‘Oh, it’s not a date, dear. There’s a whole busload going from the village. It’s a singles’ night.’
‘Ah, single and ready to mingle.’
‘There’ll be no mingling of any kind,’ she scoffed. ‘I just … please don’t take this the wrong way, dear. You know how fond I am of you and Georgie, you’re like the daughters I never had. But sometimes it does me good to be with people my own age. And you don’t want a doddery old codger like me cramping your style on Valentine’s night. You should be out with a nice young man. You aren’t offended, are you?’
‘Of course I’m not. I’m glad you’re getting out of the house for once. It will do you good, I worry about you.’
‘And I worry about you, too. Georgie has a date, I hear, why don’t you?’
‘I’m not ready yet. It takes time, you know?’
‘I do, dear, I do,’ she sighed wistfully. ‘Right, I’d better go and take my rollers out. Just because there’ll be no mingling doesn’t mean I can’t still show them the old broad has got it.’
‘You’ll always have it, Daphne,’ I said sincerely. I hoped I’d have half of her spunk at her age. We said our goodbyes and I put the phone down, then slapped my forehead. ‘Sloe gin! Damn it.’
I started to dial Charlie, but was halted by a knock at the door. I opened the top half, part of me hoping to see Miller’s face on the other side, as I always did when I heard a knock. The disappointment to find it wasn’t him was slightly offset by the fact that it was Heath. We’d become quite good friends since he’d started doing my gardening. We had this whole easy banter and harmless flirting thing going on.
‘Hey, Heath. You’re late, I was expecting you over this morning to plant the new seeds in my flower beds.’
‘Hey, Abbie. Sorry, something came up this morning.’ He flashed me an apologetic smile.
‘It seems Viagra really is working its magic in this village,’ I stated with a wink.
‘Oh God, you heard about that, too?’ he laughed. ‘Poor Mr. Spalding, the whole village seems to know.’
‘He has erectile dysfunction, too? Wow, it’s seriously doing the rounds.’
‘Too? Who else has it?’
‘Not my place to say. Sheila Vickers let it slip this morning.’
‘Well, she just told me about Mr. Spalding needing it. She’s such a gossip. I called in for a sausage roll for dinner, but she was all out, but while I was there she also told me that Mr. Vickers has wilted petunias, Mr. Bentley has piles, and Mr. Benson has ulcers.’
‘Oh my God, that’s so not what she told me earlier. Do you think she’s getting dementia? She’s been rubbing Anusol in Mr. Vickers’ mouth and Bonjela on his piles. She’s a health hazard, as well as an unwitting malicious gossip.’
‘Ouch! That mix up sounds painful. So, if Mr. Vickers has piles and ulcers, that means Mr. Benson or Mr. Bentley have wilted petunias or are in need of Viagra. Hmmm,’ he pondered as he crossed his arms and put one hand over his mouth as he rubbed his chin.
‘Steady on, Inspector Clouseau. This is turning into a Dilbury’s answer to Cluedo,’ I laughed. ‘Anyway, my borders can wait. Why aren’t you home getting ready for a date? It’s Valentine’s night.’
‘Why aren’t you getting ready?’ he shot back.
‘As if I’d go on a date so soon after breaking up with Miller. As it happens, I was cooking a lovely early steak dinner for Georgie, Daphne, and Charlie. But Georgie has a date of her own with the ever persistent Wayne, and Daphne is being taken to a tea dance in town by Mr. Bentley, whom I will neither confirm nor deny has floppy anything. So I’m left with too much food for just Charlie and me.’ I bit my lower lip as a light bulb went off in my head. Amazingly, Charlie was single at the moment too. I could set her and Heath up, they’d make quite the handsome couple. ‘If you don’t have a date, why don’t you join us? You’d be doing me a favour. Otherwise, I’ll probably end up in my pyjamas all day tomorrow scoffing all the leftovers in a fit of depression, and my arse doesn’t need the extra calories right now.’
‘You’ve got a great arse, Abbie. I hate skin and bone. I say feed it some extra calories.’ He gave me a grin that flashed off his nice teeth. Damn it. Why couldn’t I be over Miller already. Heath was super cute. But much as we got on, there just wasn’t any spark there for me.
‘Thank you, but any bigger and they’ll be shipping me off to the farmers’ market to be auctioned off as prize rump. So, join us?’
‘I can’t gate crash a girlie night,’ he protested.
‘I insist on it. In fact, she’s due over in an hour and a half, we were eating early because of Daphne not wanting to disrupt her own bedtime ritual. Why don’t you do what you’ve got to do in the garden while I cook, and you can come straight in when you’re done.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely positive,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ll make you a cup of coffee while I get on.’
‘Thanks, Abbie. It would have sucked being alone tonight. Second year in a row.’
I gave him a smile that told him I knew the feeling, even though this would only be my first one without Miller. I left Heath to it and shut the door, then busied myself in the kitchen. Anything to take my mind off what Miller might be getting up to with his newfound freedom. Or who he might be getting up to. I gritted my teeth as I thought of how gleeful Fi-Fi would be to hear we’d split up. If I knew her at all, she’d probably make a move on him again.
From what I’d heard, she was out for my blood. She’d called an ambulance the night of Annabelle’s wedding and had had to be admitted. Apparently she’d been put in a gynaecology bed, her ankles in foot stirrups, so they could place bags of ice on her hoo-hah to relieve the burning from my Vaporub in her orgasm cream pot. It had been three nights and two days before it had stopped burning and she’d been allowed home. I giggled to myself as I remembered the glee of hearing that news the first time around. She so deserved it. Though she had no proof it was me, she’d told everyone that it was and she was going to get me back. I reassured myself with the knowledge that even if Miller didn’t want me, he definitely wouldn’t want her.
I dashed back downstairs, wearing my ripped grey skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder black jumper, having dressed in record time. I’d only put on a touch of mascara, eyeliner, and lip-gloss, just to make a bit of an effort. Tonight was all about Heath and Charlie.
‘Are you done, Heath?’ I called, as I looked out to find him just finishing up in the dark, using a head torch to see what he was doing.
‘Two more minutes, but I’ll have to go home and change. I stupidly didn’t do the buttons up on the top of my coveralls and I’ve got mud all over my shirt.’
‘I’ve … I’ve got one of Miller’s shirts in the wardrobe. You can borrow that to save the trip,’ I offered, my stomach churning at the thought of someone else wearing it. It was the black one he’d loaned to me the first night we met, but he’d said to keep it when I’d offered to give it back to him when we were dating. It was all I had left of him.
‘Will it fit? I’ve got big guns,’ Heath grinned, flexing his muscles to prove it. Wow, I had a feeling that Charlie was going to be one happy girl tonight.
‘Trust me, so does Miller. I’ll fetch it down, just come in when you’re ready.’
‘Ok, thanks,’ he replied.
I ran back up and grabbed it, giving it one last sniff, even though it smelled nothing like Miller anymore. I could have sworn my memory kicked in and I got the aroma of cinnamon on it, though. I draped it over the end of the stair post in the hall and went to check on the potatoes.
‘Damn it, sloe gin!’ I uttered, slapping my forehead. I quickly dialled Charlie, hoping she hadn’t already left.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ she answered.
‘Well, that’s a new way to answer the phone. Is that how you used to do it down in the Cotswolds?’ I laughed.
‘Sorry, Abbie, I’m in pain. I stupidly decided to try and ski down the stairs and
I’m waiting for an ambulance, my wrist is killing me.’
‘You skied down the stairs? My God. In salopettes, goggles, and everything? Eddie the Eagle style?’
‘No,’ she laughed, then winced. ‘I was being sarcastic. I was rushing, as usual, and slid down them rather ungracefully, with language that Daphne would probably have given me one of her stern headmistress stares for.’
‘And you rang an ambulance? You could have just called me.’
‘You’re busy cooking for Daphne and Georgie, I didn’t want to bother you. I was going to call you before the ambulance got here.’
‘Actually, neither of them are coming for dinner now, they had better offers, but Heath’s here.’
‘Oooh, the sexy gardener I’ve yet to meet?’
‘The one and only, and I was thinking it would be a great night to set the two of you up.’
‘I thought he liked you?’
‘Once maybe, but that was ages ago. Are you really ok? I can come and wait with you.’
‘I’ll be fine, trust me. I’ve yet to fill you in on my list of medical disasters. This is nothing,’ she replied, just as I spotted blue flashing lights creeping down the lane.
‘The ambulance has just gone past. I’ll come to the hospital to sit with you.’
‘Abbie, honestly, I’ll be fine. Enjoy your night with Heath. Don’t ruin his evening just because I’m a klutz.’
‘Will you message me later, let me know how you’re getting on then?’
‘As soon as I can, I’ll send you an update. Sorry to let you down.’
‘Take care, Charlie.’
‘You too, have fun with Heath!’ she called before the line went dead.
‘Damn, there goes that plan,’ I sighed. ‘Oh pants, and the sodding sloe gin!’
‘Come on, don’t make me drink alone,’ I moaned, as I picked up the nearly empty bottle of wine I’d opened to go with our steak dinner.
‘I’m more a shorts man,’ Heath laughed, covering his water glass as I tried to pour the last of the wine into it.
‘You’ve definitely got the legs for it,’ I nodded.
‘And when have you been ogling my legs, Abbie Carter?’
‘I wasn’t really on woodworm watch when you caught me at the window, Heath … cliff.’ I burst into a fit of the giggles, and he laughed and shook his head.
‘It’s Heath Jones, not Heath Cliff. My God, woman, are you always this easy to get drunk?’
‘This doesn’t even qualify as tipsy!’ I announced, putting the bottle to my lips and guzzling the last few dregs. ‘I’m going to crack open the whisky and you’re going to join me.’
‘Abbie,’ he warned, shooting out a hand to steady me as I wobbled when I stood up too fast.
‘Don’t be a spoilsport. It’s Valentine’s night and we both have broken hearts, alcohol numbs the pain.’
‘Jesus, I think you’d better stick to accounting,’ he laughed as I staggered over to my drinks cupboard, singing Jason Donovan’s Too Many Broken Hearts, probably out of key.
‘Damn it, the cupboard’s empty,’ I whined, wondering how that had happened. Then again, I’d been drowning my sorrows most nights since Miller had left. ‘Come on, get your coat. We’re going to The Cock & Bull.’
‘They’ll talk, the two of us in there together on Valentine’s night,’ he warned.
‘Let ‘em,’ I stated firmly. ‘Besides, Sheila Vickers will get it wrong and tell everyone you need Miracle Grow, I need Anusol, and Mr. Bentley and Mr. Benson went on a Valentine’s date at The Cock.’
‘Don’t forget the petunias and waterworks problems,’ he reminded me, making me giggle. ‘Ok, come on then. I guess a few drinks doesn’t sound like a bad idea.’
The pub went silent as we walked in, especially as I was hanging onto Heath’s arm in an effort to stay upright. I’d never been able to hold my drink.
‘Evening all,’ I called, giving them a salute. ‘Eyes off me, one of the actual single girls in the village, I’ll have you know. You want to be looking at and gossiping about that … slut behind the bar. The finance stealer! No, no, not finance, that’s what I do. What’s it called, fiancé, ha, yes, slutty fiancé stealer,’ I announced proudly, pointing at her and wishing I’d had the guts to come in and do that for Georgie months ago.
‘Ermmm, that’s Tony’s wife, Joyce, not Rowena the barmaid,’ Heath whispered, as a collective gasp went around the pub.
‘Crap, really?’ I squinted as I looked closer and saw Joyce fold her arms across her chest and give me a glare. ‘Sorry, sorry, my bad. I was talking about Rowena, not Mrs. Dawson. I’m sure she’s not a slut, no, no, no. Unless of course Mr. Dawson likes that kind of thing in the bedroom. Do you–’ Heath clamped his hand over my mouth as I continued to drunkenly mumble.
‘Sorry, she’s had a few drinks,’ he confirmed loudly as he escorted me the short distance to the bar.
‘I’ll say,’ chuckled Tony, while his wife continued to glare at me. ‘What can I get you, Heath?’
‘Whisky for me, please. Abbie?’ he asked as he took his hand off my mouth.
‘I think she’s had enough,’ Mrs. Dawson stated firmly before I had a chance to place an order. ‘Serve her, Tony, and you’ll be celebrating Valentine’s night alone,’ she warned her husband as she headed up to the other end of the long bar to serve someone else.
‘Oh, come on!’ I moaned, pulling my best bottom-lipped pout.
‘Sorry, Abbie, you heard the missus.’
‘Spoilsport,’ I huffed, plopping myself on a high stool.
‘Tell you what, Tony. How about I buy a bottle of whisky to take away?’ Heath suggested, peeling some notes out of his wallet.
‘Now that I can do,’ Tony nodded, as I beamed gratefully at him.
‘You really can’t hold your drink, Abbie,’ Heath laughed as I tripped over a flagstone outside the pub entrance and nearly went flying until he caught me.
‘Easy for the man who’s had none to say.’
‘True. Come on, I don’t trust you wobbling down the gravel track, you’ll do yourself an injury. Let’s take the shortcut,’ he suggested, steering me around the side of the pub into the beer garden at the back.
‘There’s a shortcut? How did I not know this?’ I demanded.
‘Because it’s over two stiles and across a field, where you can’t go with Sumo.’
‘Why are you called Heath?’ I asked as he escorted me to the bottom of the beer garden, towards the rickety wooden structure that went over the fence into the field.
‘Because it’s my name,’ he replied dryly.
‘Well I know that, silly. But is it short for something?’
‘Yes, you said it earlier,’ he advised as he helped me up onto the wooden step.
‘Heath Jones?’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘That’s my surname. Swing your leg over and put that foot on the other step.’
‘You’re called Heath Heath Jones? What kind of name is that?’
‘It’s just Heath Jones. Heath, Christian name. Jones, surname.’
‘Ahhh,’ I nodded. ‘But what’s Heath short for? It is short for something, right?’
‘Promise not to laugh?’ he sighed, releasing my hand as I straddled the wooden fence and gripped it tightly.
‘Promise,’ I nodded solemnly. ‘Wow, I really am tipsy, I can see two of you. Hmmm, two Heaths. You really are Heath Heath Jones. Or would that be Heath Jones Heath Jones, or Heath Heath Jones Jones?’
‘Christ almighty. It’s Heathcliff,’ he muttered.
‘He … Heathcliff?’ I repeated, grimacing as I tried to hold in my laughter.
‘Yes, Heathcliff. I told you that you’d said it earlier. Everyone calls me Heath, thank God.’
‘Damn, I’m going to change my name to Catherine.’
‘Why Catherine?’ he asked, tucking the whisky bottle under his right arm as he stepped up to straddle the fence, facing me. I giggled and threw my arms wide as I looked up at the sky a
nd sang at the top of my voice, giving him my best rendition of Kate Bush’s Wuthering Heights.
‘Great, I’m never going to hear the end of it,’ he sighed. ‘Please don’t sing anymore, it’s definitely not one of your talents.’
‘Oh, Heathcliff. It gets so very, very dark and lonely without you,’ I chortled, desperately trying to remember the lyrics to tease him. He muttered something, right as there was a loud crack and I slid forwards down the fence at the same time as he did, our foreheads smacking together as we met somewhere in the middle. ‘Ow!’ I groaned and reached up to rub my head, Heath doing the same.
‘Jesus, Abbie. Are you ok?’
I screamed as there was another loud crack and we both dropped rapidly, Heath cursing as we landed astride the second rung of the fence and the whole thing started tipping to the right.
‘Heathcliff!’ I yelled as I clung tightly to the thin bit of wood between my thighs. Seconds later, I was on my side in the cold, wet grass, the piece of wood still in my grasp between my thighs. Heath was lying facing me with a grimace of pain on his face. ‘Owww,’ I groaned again, ‘something’s attacking my bottom and neck.’
‘Sting … ing … net … tles,’ he mumbled, his face still contorted. ‘We’ve landed in … stinging nettles.’ He let out a pained sound as I winced, the vicious plants attacking my skin through the rips in my jeans and where my jumper had exposed one shoulder. I scratched my neck hard, feeling a welt rising already.
‘Are you ok?’ I asked.
‘Crushed manhood,’ he moaned, his eyes screwed tightly shut. ‘Give me … a minute.’
‘Oh dear. Is the whisky ok?’
‘Great, the whisky’s more important than me having the ability to father children in the future?’ he grunted, slowly opening his eyes.
‘Right now, I’m thinking yes. Valentine’s blows.’ I reached out and grabbed the bottle from under his arm, then twisted the cap off and swigged some as I lay there before offering it to him. ‘Cheers, Heathcliff.’
‘Cheers, Abigail,’ he replied, knocking some back as I scowled. I hated my full name. Maybe I should just stick to his preferred one and him mine.
Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1) Page 17