by C. J. Duggan
‘What? With cucumber sandwiches?’
‘Not in the least.’
Jack looked at me for a long moment. ‘Kate, can I ask you something?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Have you been avoiding me?’
I froze in the act of spreading strawberry jam on my scone, and straightened in my chair. ‘What makes you say that?’ I asked, trying to keep a lightness to my voice.
‘Because you looked physically pained at the thought of going for a walk with me,’ Jack said, filling my empty cup with hot tea.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I said, grabbing my cup and taking a noisy sip.
‘Wow, you don’t even realise you’re doing it.’ Jack sat back in his seat, his eye tracing over me in silent assessment.
‘Doing what?’
‘You get this little line that pinches between your brows.’ He pointed, causing me to touch the place in question.
‘Well, probably because I’m constantly terrified about what will come out of Joy Ellingham’s mouth. I’m going to need a serious dose of Botox after living with that woman.’ I rubbed the line I could clearly feel under my fingertips; yet another thing to worry about.
‘Oh, come on, she’s not that bad.’
I scoffed. ‘Oh sure, for you, maybe. It’s not as easy as you think, you know.’
‘Nothing is,’ he said.
A silence fell between us, and in spite of the beautiful surrounds and the pretty feast before me, I was angry at Jack and his lack of understanding. It was a complex situation: to be here in London, among the history and the culture and the fashion, I had sold my soul to the devil, only to be told I wasn’t allowed to get out and see the city nor experience all that made it special. Lord knew what the repercussions would be when I got home after my outing.
‘I’m a prisoner, Jack. She owns me, that’s the harsh reality; this is the first ounce of freedom I’ve been permitted, and it’s only because I have a chaperone. I’m like a freakin’ flower in the attic,’ I said glumly, looking into the milky recess of my teacup.
‘Bollocks!’
My head snapped up, my eyes darting to a lady left of me, who was pursing her lips and turning away in disgust. ‘What?’
Jack leant over the table. ‘I said—’
‘Yes! Yes, I heard what you said.’ I quickly stopped him from saying it again; that word in a setting such as this was utterly disrespectful. We already looked completely out of place: me with my broad Aussie twang, trying not to stare in open-mouthed wonder at my surroundings, partnered by a giant of a lad sipping on tea and buttering scones.
Jack smirked, slow and casually sexy, as he pressed his back against the chair.
‘You choose to be a hermit.’
‘And why would I do that?’
Jack breathed out a laugh. ‘You tell me.’
I simply stared at him, desperately trying to not let my brows knit together. I wanted to remain serene, but Jack was pushing all of the right buttons. Yes, I had been avoiding him, and it was more than just embarrassment: that had merely been the excuse. I was doing what I always did, I was shutting down and removing myself from temptation; nothing good could come from liking a man like Jack Baker, a man I knew little to nothing about, except that he had a stupidly glamorous girlfriend who was probably wondering where he was.
‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand,’ I said, averting my eyes from his.
‘Jesus, you really are throwing yourself a pity party; look around you. Take in the sunshine, bask in the glory of the vast, open spaces, the food in your belly, the ridiculously good-looking man sitting opposite you.’
I laughed. I didn’t want to; I had been so used to seeing the worst in everything I didn’t know how to turn that around and see past the gloom.
‘Are you always this optimistic, Jack Baker?’
A boyish smile lit his face as he snared a pastry from the tray, saluting me with it. ‘Only when I’m sitting across from a ridiculously good-looking woman.’
And there it was again, that flirting, suggestive banter that played with my head. I know it was a warm summer’s afternoon, but it was Jack’s words that were heating my face as I reached for the milk to keep my hands busy. I was at a loss how to respond.
‘My point, Miss Brown, is that you have to live a little. So you had a bad day, week, month or whatever: just live in the moment, enjoy your environment, build memories worth something. Spread your wings.’
‘Okay, well, I might just have to climb over to your balcony in order to do that,’ I quipped.
Jack’s eyes flicked up from his tea and only then did I realise how incredibly suggestive that sounded. I instantly regretted my choice of words.
‘As in, a means to escape from my house,’ I added quickly.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ he insisted. ‘Any time you want to climb over my balcony is all right by me, my door’s always open,’ he teased, stretching back in his chair and looking at me in a devilish way that seemed just as inappropriate as saying ‘bollocks’ in Queen Anne’s court.
My lips twitched while I looked at Jack, knowing how he loved to tease. I shook my head – it was just his way. It didn’t actually mean anything.
‘Oh, sod off,’ I said in my best South London accent, which had Jack breaking into uproarious laughter. Most of the patrons turned in their chairs to look our way, but this time I didn’t care, I loved the sound too much.
Jack leant forward, placing his elbows on the white linen. ‘Well, Miss Brown, we could make a local of you yet.’
Chapter Nineteen
We strolled in comfortable silence under the warm summer sun. We made our way through the evergreen cradle walk, an arched arbour of red-twigged limes that afforded views of the sunken central garden while taking the bite out of the heat of the day. Contentment was a word I rarely had cause to use these days, but standing here with Jack, I felt it. I felt it deep in my bones, taking in the full measure of what he had meant by living in the moment, forgetting about the dramas in life and just simply living. I knew that the minute I returned home, my anxiety and gloom about my everyday reality would return, but I shook my mind away from all the things that were set to tear me down. Instead I turned to Jack, about to comment on my momentary peace, but his eyes seemed to focus on some distant concern, a million miles from here. He was definitely not practising what he preached.
‘Jack?’
Still caught in his thoughts – thoughts he didn’t seem to want to share – his eyes ticked over my face, searching for an anchor in my inquisitive stare.
Was he nervous? Surely not Jack Baker. But then, I had never seen him act this way before.
‘Kate, can I ask you something?’
His words hung heavy in the air, and the sun seemed to go behind a cloud, causing my skin to prickle. What could make him be so intense? Was he in a witness protection program? Have a secret family sleeping on mattresses in his flat? My eyes searched his face, my lack of response encouraging him to continue, because I was too afraid to voice my assent question, worried about what he might say.
Just as I thought he might tell me, something in him shifted, the moment gone as he smirked in a way that wasn’t wholly believable.
‘Never mind, it’s getting late, we better head back.’
And with those words, the beautiful golden hour of late afternoon fled, and I felt a little afraid: of going back home; of not seeing that usual spark in Jack’s eyes; of what he had wanted to ask me; of the words still left unsaid.
‘Okay,’ I said, making a concerted effort not to seem worried; I wanted to keep my mood light and carefree. Lord knew I would have to put on an Academy Award-winning performance walking back into the house as it was.
Leaving the grounds to the joggers, dog walkers, tourists and bike riders, the scenery changed from lush and peaceful greenery back into uniformed London cityscapes. Though Jack chatted animatedly on the way back to Onslow Gardens, I still couldn’t quite shake the memory of his troubled ey
es and the fact he had wanted to ask me something. It haunted my thoughts as we finally closed in on our neighbouring terraces, pulling up short of my steps.
‘Well, the curtain isn’t parted, Nana’s not keeping a look out for you, so she mustn’t be too worried,’ said Jack.
‘Don’t be too sure; Nana has an impressive tendency to find drama.’
‘Is that where you get it from?’
I laughed. ‘Oh, piss off.’
Jack laughed, so loud I was worried Nana might hear and the curtain might very well peel back. I shut down my rambling mind and tried to focus on the here and now. Gazing up at the rather lovely looking Jack Baker, getting lost in the depths of his smiling, dark eyes, I almost let all my troubles melt away, until inevitably, he opened his mouth and ruined everything.
‘Do you want to come up?’
‘S-sorry, what?’
‘I said, do you want to come up?’ he repeated, amused, as we stood out the front of his infamous red door.
‘Oh, I, um, don’t know, I should really be getting back.’
Jack stepped forward, his hands by his sides. ‘Live in the moment, Kate.’
Looking into his challenging expression I knew that he was right. That I could either go home and be a recluse, or I could – wait a minute … Go upstairs … with him? What about the Amazonian girlfriend?
I swallowed, weighing up my options, then shook my head. He was definitely trouble – trouble that had to be avoided at all costs. I tried hard to think of a way out, even though I didn’t really want one.
‘I think I’ll pass.’
‘I must say, you’re the least enthusiastic woman who has ever been offered a trip up my stairs.’
I threw Jack a knowing look. ‘Been many, have there?’
Jack grinned broadly, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. ‘Well, I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Goodbye, Jack,’ I said, turning and walking up my own steps, leaving Jack and his uproarious laughter behind.
‘What? What did I say?’ he called after me, but I didn’t dare turn around, I was too determined to hide my smile, going through my front door and closing it behind me.
Chapter Twenty
The house was cast in darkness, save for the late afternoon light that filtered in through the parlour and down the hall from the kitchen. I was afraid to hear voices, because it meant Vera and Nana were around and I’d have to engage in conversation, when all I wanted to do was go upstairs and try not to let Jack dominate my every thought. With each step I took to my room on the second floor, I fought the urge to go through the forbidden door at the end of the landing and surround myself with beautiful things to lift my mood. But as I came to stand at the top of the stairs I realised that, despite everything, I already felt a warmth inside me and it had nothing to do with handbags or vintage dresses and everything to do with remembering Jack’s boyish grin, the way his eyes lit up ordering an ice cream, his fussing over the Cocker Spaniel in the park and asking the elderly owner a series of questions. Jack had a way about him, a genuine warmth, a light that I just didn’t see in anyone else. And although I tried to deny it, each day I hoped that, even if it was just for a brief moment, our paths would cross. He made me feel better and, on some level, that scared me. I didn’t want to rely on someone to make me feel better, it was so much easier to lock myself away and seek comfort in things: things couldn’t hurt you or answer back, or break your heart. This was what Tom Hanks must have felt like in that movie Castaway, but if I painted a face on one of Nana’s designer bags and called it Wilson I suspect that would mean I had reached my limit. Yeah, probably a good idea I had gone for a walk with Jack, I thought.
Everything was going to be okay.
The day had ended well enough, rather spectacularly really, until Jack had spoiled it by inviting me upstairs. Still, I was ever so proud of myself for saying no because, despite rejecting his invitation, I really, really wanted to say yes.
Yep, you are going to be okay, Kate. Just fine. You did good.
Dropping my bag inside the door of my bedroom with a sigh and feeling the tension in my neck, I rubbed the ache as I shut the door behind me, switching on the light and …
‘HOLY SHIT!’ I jumped, clutching my heart at the sight of Nana in my chair, waiting expectantly with her wrinkled hands clasped together, sitting in the muted light like a figure from a nightmare. I glanced behind me, confused.
‘How did you …’
‘Manage the stairs?’
I nodded.
‘Oh, Katherine, I am not a complete invalid, I can do things for myself.’
There was a horror building inside me at the thought; I much preferred the idea of old, frail Nana Joy. Her decrepitude kind of made her nastiness more forgivable – she was just old and jaded. But as she sat in my room, her clear blue eyes staring me down, she looked a figure of health. What had driven her up here? Was it to bond with me, to listen to me and indulge my recollections of a lovely day out? Doubtful.
I tried to remain calm, stoic even, but if she expected me to welcome her with open arms, she would be bitterly disappointed. Instead I did my absolute best to keep my eyes away from the desk where my notes and laptop sat, betraying all of my plans for ‘Kate on the Thames’. I felt instantly nauseous.
‘Did you have a nice time?’
Was I wrong? Could she really be up here to establish some kind of connection with me on friendly turf?
‘Um, yes, yes … it was a nice day for a walk.’ I was completely out of sorts; having Nana in my room was strange enough, but having her apparently interested in my day was just downright bizarre. Her lips were twisted and she was looking around the room as if avoiding my eyes.
‘Yes, well, I’ve been thinking,’ she said.
Here we go …
My insides twisted; anything that drove Nana literally to my door couldn’t be good.
‘Oh, what about?’ I pressed, trying to keep my voice light, despite the fact that my heart was beating so fast and loud I swear Nana would be able to hear it across the room.
‘Hmm?’ Her brows rose as if she hadn’t heard me, even though I knew she had. ‘Oh, just a few things,’ she said as she grabbed for her walking stick. ‘I don’t think it’s healthy for a young girl to be spending so much time alone and inside. It’s not natural.’
I had tried to keep a neutral expression but it was an impossible feat; there was nothing that could mask the look of shock on my face. Had Vera said something? I was afraid to hope that this was my chance, the permission slip, the acknowledgement that perhaps Nana had been a little overprotective.
‘So, things are going to change around here, Katherine.’ Nana nodded as if resigning herself to an uncomfortable truth, and my heart soared.
This was it, this was the key to the city. Oh, I couldn’t wait to tell Jack, to make plans and see if he wanted to be a part of them, to have him show me the sights. ‘Kate on the Thames’ would reach spectacular new heights. I was so excited, only just resisting the urge to dance on the balls of my feet.
‘Aw, Nan,’ I said, wanting to hug the hell out of her, I was so grateful. Grateful she had gone to the trouble to make her way up the stairs, willing to let go even though I knew it wasn’t in her nature to do so. In that moment, I loved her, bloody loved and appreciated her, despite everything that had happened before. Jack was right, Nana Joy wasn’t so bad after all.
‘I thought on Tuesdays we could go to the lunchtime bingo with Cybil, she could use some time out too. On Wednesdays we could go shopping with Vera, but that would be only fortnightly because we will over-shop and that’s a waste of good money and will just encourage us to eat too much, and you certainly don’t need that. On Thursdays, well, the crossword sections are particularly challenging and there is nothing like a good cup of tea and some stimulation for one’s brain. Weather permitting, we might even have tea in the garden. On Fridays …’
And it went on, and on, and on
… Every day accounted for, excursions here, there, everywhere. A full, almost jam-packed agenda, from morning tea to afternoon naps. With each elderly activity listed, a little piece of me died. I was going to become Nana’s wingwoman; I had to fight the chunks that threatened to rise in my throat. I was about to go from a nearly contented recluse to living the life of a Golden Girl.
Sure, before I left Australia I had envisioned market shopping in Notting Hill and afternoon tea at the Ritz with my nana, but that was before, when I thought she was a glamorous socialite with a whip-smart sense of humour and a kind heart. The nana I had come to know was nothing like that. I suddenly felt hot. I pulled at my collar and moved to the balcony doors.
Nana missed nothing. ‘What’s wrong, are you ill?’ she snapped.
‘It’s a bit hot in here, don’t you think?’ I pulled open the doors and took in a deep breath.
Oh God, this is not happening, this is not happening.
‘Well, get some rest, we have a big day tomorrow.’
My head spun around so fast I almost got whiplash. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, the ladies from Richard and Judy’s book club are coming over to discuss some ghastly book about refugees.’ Nana pronounced ‘refugees’ with obvious distaste, and this was the very reason I couldn’t spend any more time than was necessary with this woman. I could feel myself breaking out into hives at the thought of spending my days with her.
Nana squinted at me, her piercing blue eyes boring into me as if she was expecting me to say something, an objection maybe; surely she wasn’t expecting enthusiasm? I wasn’t that good an actress.
‘Yes, tomorrow. Sorry, am I tearing you away from something of importance? Sleeping-in, watching TV all day, joogling?’
‘Joogling?’
‘Yes, joogling!’ She mimed me pressing my phone.
‘Oh, GOOGLING.’ I laughed.
‘Don’t be a smart mouth, Katherine, or I’ll ship you back in the crate you came in.’ Her words were like acid and she glowered at me, as if looking for disobedient thoughts to burn out of me.