by Rachel Dove
‘Right, ladies, let’s collate our information, and get cracking.’
Agatha, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off her sleek trousers, sat forward on her chair and narrowed her eyes.
‘For this,’ she said dramatically, ‘we’re going to need more tea.’
Agatha thanked her husband with a smile as he opened the car door for her, and she turned and waved at the ladies who were all draining the rest of their cups and headed home.
‘Good day?’ he asked, grabbing her hand in his and dropping a stubbly kiss on it. She kissed him on the cheek, then rubbed off the lipstick mark she had left.
‘Yes, actually it was. It looks like we shall be matchmaking again, very soon.’
Taylor laughed, pulling away from New Lease of Life and heading home.
‘Ah good, I take it the lovely Lucy is the target? Marlene has a tricky one on her hands there. Still, perhaps we wouldn’t have got together if we hadn’t been up to no good before. It’s contagious, that Cupid business!’ Before, when Amanda had crashed into Westfield, fresh from London and full of big ideas, the women had all seen how she and the village vet Ben interacted, and the sparks that flew from one to the other when they met. During the course of their collective matchmaking, more than one match had been made. Sebestian Taylor, in love with his employer and friend for many years, finally got his girl.
Agatha rolled her eyes, distracted. She gazed upon her husband and thought about how much better life was now, with him by her side in life, as well as in business. A partner and best friend. She wanted that for everyone.
‘I can’t help feeling that this is important though. I feel like it’s more for Samuel than anything else. Do you know the name Draper?’ She looked to her husband who was a stalwart of the village just as much as she was. ‘I get the feeling I know the name from somewhere; in fact he looks a little familiar. I can’t place it.’ She leaned forward a little in the passenger seat, rubbing her fingers in slow circles on her forehead, her eyes closed.
Taylor shook his head. ‘Not that name no, and I’ve not really met him yet. Maybe we should have him over sometime, or go see him at work?’
Agatha, normally the first one to walk into a room and command it within five seconds, shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think that’s needed. Not yet, anyway. It’ll come to me. Don’t tell the girls, they’ll think I’m losing my ruddy marbles.’
Taylor chuckled to himself, taking hold of his beloved wife’s hand again as he changed gear. He had loved this woman since before he was old enough to be able to peek over the hood of a car, and he couldn’t love her any more. If she had a sixth sense about something, he knew her well enough to know that it would come to her. She’d figure it out. He didn’t know whether to feel scared, or amused. Such was life with his dynamic bride.
‘So, we off to walk the dogs again?’ she asked, a little brighter. ‘I wanted to work up a bit of an appetite.’ Taylor nodded, driving along. Agatha reached over and put her hand on the inside of his thigh. ‘I rather thought we might introduce the odd afternoon siesta. What do you think?’
Taylor looked across at his wife, grinned like an idiot and put his foot down a tiny bit harder on the gas pedal.
‘Woman, you bring new meaning to this retirement lark. I’m not sure how much more I can hack!’ She laughed as they headed home to see the dogs.
Sam was at work cleaning down the equipment when he heard his boss talking at the front desk. Chief Briggs was a strong man; a friendly, fair guy who commanded his team with a firm hand and an air of certainty. Sam himself, never one to trust people at first meeting, liked him instantly, and the fact that he was such a great man to work under had made the decision to move to Westfield far easier career wise. The lads all loved him, and the fire house ran like a well-oiled machine.
That man, however, seemed to have phoned in sick today.
‘Well, I appreciate that, but … butbutbut … er … well, yes but … I appreciate that bu—’
Sam could hear the tiny tinny tones of a woman’s voice speaking to him, and when he heard the resigned sigh, he knew the woman had won.
‘Right, fine, but I have to tell you, as fire chief—hello?’
Sam could hear the clicking of the line, as the chief tried to get the caller back. Next came the frustrated dialling out, but whoever he was trying to get hold of either wasn’t available to speak suddenly or was screening their calls.
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Chief Briggs cursed, and Sam smirked despite himself. The man fought fire for a living, but never would a curse word burst forth from his lips. ‘Sam?’
Sam put down what he was doing and headed over.
‘Yes, boss?’
‘Ah, there you are!’ He coloured, probably guessing correctly that he was in earwigging distance of the call. ‘Busy?’
Sam shook his head, professional as ever.
‘No, sir, just finished in the back.’
The chief’s face relaxed a little.
‘Ah, good. I have a job for you. Actually, it’s a few jobs really.’ He straightened his tie. ‘I haven’t had the full briefing yet, but it’s coming, I’m sure. Today, I need you to go to the holiday cottages, the owners there are wanting their smoke alarms and carbon monoxide detectors checking, and one of them needs some installation.’ He picked at a tiny thread on the material. ‘It will no doubt become apparent when you get there. Take your time, we can hold the fort around here. The master keys have been dropped into the wedding boutique over on Wexley Street – a friend of the owner keeps a spare set for emergencies, repairs and the like.’
The incident warning system fired up, and Chief Briggs patted him on the shoulder.
‘Duty calls, you get off to the cottages.’
The lads in the house sprang into action, throwing their gear on and clambering into the truck. Sam watched them leave with a sigh, and headed to the back to collect his gear. The chief hadn’t even had a chance to give him any proper paperwork, so he had his work cut out for him today carrying out the assessments without knowing the layout or status of the tenants in the cottages.
It had been a few days since Iain had been standing on her doorstep, shouting the odds, but every time there was a knock at the door she still flinched. It was a beautiful day, and Xander had been up late, worrying himself to sleep over something he had read on the news. He was always so hyper aware of the dangers – the dark side of the world – even though she tried to shield him the best she could. Even after he fell asleep in her bed, she ended up staying awake long after she should. Watching his face, troubled even in sleep, his dark lashes fluttering as his mind fought against whatever unseen peril it faced. Watching him trying to navigate the world had changed her own view of the way she prioritised things. He loved books and Lego, and hated big crowds. He loved rock music, but would bolt from the noise of a motorcycle in the street.
He saw the world differently, but who was to say which was the right one? The spectrum was a rainbow of struggles and achievements, the usual yardsticks and milestones thrown out of the window. He was a bright, beautiful boy, and although he hadn’t found his place in the world yet, Luce knew that he would find his people one day. The hard part was knowing that one of his parents was struggling so much with who his son was, and would be. As a mother, she only wanted one thing for her son. For him to be happy. The thought that perhaps that meant them both moving on kept her staring out of the window till the first rays of the sun peeped through the clouds, stretching and yawning into life. This morning, after grabbing a solid two hours of fitful sleep before the demands of breakfast, she felt like roadkill. Warmed-over roadkill, with a jolt or six of coffee thrown in. She had been staring at the sink for the last three minutes, summoning the skills to wash up that she seemed to have forgotten.. Xander was stuffing toast and jam into his face, seemingly a little tired himself.
The knock at the door came again, and she looked down at herself quickly before opening it. Knowing her luck, last night’s pants
were probably stuck to her dressing gown. She hadn’t had the energy to even try to get dressed yet, and Xander was encased in a fluffy hooded onesie. He looked a bit like Obi Wan Kenobi. If Obi had a pancake fetish and night terrors.
‘Morning, darling,’ Marlene sang as she came through the door like a whirling dervish. ‘Oh, breakfast? Yummy!’ She kissed the top of Xander’s head (well, hood) and gave him a little squeeze. Xander allowed her but grumbled under his breath.
‘It’s too early, Auntie. I can’t have a conversation with you now, I need my space.’ His gaze fell on the two rather large shopping bags she had dumped by the front door. ‘What’s in the bags?’
She winked at him. ‘Well, you eat your breakfast, and when you’re ready, you can have a look.’ Turning to Luce, who was now dazedly looking at the kettle, she frowned.
‘Love, do you think you should get changed? Dressed, maybe?’ She reached around her niece gently and flicked on the kettle. ‘I’ll make the tea. Cup of tea, Xander?’
She got a grunt in response and took out an extra cup. ‘You go up, have a shower and get dressed. I’ll take care of things here.’ She pulled a piece of electric blue material out of one of the bags and thrust it into her hands. ‘Go on, and pop that on.’
Luce, still half asleep and semi drooling, looked at her son but he just looked at her blankly.
‘Okay, quick shower, brush my teeth. I won’t be a moment.’
Marlene was already passing her in the hall, heading for the closet.
‘No problem, darling, we’ll be fine. I might just have a bit of a tidy up. Xander, you’re okay, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ he trilled. ‘Go and have a bath, Mum, you look really ill.’
Wow. Sometimes his honesty slashed her to the bone.
‘Okay, honey,’ she said resignedly. ‘Won’t be long. Love you.’
The hoover sprang into life before she had even reached the top step. She could hear her auntie muttering to herself as she whipped around the rooms, shuffling furniture around. Heading straight to the bathroom, she looked in the mirror. The woman staring back at her bore more resemblance to her mother than ever before, and the eye bags didn’t help the look. Thirty, and she looked every minute of it. For a holiday, she certainly wasn’t feeling any more relaxed. Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, and she padded across to it, squinting at the early morning sun as she passed the window.
It was from Iain. She’d had to give him the new number, after him turning up. He was back at home, but wanted to come up the weekend after next to talk. And he wanted to sleep over. ‘Sleep over’? What were they, five? She knew what he meant. He was trying, making the effort. He was asking to spend time with them. Which was great, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it what she wanted when she booked the package holiday to Spain? She didn’t answer, replacing the phone back on the nightstand. She would deal with that mess later. Time for a shower. She just hoped that she wouldn’t fall asleep standing up and drown under the running water. Just her luck.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Again. All through the shower, there had been these little taps, leading to the odd banging noise. Then nothing. She even turned off the shower at one point and stood there, shivering, her head stuck out from behind the shower screen. No noise then. It stopped, but the shower was already ruined. The reality of motherhood is, unless your child is at school, or with a relative, you never really relax. Even when they are out, you still have one part of your brain focused on them. The days of long showers and lazy baths being a daily treat are long gone. Most parents can have a three-minute shower, including deep conditioning their hair, shaving their legs and either chatting to their child, who is having a dump next to them, or yelling, ‘Stop fighting, I’ll be cross. Final warning!’ through the bathroom door as they towel dry themselves so fast they end up with friction burns. The fact that she was allowed a shower, without distractions, had seemed too good to be true anyway, but she still mourned its loss. The hot water had made her feel so sleepy that now she was out, she was dreaming of bed. Hopefully Xander would sleep well. She would let him get in with her tonight, and they could drift off together. Iain always hated it, spouting on about routine and ‘making a man’ of their son by making him sleep on his own, but never actually got involved with the routine or pretty much anything else.
Right now, she could sleep on a clothesline, and she still had the whole day to live through, and a child to raise. After slapping some moisturiser on her face, she tucked her hair into a towel turban, wrapped a soft bath sheet around her torso and opened the door to head to her bedroom.
The first thing she saw was a crotch. Just before her body smashed into it.
‘Arrggghhhh! Oh my God, arrggghhhhh!’ The shock and surprise of being presented by a pair of black trousers holding a man package was too much, and it was pure fight or flight. Or, in Luce’s case, both. She let go of her towel and, bringing both her hands back, she slammed them in the man with every little bit of energy and aggression she had in her. The man toppled over with a resounding crash, but she didn’t stop to watch. She was already halfway down the stairs, boobies flying, screaming at the top of her lungs.
‘Heeelllpppp! Xander! Marlene!’
‘Lucy, stop!’
‘Luce?’
‘Mum?’
She got to the bottom of the stairs, and was just pulling on her coat, grabbed from the hook, when Marlene grabbed her and pulled her towards her.
‘What on earth?’ She helped pull the coat around her niece, covering her unmentionables and pulled Xander to them, bending down to look at him.
‘It’s okay, Xander, that was my fault. Everything’s fine, you come back in the living room and I’ll get you a snack, okay?’ Marlene looked at Luce, a mixture of apology and horror on her normally stoic features. ‘Get dressed, dear, you’ll catch your death. Sam, are you okay?’
Luce turned in abject horror, to see Sam coming down the stairs, her blue dress in one hand, a slight limp present in his gait. Behind him, she could see a small stepladder and a toolbox just visible at the top of the stairs. She turned to Marlene, but the space she’d occupied in the hall was empty, replaced by the soft click of the lounge door. Those bloody women. She knew, right then, that the women had been brewing more than Earl Grey at that Craft Club.
‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Marlene, your aunt, she told me I could go up there. I didn’t realise you were in the bathroom.’ He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped aside, holding out the bright blue material Marlene had brought.
‘I grabbed this from your bed, I hope that’s okay.’ He was talking to her ear, the wall, the ceiling. Anything but her face, and she was touched by his chivalry. And mortally embarrassed to be standing there like a lady of the night. Faux fur coat, no knickers.
‘Thanks,’ she said, awkwardly sidestepping him chest to … well … belly button. As he moved away, she noticed him wince.
‘I’m so sorry for pushing you, are you okay?’
He broke into a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘I’ve fallen off a ladder or two in my time, don’t worry. I am sorry I scared you, the last thing I would want is for you not to feel safe.’ His eyes flicked over her. Just for a second. Blink and you’d have missed it. A split second later, he was back focusing on the wall, but Luce had seen him. She self-consciously pulled the top part of her coat together with one hand, but, to her relief, everything was covered. Just about. ‘I’d hate that.’ He spoke again, his voice softer this time, quieter. Speaking the words just to her. ‘Especially if it was because of me. That would be hard to live with.’
Luce opened her mouth to comfort him, to reassure him that the fact she had gone all Kung Fu Panda on his ass wasn’t down to him, but just the sheer shock of seeing him … or parts of him … when she least expected it. She tried, but her mouth had gone a bit dry, and her inner monologue was repeating his words over and over. It seemed so … sweet. The guy was a softie. Wrapped in a panty-dropping wall of muscl
e.
‘I know I live next door, but I don’t want things to be weird. We seem to keep seeing each other at very awkward moments, don’t we?’
Standing there, feeling a slight draught from the front door, she totally understood what he meant. Carefully, and with as much dignity as she could muster, she started to move up the stairs, slinking sideways up the steps like a crab.
‘I can’t really argue that point, given that I turned into a naked assassin a moment ago.’
Sam’s laugh filled the hallway, echoing in the confines of the space.
‘A cute naked assassin, to be fair. The injuries were almost worth it.’ She could see the cogs turning in his head, as she hid her own response to his ‘cute’ comment. ‘I … er … mean with clothes on, of course. I didn’t … I never …’ He sighed, threading his fingers together in front of him like a schoolboy in front of the principal. ‘Do you know, some days, I wish I’d just stayed in bed.’
The bed reference floated in the air, visible, tangible to them both. ‘I’ll let you get on. Hopefully we can just forget this. I came on work business, to fix your smoke alarms.’ He looked sheepish again. ‘Of course, when I fell off the ladder, I landed on your new one, so I’ll have to come back later if that’s okay? I can call first of course.’ She was about to tell him she didn’t know her new number when he pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her.
‘My mobile number is on there, just let me know when it’s convenient. I’ll let you get on.’ He flashed her a quick smile, and before she had even had a chance to process, he was gone, saying his goodbyes to Xander and Marlene. She looked at the card, turning it over to see his handwriting on the back. Neat, small looping letters with his name and number, the fire station logo and emblem on the front. She pushed down the tiny flutter she felt in the pit of her stomach and took herself upstairs to get dressed. Passing the ladder, she noticed the old alarm in the corner on the floor, next to the broom from the kitchen. What was that doing there?