The Great Escape

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘Thank you.’ His voice cracked and he nodded and cleared his throat. ‘With everything that happened, I forgot to cancel the honeymoon, so when I got the tickets, I figured it would do me good to have a break and I could maybe come back to my new life stronger and with a clean slate. I … I didn’t … I had no intention of dating again so soon,’ he almost whispered, flashing a guilty look up at me. ‘I tried so hard to ignore you on that beach, but I couldn’t. Something told me that maybe you were meant to be put in my path.’

  ‘That’s why you were so hot and cold?’

  ‘I was conflicted. Part of me felt I wasn’t ready to jump back into the dating pool again, but part of me couldn’t stay away from you,’ he admitted, offering a wan smile.

  ‘How long had it been since you and Bella had broken up?’ I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer. No one wanted to be the rebound girl, even if it sounded like their relationship had been more one of familiarity and convenience than love.

  ‘About thirteen months. I’m a planner. I’m not great at spur of the moment stuff, it goes against my nature.’

  ‘Did you date anyone in that time?’

  ‘No,’ he replied with a firm shake of his head. ‘I wasn’t ready, so I focussed on building up my client base instead of women. I didn’t go to Mexico thinking that I was ready either, but then I saw you.’

  ‘Wow,’ I breathed, pulling my hand from his to snatch the glass of wine from the hovering waiter. I managed a couple of gulps as Weston poured himself a glass of water. This was heavy. He was almost describing love at first sight, that he thought I’d be the girl to help heal him. And that was a lot to lay on a woman who’d said she didn’t want to get heavy and serious yet.

  ‘If we’re going to work, I need you to be clear that my time in the Army is off limits. Bella drove me away because she didn’t get that, and I don’t want to make the same mistake again with a new relationship.’

  ‘I get that,’ I confirmed.

  ‘So, is this where you tell me it was nice knowing me and you blow me off?’ he asked. I choked again and burst into an inappropriate giggle. ‘You have a very rude sense of humour, Georgie.’ He let out a nervous laugh.

  ‘I do,’ I agreed. ‘I may appear prim and proper, but too many years of friendship with Abbie has rubbed off on me. I just, that’s a lot to tell a girl you just started dating. And I was clear that I didn’t want to rush things.’

  ‘I’m not proposing or trying to move my things in, Georgie. I’m not telling you I’ve fallen in love with you already, no matter how gorgeous or adorable I may think you are. I’m just saying that I like you enough to take the risk of dating again, of seeing where this leads in our own time. I just didn’t think it would be fair to hide a large side of myself from you, a side that led to the breakdown of my last relationship.’

  ‘And I appreciate that, I really do,’ I confirmed.

  ‘But?’ he said, sitting back in his chair as the waiter interrupted with our meals. Weston had ordered the turkey club sandwich with a side order of vegetables, no butter. I’d gone for a steak sandwich, smothered in blue cheese sauce, with a side order of fries. It was no wonder he had a six-pack and I didn’t. I studied him, mulling over his question as he just waited for my response. He’d been honest about something pretty personal to him, which was a quality I held in high esteem after Greg’s treatment of me. He’d admitted some flaws instead of trying to pass himself off as perfect, which Daphne kept telling Abbie and me was perfectly acceptable, that no one could be perfect. And he was right, there was no terrifying insta-love on either part, just an obvious and almost palpable attraction. What was wrong with just taking this day by day?

  ‘No buts.’ I shook my head as I salted my fries and my sandwich. ‘Let’s just date, communicate honestly if one of us is pushing the other at a pace we’re not comfortable with, and see where it goes.’

  ‘To coronary care if you keep adding that amount of salt to your food,’ he quipped, making me laugh.

  ‘Just making sure you’re not one of those people who says “No fries, my body is a temple,” then tries stealing mine. You want healthier unsalted fries, you order your own portion. And that goes for desserts too,’ I warned him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem, I hate arguments over food.’

  ‘I didn’t mean for warning me that you’re possessive with food.’

  ‘I know,’ I nodded, giving him a shy smile. ‘I don’t push you to talk about things you don’t want to, you don’t push me to break any relationship speed records or steal my food, and we have the basis for a great relationship.’

  ‘We do,’ he agreed, flashing me a dazzling smile that reached the corners of his now sparkling cobalt eyes and made my heart beat a little faster. It really wasn’t listening to the words coming out of my mouth, that we were supposed to be taking this slowly. I quickly glugged some more wine. Man, I had a feeling I was going to get myself into a world of trouble with this hot personal trainer.

  ‘Well, even if I don’t fall in love with you, I’ve already fallen head over heels for this little fellow,’ I murmured, dotting kiss after kiss on top of Bertie’s head as his little tail wagged and he lavished my face in excited licks.

  ‘It seems I’ve got competition for your affections,’ Weston laughed as he leaned on his car, not the least bit breathless after our brisk walk around the grounds of Attingham Park. I’d had to beg for a break on a bench overlooking the lake to catch my breath, and Weston had to carry an exhausted Bertie back the rest of the way. ‘At least he’ll sleep in the car now. Other than trying to make out with you, I don’t think he has any energy left.’

  ‘Trust me, after a good sleep, he’ll be full of life again. I’d forgotten that puppies excite and tire easily.’

  ‘You’ve never had your own dog?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, shifting Bertie onto his back as I cradled him in my left arm and gave him a tummy rub. His head flopped to one side and he did an adorable yawn. ‘I guess dealing with other people’s dogs all day, not to mention all the time I spent out of hours with Abbie’s old dog Mr. Sumo, meant I didn’t see a need to have my own.’

  ‘Mr. Sumo?’ Weston chuckled. ‘Was he big?’

  ‘More rolls than a baker’s shop,’ I laughed as I nodded. ‘And lazy too. She had to pull him around the village on a skateboard as he refused to walk anywhere.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘You’d think, given the amount he ate and his lack of exercise, he’d have succumbed to a heart attack, but it was cancer. It was heart-breaking. I’m not sure she’ll ever be ready to replace him, but as a pet lover I’m sure you get that.’

  ‘Hmmm. Right, well, I’d better make a move. I need to look at my week ahead and plan some routines for my clients. Can I see you next weekend?’

  ‘Sure,’ I smiled, and my heart skipped a beat, something it was doing too frequently around Weston. ‘Friday night is out, I have plans with the girls, but I can do Saturday or Sunday.’

  ‘Ok, block out Saturday night for me and I’ll take you out to dinner. I’ll see what my schedule on Saturday day is looking like before confirming what time I can come over.’

  ‘Great. Thanks again for a nice afternoon, and lunch. And for, well, you know, sharing. I’m touched you felt you could be honest with me.’ I broke his steady gaze and looked down at Bertie, who’d already fallen asleep in my arms. I offered him to Weston and managed to transfer him in the same position to his left arm. ‘You know, you should really have a dog crate in your car. He shouldn’t be able to race around, he could get under your feet as you’re driving, or get really hurt if you have to brake suddenly.’

  ‘I’ll go to the pet shop tomorrow. I have a lot to learn when it comes to dogs, women too,’ he teased with a wink.

  ‘No arguments here,’ I laughed, as he walked me to my car. I opened the door and turned to face him. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then.’

  ‘Thanks for a gr
eat afternoon, Georgie,’ he murmured as he leaned in and gave me a gentle, but lingering kiss.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I sighed, pecking him back. ‘Don’t make me wait so long for your call this time.’

  ‘Message received and understood,’ he grinned as he straightened up. He waited for me to get in and closed the door as I started the engine. I reversed slowly, not wanting the date to be over. The moment I drove out of sight, that was it, I wouldn’t be seeing him again for a week. And for a girl who didn’t want to rush things, that felt like way too long.

  He stood in the car park waving me off, and I tried to keep him in my rearview mirror for as long as possible, violently swerving and cursing when I reluctantly tore my eyes from him and focussed on the road, only to spot a train of ducks waddling across just a few feet away. I slammed my hand on the horn as I jerked forward from my emergency stop. They didn’t even look in my direction and just continued their slow, shuffling gait as I huffed and put my hand on my heart, which was beating way too fast. Maybe Weston was right, I probably did need to cut back on salting my food, especially if he was going to be the reason for it not functioning at a steady pace from here on in.

  I turned up the radio and sang along to the cheery tunes as I drove home, almost feeling as if I was flying up high above the clouds in Ron Weasley’s old blue Ford Anglia car. After a long period of drought, I was dating and I was in lust.

  Life suddenly felt good again.

  Chapter Six

  Revenge – A Dish Best Served … Warm

  One Month Later – A Saturday in July

  I STRODE UP THE lane and through Abbie’s front gate at seven a.m., smiling to myself as I heard the sound of her off-key singing drifting through the open kitchen windows. She’d never been able to hold a tune, which had made our occasional karaoke nights at the village hall all the more entertaining. I let myself in through her front door, which was unlocked from the moment she got up and went down for her morning caffeine fix, and headed into her kitchen.

  ‘Good God,’ I exclaimed, as I was greeted with the equivalent of a bakery explosion. There were bowls and baking trays littering every surface, along with a film of flour. Open packets of sugar and flour, discarded butter and chocolate wrappers, and empty jars of all shapes and sizes vied for the remaining space. Abbie was bending over in front of her oven, staring through the glass window.

  ‘Fête day.’ Her simple statement was explanation enough, not to mention the delicious aroma of warm chocolate that make my stomach growl. I picked my way through the mess and flicked on the kettle, reaching for the mugs on the top shelf as she stayed transfixed on what was presumably her scones baking without so much as a backwards glance at me. Dilbury Manor, home to the delectable Lord Maxwell Kirkland, or just Max to his friends, held an annual summer fête, and for the last seven years in a row, Abbie had won first prize for her scones, jam, and cookies. Each year her stress levels rose, as she was determined not to be outdone by any of the other villagers and lose her top spot, not least to Lady Kirkland, or Lady K as the villagers called her, mother of the current Lord of the Manor. She was an absolute horror. Snotty, entitled, and downright rude to everyone she considered a commoner. We’d had a run-in with her over the “turdgate” incident in March, so Abbie was even more determined not to be outdone by her on the baking front this year.

  ‘So, what can I do?’ I offered, as I found a small gap in the carnage on her worktop, next to the oven.

  ‘Find me some antacids or something,’ she suggested. Her face contorted into a grimace as an ungodly sound emanated from her belly and she started to rub it.

  ‘What in the world have you been eating?’ I asked, feeling my eyebrows raise in astonishment.

  ‘Don’t start laughing, it’s not funny,’ she moaned. ‘I had about a pound of gummi bears last night and I don’t think they’ve agreed with me.’ She let out a heavy sigh as her stomach growled another protest at its contents.

  ‘I thought you were on a diet.’ I slid her a coffee before hopping up onto one of her breakfast bar stools and sipping on my own drink. Abbie wasn’t fat, far from it, but she wanted to keep herself in check for her wedding in December.

  ‘I am, but the second I go on a diet, it’s like my body suddenly craves all the things I can’t have.’

  ‘So you went out and bought, then gobbled, a whole pound of gummi bears?’

  ‘No, I ordered five pounds of sugar-free gummi bears, thinking they’d take the edge off my cravings while still being tasty. But they’re evil. Those little suckers taste so good, once you start you can’t stop, and before I knew it, I’d eaten a load of them. Now I have the world’s worst stomach ache. Crap, listen to it,’ she groaned, the gurgles and rumbles sounding like they were coming up from the depths of hell.

  ‘Oh dear, we’d better batten down the hatches.’

  ‘Don’t say there’s a storm coming, they’ve forecast a heat wave. It looked lovely out this morning when I opened the curtains.’

  ‘Hmmm, let’s just say Dilbury is about to be hit by hurricane Abbie,’ I laughed. ‘Didn’t you read the warning on the box?’

  ‘What warning?’ She risked a quick look in my direction as she continued to rub and soothe her stomach.

  ‘Oh, Abbie, honestly. Everyone knows the side effect of eating too many sugar-free sweets.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ she protested.

  ‘Let’s just say I don’t want to be standing downwind of you today, and the less bending over you do, the better. You’re going to be farting like Sumo used to. I just hope you don’t follow through as well, as they loosen the bowels.’

  ‘They have a laxative effect?’ she gasped, a horrified look on her face as she bolted upright. Her hands flew behind her to cover her bottom cheeks, as if she was expecting some sudden leakage.

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded and let out another round of laughter at the look of sheer mortification on her face. ‘No wonder you have tummy ache.’

  ‘Why don’t people tell you this shit?’ she moaned with a petulant stamp of her foot on the floor.

  ‘There’s always a warning on the label.’

  ‘Well, what good is that? I mean, who reads labels? Everyone knows they exaggerate stuff on them. Like when you buy a bag of peanuts and it has a “Warning, may contain nuts” label on the back. Hello, I’d expect them to! God damn it, I don’t need this today. Now I’m scared to bend over, and I need to keep an eye on my last batch of scones. They can’t burn. There’s no way I’m letting her beat me, not after turdgate. She’ll rub my face in it all year!’

  ‘Well, if you’ve not had any symptoms, other than those volcanic tummy rumbles, you might be safe. Have you been for a poo this morning?’

  ‘No. Besides, you know how regular I am. Pretty much three o’clock sharp each day, like clockwork.’

  ‘I’m thinking there’s going to be a time zone change.’ I struggled to contain my laughter as a loud fart parped out a warning. She grimaced, her face turning a deep shade of scarlet, as she sucked in her bottom cheeks tightly.

  ‘It’s not funny, Georgie,’ she groaned. ‘I can’t have the trumps, not today.’

  ‘Drink your coffee and go and sit on the toilet for a while.’ I slid off the stool and set my mug down. ‘I’ll take over. My God, you’d think eating a whole load of gummi bears would make your wind smell sweet. That’s not sweet, I need a gas mask.’

  ‘Don’t make out like you’re little Miss Perfect,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ve heard you fart too, when you thought no one was listening.’

  ‘I parp, I don’t fart.’

  ‘Please, just because you’re goodie-two-shoes, ladylike Georgie Basset, it doesn’t mean your wind comes out like little puffs of wispy cloud, sweet like cotton candy, with cute cherubic angels playing harps on them as they disappear into the ether. A fart is a fart,’ she stated firmly. She gasped again, her cheeks going an even deeper shade, as another expulsion of air left her backside. ‘Oh dear God, this is going to be a disaster,’
she cried, running towards her utility room with both hands still protecting her backside as a gulf stream of wind and horrific noises propelled her towards her toilet. ‘Two more minutes. Don’t let them burn,’ she shrieked as she disappeared. I shook my head as I tried to contain my laughter and bent down to look at her scones baking.

  ‘Ermmm, Abbie, are they supposed to be brown already?’ I called.

  ‘I decided to branch out this year and do chocolate cherry ones, with cherry jam, clotted cream, and a chocolate dipping sauce,’ she yelled back. ‘Anything to give me the edge over Lady K.’

  ‘Are you really feeling ok?’ I asked Abbie as we made our sixth and final trip from her cottage, loaded up with Tupperware boxes full of her white chocolate and raspberry cookies. She looked exhausted already. She’d been baking all day yesterday and most of the night, then she had been up early again this morning. Thank God Charlie had offered to take some of the boxes or we’d have been doing even more trips.

  ‘I think so,’ she nodded with a mild grimace. ‘Let’s just say it’s still breezy as hell on the southern front, with more occasional violent gusts expected, but remaining dry.’

  ‘I can cover your stall if you need to make a dash for it.’ I flashed her a reassuring smile, but it didn’t seem to ease the frown on her face. She took her competition entries so seriously, we might as well have been heading in for judging on The Great British Bake Off finale. In fact, the Dilbury Women’s Institute had begged Lord Kirkland to try and book Paul Hollywood to come as head judge this year. He’d refused on the grounds that no amount of liability insurance would cover him for the entire village’s female population, mainly made up of hormonal middle-aged women, pouncing on him in an attempt to re-kindle their glory days.

  We took the path in front of the church and headed through the ornate gate in the stone wall that bordered Dilbury Manor and gave us access to the vast front lawn. It was already a hive of activity, most of the village having turned out in force to help set up. Marquees and gazebos were strategically placed around the edges of the garden, festooned with brightly coloured bunting and handmade plaques to advise visitors of the wares for sale inside. Produce ranged from fruit and vegetables, cakes, and jams, to wood-turned door handles, light pulls and games, and knitted goods. Refreshments came in the form of an old-fashioned sweet stall and a beer tent, and the tantalising smell of roasting pork wafted across the lawn from where the hog roast was being tended. There was even a cute vintage French van, painted vanilla, that had been converted into a mobile cake and Prosecco stall. Well, I knew where I’d be spending most of the afternoon if Abbie didn’t need me. Fairground games such as “Trap the Rat” had been set up on the gravelled drive to keep the children amused, the Maypole had been put up at the side of the house ready for the children’s dance group later, and the village Morris dancers would be performing as well. People were already setting up picnic blankets around the central koi pond, staking out their places for a fun day in the sun.