by JL Merrow
It rang several times. Just as I was preparing a voice-mail message in my head, a voice said, “Hello?”
Debs’s voice.
This was not good, and why on earth was she answering his phone in any case? “Er, hello. It’s Robert.”
“Yeah. I know.”
If she’d realised it was me, why had she answered? “Um, is Sean available?”
“He’s taken the boys down the park to play football.”
Couldn’t he have taken his phone with him? “Er, right. Would you mind telling him I called?”
“All right.” There was a pause, and I was about to thank her and ring off when she spoke again. “Look, don’t mess him about, all right?”
“I wouldn’t—”
“If you’re just going to dump him for some posh bloke who went to the right sort of school—”
“I’m not,” I said firmly, hope beginning to flare. If Debs thought he still cared for me… “Could you tell him I’m back home, please? Just in case…in case he’d like to come and get his jacket back? I mean, I’ll be home all day…if he’s, well, passing.”
There was a beat. “I’ll tell him. Look, thanks for what you did at the carol service. It could have been a lot worse, from what Sean said.”
“Oh—it was no trouble. Really. And, well, I’m glad to hear you’ve had some good news, healthwise.”
“Thanks. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll tell him what you said, all right?”
“Thank you,” I said, but she’d already hung up.
Nothing to do now, I supposed, but wait patiently for Sean to get in touch. I put on a CD, flung myself on the sofa and opened my copy of Our Man in Havana to the soothing tones of Bach’s Cantata no. 156. No reason I couldn’t relax while I waited.
Seven minutes later, I threw the book down in disgust and jumped back up. Relax? I was wound up tighter than the strings on a school violin after reception-class music lessons. And why on earth hadn’t it occurred to me earlier that if Sean was at the park with the twins, I could go for a run and just happen to bump into him? It would be the best of all worlds: the appearance of a casual encounter, without the need to wait for fate to smile upon me.
I ran up the stairs, threw off my clothes and changed into my running gear.
Halfway down the stairs, I paused. What if Sean called when I was out?
I ran back up and grabbed my phone. Oh hell, where was I going to put it? What on earth had possessed me to buy jogging bottoms without that most basic of practical features, a zip pocket? In the end, I put the phone on vibrate and shoved it in my sock. Hopefully I’d manage not to step on it in the likely event it fell out. It felt overly large and obtrusive there, as if I were a criminal who’d been electronically tagged. I hoped that wasn’t a bad omen.
Right. Time to go and find Sean. I reached out to open the front door—and nearly jumped out of my skin when there was a loud knock upon it. My mouth went dry. Oh God—could it be Sean? Already? Was seventeen minutes long enough for him to get back to Debs’s house and come back out again? I hadn’t heard the motorbike pull up, but perhaps he’d had other business in the village and had parked elsewhere? It was surely too late for the postman, Hanne would still be in Norway with her family, and Rose wouldn’t be visiting so soon after we’d got back…
And whoever it was would be walking away if I didn’t get a move on and answer their knock. I smoothed down the front of my T shirt, combed my fingers through my hair, peeked in the mirror and flattened down the resultant mess, had a moment’s panic I should run upstairs and change—perhaps into my bow tie with TARDISes on it—told myself firmly there was no time, and opened the door.
I blinked at Mrs. Nunn, Destinee and the tennis coach, all standing there solemn faced. Seen out of school uniform, and in an outfit that closely resembled her mother’s, Destinee looked more like thirteen than seven. “Oh—hello,” I said uncertainly.
“Destinee’s got something to say to you, Mr. Enemy.” She nudged her daughter. “Go on, then.”
Destinee took a deep breath. “I’msorryIgotthetwinstosetMrsOrribleonfire.”
“Pardon?”
She served up a heavy sigh, with a side order of eye-roll. “It was me what told the twins to set Mrs. Orr”—she caught herself—“Mrs. Ormley on fire.”
I blinked.
Mrs. Nunn prodded her daughter. “And?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets, looking mutinous rather than penitent. “And I’m so-rry,” she chanted.
“Oh…” This definitely made more sense, and I was heartily relieved to hear the twins hadn’t, in fact, simply succumbed to sudden and random pyromania. “Because of what she said to Charlie? But you know, you really ought to apologise to Mrs. Ormley.”
“What, that ’orrible old cow?” Mrs. Nunn was frankly incredulous. “Deserved all she got, she did. But I rung Debs and told her it wasn’t her boys what came up with the idea, and I thought you ought to have an apology too, seeing as you was the one what got most of the water from that fire extinguisher. And we got you this,” she added, thrusting a bottle-shaped object wrapped in cheap Christmas giftwrap at me.
“Oh… Thank you. But you really needn’t.”
“Go on, take it. It’s Tesco’s finest, so it’s good stuff. We got it special. I’ll drink any old rat’s piss, me.”
“Well, in that case, thank you very much.” I bowed to the inevitable and took the bottle, hoping to God they wouldn’t be expecting an invitation in to sample the contents right now. “Have you been having a good Christmas?”
“Well, you know. Kev turned up pissed Christmas Day, din’t he, Ry?” The tennis coach nodded and looked as if he’d gladly deliver a forehand smash to Mrs. Nunn’s former husband’s nose. She gave him a fond smile in return. “Then that cow he’s living with—her with the cheap hair extensions, you remember her, don’t you, Mr. Enemy?—came to drag him home, and they had a screaming match out in the street, but it’s all good entertainment, innit? Anyway, mustn’t keep you. Dest has got Charlie coming over to play with their Bratz dolls, haven’t you, love?” The tennis coach winced but forbore to comment. “You take care,” Mrs. Nunn finished with a beaming smile.
“Ah, you too. And have a happy new year. Good-bye, Destinee, enjoy the rest of your holiday.”
“Bye, Mr. Enemy.”
I closed the door and looked at the bottle of wine. Tesco’s finest? I could always find someone to give it to, I supposed.
Or, I told myself with a mental slap on the wrist, I could stop being such an inveterate bloody snob and just drink it and enjoy it in the spirit in which it was intended.
I put it carefully in the fridge and took a deep breath.
Oh God. What to do now? Would Sean still be at the park? It was twenty-nine minutes since I’d called him. Football might be a game of ninety minutes, but how long could a mere kick-around last? Would it be safer to stay at home and wait to see if he turned up?
The prospect sounded about as appealing as taking up the offer from Ruby’s Waxing to get my bikini line done. Sod’s law, I’d have the whole village knocking on my door if I stayed in—all but the one person I was desperate to see. Hanne would prove to have returned unexpectedly early from Norway. Rose would pop round to suggest a takeaway, now that we no longer had Mother’s cooking to sustain us. Or God forbid, Mrs. Ormley would turn up to demand recompense for her ruined coat. Anything was possible.
I pulled up my socks and set out on my run before anyone could turn up to delay me further.
We’d had a few windy days, and the trees on the back lane that led to the park were now almost fully bare, just a few obstinate leaves clinging on to their branches. The chill breeze sent them trembling one minute with a gentle feint, then the next minute mustered its forces in a heavy gust. The leaves, for the most part, rattled like flags on poles but still stood, defiant, when the ex
hausted wind dropped once more, like lone soldiers who knew the end would come but were determined to fight to the last breath of life and drop of blood.
There were few people about. Perhaps they were put off from venturing out by the heavy, grey clouds and the bite in the air that promised frost tonight. Perhaps they’d simply over-indulged over the last few days, and were trapped indoors by inertia and the lure of new electronic toys. Some of them, perhaps, had returned to work for the few days between Christmas and New Year; after all, somebody had to be manning the tills for the plethora of sales we’d been bombarded with advertising for since Christmas Eve.
Come to think of it, that was probably where everyone was: out shopping. Rose had spoken with enthusiasm of “hitting the sales” once we got back, but personally, as I’d informed her, I’d rather eat my own liver than join in the mad rush for bargains on consumer goods I neither needed nor wanted.
She’d replied, “That’s because you’re a boring old fart—sorry, young fart—who doesn’t have to worry about money and wouldn’t know a fashionable outfit if it turned up naked in bed with you,” which statement I felt wasn’t entirely justified. Or, for that matter, logically sound, but I felt Rose might not respond well to me pointing this out.
A dapper magpie was strutting on the path a short way ahead of me. It looked startled at my approach and flew away with an affronted flutter of wings which only emphasised the quiet. All I could hear as I swung around the corner towards the park was the sound of my own footsteps. It was eerily reminiscent of the establishing shots of some postapocalyptic filmic nightmare, and for a moment the cold bit more deeply into my limbs. Then a childish shout rang out, and the spell broke. I jogged on into the park, the ground now soft and damp under my feet but, thankfully, no muddier than the last time I’d been this way.
I could tell at a glance that Sean and the twins weren’t in the upper part of the park. Not a single red head was to be seen—in fact there were only three other people here: a couple of pink-cheeked toddlers on the swings and a cold-looking mother pushing a pram back and forth. I ran on, down the hill towards the river, my anticipation rising. Surely they’d be there?
They weren’t. I’d missed them. Disappointment settling like a leaden Christmas pudding in my stomach, I ran over the bridge without pause. Damn it. I’d been so sure they’d still be here.
I needed to get home, I realised. I’d said I’d be home all day—if Sean turned up and found me out of the house, it’d be…well, not good. He probably wouldn’t think I’d done it deliberately, but simple thoughtlessness wasn’t going to endear me to him either.
Then again, what if he never came? What if he decided a lost leather jacket was a small price to pay to be rid of my secrets and evasions? What if he was even now sitting at home thinking the very worst of me?
Damn it all to hell and back. Time for Mahomet to gird his loins and pay a visit to the mountain. Or, as might be, The Hill. I turned and retraced my steps through the park, then picked up speed as I hit the streets.
I soon realized why The Hill merited its capital letters. The gradient, at the start, was deceptively low but soon rose sharply. I overtook a couple of old ladies I knew by sight, gaining a new respect for their daily trundles to and from the village shops with their tartan shopping trolleys, and swerved around several clusters of council-estate mothers pushing double and even triple buggies. Most of them—the mothers, not the old ladies—smoked like tracksuit-clad chimneys as they walked, yet still somehow had the breath to chat loudly in between admonishing their offspring; they must have had lungs of steel.
Even Rose, who lived less than halfway up, must be fitter than she looked from her trek to and from the school. No wonder Sean often preferred to ride his motorbike into the village. Reaching the peak and turning left onto the council estate was a blessed relief, but despite the relatively flat path from here, I was still breathing heavily as I neared Debs’s house, and my pulse was so rapid that it would have caused any passing doctors to worry for my health.
Although I strongly suspected the latter was not due to my run alone.
My steps faltered as I reached my goal. Upon the following conversation could rest the whole of my future relationship with Sean—or the lack thereof. I could hear Rose’s voice in my head, ringing out with a breezy so, no pressure then.
Taking a deep breath and plucking up my courage, I approached the front door, knocked and braced myself for more of Debs’s disapproval.
But when the door opened, I found myself gazing into Sean’s wary eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sean couldn’t have been home long—he was still pink-cheeked from the cold, his copper hair fluffing up in the breeze that stole through the open door. He was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
“Robert?” He seemed to gather his wits. “Debs told me you wanted to talk to me.”
“I—yes.” I was still panting from my run, and my breath fogged in the frigid air. I couldn’t stop simply drinking in the sight of him.
“So…do you want to come in?”
“Oh God. Yes. Please.” He stood aside to let me enter. The moment of almost-contact as I brushed past him was torturous.
We didn’t move on, just stayed in the narrow hallway after he’d shut the door. “So, um…” he said, looking at my feet.
I looked down automatically to see what was wrong with them, caught myself, then kicked off my muddy running shoes onto the doormat, abashed. “Sorry.”
“What? Oh—yeah, don’t worry about it. Um. The lads are in the living room. Playing Xbox.” Sean nodded down the hallway, but even if I hadn’t already known where the living room was situated, the high-pitched—and high-decibel—shouts of alternate glee and frustration ringing out from that direction would have told me. “Do you want to come upstairs?”
Oh God, yes. Even if it did feel a painfully awkward to be going to his bedroom, the way things stood between us. “Yes, please.” My voice caught, and he frowned.
“Get you a coffee first? Cup of tea?”
I didn’t think I could bear waiting for the kettle to boil. “No, I’m fine. Really.”
Sean nodded and led the way up a toy-strewn trip hazard of a staircase, negotiating the obstacles without appearing to notice them. I picked my way with care—it would be just my luck to get so close to him again and then break my neck before we’d had a chance to sort things out.
I’d never seen his bedroom before. We’d always, for obvious reasons, preferred my house for our intimate encounters. It was a small room, more suited to a child, but he’d told me the twins shared the largest bedroom in the house. There were probably all sorts of insights to be gleaned from its furnishings and contents, but right now all I could focus on was its inhabitant, who seemed to fill the space between the dresser and the bed.
And who was currently holding out a plastic carrier bag he’d taken from the top of the dresser. It wasn’t from Tesco, so I couldn’t see what was inside.
I stared, nonplussed.
“I got you a present,” Sean explained, not meeting my gaze.
“You shouldn’t have,” I said awkwardly, and then he looked at me. Finally. Something twisted inside me at the tension around his beautiful eyes.
“Yeah, well. I did anyway.”
I hesitated, then took the bag. “I, um…should I open it now?”
“Up to you. It’s not wrapped or anything. S’pose I’m a bit crap at presents. Don’t tell Debs, she’d kill me. But, um, sit down.” He gestured at the bed and sat. I joined him, my heart thumping so loudly, I half expected Debs to come upstairs and complain about the noise. Then again, she’d probably been deafened by the twins’ games.
Piquantly conscious that our thighs were now only inches apart, I reached a hand inside the bag. I felt something fuzzy, like felt, perhaps? Even before I drew it out into the light, I realised what it was.
&
nbsp; I smiled helplessly. “You got me a fez.”
Sean shrugged. “Yeah, well. Thought you could wear it next Halloween, like the bloke said. Wills and Harry might just be planning to give you a sonic screwdriver at the end of the summer term too. Probably shouldn’t have told you that.”
“I’ll act surprised, don’t worry. And thank you. It was really thoughtful.”
“There’s something else in there too.”
“There is?” I plunged my hand once more into the bag. The shape I felt was very familiar indeed, and my head felt curiously light as I pulled out the bow tie Sean had got me. Then I saw the design, and the twisted thing inside me snapped in two.
Bow Ties Are Cool. It was embroidered in red, on dark blue silk.
“It’s… It’s perfect.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you. Where on earth did you find it?”
Sean rubbed his hands on his denim-clad thighs. “There’s this girl I know who’s into making stuff. So. Yeah. We should talk, right?”
My guts discovered auto-origami and set to it with gusto. “I need to explain things to you,” I said quickly, before I could lose what little nerve I had. “About Oliver.”
Sean tensed at the name. “Go on, then. I’m listening.”
I was glad I was sitting next to him. That way, I wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. Wouldn’t have to watch his face change as I told him my last secrets.
“Oliver was…” I sank my head into my hands. “Oh God. You’re going to hate me. But I swear nothing happened.”
“So go on. Tell me what didn’t happen.”
“He—I—well, he was such a bright young man. Is one, I mean. Really bright. He wanted to go to Cambridge. I mean, he’s there now, but back then he was still trying to get in… Anyway, that’s not important. The point is, he needed some extra tutoring. So we had extra lessons. Four till six, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Almost against my will, I found myself searching his face, desperate after all to see his reaction. “That was all it was. Really.”