by Alice Ross
‘You should buy this,’ she said, holding up a burgundy velvet basque embroidered with glistening silver beads. ‘It’d look great on you.’
Ella’s eyes grew wide. The top was gorgeous. And if Honor said it would look great, then it would. But it was a tad … risqué for her. She’d never worn anything like that before. The nearest she’d ever got to strutting her stuff was her push-up bra.
‘It’s amazing,’ she agreed. ‘But I wouldn’t dare wear it.’
Honor wrinkled her perfect button nose. ‘Why not? It’ll look totally awesome on you. Go on. Try it on. I’ll buy it for you for Christmas.’
Gazing longingly at the basque, Ella’s resolve began to weaken. She’d love to wear something like that – something sexy and feminine. But where to? She didn’t go anywhere apart from the tearoom and The Cedars. And she could hardly turn up to babysit in such wanton attire. She shook her head. ‘Nah. As much as I like it, it’s totally not me. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m dying for a sit down and a coffee.’
Despite Honor’s protestations, Ella succeeded in manoeuvring her out of the shop and into the busy street. They were making their way to Honor’s favourite café when a familiar figure approached them.
‘Jake!’ Ella exclaimed, stomach launching into an impressive acrobatic routine, as she simultaneously cursed herself for not having straightened her hair that morning.
Jake’s delectable mouth, the focus of many of her sleepless nights, stretched into a dazzling grin. ‘Hi. How lovely to see you. How are you?’
Madly in love with you, Ella almost replied. But she didn’t. ‘Er, fine, thanks,’ she muttered instead, aware of a flush creeping over her cheeks. ‘It’s my day off.’
‘Mine too,’ he said, fixing her with such a piercing gaze that the flush in her cheeks intensified and her heart rate picked up apace. ‘Now the writing course has finished I can finally start thinking about Christmas.’ He lifted both his hands, bulging with carrier bags. ‘Got in early to beat the rush.’
‘We tried to, but failed miserably,’ piped up Honor, whose presence Ella had all but forgotten. ‘And seeing as though Ella has completely forgotten her manners, I’ll introduce myself. Honor Hargreaves. Ella’s sister.’
‘Ah, the doctor,’ said Jake, his eyes, Ella thought, twinkling a shade more than usual. ‘Jake O’Donnell. And it’s lovely to meet you. I would shake your hand but—’ He raised his arms again. ‘It’s Christmas. Anyway, lovely to meet you, Honor. And to see you, Ella. See you at the staff get-together, if not before.’ He flashed them both a disarming smile, before loping off.
‘God, he is gorgeous,’ gushed Honor, spinning around and watching him weave his way through the crowds.
Ella felt a stab of pride. ‘He’s a famous author,’ she announced smugly. Followed by a slightly less enthusiastic, ‘And my boss’s husband.’
‘Lucky boss,’ said Honor, before flicking back her glorious – very straight – auburn hair and resuming her sashay down the street.
Ella didn’t follow her. There’d been something in Jake’s eyes when his attention had been on Honor, a glint of appreciation she’d never witnessed before. But which she wanted to witness again – when he looked at her. And she had an idea what just might do it.
‘Hang on,’ she said, scuttling after her sister and catching her up. ‘You know what, I think I will get that basque after all.’
Honor grinned approvingly. ‘You won’t regret it. You’ll wow any male within a five-mile radius in that.’
There’s only one man I’m interested in wow-ing, Ella almost said. And you’ve just met him.
Chapter Eleven
Amelia had decided to head into Harrogate early that morning to avoid the inevitable rush of Christmas shoppers. As well as picking up presents for Annie, Jake and the children, she wanted to buy some new clothes. Despite the obviously-work-hard-at-it glamour of most of the Buttersley female contingent, she much preferred the informal style of her sister. Annie had always looked effortlessly trendy, in exactly the same way she’d effortlessly always made friends and been popular. Traits Amelia had been aware of from a very early age. Traits she’d always coveted. Her wardrobe might be crammed with ridiculously expensive designer clobber but if she was honest, she’d never felt comfortable in any of it. Just as an actress dons appropriate attire to play a role, she’d done the same. But that episode had now run its course, and the thought of not having to uphold the pretence – or wear the costume – was liberating.
She pulled into the car park just as another car was leaving, swiftly manoeuvring her Mercedes into the gap next to a little Fiat 500. And her stroke of luck continued in the shops. Spotting Hansel and Gretel costumes, she immediately purchased those for Thomas and Sophie. For Annie she chose a luxurious selection of pampering products, and had decided on a trendy Capless fountain pen for Jake, when she bumped into someone. Literally.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, chiding herself for not being more careful.
‘That’s all right,’ said a familiar male voice.
Amelia jerked up her head to find herself looking into the eyes of Phil McNally, the owner of the Duck Inn.
‘Christmas shopping?’ he asked, indicating her bags.
Amelia bit back a sigh. Honestly, talk about stating the obvious. But then again, there was probably no need for someone with his cool surfer-dude looks to establish a sparkling repartee. One look at him would have most women ripping their clothes off right in front of him. Fortunately, with the temperature hovering just above zero, Amelia wasn’t one of them. ‘Bits and bobs,’ she replied dismissively, completely undesirous of wasting time making banal conversation when her mission was going so well.
‘Hello there, Phil,’ cut in another male voice. ‘And Amelia, isn’t it?’
Amelia turned her head to find a man she recognised as the owner of Buttersley’s newsagent’s. She’d been introduced to him during her first evening in the village when Jake and Annie had taken her to the pub. ‘Oh. Hello, Mr Russell,’ she said, grateful to the old man for sparing her time alone with Phil the Surfer. ‘How are you?’
Mr Russell shook his head. ‘Bit stressed with this shopping lark, to be honest. Still, got to be done, I suppose. At least I can have a rest soon. I’m taking a few days off this year and going down to stay with my daughter in Kent.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ said Phil.
The old man nodded. ‘To be honest, I can’t wait. I could do with a break. Getting too old for this up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-with-the-newspapers malarkey. Anyway, that’s enough moaning from me. Don’t want to put a dampener on all your excitement, Phil. Not long until you’re off now, is it?’
‘Er, no,’ replied Phil, sounding, Amelia thought, slightly distracted. ‘Not long at all.’
‘What a wonderful adventure,’ gushed Mr Russell. ‘Wish I’d done something like that in my day. Mrs Russell, God bless her, would never venture any further than Great Yarmouth. Still, we had some good holidays there.’
‘I bet,’ said Phil.
The old man chuckled. ‘I could tell you some tales, but I’m sure you two youngsters have better things to do than listen to a dinosaur like me stagger off down memory lane. And all this gassing isn’t getting my shopping done. I – Oh.’
‘You all right?’ asked Phil, catching Mr Russell by his arm.
‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Sorry, just felt a bit dizzy there.’
‘You look exhausted. Why don’t you let me take you home.’
Mr Russell shook his head. ‘No. I’ll be all right. Just another couple of things to buy, then I’ll catch the bus back.’
Phil didn’t look convinced. ‘You sure?’
‘Absolutely. Thank you anyway. Well, best get on. The sooner I’m finished, the sooner I can go home.’
‘Make sure you put your feet up when you do get home,’ instructed Phil.
‘I will,’ chuckled Mr Russell. ‘I’ll see you both later.’
‘What a lovely g
uy,’ said Phil, as the old man took his leave of them.
‘Yes,’ agreed Amelia, desperate to crack on with her own shopping. ‘Well, anyway, I should really—’
She stopped as she became aware of a commotion behind her. Obviously at the same time as Phil.
‘Oh God,’ he gasped. ‘It’s Mr Russell. He’s collapsed.’
Phil and Amelia were at the old man’s side in a flash, Amelia immediately calling an ambulance. It arrived within minutes. Phil took charge of the situation, providing the medical team with most of the necessary details. Mr Russell, white as a sheet and semi-conscious throughout the drama, clung furiously to Amelia’s hand.
‘You want to come with him in the ambulance, love?’ the paramedic asked.
Looking down at the old man’s imploring face, Amelia nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I would.’
‘I’ll follow in my car and meet you there,’ said Phil, his air of authority and decisiveness greatly impressing Amelia. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘Great,’ said Amelia, gazing once again into his eyes and noticing, for the first time, just what a delightful shade of cornflower-blue they were.
‘Well, this is a turn up for the books,’ said Phil, joining Amelia in the hospital forty minutes later. ‘You never know how the day’s going to pan out when you get up in the morning, do you?’
‘You certainly don’t,’ agreed Amelia, amazed at her own fickleness. An hour ago, she’d been desperate to escape Phil. But as soon as she’d spotted him approaching her along the hospital corridor her spirits had soared. She attributed it to the fact that firstly, it wasn’t much fun hanging round a hospital on your own, and secondly, he’d been so reassuringly in control in the street, so markedly different from the wide boy, airhead womaniser she’d – all too hastily, it now appeared – originally labelled him as, that she could do with a smidgeon of that reassurance right now.
‘He’s a tough old boot, you know,’ said Phil, as if reading her mind. ‘He’ll be back behind that counter dishing out copies of Hello! and packets of boiled sweets before you can say “lemon sherbets”.’
Amelia smiled. ‘I hope so. I was wondering if I should phone Annie. Let her know what’s happened.’
Phil nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll go and grab us a coffee while you do that. Let me guess, black no sugar, right?’
Amelia’s brows shot to her hairline. ‘Right. But how on earth did you know?’
Phil chuckled. ‘Haven’t you heard? I can gauge anyone’s favourite tipple from two metres away. It’s a skill that takes many years to perfect.’
At the accompanying cheeky wink, Amelia couldn’t help but giggle.
Amelia returned less than ten minutes later.
Smiling her thanks, she accepted the steaming plastic cup from Phil and sank down in the seat next to him. ‘Annie’s going to spread the news and try to find someone to cover the shop,’ she informed him.
Phil chuckled. ‘I thought she might. She’s brilliant, your sister.’ He leaned back in the plastic chair and puffed out a long sigh. ‘You know, that’s what I love about Buttersley. The way everyone looks out for each other – the way they all pull together in a crisis like this.’
Sipping her coffee, Amelia nodded. ‘I agree. It seems like a lovely tight-knit community. There’s nothing like that in London.’
‘And I bet there’s nothing like it in Brisbane,’ added Phil.
Amelia swivelled round in her seat to face him. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you really don’t sound like you want to go.’
His cornflower-blue gaze met hers. ‘That’s because I really don’t.’
*
Stan’s head hurt. Perhaps not surprising given how many bottles of Beck’s he’d knocked back at the Staff Christmas Party. By the end of the night he’d been well and truly hammered. But, by some not insignificant miracle, had clung on to enough of his senses to know that shagging Molly would not have been one of his better moves. Things were bad enough without shovelling a boatload of guilt into the mix. He hadn’t seen her again once they’d returned to the party, and could only assume she’d been so humiliated she’d scuttled off home. Which had made him feel even worse, and had resulted in copious amounts of lager being consumed. Hopefully, once she sobered up, she’d appreciate the rebuff. Either way, Stan was grateful that, with her temping stint now finished, he wouldn’t have to face her again at the office. In fact, with the exception of picking up his car later, he wouldn’t have to go near the place for another three weeks, the building closing down early for the holidays for some much-needed refurbishment work.
But Stan’s office block wasn’t the only place requiring remedial work. In Pear Tree Cottage the atmosphere was crumbling at a rate of knots. Not helped by the fact that the “having another baby” issue now hung over them like a cluster of threatening storm clouds. Stan knew they should talk it over. Discuss it like the two rational adults they were. But frankly, he couldn’t face it. Not today. He was too hung-over and knackered. Not to mention terrified. Although she’d denied it, he still harboured a suspicion that Bea had stopped taking the Pill at the same time she’d – briefly – resurrected their sex life. If she had fallen pregnant during that short renewed period of intimacy, he was afraid of his reaction. But while he was doing his utmost to avoid her, Bea seemed equally as desirous to keep him at arm’s length.
She’d been asleep when he’d rolled home from the party and had avoided him at breakfast, muttering something about sorting out Maddy’s vests. A feeble excuse, but one that nonetheless suited him. Quite how they were going to make it through the festive period with him at home all day every day for the next three weeks, he had no idea. And he really couldn’t face thinking about that either. One day at a time was as far as his thoughts had permitted him. And thankfully today he had an excuse to go out for a couple of hours.
‘I’m popping over to The Cedars to talk to Jake and Annie about Phil’s leaving party,’ he shouted up the stairs.
The announcement was met with a few seconds of stony silence before Bea asked, ‘What time will you be back?’
Stan heaved a weary sigh. ‘No idea,’ he replied, because he really didn’t. The way he felt at that particular moment, if he said in six months, it would be too soon.
He’d just tugged on his hat and coat and stepped out of the house, when a red Mini pulled up. Zara, the woman who’d babysat the evening he and Bea went to Aubergine, clambered out.
‘Oh. Hi, Stan. I’ve just called round to see how Bea is,’ she said, her tone resonating with concern.
On the doorstep, Stan wrinkled his nose. Was there something wrong with his wife that he didn’t know about? Surely not. For all they weren’t on the best of terms, he would’ve known if she was ill. And anyway, what did it have to do with this woman how Bea was? Their personal life was no concern of hers. He affected a neutral expression and, in as blithe a tone as he could muster proclaimed, ‘She’s fine, thank you.’
Zara did not look convinced. She narrowed her eyes slightly and pursed her lips. ‘Hmm. Right.’
Stan bristled. What the hell did that mean? The way she was looking at him suggested she thought he might have murdered Bea and buried her under the compost heap.
‘It’s just that she, er, wasn’t fine last night. She was a bit … upset actually.’
Anger swirled in Stan’s stomach. What the bloody hell did that have to do with her? And if she imagined he was going to discuss any aspect of his life – let alone his marriage - with her, she was sorely mistaken.
‘About your … disagreement,’ added Zara, placing a particularly heavy emphasis on the last word.
Stan drew in a deep breath in an effort to curtail his rising temper. What on earth was Bea doing confiding in this woman she’d known all of five minutes? Honestly, as if things weren’t bad enough, without dragging another party into their decaying relationship.
‘I really don’t think that’s any of your business, do you?’ he spat bac
k, before slamming shut the door and storming off.
The crisp morning air did little to calm Stan as he marched towards The Cedars. He’d always been a private person – always believed that personal things between a husband and wife should stay between them. But, just like when they’d been “trying for a baby”, it obviously didn’t bother Bea who knew what went on behind their front door. Even people she scarcely knew. Was all this antipathy normal between spouses? he wondered. Did this happen to all couples once they’d had kids?
The moment he stepped through the door of The Cedars, the answer slapped him in the face. The fun, almost chaotic atmosphere was as far away from Pear Tree Cottage as Lapland was from Lowestoft. Thomas, dressed as Bart Simpson, hared around the house with Sophie, dressed as Marge Simpson, chasing after him with a rolling pin. Pip the dog joined in the mayhem, with what appeared to be marshmallows stuck to his collar.
‘Just a normal day in the O’Donnell household,’ announced Jake, ushering him in. ‘Anything remotely resembling normality has never featured in this house. But I don’t need to tell you that. You have Maddy now. Wait until she’s running around. Things will never be the same.’
Thankfully, following his host down the corridor to the kitchen, Stan was spared the need to add anything to that comment. As he trotted behind Jake, though, he couldn’t help but notice the collection of black-and-white family photographs lining the walls. Photographs portraying a loving, happy family. A knot of sadness twisted in his chest. He batted it away. Even if he had been in the habit of sharing his personal problems, the last thing Jake and Annie would want to hear was him wittering on about his marriage. And even if he had been so inclined, it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Because it wasn’t Annie who he found in the kitchen, but her sister, Amelia, who he’d met in the park the other day.