Love Among the Treetops

by Catherine Ferguson

  Jane shrugs helplessly. ‘I asked her when the money would be in my account because I need it to pay a deposit on the little flat we were going to be staying in over there. But she just said sorry, things had changed and she couldn’t do it any more, and ran on.’

  ‘No explanation?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘But millions of people heard her make her promise on national TV! She can’t just cash in on the publicity then decide she’s not going to give you the money after all. That’s not the way it works.’

  Poor Jane is white-faced, leaning against the tree as if she could barely remain standing otherwise. It’s clear the shock has knocked her sideways, and thinking of how desperate she must be to get her son this vital treatment, I feel a surge of hot rage at Lucy’s careless, selfish attitude.

  How dare she dash this woman’s hopes and dreams without even explaining why! What if it was Dad going over there for life-saving treatment and then he couldn’t go in the end because someone reneged on their promise to help? I’d be absolutely devastated.

  ‘Look, don’t worry. You’ll have those funds, even if I have to organise a sponsored run myself! Will you be all right to walk back, or shall I come with you?’ I pass Jane a clean paper hanky and she takes it gratefully, giving her nose a noisy blow.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, really. It was a shock, that’s all. But thank you so much.’

  ‘It’s fine. Honestly. How long since Lucy left?’

  ‘Oh, only about five minutes.’

  I glance at the route ahead. ‘Right. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’ll see you later, Jane.’

  She waves me off, a surprised look on her face, then I quickly double back and she fishes around to find a pen and paper to give me her mobile number.

  ‘Great. I’ll phone you and let you know what happens,’ I call back, waving the piece of paper and pounding off after Lucy, suddenly very glad of all the training I’ve been doing lately.

  My blood feels like it’s boiling in my veins. How could she do this to Jane and Harry? Does she never think of the far-reaching and devastating consequences her nasty, selfish actions have on innocent people’s lives?

  Well, she’d better have a good explanation for this …

  Chapter 31

  I pound along the path through the woods, catching up with a group of girls jogging along fairly slowly, laughing and chatting as they go. They all fall silent as I run past them, thundering along at top speed as if I’ve got a serial killer hot on my tail.

  I’m determined to catch up with Lucy and demand to know what she thinks she’s doing to poor Jane and Harry. She can’t be allowed to play around with people’s lives like this, and after years of being a victim of her spite, it’s suddenly desperately important to me that I’m the one to make her see this.

  My rage at the sense of deep injustice seems to be giving me wings, but after ten minutes of hard running, I begin to flag.

  At last, just when I think I can’t possibly keep up this speed for a minute longer, I catch sight of Lucy’s red T-shirt disappearing round a bend in the path up ahead. Puffing like a vintage steam train, I put my head down and – my legs feeling as heavy as lead by now – I tank along even faster, overtaking several small packs of runners, amazed that I’m still going. Perhaps I do actually have stamina now!

  Lucy is running alone, which I’m pleased about. It would be harder to tackle her if Olivia was there, supporting her. When I’m finally in shouting distance, I call out her name.

  At first, she doesn’t hear me, so I keep on shouting until she finally turns her head. The instant she sees it’s me, her face turns thunderous.

  ‘What do you want?’ she barks, showing her total disdain by running on and refusing to stop.

  ‘There’s a hole in your shorts at the back.’

  ‘What? Where?’ She halts and twists round to examine her own butt. She glares at me. ‘There’s no hole. What do you want?’

  ‘I want to ask you a question, Lucy.’ My heart is hammering so loudly, she can probably hear it. Even if she can’t, she’ll be able to tell from my face that I’m angry and upset in fairly equal measure.

  ‘Oh, yes? And what question is that?’ She smirks, hands on hips. ‘Oh, I know. How come you’re always so much more successful than me, Lucy? Especially when it comes to setting up cafés. Was that the question, Twilight?’

  She spits out my name, contempt for me oozing out of every pore, and for the thousandth time, I wonder what I ever did to be the object of such never-ending hatred. My whole body is trembling and I worry my emotion will show in my voice. The last thing I want is Lucy thinking that after all these years, I’m still afraid of her.

  I take a deep breath to calm my ragged nerves.

  ‘Come on, spit it out,’ she sneers. ‘Or are you too scared?’ She puts on a fake look of sympathy. ‘Aw, poor little Twilight. Going to run home and complain about me to your mummy?’

  I clench my fists at my sides. ‘Lucy, for God’s sake, we’re not ten any more.’

  ‘Sorry? What was that?’ Lucy holds her hand exaggeratedly to her ear. ‘Did the timid little mouse speak there?’ She shakes her head at me in disgust.

  I swallow hard, remembering something Paloma is always saying. When faced with something or someone intimidating, imagine that person with no clothes on or dressed up as Mickey Mouse with a funny squeaky voice.

  Actually, the squeaky voice thing is easy with Lucy because she often sounds like a recording that’s been speeded up. I turn her into a pesky five-year-old and give her goofy teeth, and I actually find my shoulders relaxing.

  ‘Well? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Lucy, for fuck’s sake, we’re not in the school playground, so why not grow up, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, and listen to me? You never know, you might just hear something useful.’

  A look of uncertainty flashes across her face for a brief moment. She wasn’t expecting me to challenge her. But then next second, she’s laughing in my face. ‘Ooh, playing the tough guy now, are we? Do I look scared? I think not. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a run to finish.’

  She turns, about to go, but I dash forward and grab a handful of her T-shirt at the back, stopping her dead in her tracks. She turns and for a brief instant, we lock eyes and I see her look of shocked disbelief. Then she starts shrieking with indignation, trying to wrench herself away from my clutches, but grimly, I hang on to the fabric.

  I eyeball her as steadily as I can, feeling like I’m trying to tame a rebellious child. ‘You’re not going anywhere, Lucy Slater, until you’ve answered my question, which is this: Why have you gone back on your promise to help Jane and Harry?’

  Her eyes slide away from mine, guilt written all over her face. ‘Get your hands off me, you pathetic excuse for a person.’ Incensed, she slaps at my hands to make me let go but I hang on tenaciously, determined to get an answer.

  ‘Tell me why you’ve left them in the lurch like this and I’ll let go.’

  She glares at me mutely but stops struggling so hard.

  ‘Come on. I want to know, Lucy. Why would you do that to such lovely people? I want to hear your reasons.’

  ‘I don’t need a reason, except that I’ve changed my mind,’ she snaps, turning the full force of her blazing white-hot fury on me, eyes flashing angrily. Shocked, I almost let go of her. But something deep within is giving me the strength to persist. It’s as if all the heartache of those years of being tormented by her has been building up inside me, and it’s finally risen to the ‘full’ level and has nowhere else to go. Except out of my mouth!

  I’m not giving up. I want an answer. ‘I should have thought you’d be making tons of money from the café, Lucy. It’s been a runaway success, hasn’t it? Not like your fashion design business.’

  She narrows her eyes and stops struggling altogether, and I know I’ve hit her where it hurts with that last remark. She’d have given anything to be the next Alexander McQueen,
but even Daddy couldn’t fix that for her.

  ‘The money must be rolling in, and then there’s the funds you’ll collect from this charity run, so donating a few thousand to a good cause like Harry’s won’t be much of a hardship, will it?’

  ‘It’s not rolling in!’ she snaps. ‘And anyway, it’s absolutely none of your business what I do with my own money.’

  ‘Possibly not. All I’m saying is you promised Jane and Harry, and I don’t know how you’ll be able to sleep at night knowing you’ve let them down. I certainly couldn’t.’

  She laughs. ‘Well, no, of course you couldn’t. Because you’re a saint and everyone adores you. You couldn’t do anything wrong if you tried, little Miss Perfect. Perfect family. Adored by everyone. With Jason twisted around your little finger. God, you make me sick.’

  I stare at her, taken aback by her fury.

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that innocent look. You always get what you want, regardless of how much your selfishness might be hurting other people.’

  ‘What?’ I stare at her, mystified. ‘Lucy, what the hell are you talking about?’

  She gives me a filthy look. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  I rack my brains but come up with zero. ‘I actually don’t.’

  ‘You mean Jason didn’t tell you? I thought he told you everything.’ She practically spits out the words.

  I laugh. ‘Jason told me nothing. But I’d like to know what I’m supposed to have done, so why don’t you tell me?’

  I let go of her T-shirt and she makes a thing of furiously straightening it up. There’s a wasp flying around and she swipes at it.

  ‘Well?’ I demand.

  But she seems to have transferred her rage to the wasp instead and is flapping her arms around wildly.

  ‘So you’re not going to help Jane and Harry? Is it because the café isn’t doing so well?’ I ask, remembering her comment that the money wasn’t rolling in.

  ‘What makes you say that? We’re doing brilliantly.’ She shrieks as the wasp keeps buzzing around her head and she runs away to escape. Climbing on a nearby fence, she unscrews her water bottle and takes a long drink. ‘We’re packing them in every day, haven’t you noticed?’ She smiles smugly and turns her face up to the sun. ‘Oh no, of course you won’t have noticed because you can never leave that crappy building you call a café, just in case your once-in-a-blue-moon customer arrives.’

  Grinning, she leans a little further back on the fence, and I glare at her, thinking how easy it would be to give her a little prod. There’s a trough filled with something slimy and green just behind her in the field beyond the fence …

  She sits up straight, looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘I bet your mum and dad are so proud of you for making such a success of it.’ She says it slowly, with a triumphant smile, relishing every single word.

  The blood rushes in my veins. If I take a deep breath, maybe I won’t have to kill her.

  I walk towards her and a look of astonishment crosses her face.

  I don’t know what she thinks I’m going to do, but she jerks fractionally backwards then seems to lose her balance, gripping on to the fence to try and stay upright.

  But gravity wins. And with an anguished glance behind her, she sort of slides slowly off her perch, legs at a funny angle, and lands with an ominous gloopy splatter in the trough.

  The indignant shrieks and threats that ensue turn the air blue. Struggling to get out of the trough, legs and arms flailing about, she’s getting more steeped in green slimy gunk by the second and calling me all the names under the sun.

  ‘Are you just going to stand there, you halfwit blockhead?’ she splutters at last.

  I walk slowly across and lean over the fence, offering my hand to pull her out. But she ignores me and stubbornly manages to heave herself out.

  Then without warning, she opens her mouth and lets out a deafening noise somewhere between a howl and a scream.

  I stare at her in alarm. ‘Keep the noise down. People will think you’re being murdered.’

  ‘I’ve been stung by that wasp, you freak!’ she yells. ‘Fuck’s sake, it’s bloody painful.’ She’s twisting round, lifting her T-shirt at the back to find the sting, and moaning that she’s going to die.

  I step forward. ‘Are you allergic to wasp stings?’ Frowning, I feel in my pocket and bring out my mobile phone, ready to dial for an ambulance.

  ‘No, of course I’m not allergic, you stupid moron!’ she yells in my face. ‘It just bloody hurts.’

  ‘Right.’ Calmly, I slip the phone back in my pocket. ‘Well, you’re not going to die then, are you! Better get on. Got a run to finish.’

  With a cheery wave, I jog off, leaving her standing there, wearing the contents of the trough, her mouth opening and shutting like a giant angry cod’s …

  Chapter 32

  I force myself to run normally until I’m out of sight of Lucy. Then I collapse weakly against the trunk of a horse chestnut tree, my heart banging against my ribcage.

  My legs are trembling so much at the confrontation, I’m not sure I can go on yet. A couple of people are jogging towards me – and Lucy will be along soon, if she’s not heading back – so I slip round the other side of the trunk and sink down gratefully onto a patch of green moss under the tree’s sheltering branches.

  I feel slightly sick. But the fearful look on Lucy’s face when I started walking towards her was a revelation. You always hear that bullies are essentially cowards, but I never really believed that before now. It puts a whole new complexion on my attitude towards Lucy.

  I might even feel a bit sorry for her.

  Actually no, that’s rubbish. I’d still like to punch her lights out …

  ‘Is this a private party or can anyone join?’

  I look up and Theo is standing there, strong tanned arms folded, looking down at me. His face is dappled by the sun shining through the leaves and I have to shade my eyes to see his face and his lovely lazy smile. My heart lurches. He’s wearing dark running shorts and a white vest top that show off his lean, muscular body to perfection. His blue eyes seem slightly lighter today. They’re the same shade as the summer sky overhead.

  ‘I’m just taking a break,’ I mutter. ‘Where’s Olivia?’

  He looks puzzled. ‘Somewhere up ahead, I think.’ He points at the mossy cushion I’m sitting on. ‘Looks comfy. Do you mind … ?’

  I shake my head, not about to forgive him for having such bad taste as to take up with Olivia.

  He sits down beside me, long muscular legs splayed out, almost touching me, then he stretches his arms upwards, turns his face to the sky and gives a great yawn. It sounds like a long, satisfied growl and it reverberates deep inside me.

  ‘On the beer last night. Not entirely awake yet.’ He grins. Then he studies my face. ‘Are you okay? You look a bit flushed.’

  I purse my lips ruefully. ‘Had a run-in with Lucy. She fell into a trough of green slime.’

  He laughs. ‘Really? Hey, high five!’ He holds up his hand and I oblige. When our palms collide, I feel his long fingers curl briefly around mine and the contact sends a little pang of longing through me.

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ I tell him. ‘She just fell.’

  He chuckles. ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘It’s true!’

  ‘She had it coming to her, from what I hear.’

  ‘From what you hear?’ I glance at him questioningly.

  He nods. ‘Pretty much everyone I speak to is coming over to your side. They think Lucy has behaved abominably, deliberately sabotaging your business.’ He grins. ‘It was the fish in the curtain hems that seemed to sway opinion in the end.’

  ‘Oh my God, everyone knows about that?’

  ‘I think so. A tale as juicy as that will spread round a village as fast as a salmon wriggling upstream.’

  ‘It wasn’t salmon. It was kippers.’ I correct him with a grin, feeling amazed that popular opinion seems to be on my si
de. ‘But why is Lucy’s place so full if she’s got a bad name?’

  He shrugs. ‘People love a bargain, and Lucy seems to have a special offer on every day of the week.’

  I recall her saying the money wasn’t rolling in, and an awful thought strikes me. If Jane and Harry aren’t getting the proceeds from this run, where is the sponsorship money going? Surely not directly into Lucy’s pocket?

  ‘I’m scared The Treehouse Café might flop as well,’ I admit, staring at him sadly.

  ‘It won’t.’ He studies my face, an expression in his eyes that makes the breath catch in my throat. ‘You’re lovely. You care about your customers and you make a mean cherry and coconut cake. It’s going to be a brilliant success.’

  My eyes fill with tears at his obvious sincerity, and I laugh and brush them away. ‘I hope you’re right. We can’t lose Honey Cottage.’

  ‘Hey, you won’t.’ Gently, he cups the side of my face so there’s nowhere else for me to look but into the mesmerising depths of his blue eyes. I catch a flicker of torment in them, before his intense gaze drops to my mouth. My heart starts beating so fast I can barely breathe. The space between Theo’s strong lips and mine is so small and we’re moving towards each other, his hand tangled in my hair. For a brief second, I feel him stiffen and pull back, his eyes full of a savage emotion that makes my heart lurch.

  Then his mouth comes down on mine and the passion that flares between us makes my head spin off into another realm.

  Then, just as quickly, he pulls away from me. His breath is rasping and jerky, like mine, and he’s shaking his head, his hands gripping my arms so tightly, I yelp.

  ‘Sorry.’ He lets go. ‘Look, I can’t …’ I look up at him, desperate to know why, and my heart twists at the tortured expression in his eyes. He’s in deep pain and I have no idea why. But I want to help …

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I whisper.

  ‘I can’t do this to you.’

  ‘What? You can’t do what? Kiss me?’