georgie moaned, globs of cow manure dropping from her as she stood there, unrecognisable.

  ‘Because it could only happen to us, and if I don’t laugh right now, I’ll probably cry,’ I stated, as I scrambled up once I’d reached the boundary of Georgie’s garden. ‘Come on, let’s go hose off.’

  ‘I’m never forgiving you for this,’ Georgie huffed, as we headed through her back gate and trudged up her garden. ‘I feel sick from the smell.’

  ‘Of course you’ll forgive me. I’m your best friend, and if you’re going to get showered in manure, who better to do it with than me?’

  ‘My jumper’s ruined.’ She shot me a glare as we came to a halt outside her grooming cabin.

  ‘I’ll get you a new one. Honestly, it could have been worse.’

  ‘How?’ she grumbled as we both took a deep breath and sealed our mouths and eyes shut as we hauled our soaked jumpers over our heads.

  ‘We could have been spotted like this by Miss Perfect next door.’ I tossed my jumper onto the floor and pulled my t-shirt off as well.

  ‘I guess,’ Georgie agreed, doing the same as I kicked off my trainers. ‘How humiliating would that have been?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I agreed.

  We both stripped down to our underwear, not convinced the poo hadn’t soaked through our clothing. Some had definitely run down inside Georgie’s jumper. She unravelled the hose she used to clean off some of the bigger dogs that didn’t fit in the specially designed sinks for the dog baths inside. I braced myself and shrieked as the cold water hit me, and Georgie did a circuit, making sure to clean my hands, then letting me cover my nose, mouth, and eyes before she did my hair. It was going to take more than a cold hose down to get this smell off us both.

  ‘Ok, do me,’ she ordered as I stood there shivering. Of all the days to need a freezing cold outdoor shower, we had to pick a crisp winter afternoon. She screamed like she was being murdered as I turned up the pressure to blast her clean. ‘I hate you, Abbie Carter!’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ I laughed.

  ‘Hello?’ came a soft and sultry voice. ‘Is everything ok?’ We turned to face the paved drive that led down the side of Georgie’s house to her dog-grooming cabin. Our new neighbour was leaning on the wide wooden gate, watching us with an amused smile on her face.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ muttered Georgie under her breath as she flashed me a glare.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt your … whatever it is you’re doing in your wet underwear, but from the screams, I thought you might need some help.’

  ‘We’re awesome, thanks,’ I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. I wished I could cover more of my non-bikini-season body and seriously hoped I’d shaved my legs recently. Even without make-up, all fresh faced, this girl was a knockout.

  ‘Just hosing off cow manure,’ Georgie added, putting her hands on her hips as she tossed her wet hair back over her shoulder and tried to strike a sexy pose as she pulled in her stomach.

  ‘We were walking the dog in the field,’ I lied, ‘when the muck spreader went past.’

  ‘Really, and I thought it was that you were lying like army commandos, spying on me through my hedge,’ she grinned.

  ‘I really hate you right now, Abbie,’ Georgie glared in my direction again as I felt my cheeks flame. ‘It was her idea,’ she added, flicking an accusing thumb at me.

  ‘Don’t worry, my reputation precedes me. I’m used to people wanting to see the “hussy” next door. I’m Charlotte, by the way, but most people call me Charlie.’ She flashed a warm smile as she held out her hand.

  ‘Georgie Basset. So sorry, it was my stupid best friend’s idea. I wanted to come and knock on your door like normal people would,’ Georgie advised as she went to shake Charlie’s hand.

  ‘I wasn’t feeling glamorous and I didn’t want you to see me looking a mess, but now you’ve ended up seeing us in our wet underwear, stinking of cow shit,’ I added as I shook her hand too. ‘Abbie Carter, and I really am sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You’ve just inspired a whole “hot lesbians in the country” novel.’

  ‘Not lesbians,’ we both stated firmly.

  ‘Why don’t you go and change and come over for a drink? I’ve no idea where the kettle is, but I’ve got my shot glasses and some alcohol out.’

  ‘A girl with my own priorities,’ Georgie laughed.

  ‘We’re actually supposed to be heading back to Daphne’s next door,’ I reminded Georgie, before turning back to Charlie. ‘Her husband just died and we were having afternoon tea with her. Why don’t you give us ten minutes and head over there instead? She has whisky, as well as hot drinks,’ I suggested.

  ‘I won’t be intruding?’ Charlie asked, her dark brown eyes reminding me of Miller’s.

  ‘Trust me, she’s eager to meet you too. And from what we learned this afternoon, she’ll be grilling you for sex tips when she’s ready to get back on the horse. She’s not as innocent as she looks. Plus, as the village gossip, your book sales in Dilbury will soon go through the roof.’

  ‘Excellent! Ok, I’ll go rummage out a bottle of wine for her. See you in a while.’

  ‘Bye,’ we both called as we watched her walk back up Georgie’s front drive and head left to her house, her perfectly rounded bottom swaying sexily as she went.

  ‘Owww,’ I moaned as Georgie punched me in the arm.

  ‘Great way to impress the sexy new neighbour, dripping wet in my unmatching underwear and stinking of shit. I’m so going to get you back for this.’

  ‘Sing a new tune,’ I replied, gathering up my wet clothes after first making sure they were inside out to avoid getting any more poo on me. ‘I’m taking the back route home before I’m seen by anyone else. Knowing my luck, Heath will be bush trimming as I walk up the front path in my underwear.’

  ‘At least he could help you out, you’re overdue a trim. A wax isn’t just seasonal, you know,’ Georgie laughed.

  I scowled at her, then spun around and squelched my way down her garden path. I headed out through her back gate to the ploughed field and turned left to head along the hedge to my gate. I’d had enough humiliation for one day. At least this way, I’d avoid being seen.

  ‘Hello, Abbie,’ came a chorus of amused voices. I stood there mortified, dressed in just my wet underwear, clutching my bundle of clothes in front of me, as a large group of elderly village ramblers walked past me, some of the men eyeing me up and down.

  ‘Ermmm, hel … hello,’ I stuttered. ‘Was a lovely afternoon for a dip in the river, absolutely lovely.’

  ‘In your see-through underwear in the middle of winter?’ chuckled Mr. Greggs, the village hall caretaker.

  I felt my cheeks burn as I scur
ried through my gate and ran back to my house before anyone else saw me. Life at the moment just sucked.

  Saturday

  ‘What’s wrong? You’ve not been yourself since I arrived yesterday,’ Miller asked as he massaged my shoulders. He was sitting on the sofa and I was on the floor leaning back between his legs, as Sumo slept next to him while we watched a film in front of the fire. I drew in a deep breath, trying to pluck up the courage to start the conversation I’d been wanting to have with him since we’d had a disagreement about it. The day Miller had disappeared to clear his head. The day David had died.

  ‘Where are we going, Miller?’

  ‘Back up to bed when the film finishes?’ he replied, sounding confused. I shuffled forwards and spun around to sit cross-legged on the floor as I looked up at him.

  ‘I meant us. We’ve been dating for thirteen months and I’m not sure how much longer I can do this long-distance thing, snatching time with each other here and there.’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed, scrubbing his hands up over his handsome face, then running his hands through his ruffled hair. ‘I’ve been thinking about it too, especially since our discussion on Christmas Day. You really won’t consider trying out New York with me?’

  ‘How can I? We’ve already discussed this. There’s my job, and I don’t want to think about retraining yet in case I hate living over there. Then there’s Sumo, who can’t fly, and Daphne, who needs me, and … and …’ I hesitated and looked down at my fingers intertwined in my lap. ‘I’m just not ready to leave here, Miller. It’s my family home. It’s the last connection I have to my parents.’

  ‘Well, I can’t move here, Abbie.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’ I asked, lifting my head to look at him. I felt the air get sucked out of my lungs, like it did every time our eyes locked.

  ‘Both, I guess,’ he offered with an apologetic shrug.

  ‘Why not? I know Dilbury isn’t exactly cosmopolitan, but we have high-speed broadband for you to work from here, and you have the private airfield down the road so you can keep chartering your own plane when you need to go back to New York for business. Your best friend lives in Shrewsbury now and you have no family over there. It makes more sense for you to live here than for me to live there.’