Yours Truly

by Kirsty Greenwood

God. That’s awful.

  “But why can’t you just keep the place as a pub? Why do you have to turn it into offices?”

  Jasper considers for a moment.

  “I did offer. I offered to buy The Old Whimsy and give Riley a job as the manager. He turned it down flat.”

  I can’t believe it.

  Riley said nothing to me about this. In fact, I doubt he’s said anything to anyone about this.

  “He’s very stubborn,” Jasper continues. “He blames me for what happened with Mary, his mother. He’d rather go bust than let me help.”

  “But if you don’t like him then why do you want to help him?”

  “It’s important to my father. He was very close to Mary. Father doesn’t wish to see Riley lose everything because of downright mulishness.”

  I think about this new information, trying to process it through the wine induced haze.

  “So… why don’t you just buy the pub and, I don’t know, give it back to him?”

  Jasper laughs. “Because that’s bad business, darling. If Riley is refusing to manage the pub then I need to recoup on the investment somehow, and the best way to do that is to use the building for offices. It’s quite simple.”

  So Riley lied. He was offered a way to save the pub. He’s just too stubborn to take it.

  “Everyone thinks he’s a saint,” Jasper is saying now. “But I’ve known him for years, and after hearing what you said on the radio -”

  I blush.

  “I think you should know that he has quite the temper on him.”

  Riley, with a temper?

  “I don’t believe that.” I shake my head.

  “I’ll show you,” Jasper says strangely, a small smile on his face. And before I can ask him what he’s on about he pulls me to him and plants his mouth onto mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Is this real? What the hell is he doing? I yank away from him sharpish, untangling his arms from their grasp on my waist

  “What the holy focaccia do you think you are doing?” I hiss, my face aflame. Jeez.

  Jasper doesn’t seem at all perturbed by my rejection. He stands back and folds his arms as if he’s waiting for something. Suddenly the music stops and Riley is at our side.

  “You’ve had your beer, Jasper,” he says in a strange steely voice. “Time to leave.”

  I stand back as Meg hurries over, confusion all over her face.

  Jasper holds up his bottle, seeming to enjoy the swift quiet that has taken over the party. “I still have a little left, Riley,” he says putting the bottle to his mouth.

  Riley steps closer and takes the bottle from Jasper’ grasp.

  “I think you’re finished. Now leave.”

  Jasper looks around at the crowd and rolls his eyes.

  “All right, all right, don’t make such a fuss about nothing.” And then ever so quietly, so quiet that I’m not sure I hear correctly, he leans towards Riley and whispers “again.”

  Before it even registers with me that he’s referring to the car accident, Riley has dropped the bottle onto the floor and has dived at Jasper, pushing his fist into his face with an almighty thwack.

  A cry goes up around the room as the two of them get into a brawl, wrestling on the barn floor.

  The men from the band and a few locals leap forward, trying desperately to pull them apart, but it’s all going so fast they don’t seem able to do much.

  “Get off him!” Honey cries floating over at speed. “Get off my boyfriend!”

  “Stop it!” I join in, tempted to wade in a try to pull them apart, but deciding against it for fear of my life.

  They continue to tumble around, cursing at each other, and grunting, their faces dark red with fury.

  “Make them stop!” Meg cries out.

  I look around at the locals, each of them trying their best to pull the men apart but none of them able to. Wow. They really hate each other.

  “This is your fault,” Honey hisses at me, tears running down her face.

  She’s right. I have to stop this.

  Before I even think about it I run up towards the stage area, wobbling drunkenly along the way. When I get there I grab the abandoned microphone that Robbie was using. I tap to make sure that it’s on. It is.

  Okay. I have the mic. I have to say something. Cripes. What the hell am I supposed to say?

  I take a deep breath.

  “Stoooooooooooop iiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” I bawl out into the mic with all my might. But I must be standing too close to the speakers because they suddenly emit a toe curlingly high pitched screech.

  Feedback. Oh dear. I hurtle, with the mic, to the other side of the stage area, but it doesn’t make a difference. The noise just keeps on wailing out, setting my teeth on edge and making the hairs on my arms stand up.

  It stops the fight, though, because Riley and Jasper pull apart, primitive instincts telling them that their hands would be better used protecting their ears than throwing punches at each other. The rest of the villagers do the same, grimacing at the noise and covering their ears, all of them looking up to see who is making such a racket.

  “Sorry!” I say into the mic, causing it to screech again. I swallow hard and fumble for an off switch. I can’t find one!

  A chorus of jeers and shouts come from the locals, all them staring at me like I’m really stupid, which I obviously am. I sway to the side and try to keep my focus. Bloody hell. I didn't realise how drunk I was.

  Then, to my horror I hear a few of the crowd start to ask me what the hell I’m doing? What is wrong with me? Why does the microphone keep making horrible noises?

  The copious amount of alcohol combined with all of the questions produces the biggest, fizziest urge in my tummy. I notice Robbie out of the corner of my eye, hurrying forward and fiddling with dials on the PA system trying to stop the feedback.

  I bring the mic up to my mouth, unable to help but answer the questions.

  “What am I doing, you ask me? I'm trying to stop these boys fighting before they cause each other serious, deathly injury. What is wrong with me? Well, many of you already know that I was hypnotised by your neighbour, Amazing Brian.” I spit his name out and shake my head sadly. The room spins a little in front of me.

  “Since then many things have gone wrong. My wedding has been called off, I argued with everyone I love and my boss thinks I'm on drugs. Then to make things worse, you -” I jab my finger in the vague direction of Barney Braithwaite, “- you lied to me and said you were going to help me. You're a mean, mean man. And your comb over looks stupid. Why on earth would you let everyone know how much I wanted to sexually act out with Riley Harrington? Can you imagine what AAAARGH!”

  Out of nowhere someone leaps onto me and pushes me over. The microphone rolls away from me and off the stage. I scrape my knee.

  What the fuck?

  “Sorry, sis.”

  It's Dionne. She's lying at the side of me, breathing hard. “I had to dive on you. It was the only way to, like, stop you talking. You were making a fool of yourself!”

  I look up into the crowd and see Uncle Alan and Liam the hairy bass playing nurse escorting Jasper out of the barn. The rest of them are peering up at the stage trying to figure out what's happening. I try to spot Riley, but he's nowhere to be seen. He must have left.

  Shit.

  “Natalie! Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  It's Meg. She's climbed up onto the stage.

  “Yeah. I'm fine. So fine. Ha. That was funny wasn't it?”

  “How much have you had to drink?” she asks, while Dionne helps me up onto my feet.

  “Dunno. Possibly a lot. Cups upon cups of wine, I think. I didn't mean to kiss Jasper. I mean. He kissed -”

  “Shhh. It's fine.” Meg brushes the hair out of my face. “It's all fine.” She makes a weird face at Dionne and together they help me down from the stage area.

  The three of us walk across the barn. I’m sure that everyone is looking at us as we go, but I don't care.


  I'm so drunk.

  Out in the tent, Dionne helps me on with my coat while Meg replaces my high heels with the sensible wellies.

  “What a palaver!” Dionne exclaims, linking my arm into hers.

  “I know,” Meg says, linking the other side. “Time for bed, I reckon.”

  Yes. Definitely time for bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  TEXT FROM MUM:

  Irene from the shop said you were on YouTube. I looked and there you were. What are you playing at? Turn your ruddy phone on.

  I awaken with a start, the pervading thought in my head that I must have fluids right now or else I will crumble and die a dry and dusty death. I reach across the bedside table for some water, but there is none. Fancy drinking that much booze and not taking a glass of water to bed.

  I rub my eyes and peer at the plastic clock beside me. Oh hello four am, you cruel bastard. I sit up in the bed, expecting a headache of monster proportions. It doesn’t come. I do a half-hearted air punch of joy, but then it occurs to me that I’m probably still a bit drunk.

  I need water. No. I need coke. Full fat coke, with ice and lemons. And food. I’m starving. I rub my belly. I’m so hungry. Have I ever been this hungry before?

  I really don’t want to get out of this snugly warm cocoon, foraging for sustenance in the dark, but I know that there’s no way my body is going to allow me to get back to sleep without it.

  I scramble out of the bed, reluctantly. Shit, it’s freezing. I shiver making an actual “Brrrr” sound for the purpose of feeling sorry for myself. Looking down and noticing that I’m wearing one of Meg’s skimpy, frilly nightie affairs, I grab the duvet from the bed and wrap it around me tightly, tucking it in under my chin.

  Slightly wonkily I creep across the room and out into the corridor.

  It’s dark and deadly quiet. I try to avoid the creaks in the floorboard while making my way to the kitchen, all the while thinking about what food I’m going to eat when I get there.

  Bacon. Definitely bacon. A massive salty smoked bacon sandwich with a ton of red sauce. Or brown sauce. Maybe one of each!

  Coke. Lots of coke. I’m so thirsty!

  Actually… not bacon.

  I know! I’ll make some mashed potato. All creamy and buttery and carby and with cheese and fresh chives mixed in. That will so make me feel better. Man, I’m ravenous.

  I get to the kitchen, pushing open the door slowly so that the old wood doesn’t creak and I don’t end up getting discovered looking like a still tipsy lunatic in a too short nightie and wrapped in a blanket that belongs in the nineteen seventies.

  My slow door opening doesn’t matter much though. Because someone is already in the kitchen.

  Of course.

  It’s Riley.

  He’s sat at the kitchen, cast in the moody shadows of a couple of candles and holding a bag of something frozen to his cheek.

  Maaaaaan.

  I take a few steps backwards, figuring that I’d rather die from lack of fuel than embarrass myself in front of him again. But it’s just my luck that while managing to avoid all the creaky floorboards on my way here, sods law ensures that right now I step onto what must be the loudest, creakiest bit of floor in the whole building.

  I jump back as I hear Riley's chair scrape back across the floor. And then footsteps coming towards me. He's coming to investigate the noise.

  Shit. If I run back to my room he’ll just follow and see me lumbering down the corridor. He’ll probably think I was spying on him.

  I have no other choice but to give myself up.

  “Hello there,” I say, walking into the kitchen, the duvet positioned carefully to protect my modesty of which there is very little in the teensy nightie. “It‘s only me, just creeping around your house in the middle of the night! Quick! Hide the silver!”

  He doesn’t laugh. I wouldn’t have done either. “Sorry,” I try again. “I’ve just come to get a drink, really.”

  Riley nods, gesturing for me to sit down. “I’ll get it.”

  “Thanks,” I say taking a seat at the table and enjoying the delicious heat bursting out from the Aga. “Um, Coca Cola please. With ice. And, um, lemon.”

  He raises his sandy eyebrows at me, before taking a bottle of coke out of the fridge, pouring some into a glass and adding a load of crushed ice.

  I can feel my mouth watering. He hands me the glass and I down it in one. Oh sweet, sweet cola.

  “Another?” he asks when I’m done. I nod, discreetly wiping the drops of coke currently making their way down my chin. Super classy.

  “Thanks. I’m dehydrated, I think. How’s your cheek?”

  I notice that the space under Riley’s eye is coloured with a deep purple bruise. Wow, Jasper must have really swung for him.

  “It’s fine.”

  I feel guilty, like it’s my fault. But I know it’s not. Not really. From what I can gather, the pair of them have been building up to fisticuffs for years. I just don’t understand why it was me who ended up as the catalyst. Unless… unless Riley was jealous? No. Of course not. He just didn’t like Jasper being there. Telling me about his private business.

  I finish my drink and decide I should probably leave Riley to it; he’s obviously not in a very good mood. And I’m probably the last person he wants to see right now. Sexed up, truth-telling, secret blabbing fight starter that I am. But… the thing is… I’m still really hungry. I'm starving. But it somehow doesn’t feel like the right thing to do to start flouncing around in Riley’s kitchen cooking mashed potato, when he is so clearly fed up.

  Riley is sat on the table top pressing the freezer bag back against his cheek. I peer closer. It’s a bag of frozen raspberries.

  “Peas,” I say suddenly.

  “Excuse me?” Riley says.

  “You need frozen peas.”

  I stalk over to the freezer and pull it open. I route around until I find a full bag of petit pois.

  “I think the point is that it’s something frozen,” Riley says a tad grumpily.

  “Nope,” I say, switching his raspberries for the peas. “Peas are the thing. That’s what they always tell you to use. Like, on the telly and in the movies. Probably even says peas on the NHS Direct website.”

  Riley shrugs and then stiffens as I press the peas to his cheek.

  I can see a ghost of a smile play around his mouth. “Ah yes,” he says. “That’s much better. Magic, medicinal peas.”

  I adopt a serious expression and nod as if I am the font of all medical knowledge. He lifts his hand and places it over mine so that both of us are holding the peas to his cheek.

  The touch of his warm hand over my cold one sends a bolt of desire straight through me. I think I actually jump slightly with the power of it.

  How drunk am I still?

  My heart starts to beat loudly in my chest.

  Shut up, heart.

  I sneak a peek at Riley, mortified that he can probably hear it thumping away. I think he can hear it because he’s looking at me with a very peculiar expression on his face.

  “Man alive! These peas are dead cold aren’t they?” I say in an uncanny impression of a complete idiot.

  “I think you’re lovely,” he says, so quietly that I’m not sure if I imagine it.

  Is he on glue? I probably still pong of alcohol, am bundled up in a flowery blanket and no doubt have major panda eyes from the mascara I know I won’t have removed. Perhaps he's concussed from the thwack on his cheek.

  I laugh, nervously. But stop after one high pitched chuckle. Because Riley doesn’t seem to find it funny at all.

  I look at him anxiously, not sure what else to do. And then, all of a sudden, his lips are on my lips.

  Zing!

  The bag of peas drops onto the table with a crackly thud as Riley cups hold of my face. His kisses become more urgent.

  I press my hands to his chest, kissing back eagerly.

  This is delicious.

  This is different. />
  This is not at all like Olly.

  Shit. Olly!

  I jump back as if I’ve been burned, my cheeks flushed, my whole body tingling.

  We stare at each other, assessing, examining, our eyes narrowed. Riley is breathing fast, but doesn’t say anything. It’s like he knows that I’m weighing this situation up.

  I mean, I have a fiancé. Oh wait. No. I don’t. He dumped me.

  So... technically I’m allowed to kiss someone. It can be a rebound thing.

  But, no. Riley has a girlfriend. I don’t like her one bit but that doesn’t matter. It’s such bad form to kiss somebody else’s boyfriend. Totally unacceptable.

  “Riley...” I say.

  “We broke up,” he returns firmly, his voice hoarse. His pupils have dilated so much that they make his eyes look completely black.

  “When did -” I start but don’t get chance to finish because his lips are on mine again. And it feels so amazing, so right, and I’m still drunk and I no longer have a fiancé, and Riley had a fight, and Mum hates me, and I’ve been hypnotised, and have bad hair, and this really does feel exquisite. Like little sparks of lightning hitting each and every one of my erogenous zones.

  Riley stands up from the table and pushes me up against the door, his colossal body pressing against mine. I run my hands up through his hair, which feels cold and soft between my fingers. The duvet falls away, puddling down onto the floor and leaving me naked apart from Meg’s scrap of white chiffon.

  I don’t care, though. I don’t feel self-conscious. It’s impossible to feel self-conscious when the only thing I care about right now is how brilliant this feels.

  We sink down onto the duvet and when Riley takes off his shirt - revealing a gorgeously built torso with a very testosteroney spattering of hair - and starts to kiss my throat, I can think of nothing else.

  I’m a goner.

  Forty minutes later we lie on the kitchen floor breathless and dazed. Riley doesn’t ask me how it was for me. It would be impossible for him not to know that something incredible has just happened to both of us.

  “We fit,” he says, lilting his voice up at the end like he’s surprised. He pulls me to him and I nestle in under his huge arm, still trying to catch my breath.