by Dawn Harris
When Julian got home, Sheila took one look at his sparkling eyes, kissed him and queried with warm affection, ‘What have you been up to, you old devil?’ She hadn’t seen that look of purpose for far too long.
Laughing, he hugged her. ‘Oh, nothing really, love. It’s just this project with the boys putting new life into me. I feel as if I’m doing something useful again.’ Having never kept anything from her before, he felt decidedly guilty.
But she just sighed thankfully. ‘Didn’t I tell you work wasn’t everything in life?’
‘Frequently, my darling,’ he grinned. ‘Without you, my love, I reckon I would have gone under. You’re always there when I need you, helping, advising. Loving me,’ he murmured. ‘I’m a very lucky man.’ He’d tell her the truth if it came off. If it didn’t..... He shrugged. He’d worry about that if it happened.
Once the first euphoria had passed, of course, he’d discovered the project wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. But it wasn’t in his nature to give up. In the end, the outcome surprised even him. Naturally, he’d given considerable thought to where success, or failure, would lead. But at no time did it occur to Julian that his photograph would be plastered across the front of a daily newspaper. That same tabloid the boys had left on the table.
COUNCILLOR TURNS TO CRIME screamed the headline. And the photograph was positively sinister. Sheila, who now knew what he’d done, leaned over his shoulder and began reading the report.......
‘A large sum of money left in Fielding’s office safe over the weekend had disappeared when staff arrived on Monday. There was no sign of a break-in.’ She paused. ‘From this beginning, contestants in the paper’s recent short story competition were asked for entertaining and believable stories on how this crime was carried out.’ Sheila went on proudly, ‘And we are pleased to announce that Julian Black’s highly ingenious and amusing entry wins the £10,000 prize.’
When Lightning Strikes
Sometimes sisters are a real pain. Take mine; with three children all under five, Kate ought to be too exhausted to worry about my love life. And definitely too exhausted to organise dinner parties.
‘Just a few friends,’ she says. ‘And this gorgeous man.’ She ignores my loud groan. ‘Honestly, Lowri, you’ll like Tim. Soft grey-blue eyes, nice teeth, well-dressed, good manners, owns a lovely house and car, and adores kids.’ She barely pauses to catch her breath. ‘Lost his wife five years ago, no children.’
‘Did you employ a private detective?’ I ask. ‘Or did he fill in a questionnaire?’
She giggles, then returns to the attack. ‘Tim’s perfect, Lowri.’
They always are. ‘No thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m busy that night.’
She glares at me. ‘But I haven’t told you when it is yet.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I won’t be there, Kate.’
She studies her nails. ‘There’ll be poached salmon and my special double chocolate pudding.’
Two of my favourite dishes, and Kate’s a marvellous cook. An involuntary, ‘When?’ escapes my lips.
‘Friday.’
Her smile is maddeningly smug, but Friday is exactly as I expect. The food is perfect and the man is pleasant in both looks and conversation, but when it comes to love, he’s as uninterested in me as I am in him.
I know exactly the kind of man I’m looking for. I manage a local leisure centre, I love sports and I’m a keen hill walker. Tim adores classical music, ballet, the theatre and he runs an art gallery.
On parting, Tim and I utter the polite hope that we’ll meet again. I get into the car and, while Tim thanks my brother-in-law, Kate hisses, ‘Aren’t you going to ask for his phone number?’
I shake my head and turn on the ignition key. Nothing happens. I try again. Not a spark. Rather like Tim and me. Hope springs into Kate’s eyes, and before I can stop her, she’s asked Tim to take me home.
‘No, really,’ I protest, flustered. ‘It’s too far out of your way.’ He lives seven miles to the east, and my flat’s ten miles westwards. But Kate isn’t listening. She bundles me into Tim’s car.
As we move off, Tim begins the polite small talk. ‘Kate is so thoughtful....’
‘Kate,’ I say furiously, ‘is an interfering busybody who will stoop to any depths to throw us together --- including sabotaging my car.’
His lips twitch. ‘And there was I hoping for a goodnight kiss. At the very least,’ he adds provocatively.
I look across at him and his eyes are dancing with mischief. ‘I guess that was rather blunt of me,’ I admit. ‘But I prefer to speak the truth. Mind you, according to Kate, that’s why I’m still single.’
He turns into the main road. ‘Well, perhaps you haven’t met anyone you really cared for, yet.’
‘No-one I can’t live without.’ Catching a fleeting glimpse of pain on his face I remember too late that he’s a widower. ‘I’m sorry, Tim. That was really thoughtless of me.’
‘No need to apologise.’ We stop at traffic lights and he smiles. ‘The right person is worth waiting for, Lowri, believe me. The instant I saw Jenny I just knew I would marry her. It was like lightning striking......’
‘Yes,’ I break in eagerly, ‘love should be like that, shouldn’t it?’ The lights change and we move on. ‘What made Kate think we’d hit it off? We don’t have a single thing in common.’
‘Heaven knows. Tell me, Lowri, do you really enjoy hill walking in all weathers?’ he shudders.
‘I love it.’ Ruefully I add, ‘Sorry, but I know nothing about painting or art. I can’t tell Monet from Manet, or Gauguin from Van Gogh. Except that Gauguin kept both his ears.’
Laughing, he promises, ‘I’ll willingly teach you any time.’
We draw up outside my flat and I thank him. ‘It’s been nice meeting you.’
‘How polite,’ he teases, grinning at me.
I smile. ‘I do have a few social graces, you know.’ And we say goodbye.
Kate vehemently denies sabotaging my car, but when she hears I’m not meeting Tim again, she swears she’ll never cook me another double chocolate pudding in her life. ‘If you can turn down someone as perfect as Tim, I wash my hands of you.’
Life goes on. I play badminton, squash, hockey, go hill walking..... Then, about a month later, I pop into my favourite cafe for a coffee and bump into Tim.
He grins at me. ‘Been to any dinner parties lately?’
Kate’s vow was predictably short-lived. ‘The last one was an Italian bum-pincher,’ I tell him, and he shakes with laughter.
Then he says, ‘You think you’ve had it rough. My mother once tried to fix me up with a lady wrestler!’ I splutter into my coffee cup. ‘Mother’s getting desperate. She says she wants grandchildren before she pops off.’
‘How old is she?’ I ask, picturing a white-haired old lady crocheting in a rocking chair.
‘Fifty-seven, and as fit as a fiddle. She ran in the London Marathon last year.’ I burst out laughing and he joins in. ‘The trouble is, I haven’t seen the last of Muscle woman yet. I’m best man at a friend’s wedding on Saturday and she’s chief bridesmaid.’ He goes on gloomily, ‘There’s a ceilidh afterwards and I just know I’ll end up partnering her.....’ He stops, and looks at me with a glint of hope in his eyes. ‘Unless....’ he breathes, ‘Lowri, would you be my partner? That’s if you’re not camping on some awful snow-swept mountain this weekend.’
‘But I’m not invited.’
‘My invitation states “and friend.”’ His eyes plead with me. Kate’s right, they are a lovely grey-blue. ‘Look, we might not have fallen in love, but we do get on, don’t we?’ I stare at him. ‘Do this for me, and I’ll be your partner when you need one. If it works, well, we can make it a permanent arrangement.’
The ceilidh is fun. And during the next few months Tim and I escort each other to a variety of functions, becoming really good friends in the process. We tell no-one the truth about our arrangement, and it works wonders.
Tim’s mother and Kate cut out the matchmak
ing. Yet, thankfully, double chocolate pudding remains a staple part of my diet, because Kate regularly invites us both to dinner, to check on how our “romance” is progressing. Of course, we do have to lie a little. Like the time Kate crows, ‘Didn’t I say Tim was perfect for you?’
Lowering my eyes, I nod, and she nudges me slyly, ‘What’s he like in bed then?’ I blink, taken completely by surprise. ‘Oh, come on, Lowri, you can tell me. I am your sister, after all.’
Giggling, I assure her, ‘Like you say --- he’s perfect, in every way.’
When I tell Tim later, he rolls his eyes at me. ‘And my mother wants to know when we’re getting married.’ We howl with laughter. Fooling the matchmakers is enormously satisfying. And it need only stop when one of us falls in love. What could be more civilised? And, of course, it leaves us both free to go out with whoever we like. Unfortunately, I’d reckoned without Kate.
I’m having a quiet drink with a handsome hunk I’d met at the leisure centre, when who should walk in but Kate and my brother-in-law. They’re with friends, but Kate storms straight over, her bosom heaving with indignation. I introduce her to Dwight, and she instantly demands in a loud righteous voice, ‘And how’s Tim?’
‘He’s fine, thanks,’ I assure her calmly.
Furious at my lack of concern, she rejoins her party, but casts frequent scandalised glares of disapproval in my direction. I arrive home at midnight and the phone is ringing. ‘Are you alone?’ Kate growls, emphasising the ‘alone’ so dramatically, I have to suppress a giggle.
‘I am. Look, Kate, Tim and I are not tied to each other’s apron strings.’
‘When you love a man, Lowri,’ she declares primly, ‘you simply do not do that sort of thing.’
I relate the whole episode to Tim the next day, on our way to have dinner with his mother. Tim doesn’t laugh as I expect, but the traffic is bad and he’s concentrating on his driving. ‘Is this it then, Lowri?’ he finally asks. ‘Are you in love?’
There’s an edge to his voice, but I know what’s worrying him. He’s scared I won’t need him any more and he’ll be at the mercy of the matchmakers again. ‘Don’t worry, Tim, I haven’t been struck by lightning, if that’s what you mean.’
Tim draws up outside his mother’s house. ‘Lowri....’ he begins, twisting the car keys so nervously in his hands that I stare at him in amazement. I’ve never seen him like this before. ‘People don’t always fall in love at first sight, do they? I mean, sometimes, love grows. Two people start by liking each other and....’
‘Maybe.’ I pat his knee and he looks at me with an expression I can’t fathom in the darkness. ‘Honestly, Tim, I can’t see that happening with Dwight and me. When I meet the right man, I’ll know it, believe me.’
He doesn’t answer and I ask in concern, ‘Tim, is anything wrong? I haven’t put my foot in it anywhere along the line, have I?’
There’s a pause. ‘Of course not. Everything’s fine.’
Every Monday, Kate and I lunch together, invariably in the same restaurant. Which means I have to walk past Tim’s art gallery. This Monday, there’s a lulu of a thunderstorm going on, but I decide to pop in to the gallery just to make sure Tim really is all right, that I haven’t inadvertently upset him. He’s part of my life now and I really don’t want that to change.
I’m about to cross the road, when Tim comes out with his arm around a gorgeous blonde. They stand in the doorway, out of the rain, holding hands and talking a while. They kiss on parting and he goes back into the gallery.
Lightning flashes madly as I stand transfixed, grappling with this totally unexpected, yet utterly overwhelming desire to scratch her eyes out. I forget everything except Tim. I cross over the road and burst into the gallery.
‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ Tim smiles, And teases, ‘Have you come to learn about art?’
Shaking my head, I gulp, ‘That woman. Just now. Outside---’
‘Yes?’ And his eyes are fixed intently on my face.
My voice falters, ‘Do....do you love her?’
He takes my hands and I feel a sudden shiver of delight. ‘Would it matter to you if I did?’ There’s an expression in his eyes I can’t mistake, and it gives me the courage to say, ‘Of course it matters, you idiot. Tim ---- I don’t think I can live without you.’
‘My wonderful blunt Lowri, don’t ever change,’ he mutters thickly, before crushing me in his arms.
Between kisses, he whispers, ‘When you met Dwight, I thought I’d lost you.’
When we join Kate at the restaurant later, I learn the blonde was her idea. Kate laughs. ‘I always knew Tim was perfect for you, and someone had to bring you together.’
Tim grins. ‘Kate, you are a very wise woman.’
And just this once, I have to agree.
Jordie
With five babies to be christened that Sunday, the beautiful Norman village church was full. But far from quiet, with several restless toddlers and crying babies. As I wasn’t a godmother, I stood well back from the font. The vicar had just taken my latest nephew in his arms, when I felt something wet hit the back of my neck.
Whirling round, my suspicions were instantly aroused by the pious faces of several small boys standing not far behind me. Determined to find the culprit, I slowly inched my way through the throng to the very back, where I watched and waited. Sure enough, before long, an angelic-looking child of about six produced a water pistol. As he took aim at a rather large, flamboyant hat, I sidled up to him and hissed out of the side of my mouth, ‘Okay, Buster, the game’s up.’
I tried not to laugh as he hurriedly hid the pistol behind his back. ‘Where are your parents?’ I whispered.
‘They’re dead,’ he said, his voice wobbling alarmingly.
Horrified that I’d upset him, I crouched down to his level and tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry. What’s your name?’
‘Jordan.’
‘Mine’s Alexandra. Sandy for short.’ I smiled at him. ‘Who did you come with, Jordan?’ He pointed to the font, where the godparents stood. ‘Which one?’ I asked.
He pointed again. ‘Him. The vicar,’ Jordan said, as if I was a halfwit. ‘He’s my uncle.’
I looked at the vicar properly for the first time and saw a grown-up version of Jordan, with black curls, good looks and a roguish grin. ‘He won’t like you playing with a water pistol in church,’ I pointed out. Jordan hung his head. ‘Save it for later,’ I advised gently.
‘Okay. The water’s all gone now anyway.’
I went back to my place, and watched the rest of the service. Afterwards, as people began to leave, the boy next to Jordan screamed, ‘Jordan kicked me.’
‘You broke my water pistol,’ Jordan burst out.
The vicar hurried over and sorted it out in a sensible way, while I picked up the pieces of the toy. ‘Can I have another water pistol, please?’ Jordan begged.
‘Only if you promise not to bring it to church,’ the vicar warned. Turning to me, he laughed, ‘Children!’
I hadn’t met this vicar before, but I liked Neil Hawkins on sight. ‘Is Jordan here on holiday?’ I asked.
Neil’s eyes clouded over. ‘No. He lives with me now. Permanently.’
He glanced at his nephew, who muttered, ‘I told her about Mum and Dad.’ Neil squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. ‘Uncle, I won’t have to come to church again tonight, will I?’
Neil sighed. ‘Afraid so, old son.’ He told me, ‘My fiancée was to have sat with Jordie today, but she – er – couldn’t.’ So Neil was spoken for. I might have known. It was just my luck.
‘They had a row,’ Jordan interpreted, matter-of-factly. ‘Lauren doesn’t like me.’
Neil interrupted, ‘Of course she likes you.’
‘She said I’m....’ he screwed up his face trying to remember the word. ‘I’m a noxious brat.’
‘Obnoxious,’ grinned Neil, putting an arm around Jordan’s shoulders. ‘And so you are,’ he teased.
There was no mis
taking the love each held for the other. Also, it was clear I’d stumbled into their lives at a critical point. ‘I could sit with Jordan this evening,’ I offered.
Neil was doubtful. ‘Well....’
‘I have ten nieces and nephews,’ I told him, smiling. ‘I’m used to looking after children.’
‘Oh, please,’ begged Jordan. ‘I like Sandy.’
Neil roared with laughter. ‘That settles it, then. If you’re sure?’
Now why had I been so eager to help I asked myself severely, on the way home. As if I didn’t know perfectly well! Although I’d have sat with Jordan willingly, even if Neil had been white-haired and pot-bellied. For, unless I was much mistaken, Jordan needed all the help he could get right now.
But I’d almost fallen over myself with eagerness, because of Neil’s black curls and roguish grin. And I’d conveniently ignored the one word he’d spoken that stood between us. Fiancée. Such a small word too. Seven letters, denoting that he’d entered into a promise to marry. No man made that promise lightly. Least of all a vicar. I was in danger of making a bigger fool of myself than usual. But I headed straight for the precipice anyway.
When I returned to the vicarage that evening, Neil told me that Jordan's parents had been killed in a car crash four weeks earlier. ‘It’s Jordie who’s suffering most, of course,’ he sighed. ‘I’m the only family he has now.’
‘I can see you get on really well.’
‘He’s a great kid.’ He smiled at me and my heart did a triple somersault. ‘Thanks for coming to the rescue. It’s the feminine touch Jordie misses the most.’
‘Surely your fiancée will solve that.’ Oh, I can be virtuous when I have to be. Anyway, I wanted to find out why Jordie didn’t like Lauren.
He hesitated. ‘Yes, I – er --- I like to think so.’
So there was a problem. ‘Have you been engaged long?’ Well, I had to know what I was up against, didn’t I?
‘Two months,’ he said, in answer to my question. ‘Not long after we met, actually. Love at first sight,’ he smiled. Tell me about it, I thought, as I fought an overpowering urge to smooth back the black curl escaping round his ear. Neil was, quite rightly, keeping his difficulties to himself. In fairness, I had to admit the unexpected addition of a small boy would put a strain on most relationships. But, by the time I’d put Jordie to bed that night, it wasn’t only Neil who’d captured my heart.