by Alice Ross
Fearing the focus on her would inevitably lead to Jake concluding she was a waste of space, Ella adroitly did a bit of steering herself. Of the conversation. Around to him.
‘So, are you, er, all prepared for your writing course tomorrow?’ she asked, turning her head slightly to drink in his handsome profile – his sculpted cheekbones and long dark lashes, that would have most girls offering their granny for. And very possibly their granddad too.
‘Just about,’ he said, the corner of his lips curving into a smile. ‘It’s funny, but although I’ve done half a dozen of these courses now, I still feel incredibly nervous. All these people paying hundreds of pounds to listen to me wittering on for a few days. It’s a bit surreal really.’
‘I bet you’re wonderful,’ Ella heard herself saying, before inwardly cringing. The embarrassing idolising words had slipped out before she could stop them.
Stopping at a junction, Jake turned to look at her. ‘Do you?’ he asked, his dark gaze drilling into hers.
‘I do,’ she all but whispered.
Chapter Seven
As soon as Jake returned from dropping off Ella, Amelia scuttled to her room, burrowed under the duvet and cried her eyes out. Not that she was prone to such indulgent sessions of woe. She wasn’t. In fact, with the exception of the ever-threatening tears she’d experienced since being in Buttersley, she’d be hard pushed to recall the last time she’d cried. Her rigidly constructed defence mechanism didn’t normally permit such shows of weakness. But, removed from her natural habitat of the bustling capital; relieved of constant work pressure; robbed of the very thing that had defined her and given her purpose, her emotions had careered into turmoil. And she hadn’t the first idea how to retrieve them. It was late into the afternoon when she eventually pulled herself together. A state that lasted only until she bumped into Sophie on the landing.
‘Oh,’ muttered Amelia, immediately regretting the decision to leave her room, whilst simultaneously noting her niece’s yellow tutu and long black wig. ‘You look nice.’
‘I’m Snow White,’ Sophie replied solemnly, gazing up at her with enormous green eyes.
‘Well,’ said Amelia, nerves beginning to jingle. ‘You look … very pretty.’
‘I know,’ replied Sophie, demonstrating, much to Amelia’s growing horror, absolutely no sign of moving.
‘Are you … going to play with Thomas?’ she asked. ‘He could be one of the seven dwarfs.’ She awarded herself a small pat on the back at this suggestion. Surely the child would find that amusing.
She didn’t. ‘No. He’s a boy. He’s silly.’
Hmm. An adjective that could be applied to most boys, Amelia almost added, her mind hurtling back to the strange conversation with Doug that morning. Somehow, though, she didn’t think Sophie would be remotely interested in any of that. Indeed, looking down at her niece, she realised she had absolutely no idea what Sophie would be interested in. Nor indeed what anyone under the age of twenty-five would be interested in. Desperate to escape the child’s enquiring scrutiny, she blurted out, ‘Oh, I’ve forgotten my phone.’ And without further ado, spun around and hared back to her room.
Thirty minutes later, having embarked on a round of deep-breathing exercises, accompanied by a severe reprimanding for allowing a seven-year-old to have such an unsettling effect on her, she plucked up the requisite amount of courage to head down to the kitchen. From the hall she could hear Sophie roaring with laughter. Not something she could have imagined the child doing a few minutes ago. It seemed she’d be hard pushed to summon so much as a smile in Amelia’s presence. Continuing her route to the kitchen, she’d almost reached it when she heard Thomas say: ‘Thomas dwew picture.’
Sophie laughed again.
‘Goodness me. That’s a bit scary. Who is it?’ Annie asked.
‘Aunty Melia.’
Amelia halted in her tracks as all the residents of the room gurgled with laughter.
‘That’s not very nice, Thomas,’ said Jake. ‘I think maybe we shouldn’t show that to Aunty Amelia.’
‘But she is scary,’ chipped in Sophie.
Jake chuckled. ‘Well, maybe she is a bit. But you don’t say things like that to people. You can hurt their feelings.’
‘She’s just not used to being around children, that’s all,’ said Annie. ‘In fact, other than being at work, I’m not sure she’s used to being around people much at all. She never mentions any friends.’
‘People don’t want to be your friend if you’re not nice,’ Sophie pointed out – rather unhelpfully in Amelia’s opinion.
‘Aunty Amelia is nice,’ said Annie. ‘And, despite my initial reservations about her coming to stay, I feel very sorry for her right now. This whole redundancy thing has hit her very hard. And she obviously hasn’t had anyone else to turn to but us. So I think we should all be very kind to her and try and cheer her up. And who knows, she might even make some friends in Buttersley and enjoy her time here.’
‘She might if she loosens up a bit,’ threw in Jake.
Amelia didn’t wait to hear more. For the second time in half an hour, she turned on her heel and ran back to her room. Could there be anything more depressing than having your own family dislike you? she pondered as she flopped down on her bed. Not that she could blame them. Her efforts to maintain familial links had been seriously lacking over the years. And she really didn’t have a clue about how to behave around children. But she hadn’t set out to be scary. She really hadn’t.
Evidently, though, by cutting herself off from the rest of the world, completely focused on her goal of wanting to do well, she’d marooned herself on an island of work, with colleagues who’d found her aloof and intimidating. Not that that had ever bothered her. She’d interpreted their wary attitude as respect. But on reflection, had they, just like her family, found her a bit of a joke? Sniggered about her behind her back? The notion caused yet another wave of melancholy to crash over her. How had she got it so wrong, when all she’d ever wanted was to do her absolute best and make her parents proud?
By the time Amelia had made an unexpected appearance into the world, her parents were at a completely different life stage to when Annie had been born. Clocking up an impressive number of years between them in the teaching profession, they’d been counting down to an early retirement. With Annie at boarding school, they’d hoped to spend part of each year in India, carrying out charitable work in orphanages and schools.
Amelia’s arrival had meant postponing those plans – for the best part of twenty years. Not that they’d ever made a big deal of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. But despite the love and attention lavished on her, and her parents’ continued insistence that she’d been “a lovely surprise”, Amelia had never shaken off the suspicion that she’d rudely interrupted their lives. Which was why she’d determined to make them proud. Why she’d worked so hard to prove herself, to make a success of her life. But, having overheard the conversation in the kitchen, it appeared that, somewhere along the line, she’d got it all horribly wrong.
*
‘Wow. Don’t you two look gorgeous,’ Stan exclaimed the moment he walked into Pear Tree Cottage’s lounge that evening and found Maddy – in Minnie Mouse pyjamas – gurgling on her playmat with a teddy bear, and Bea standing at the mirror over the fireplace, applying a coat of glossy red lipstick.
He’d intended leaving the office early in order to make his own sartorial preparations before he and Bea headed out for the evening. Bernie, though, had had other ideas, piling another load of work on him just as Stan had been about to pack up for the day. But Stan had spent the entire drive home stewing about Bernie. He wasn’t going to let the lump of lard spoil his first evening out with his wife in nine months. And Bea, he was delighted to see, had made a real effort. She looked absolutely stunning in a purple shift dress with huge buttons down the back, her dark hair piled on top of her head with sexy tendrils framing her lovely face. And his compliment had obviously been appreciated.
Stan shook his head. ‘Of course I’m not. You always look lovely.’ He walked over to her and slid his arms around her narrow waist. ‘Let’s enjoy tonight, eh?’
‘Definitely,’ she said, pressing her cheek to his chest.
Stan’s spirits soared. After his mini-meltdown earlier in the day regarding Molly, the sexy temp, it would appear he’d completely over-reacted. He still loved his wife and he still fancied her. Everything was going to be okay. He tilted Bea’s head up and was about to zoom in for a proper full-on smacker – as opposed to the very occasional cursory peck on the cheek that had passed for affection in the house lately – when the doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be the babysitter,’ said Bea, extracting herself from his embrace. ‘I’ve asked Zara from playgroup. To be honest, I wouldn’t really trust anyone else.’
‘Great,’ said Stan. ‘If you let her in and show her the ropes, I’ll run up and have a quick shower.’
Ten minutes later, hair still wet, dressed in navy chinos and a pale blue shirt, Stan hurtled down the stairs, feeling happier and more optimistic than he had in months.
He found Bea at the kitchen table, opposite a petite woman with short spiky brown hair. Maddy sat on the woman’s lap, gurgling contentedly as she twizzled a wooden spoon.
‘You must be Zara,’ he said, striding over and shaking the babysitter’s hand. ‘Thanks so much for helping us out.’
‘My pleasure,’ she said, grinning back at him. ‘And don’t worry about a thing. I’ve two kids of my own, so I know what I’m doing.’
‘There you go then,’ said Stan, turning to his wife. ‘Our child is in expert hands. So, are we ready for our first big night out in nine months, Mrs Suffolk?’
Bea stood up and smoothed down her dress. ‘We are indeed, Mr Suffolk. And if I’m not mistaken, that sounds very much like it could be our taxi outside.’
Bea had chosen Aubergine in Harrogate as the venue for their momentous evening. Stan found the place totally pretentious and completely over-priced, but he said nothing. This evening he was happy to go along with whatever Bea wanted, because this precious time alone together was all about mending bridges, clearing the air and moving on.
‘I’m so pleased you agreed to this evening,’ he said, once they’d been seated, exchanged a few banal comments about the restaurant, placed their order and received their drinks. ‘I honestly didn’t know if you’d want to spend an evening alone with me.’
Bea smiled before picking up her glass and taking a sip of wine. ‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t surprised when you asked,’ she admitted, setting the glass back down. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to spend an evening alone with me. I suppose, looking back at the last few months, things haven’t been going that well between us, have they?’
Stan resisted the urge to leap up and punch the air. Not that it required someone with a degree in relationship studies (if such a thing existed), to notice that. But at least Bea had acknowledged it. In fact, to say things “hadn’t been going well” was a monumental understatement. But he’d imagined her being far too wrapped up in Maddy to award their relationship no more than a nanosecond of contemplation. And he wasn’t without blame either. After a day with Bernie he was never in the best of moods when he arrived home. Maybe it was time they both made a few concessions.
‘I’m sorry for being a miserable git most of the time,’ he apologised. ‘It’s just that I really really really hate my job.’
Bea wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, if you hate it that much, why don’t you look for something else?’
Stan scratched his balding head. God! Had he really become so immersed in the crappy minutiae of his life that he hadn’t thought of that?
‘You could register with a couple of agencies in Leeds. I bet there are loads specialising in accountancy.’
Stan felt as though an aircraft carrier had just swooped down and whipped a ton weight from his shoulders. Just imagining handing in his notice made him feel like a new man – like his old self. And getting up of a morning knowing he wouldn’t have to see Bernie’s florid face made him want to break into a little jig. He’d get straight onto it after the Christmas break. ‘Now how come I didn’t think of that?’ he asked, reaching across the table and taking Bea’s hand.
‘Wood and trees – can’t see?’
He nodded. As well as bearing the pressure of being the only provider in the house, he almost added. So acutely aware of this new position of responsibility was he, that his welfare had been relegated to the bottom of the priority list. But he didn’t deem it wise to divulge any of that.
‘Anyway, what about you?’ he asked. ‘How are things in the world of motherhood?’
Bea’s mouth stretched into a grin. ‘Fantastic. I can’t tell you how much I love it. And I’m sorry if I’m a bit … anal at times, it’s just that the responsibility of having this little being depending on you for survival twenty-four-seven, of constantly questioning yourself as to whether or not you’re doing the right thing … well, it can get a bit much.’
‘I can imagine.’ And he really could. On the handful of occasions he’d been permitted sole charge of Maddy, he’d been a wreck. ‘Anyway,’ he heard himself saying, ‘I think that if you feel so strongly about Maddy going to St Hild’s, we should at least take a look at the place.’ Crikey! Where had that sprung from? He hadn’t given St Hild’s a second thought until now. But from the look on Bea’s beaming face, he’d obviously played a blinder.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. But just so long as you know that you’ll have to go back to work to help with the fees.’
The smile slid from her face, replaced with a slightly sheepish look, at exactly the same moment the waiter appeared at the table with their starters.
‘Duck foie gras?’
‘That’s mine,’ she said. ‘Oh, and doesn’t it look lovely.’
By the time they finished their meal, which Stan had to admit was delicious, and downed two bottles of wine between them, they were both fairly tipsy when they arrived home.
After waving off Zara, who thankfully had nothing of any note to report, Stan closed the door and slid his arms around his wife’s waist.
‘Ready for bed?’ he asked, nuzzling his nose into her hair.
‘I certainly am,’ she replied, reaching up and snaking her arms around his neck.
*
‘Hi, baby. Are you missing me?’
Phil’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. There was Rachel on his laptop screen, sprawled on her bed, her luscious toned – and very tanned, he noted – body, encased in a tiny white lace bra and thong. ‘Bloody hell, Rach,’ he gasped. ‘What’s all that about?’
‘Just making sure you don’t forget me, that’s all,’ she said, running her tongue over her bottom lip and twizzling a lock of lustrous dark hair.
‘I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?’ Phil batted back, attempting to ignore the twitching of a certain part of his anatomy as she positioned herself on all fours and thrust her almost bare bottom at the camera.
He groaned. ‘Stop it. You’re seriously turning me on.’
‘Am I?’ she purred, shifting onto her front and provocatively teasing down a bra strap. ‘Really?’
‘If you don’t stop, I’m going to switch off. This is so not fair.’
‘I thought maybe we could have some fun,’ she cooed, shooting a smouldering gaze at him.
Phil shook his head, wondering how long it would be before he could stand up again. ‘Hardly, with the best part of ten thousand miles between us.’ He didn’t go in for anything remotely kinky. He was a straightforward guy – couldn’t be doing with any messing about. Truth be told, he wasn’t that keen on the whole Skype thing anyway. Nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned phone c
all in his opinion. One where nobody could see every twitch of your eyebrow – or, indeed, any other body part.
‘Spoilsport,’ said Rachel, tugging up her bra strap and sitting cross-legged on the bed. ‘Anyway, guess what? I have some brilliant news.’
Phil’s heart plummeted. These days he found his girlfriend’s “brilliant news” significantly less than “brilliant”.
‘What is it?’ he asked, braced for the worst.
‘I’ve found us a house!’
Phil’s stomach began to roil as she turned around and reached under the pillow, from where she produced the estate agent’s particulars.
‘This is it.’ She held up a picture of what looked to Phil like one of the pre-fabricated buildings they’d used at his school when they’d refurbished the science block. ‘And the best bit is …’ she continued, removing the picture from view and replacing it with a shot of her own gorgeous face, ‘… it’s got its very own swimming pool.’
Phil wrinkled his nose. What on earth did they want a swimming pool for when the beach was on the doorstep? They’d only have to clean the bloody thing. ‘How, er, much is it?’ he ventured.
Rachel’s look of euphoria was replaced with one of reticence. ‘Well … it’s a bit more than we originally wanted to pay. But, as well as the swimming pool it has … a cinema room! How cool is that!’
Not at all, Phil wanted to say. What was the point in moving to the other side of the world to watch DVDs? He could do that quite comfortably in Buttersley, thank you very much.
‘Let’s not rush into anything, Rach,’ he said, doing his best to maintain a neutral tone. ‘Maybe we should rent first. See how it goes.’
Rachel stuck out her delicious bottom lip. ‘But that doesn’t make any financial sense. We’d be losing money hand over fist forking out rent while house prices increase, and making hardly anything on the bank interest.’
Phil sighed. Of course she was right. She was always right.
‘Well at least let me get over there and get my bearings first.’
Rachel clapped her hands together as her smile returned. ‘That’s exactly what I told the couple who are selling it. I said you’d be out here in a couple of weeks and we’d let them know then.’