They had said their goodbyes – Jamie had a stupidly early start in the morning – and had walked their separate ways, but not before trailing a hand hold to a sexy nothing, until just the tips of their fingers were touching, and Meg had giggled, and he was gone, and she started making her way back to the stile, where all that kissing had begun.
What a wonderful evening, which simply could not have gone better, she thought, as she walked across the still crusty fields. Something had happened she hadn’t thought possible. Something had melted inside her, somehow, like an ice cube tumbled from a glass and landing on a sunny patio. Her heart? she wondered. Had Jamie shone a light on her which had seen her heart bask in its warmth?
She really liked him, she realized, and it was a realization that almost flooded her with a startling relief. For the first time, she thought she could maybe believe in love, after all, just a little bit.
The country wasn’t all bad, was it? she thought as she made her way across the last field back to Orchard Cottage. The now-rejuvenated Sampson chewed grass at her from the next field with great indifference. It seemed there was so much to look forward to here. Kissing Jamie a lot more, the shop, the launch party, hopefully getting even closer to Sarah – she’d text her in the morning and tell her all about her date. Oh, she could almost hug herself! Who needed London and all its excitements? All the action in her life was going on right here! She realized she didn’t miss her job and her life in London one tiny bit.
At the moment, Tipperton Mallet felt like home.
Chapter Twenty
Sarah
London was quiet at 5 a.m., but still noisy compared to the country. There was bustle and clatter: delivery men unloading lorries, the scrape of crate on cement, lorry brakes screeching. Some people were even on their way to work: there was a clack of efficient heels on the pavement as a woman strode in front of Sarah, looking all corporate and Early Bird Catches the Worm.
Sarah couldn’t look less corporate, as her heels were off and dangling from her hand and her wafty, Vogue-like outfit was far from suitable for early-morning London. She was Dirty Stop-Out Bird, more likely to catch a cold and a few disapproving glances, but the corporate woman surprised Sarah by giving her a sympathetic smile as though everyone, at one time or another, had done a walk of shame. Sarah didn’t believe they had. This was her first, and she was absolutely mortified. It was a walk of shame after a one-night stand, wasn’t it? It had to be. She wouldn’t dare repeat what she had just done with Dylan; that was for sure. It had been too wonderful, too amazing.
The delivery guys were clearly loving the sight of a woman, in last night’s ‘pulling’ clothes, gingerly walking up the road.
‘All right, love, good night was it?’ There were jeers and cheers all round – good-natured, though, thankfully; no one was calling her a harlot or a cowardly runaway, both terms she could happily call herself, if ‘happy’ was an applicable word for this situation.
She had run away. She had crept out of Dylan’s bedroom in the early hours, while he still slept, her heart full of fear.
‘There’s a lot of it about!’ shouted out another man, a builder, this time, waving a Thermos flask at her. Another woman passed on a bicycle. She looked at Sarah as though she knew her then shook her head and cycled on.
London Sarah was a disgrace, thought Sarah. A disgrace and a coward. She shouldn’t have fled like that! She shouldn’t have woken up, looked over at Dylan’s sleeping face and let the fear get to her. Perhaps she should go and buy a couple of coffees and some muffins and breeze back into Dylan’s flat, like they do in the movies, pretending she’d nipped out to get a post-coital breakfast? Perhaps she should go back and say sorry, she didn’t mean it, and could she stay?
No. It was too late, and she’d been gone too long, as had her courage. Sarah was too afraid – still. She had felt brilliant last night: desired, full of life, thrilled to her very core. But in those early hours that had all disappeared, to be replaced by terror, and she just couldn’t hang around to get hurt again.
Sarah reached Meg’s front door with great relief and almost ran inside. She threw down two Ibuprofen with a large glass of water before throwing herself on the sofa. And then she pulled her phone from her bag and texted her sister.
Chapter Twenty-One
Meg
Meg was surprised to wake to a text message from Sarah.
I’ve got a terrible hangover, it said.
Meg laughed and, holding her phone, padded downstairs on the hunt for cornflakes. Another one? Her sister was turning into her – well, the old her, anyway. She checked the time the text was sent – 5.15 a.m. Blimey, her sister was an early riser again!
A second text arrived while Meg was pouring milk into her already overflowing bowl. And I’ve made a fool of myself.
Meg grabbed a spoon and sat down at the kitchen table.
How? What’s happened?
I’ve slept with someone and then run away.
Oh, now this was official Meg Territory, thought Meg as she devoured a giant spoonful of cornflakes. She always slept with people and ran away. Well, not so much ran, maybe ‘sauntered’. Why had Sarah needed to run?
Why? Was it bad? Are you OK?
Should she actually be worried about her sister? Meg had been in a personal state of euphoria since her date with Jamie last night. She had been awake half the night with the most ridiculously brilliant butterflies in her stomach, reliving every kiss. She wondered if she would see him at some point today. She wanted to kiss him again. She hoped she didn’t have to worry about her sister having some sort of crisis. Although she was thrilled Sarah had come to her, with whatever it was troubling her, she didn’t want her to be unhappy. What an almost strange thought, considered Meg. She hadn’t thought about her sister for years, until recently. Now Sarah’s well-being was suddenly important to her.
He’s called Dylan. He’s the Events Photographer. I really, really like him.
Oh, interesting! Then why did you run away? Meg wiped a spilt drop of milk off her phone with a corner of kitchen roll.
I’m scared!!
Meg hadn’t imagined Sarah to be scared of anything! What are you scared of?
Of falling in love, of being hurt. Wow, Meg was amazed both at the confession and the fact Sarah was making it to her. She felt acutely honoured. And like she was peering into an area of her sister’s soul she’d never even considered before.
Why? Because of Harry?
Yes, because of Harry. And everyone else. Sorry, how was your date? With Jamie?
Meg wondered if Sarah was simply changing the subject. She also realized that both her and her sister had spent all these years scared of exactly the same thing. Fine, thank you. Great in fact! Now back to you … ! You say you really like him. Are you sure he’s not worth the risk? Meg wondered about herself, too, and Jamie, but already knew the answer. There was no risk with him, was there? Just the potential to have her heart thawed further, when she hadn’t even known it needed it.
I don’t know, texted Sarah. And I just feel terrible about the whole thing. I ran away in the early hours like an absolute coward.
Are you going to work today?
I’m supposed to be.
Take the day off, said Meg. A duvet day will sort you out. Wow, the countryside and all that slumbering in the orchard was really chilling her out, she thought; she’d never taken a ‘duvet day’ in her life! And you can think about everything. What to do.
I suppose I could. It’s a pretty quiet day in the office today.
Do it! said Meg. Hark at her, she thought; now she was telling her big sister what to do! She rather liked it.
OK I will. Meg thought that was it and laid the phone down on the kitchen table, but it buzzed one more time. There was one more text, so astonishing in its content Meg nearly fell off her chair. Thanks for being there, sis.
You’re welcome. Meg felt an almost heavenly warm glow. For the second time in – ooh, twelve hours? – sh
e could have jumped for joy. Anytime, sis.
Meg smiled as she laid her phone back on the kitchen table. This was fantastic. There was actually a real chance the two of them could be close again.
*
‘Where do you want this, Meg?’
Jamie was holding out a lilac Fifties dress with a bright yellow sash, full skirt and netted under-petticoat. It was one of Meg’s favourite pieces from Violet’s collection. She was wearing a less floral, more understated version of the same, in red. She thought it might pique people’s interest, if she was wearing one of the dresses as they walked by, but the only eye she’d caught was Jamie’s, who’d appeared at the doorway of Pop-Up Vintage at half eleven with a wink, a cheeky and rather sexy, ‘Morning, worker!’ and a stack of bacon sandwiches for brunch. He’d stepped into the shop, they’d grinned at each other and they’d just started kissing again, like it was the most natural thing to be doing, in a nearly finished vintage clothing store. For the past hour he’d been ‘helping’ her, but mostly kissing her.
‘I’m displaying that on its own,’ she said, ‘here.’ She hung it from the end of the first rail.
‘You’ve done a great job,’ said Jamie, walking towards her with a big grin on his face. ‘I think I might have to kiss you again.’
‘All right, then,’ Meg said. She could get used to this, she thought, as he put his arms around her, and he was right: the shop did look great. She had spent the morning tying yellow gingham ribbons to each rail and had matched the colour graduation of the clothes with corresponding shoes, which were placed on the floor under the dresses in neat rows. She’d received more stock since word had got around the village she was opening a vintage clothing pop-up shop; some lovely stuff, including two ball dresses and a stunning Forties Katherine Hepburn-style trouser suit – although one old boy had attempted to shuffle in with an Asda carrier bag of old gardening trousers and Meg had to turn him away.
‘And how about these shoes?’ asked Jamie, after the kissing had taken another pause.
‘Under the cream dress, at the end.’
‘Here?’
‘Yes, perfect.’
‘I wish I could stay with you all day …’ Jamie murmured, pulling her close again as she attempted to re-tie the bow on a powder-blue circle skirt.
‘… but you’ve got sheep to go and wrangle haven’t you?’
‘And goats,’ he’d said, kissing her again. ‘Busy day at the office today.’
‘Shame,’ said Meg. ‘But it’s a busy day for me at the office today, too. I could probably do without the distraction of you if I’m to get this shop ready for tomorrow night.’ She gently prised his arms from her, though she didn’t really want to. ‘Oh, I’ve got some good news!’
‘Yes?’ murmured Jamie, leaning forward and kissing her on the neck.
She let him, then, laughing, pulled her head away. ‘Yes, at the early clinic at Chipping Burton this morning I was told my blood pressure is happily down to a very virtuous one hundred over seventy!’
‘Well, that’s fantastic!’ exclaimed Jamie. ‘Well done! Tipperton Mallet has sorted you out then!’
‘Yes, I suppose it has,’ said Meg thoughtfully. She remembered his playful comment in the pub, that he’d like her to stay here. ‘I do feel much, much better … these days. Now, thank you for the kisses and the bacon sandwiches, but I really must get on,’ she said, ushering him to the door, despite his protests. ‘And make sure you don’t get off with any hot veterinary nurses or anything today.’
‘Oh, I definitely won’t,’ said Jamie, giving her one more brief kiss goodbye, on the threshold. ‘There’s no one like you.’ And with a wink and a grin, he headed off to the surgery.
After smiling to herself for a good ten minutes and prancing round the shop with happiness like a little lamb herself, Meg got back to work prettifying the shop. At two o’clock, she realized she’d left her cute, vintage pricing labels at home and decided to pop back to Orchard Cottage for them.
She was greeted at the back door by the delicious smell of frying onions.
‘Trial run for the vol-au-vents!’ Connor called from the kitchen. ‘Tarragon chicken and mushroom sauce.’
‘Smells good! I’m impressed,’ said Meg, walking into the kitchen and quickly reaching for a flaky, home-made vol-au vent-shell before Connor could slap her hand down. ‘This is something you’re really good at.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, stirring his sauce. ‘I’m not bad, am I?’
‘Olivia at Jude’s?’
‘Yeah. Well, no. She’s gone off somewhere with him – in his car. They both popped back. I think they’ve smashed her money box. Sounded like it, anyway. They were definitely doing something a bit weird upstairs.’
‘Her money box? What? Her uni fund?’ It wasn’t a great deal of money, but Olivia had told Meg it was to furnish her room with, once she got into halls: for cushions and throws and all that stuff. It was about two hundred pounds. ‘How come?’
‘Dunno.’ Connor shrugged, stirring his onions.
That sounded weird, thought Meg; she’d better check. If Olivia was breaking into that money it didn’t bode well for Durham. She hurried upstairs and went into Olivia’s room. Her money box, one of those ceramic ones without a stopper you have to shatter with a hammer to open, was in pieces in her bin, and there was a note scrawled on an envelope on Olivia’s desk, written in thick red pen.
Leaving home! Soz! Going away with Jude. I’ll be in touch. Olivia.
Meg hurtled back down the stairs.
The house phone was ringing.
‘It’s Mum,’ said Connor, as Meg reached the hall, and he was holding the receiver out to her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sarah
Ten minutes earlier, the front doorbell of Meg’s flat had chimed just as Sarah was beginning to regret taking the day off. It was only two-ish but she was bored senseless – lolling around Meg’s flat in the city didn’t have quite the same appeal as lolling around in the orchard at home. And her headache had pretty much gone. Sarah wished she hadn’t let her sister talk her into a duvet day; she’d felt uncomfortable calling the office and telling Hamish she had a twenty-four hour bug, too. The only saving grace was she knew Felicity was out of the office all day today, on site visits – Sarah would hate Felicity to think she had weakened in some way, after the big showdown in the Ladies’ last night.
Sarah had also had far too much time to think, when she should have had work to distract her. And she thought about only one thing: Dylan. His warm skin against hers, the look in his eyes – quiet, intense – and the way he had held her. And how, although it was the best, most thrilling, most wonderful time she’d had in ages, she shouldn’t have gone there. It may have been a whole eleven years since she’d last taken the leap into bed with someone, or a leap into any kind of faith in a man, but it was still too much, too soon. She wasn’t ready. It had been a mistake. The feelings she was having for Dylan she didn’t want, because they scared her too much.
She opened the door. He was standing there in the same suede jacket he had shrugged off and let fall to the floor, as soon as they got inside the door of his flat last night. Her stomach somersaulted at the memory.
‘Hello,’ said Dylan.
‘Hello.’
‘Was it something I said?’ That slow smile, and her heart lurched.
‘Sorry?’
‘You ran out on me.’
‘I did. Sorry.’
Dylan nodded. ‘Well, you left your scarf. I called the office to get your address. I thought I’d bring it. Say hello. Make sure you’re not self-flagellating over the terrible thing we did.’
He grinned, but Sarah decided she’d rather take his words at face value. They had done a terrible thing.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She held her arm out stiffly for the scarf.
‘I feel awkward,’ he said. ‘We had a great time. Well, I thought it was pretty great, anyway. We went to sleep. And when I woke this morn
ing ready to cook you the best eggs Benedict of your life, you were gone.’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m sorry about that.’ She suddenly felt like a bit part actor in one of those black-and-white films from the Forties; where everyone is stilted and staccato and terribly, terribly repressed.
‘So, can I come in?’ said Dylan, looking all hopeful and a bit like a small puppy. ‘Can we talk?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘No.’ What was there to talk about? How could she explain to him that if they began things – a love affair, a ‘thing’, a relationship – somewhere down the line one of them would get hurt, and it would undoubtedly be her, and it just wasn’t worth it? She had fallen for him last night – so, so badly – but she had to pick herself up, dust herself down and forget about him now, before any more damage could be done.
There could be no more wounds.
‘Well, look, Sarah, I—’
Sarah’s phone started buzzing, from behind her, on Meg’s desk. The buzz that signalled a text.
‘I’ve got a text, I have to go,’ she said, closing the door.
‘You have to go because you’ve got a text?’ Dylan was saying, but she’d closed the door now and she hurried away from it, towards her phone. The text was from Olivia.
Hi, Mum, don’t worry, but I’m moving away with Jude. Be in touch soon.
All thoughts of Dylan evaporated. What? What did that mean? Moving away? Where? Wasn’t Jude a local boy? What about Durham? Sarah tried to phone Olivia. It rang and rang, but didn’t even go to voicemail.
Sarah tried again. Were they going somewhere else? London? Abroad? Well, this was disastrous! What about Durham, for goodness’ sake? Shaking, Sarah phoned her own number at the cottage, imagining the landline phone ringing on the cluttered hall table. Connor answered.
‘Hi, it’s Mum,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Where’s Olivia gone?’
‘God knows!’
Sarah sighed. ‘Can I please speak to Meg?’ She waited. She heard Connor say, ‘It’s Mum’, in the background and then there was a ‘Hello?’ Meg’s voice was small and without confidence. A guilty voice?
The Sister Swap Page 25