The Great Escape

by Charlotte Fallowfield

  ‘There’s a boat blocking your path up ahead,’ called Ralph, panting as hard as I was. ‘Brace yourself for impact.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I whispered. I’d seen it as his salvation, but what if he crashed into it, hurt himself, and lost his grip on Bertie? My legs turned to jelly, losing their forward momentum, and I had to grab the railings at my side to stay upright. I watched as they moved away from me, the sheepdog almost wrenching my arm out of its socket as she tried to catch up to Ralph, so I hooked her lead over the large brass ball on top of the railings as I watched, never more scared.

  The cox was shouting orders down his megaphone, and some of the men pulled up their oars and readied themselves to catch Weston as he sped towards them. At the last moment, he flipped onto his front, gripping Bertie’s collar to hoist him up in the air. He braced his left arm to try and grab the side of the boat. I couldn’t watch. I was terrified something was going to go horribly wrong. I flung my hands over my face, the noise of shouting and yelling and heavy boots pounding the pavement passing by me. I tried to remember the breathing techniques to keep calm and failed miserably. I suddenly registered that I was sobbing, my tears feeling like acid eating away at my face as I waited for a sign that they were both ok. A loud cheer from the crowd had me peek between my fingers, but my vision was blurred by the misty water filling my eyes, and I had to wipe my face on my t-shirt, smudging my mascara all over it in the process.

  By the time I looked back up, Bertie was safely in the arms of one of the crew and Weston was clinging to the side of the boat, with two of the other oarsmen tightly holding his wrists. Firefighters were lined up on the footpath, swinging a heavy rope out to the boat. I unhooked Sasha and started pushing my way closer, but was blocked by one of the firefighters with a serious face.

  ‘Let her through, it’s her boyfriend in the water,’ Ralph called from behind him. The man in uniform’s face softened as he moved aside for me and barked some orders that I didn’t even catch. I was too distracted by the relief flooding me as I saw Weston gripping the rope and being hauled up the side of the embankment, some of the firefighters reaching to grab him and hoist him over and down onto the towpath. He was immediately surrounded and smothered in blankets. The crew in the water brought the boat around and one of them lifted a shivering Bertie up for someone else to grab.

  ‘Thank you,’ I croaked, but my voice was so weak no one even heard me, and moments later they were pushing away from the side and moving back out into the middle of the water.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart, he’s safe and sound now, the pup too. Very lucky.’ I looked up and gave the firefighter a grateful, if shaky, smile. He put a blanket around me as I started to tremble, the shock of the last five minutes, which had felt like hours, catching up with me. It was ridiculous. It had been Weston in danger, not me. Ralph took Sasha back from me, then Bertie was handed to me, dwarfed by his emergency blanket, and I sobbed and laughed as he enthusiastically licked my face. I cradled him against my chest and kissed the top of his head, so happy to have him back. He smelled terrible, but seemed none the worse from his ordeal. I was going to have to get him straight into the dog bath as soon as we got home.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. Just tired and wet,’ came Weston’s voice. I couldn’t see past the medics and firefighters surrounding him, but felt so reassured to hear his voice. ‘Thank you all so much, I’m sorry we put you all to so much trouble.’

  ‘It’s my fault. Sasha was off leash and probably got overexcited around your puppy and knocked him into the water. I feel just awful.’ Ralph flashed me an apologetic look and I shook my head.

  ‘I let go of Bertie’s lead when I fell over. It’s no one’s fault, it could have happened to anyone. Please don’t blame yourself. I’m just so grateful to you for helping. Is Weston ok?’

  ‘Come see for yourself, if you can bear the smell,’ Weston joked, as the crowd parted and he stood before me. His dark hair was plastered to his head and his white t-shirt clung to his body, showing off those rippling abs I’d so admired in Mexico. I found my strength and ran into his arms, not caring how cold and wet he was. He quickly captured me in his, careful not to crush Bertie, who was sandwiched between us. ‘I’ve never been more relieved to be physically fit than I was in that water,’ he sighed, kissing the top of my head.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re ok, both of you. I was so scared, Weston,’ I sobbed, my tears flowing freely again. At least this time they were tears of relief.

  After Weston was cleared as fit to leave the scene, we walked back to the park, and the ambulance kindly gave us a lift back to Weston’s car, which was over by the local college. We didn’t even bother to ask them to stop so we could see if Weston’s helmet and our boots were still where we’d left them. They were material things that could be replaced. We discussed taking Ralph out for a “thank you” meal, having taken his phone number before we parted ways. Weston was going to ring the rowing club later to express his appreciation and offer a donation to the club for their part in the rescue. We thanked the medics for the lift, then Weston opened his car and quickly shut Bertie inside. He stood for a moment, his hands on the roof of his car, leaning forward slightly with his head bowed as he took a deep breath.

  ‘Weston, are you ok?’ I asked, touching his damp shoulder. His powerful shoulder blades and biceps were visible through his t-shirt, which clung to him like static.

  ‘It’s taken all of my strength to resist doing this until now, but screw it,’ he muttered.

  ‘To resist doing what?’

  ‘Kissing you like I need you to breathe,’ he growled as he spun around.

  I gasped at the look of raw need in his eyes as he clasped my face between his hands and brought his lips crashing down onto mine. This wasn’t one of the tender and gentle kisses he’d given me up until this point. This was the kind of kiss I’d been dreaming of, craving, ever since that night in Mexico. Lost to the lust fuelling both of us, he walked me backwards, slamming me against the car as my fingers found their way up to his strong biceps, clutching them for support. His hips were magnetised to mine as his thumbs brushed my cheekbones and he took from me exactly what he needed. And I needed it, too. Barely pausing for breath, our tongues duelled in a fiery melding of mouths. I’d never been more certain of anyone’s need for me as I was in that moment, and I made sure he knew that the feeling was reciprocated.

  His hands dropped to clutch my backside and he slid me up the side of the car onto his hips, my legs automatically wrapping around him. His one hand anchored the back of my neck as his other curled around my waist. My fingers moved up to tangle in the damp strands of his hair. I was floating, giddy with excitement and need. Somewhere in the frenzy of our passionate embrace, I heard him groan my name, and the strangest sensation started deep in my belly, as if it was full of heavy trainers that had been set on a high-speed spin cycle in a washing machine. Faster and faster it whirled, my heart replicating the heavy bouncing of rubber on metal, totally erratic and violent. We finally broke apart, panting for air as someone hollered “Get a room” in the distance.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ I uttered between gasps for oxygen.

  ‘Yeah,’ Weston grunted, as his forehead dropped to mine and his lips gently brushed across mine again. ‘I needed that.’

  ‘Why now? Why did you … wait so long?’ I whispered, kissing him again.

  ‘You’ve been clear from the start that you didn’t want to be pressured into anything serious. I didn’t want to scare you off by coming on too strong, Georgie. I was waiting for a sign before I took things to the next level.’

  ‘And that sign was you almost drowning?’ I laughed, reaching up to sweep his hair back from his forehead, my eyes roving over his face as I tried to work out what had suddenly changed.

  ‘No. It was seeing how distraught you looked at the thought of losing me, at how you sobbed when you knew I was safe. I knew in that moment that I wasn’t in this alone anymore.’

  ‘Please, that had nothin
g to do with you. I was worried about poor Bertie,’ I teased.

  ‘Georgie Bassett,’ he laughed, dropping his hands to tickle my ribs until I was screaming and squirming against the car, making it shake. ‘Take that back!’

  ‘Stop, stop, please,’ I squealed as I writhed.

  ‘Tell me, tell me the truth,’ he demanded as he relented, then gently clutched my face, his eyes desperately searching mine, as if he was afraid that his confession would force me to run from him.

  ‘No, you’re not in this alone, Weston,’ I admitted, a shiver running through my body at the admission and the way his pupils flared and lips curled up into a satisfied smile.

  ‘Thank God,’ he uttered, stealing a kiss from me again before wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly. He buried his face into my neck, laying a trail of soft kisses up it, and I did the same, hugging him as hard as I could.

  ‘Jesus, you stink, and you’re freezing cold,’ I laughed. ‘Please tell me that you’re not thinking of dashing off home tonight. You need a hot bath to clean up and warm up, while I clean your clothes and give Bertie a bath. I’d really … I don’t want … I think …’ I huffed out a breath, wondering if I was being too forward.

  ‘You think what, Georgie?’ he gently asked, tipping his head back to look at me. I dropped my gaze as my cheeks flushed.

  ‘I was so scared, Weston. I don’t think I want you to go home tonight. I’d feel better if you were close.’

  ‘I guess I could stay in the spare room if you want.’

  ‘I was thinking closer,’ I whispered, tracing the tip of my finger over his chest, right where his heart was beating steadily, unlike mine, which was still racing.

  ‘In your bed?’ he asked, his voice having taken on an even huskier tone. He clutched my chin and tipped my face up to his, dipping his head to meet my embarrassed gaze.

  ‘Yes,’ I said softly, feeling like a brazen hussy for the suggestion. His demanding kiss in response was all the clarification I needed that he was one hundred percent ok with my plan, which sent a thousand starlings to start fluttering and soaring inside my tummy.

  Chapter Eight

  Birthday Girl

  Two Months Later – September

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Georgie, happy birthday to me,’ I sang as I swung my legs out of bed.

  I felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Today I hit the big three-O. A brand-new chapter in my life. After a quick shower, I raced down the stairs in my jeans and a combined jumper-shirt to check the mail. I scooped up a pile of letters and headed into the kitchen to flick on the kettle, then put some croissants in the oven to crisp. It was a birthday tradition, a rare treat. I’d always tried to eat healthily, but since I’d been dating Weston, benefitting from his expertise in food and nutrition, I was eating healthy on a whole new scale that I hadn’t even realised existed.

  My hair and nails were stronger, my skin and eyes were brighter, and I’d even shifted those last few stubborn pounds and toned up all over. I’d also noticed a dramatic increase in my energy levels, unless Weston spent the evening with me and drained me. I bit my thumbnail and blushed at the reminder of how incredible my sex life had become since that dramatic day in the park. I’d been seriously missing out all of these years. I felt sorry for women who thought they had a great sex life, like I had when I was with Greg, when in reality it was appalling. The only downside was that we rarely saw each other during the week. Being a personal trainer meant he had to work a lot of evenings to suit clients’ needs, some weekend mornings too, so he rarely slept over. It was starting to get harder and harder to say goodbye to him when he snuck out of my bed in the early hours. Bertie too, though he didn’t always bring him.

  I’d never wanted a dog of my own, but I’d started to miss Bertie as much as I missed Weston. He even had his own food, water bowls, dog bed, and blanket for when he came to stay. In fact, he had more stuff here than Weston did. Other than his toothbrush and a framed picture of us on the mantelpiece that Abbie had taken, if anyone came to do a home inspection, there was no indication that I even had a boyfriend. Admittedly that, along with the fact that he’d only ever slept over for one full night and I’d never been invited to go and see his home or place of work, made me a little nervous.

  During a recent girls’ night, Charlie, ever the imaginative thinker, put forward a theory that he was actually married and spent weekdays with his wife, then weekends with me. I’d laughed it off at the time, but I had to admit that it had sparked a small element of doubt in my mind about how honest he was actually being with me about his life. It wasn’t normal to date someone for so long and not have been introduced to his friends or spend time in his home. However, I was sure of the strength of his feelings for me. When we saw each other, our relationship was comfortable and easy. My friends loved him, and he even got on well with Miller, which was a huge bonus. As I slid my croissants onto the plate and carried them over to the island with my coffee, I squashed down any negative feelings. Life at the moment was better than it had been in years.

  ‘Bill, bill, another bill,’ I sighed as I sorted through my mail. ‘Ok, where are my birthday cards?’ I felt my bottom lip protrude as I realised that I had none. ‘What’s that all about, even my parents have forgotten? Maybe it’s because you’re a crazy person. I mean, you’re sitting here talking to yourself, Georgie. Maybe you’re not really here, you’re in a padded cell hallucinating your life as you hoped it would be. Hmmm, no. If I was, I’d have been teleported to a Caribbean island and would be sunbathing right now, not sitting here alone with no cards on my birthday.’ I wondered if most people who lived on their own were quite as vocal with themselves as I was.

  I spent the next few hours alone. I’d assumed that I would be doing something to celebrate such a momentous occasion and had cleared my schedule for the day, but after no calls or visitors all morning, I was feeling pretty miserable.

  ‘Hey, Abbie, what are you up to?’ I asked when she answered her phone.

  ‘Sorry, Georgie, can I ring you later tonight? I’ve got clients with me and a packed day.’

  ‘Oh, ok. Well, let me know as soon as you’re free as I was thinking that … hello? Abbie?’ I stared at my phone, aghast. She’d cut me off. Feeling most put out, I dialled Daphne next and asked if she fancied coming to The Fox, a popular gastro pub in the next village, for lunch.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. Mr. Bentley is taking me to Shrewsbury to buy some curtains for my new apartment.’ She interrupted herself with a violent sneeze.

  ‘Bless you.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m so sorry, I think I’ve got a cold coming. What was I saying? Oh yes, we’re going shopping as we’re trying to get the apartment set up so I can move across before Christmas. How about tomorrow?’

  ‘No, it’s ok, I just thought it might be a nice idea today as I’m free. I have back-to-back appointments tomorrow,’ I sighed.

  ‘Why don’t you try Abbie or Charlie? I’m sure they’d love a break from work to go for lunch with you. Must dash, speak soon.’

  ‘Ok,’ I responded, feeling more than a little deflated. Had everyone forgotten it was my birthday today? I was about to dial Charlie when there was a knock at the front door. I virtually skidded on the polished oak floor in my socks in my haste to open it and beamed as I found a delivery man with a huge autumnal-coloured free-standing bouquet in his arms. The scent radiating off them, especially the gorgeous lilies, was heady.

  ‘Here, you need to sign for them,’ he grunted, thrusting them in my arms with no pleasantries. I set them down on the floor, feeling excited to see who’d spent so much money on the gorgeous display, and turned to grab the clipboard and pen from him. I scanned the page for my name, but drew a blank.

  ‘I can’t see where I need to sign.’

  ‘I marked it with an X, lady.’ He stabbed his finger at the document and I looked where he was pointing.

  ‘Well, that’s not m
y name.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Huh, let me look.’ He grabbed the clipboard back off me and squinted at it. ‘You’re not Charlie Faulkner, of Jasmine Cottage, Dilbury?’

  ‘No,’ I responded, a little more sharply than I’d intended.

  ‘You sure, love?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said more firmly. ‘I think I know my own name as I’ve lived with it for thirty years. Besides, this is Ivy Cottage, like it says in big letters on the gate and up here above my door,’ I responded, pointing up.

  ‘Oh, right, my mistake. Better give me the flowers back then,’ he suggested, without any apology for getting my hopes up, only to dash them in a matter of minutes. He tucked the pen behind his ear and the clipboard under his arm as he waited for me to scoop them up. I thrust them back at him and virtually slammed the door. So far, being thirty sucked. I watched out of the window until I saw his van head back up the lane a few minutes later, then rang Charlie.

  ‘Who were your gorgeous flowers from, Charlie? He delivered them here by mistake.’

  ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’ she replied, and I sensed the smile on her face from her joyful tone. ‘My book agent sent them for meeting my deadline. She’s so excited about this new one and has had interest from one of the industry’s publishing giants, who wants to meet with us in London tomorrow. She thinks it could be the one to make me a household name. I’m drowning in the preparation of the perfect sales pitch that we’ll work on together tomorrow morning, before making our formal presentation in the afternoon.’