by Fay Keenan
‘…And when I woke up, I realised I was about seventeen stops past my home town, and spent the next three hours on a platform in the middle of nowhere to get the next train back!’ Charlie’s voice zoned back into her consciousness and, with a pang, Holly registered that she wasn’t actually living in the moment right now, however lovely that moment was.
She glanced at Charlie as she reached for the white-wine bottle and topped up his glass as well as her own. His face was slightly flushed from the wine, and he was leaning back in his dining chair. As he picked up his glass to take a sip, her eyes were drawn to his throat and his gorgeous hand holding the wine glass. She nearly choked on her own wine.
‘Are you OK?’ Charlie immediately put his glass down and turned to her in concern.
‘Fine,’ Holly gasped. ‘Thanks.’
‘Have some water,’ Edward Renton passed his daughter a tumbler. ‘Honestly, we can’t take you anywhere!’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ Holly muttered.
When her breathing had returned to normal, she turned back to Charlie. ‘Shall we go and sit outside? Mum and Dad’s patio is a real suntrap.’ She glanced at Rachel and Harry; the little boy had done remarkably well at sitting quietly at the table, and she smiled. ‘Do you want to come outside with me and Charlie and show him the chickens?’
‘Yeah!’ Harry shouted, slithering down from his chair. Rushing round to Charlie, he grabbed his hand. Holly felt a glow of pleasure at how easily the two had taken to each other.
Charlie, smiling, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by the little boy and led towards the patio doors that opened out into the Rentons’ large back garden.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Rachel said. ‘Tea or coffee, Charlie?’
‘Coffee, please,’ Charlie replied. ‘I’ve got a train to catch back to London later, so I’d better try to stay awake after that amazing lunch.’ He turned back to Harry, who was dragging him towards the patio.
Holly, smiling, got up from her chair and followed, but not before her mother had shot her a he’s-pretty-nice look from under her lashes. Holly pretended not to notice.
Sliding open the doors that filled the entire wall of her parents’ lounge diner, Holly felt the sun on her face and automatically turned her gaze upwards. She loved the early summer sun and was glad to be out in it. She glanced back at Charlie, who, attention momentarily diverted from Harry, was watching her. ‘What?’ she said teasingly.
‘The sunlight really suits you,’ Charlie said softly. ‘Catches the light in your hair. It’s like you were born to live in this season.’
‘That’s quite poetic for a politician!’ Holly laughed nervously. ‘Are you sure you’ve not been passive-smoking marijuana?’
Charlie laughed too, as he stepped out of the patio door, still being led by Harry. ‘I hope not. I still don’t know if the rumour that we get tested for drugs occasionally is actually true!’
‘Come on, Aunty Holly!’ Harry’s little voice piped up, now fed up of the lingering adults as he took off down to the bottom of the garden where the chicken coop resided.
‘We’ve been told,’ Holly laughed as she fell into step beside Charlie and followed in the toddler’s wake. They wandered down the garden, and as they drew closer, Holly was jolted to feel Charlie’s warm hand slipping into hers. It felt so right there that she just enjoyed the sensation, in this beautiful garden, out of sight of her parents for a moment. She turned back to face him. ‘I’m glad you came today,’ she said softly. ‘It might feel a bit juvenile, inviting you to Sunday lunch, but I wanted Mum and Dad, and Rachel and Harry to properly meet you. As well as apologise for, well, you know.’
‘I’m really glad you did,’ Charlie said.
A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the apple tree that they were standing under and loosened a strand of Holly’s hair from the toggle at the base of her neck. She felt a tingle of desire as Charlie reached up his free hand and brushed it away from her mouth. Holly’s stomach started to flutter. Charlie dipped his head slightly and they were within a breath of each other.
‘Come and see the chickens!’ Little Harry’s voice broke into the moment and Holly jumped away from Charlie as if she’d been up to something naughty.
‘OK, munchkin.’ To break the tension, Holly bent down and placed a kiss on Harry’s forehead, blowing away a lock of unruly blonde hair as she did so. ‘I’ll race you to the chicken house,’ she said. She glanced up at Charlie, who was, thankfully, smiling. ‘Come on, Charlie, you too.’
‘How can I refuse?’ Charlie grinned. ‘Come on, Aunty Holly!’
Holly smiled. ‘You’re on.’ Both of them took one of Harry’s hands and scampered towards the chickens, who, somewhat surprised to be the focus of so much sudden attention, clucked disapprovingly.
Holly’s heart thumped as she saw Charlie smiling down at Harry as her nephew pointed out all of the different-coloured chickens in the coop. They’d come close to something just now. The question was, was it something that either of them would pursue again?
16
The next morning, Holly grinned as she read the message that had just arrived on her phone. She briefly considered setting Charlie his own notification sound but dismissed the idea as far too ridiculous. They hadn’t even kissed yet, after all. Although, for a long moment while she was reading his message, she did think about the kind of sound that would be appropriate for his messages. Justin Timberlake’s ‘SexyBack’, perhaps, or, more wittily, ‘Moves Like Jagger’, which she was sure he’d be flattered by.
Say thanks again to your folks when you see them, he’d written. I’m stuck on the train just outside Reading, as usual, and I wish you were here with me! C x
Holly’s heart thumped as she saw the kiss at the end of the text. They’d been so close yesterday, so achingly close, and yet they’d both paused. Perhaps, even fifteen years on, they were still the same reticent, geeky teenagers underneath it all. Holly was stunned that, even having seen the picture of herself as a teenager on the fridge, Charlie still hadn’t made the connection that they’d met all those years ago. It wasn’t a great indicator for a politician, she thought wryly, if he couldn’t remember a face. Or perhaps she just hadn’t made as much of an impression on him as he had on her. Having said that, she thought, she’d forgotten all about him until her mother had passed on her university stuff, so it wasn’t as if he was the great, lost love of her life or anything. It was all just a rather pleasurable coincidence.
Thanks, she replied. But I think I’ve got the better deal. It’s a gorgeous day in your new home town, and I’m looking forward to a nice long walk later.
She paused before adding her own X, after deciding that it was juvenile to worry about it. He’d used it first, after all. Who knew text communication could be so confusing?
They’d parted last night once again without kissing, as Rachel had offered to give Holly a lift back home, and Charlie had chosen to walk. Frustrated somewhat by her sister’s, as ever, perfectly imperfect timing, she and Charlie had said goodbye on her parents’ doorstep, and she knew, since he was getting an early train in the morning, she wouldn’t get another opportunity to be alone with him until the end of the week when he came home from London. Why hadn’t she just taken the initiative and kissed him in her parents’ garden? What was holding her back?
It wasn’t until she was at the end of a deep-vision meditation session with a small group of clients the following morning that it hit her like a bolt from the blue. Curled in child’s pose at the end of the session, she suddenly knew exactly why she hadn’t taken the lead. It was so obvious. She was, deep down, miffed that he hadn’t recognised her. She was, basically, suffering from a case of bruised ego!
Putting those thoughts to one side abruptly as the bell above her shop door tinkled, she glanced up from the book she’d been flipping through on deep meditation techniques. She’d been trying to develop her practice lately, with a view to branching out and holding more regular sessions in the
outdoors. She always felt so much more in touch with the elements when she meditated outside, but she’d only ever really held sessions in the shop. Perhaps outside was the next step. Placing the book down, she smiled at a small group of people, obviously tourists, who were glancing around the shop in trepidation. Realising that often people just came in to gawp, she smiled again, and left them to it. Sales of anything other than novelty crystals were rare in this instance.
Once they’d bought a couple of trinkets, and she’d filled them in on where the best places to get a coffee and a snack were (namely Jack Winter’s coffee shop a few doors further along), Holly decided to take the bull by the horns. Flipping the sign on the shop’s door to ‘Closed’ for a few minutes, she padded up the stairs to her bedroom, where she’d stashed the blue suitcase under her bed and released the mottled catches and lifted the lid on it again. Finding the old manila envelope that contained the photographs, she shook them out onto the bed and picked up the one of Charlie that had triggered her memory. Her heart thumped as she saw his smiling, open face, framed by those thick, black glasses. He looked so young, so different, and yet there he was, Charlie Thorpe, the glimmer of the man he was to become hidden in those deep brown eyes. She’d made the connection; why hadn’t he? Was she really that unmemorable? No, that wasn’t fair on Charlie. So why was she letting it hold her back? Why hadn’t she just kissed him in the garden and moved on, whichever direction it would have gone?
She shook her head in exasperation. This was getting her nowhere. Then she had an idea. She could just tell him, of course. Smile, laugh, drop it into conversation the next time they happened to meet. The air would be clear, and things would move on naturally. But where was the fun in that? No, this deserved a little more fanfare. He’d caught her off guard in the shop when they’d first met; now it was her turn to do the same to him. After all, she reasoned, a politician had to be able to think on his feet; let’s see what happens when she springs the reveal on him.
Now grinning, she grabbed her phone and texted him. The instructions were simple; turn up to the flat on Friday night and bring a bottle. The rest was up to her.
17
Friday evening seemed to come around swiftly. Holly, who’d been mercifully busy enough in ComIncense all day to put her date with Charlie mostly to the back of her mind, opened the door of her flat and smiled when he arrived. Charlie, who’d obviously come more or less straight from work having spent a rare Friday in Westminster rather than in Willowbury, was still in his suit. His tie was a little askew, but he’d clearly not wasted any time in getting to her, as she’d told him to. He’d swapped his bag for a bottle of Sancerre, which still had the mist of condensation from whichever fridge he’d removed it from, his own or that of the off-licence on the High Street. She could even smell a tantalising scent of the last of his aftershave mixed with that enticing smell of London: slightly smoky, a little bit stressed and sublimely sexy.
‘Hi,’ she said softly. She was tickled to see him hesitating on the doorstep – perhaps still a little embarrassed by the mouse-up-the-trouser-leg incident, which was the last time he’d crossed the threshold. ‘Come on in.’
‘There aren’t any loose mice around are there?’ he asked, as if he’d read her mind.
Holly laughed. ‘Not as far as I’m aware, but Arthur’s not come back from his evening constitutional yet, so you can always tuck your trousers into your socks if you want to!’
Charlie laughed too. ‘That would be a great look, wouldn’t it?’
Despite his apparent rodent-related reservations, Charlie needed no further invitation and stepped into the flat, blinking a little at the dim lighting.
Holly had lit a candle in the hall, which rested in a glass bowl on the narrow console table under the mirror, and as they wandered back through to the living area off the hall, which incorporated Holly’s kitchen and lounge space, more candles could be seen burning around the edges of the room. Some of them were on the worktops and sideboard, but, and Charlie seemed a little unnerved by this, some were just lit at random and placed carefully on the floor.
‘Don’t you worry about Arthur singeing his tail with all these naked flames around? Or knocking one over and setting fire to the place?’
‘He’s not particularly interested in them, to be honest,’ Holly said as Charlie passed the bottle of wine to her. Wandering over to the kitchen area, she swiftly found the corkscrew and poured them both a chilled glass. ‘Thanks for this. Just what I need on a Friday evening after a busy week.’
‘Ley lines giving you grief?’ Charlie teased. ‘Chakras not aligning properly?’
‘Oh, I know it’s not like I’m running the country or anything,’ Holly replied, a twinkle in her eye. ‘But believe it or not, being a small business owner comes with its own stresses. Not that you’d know anything about that, of course, in your Westminster bubble for most of the week.’
‘On the contrary,’ Charlie said, taking a sip of his wine. ‘I’ve spent most of this week reading emails from business owners in Willowbury bemoaning the lack of progress on the new motorway junction.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Your local baker, Miles Fairbrother, has a thing or two to say about the delays, as I’ve been finding out.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about him,’ Holly snorted. ‘He’s taken so many backhanders about that bloody junction over the years, he can afford to wait a bit longer. They can’t do anything while the site’s being investigated, anyway, and that’s even before the local wildlife trust have fully examined the area. There’s still the toads and bats to consider.’
‘You seem remarkably knowledgeable about it all,’ Charlie said. He glanced at the cosy sofa that was covered with a patchwork rug. ‘May I?’
‘Wait a second,’ Holly said. She had her own reasons for keeping him standing at the moment. She felt a flutter in her stomach, a prickle of indecision about what she was going to do. What if, after all, Charlie just looked blankly at her, denied ever having met her and the whole thing was just a massive embarrassment? Perhaps she should just sit down with him and forget it.
But still, this was the reason she’d been holding back from him. He’d landed on top of her in her own living room, for goodness’ sake! And the way his eyes were widening in the (admittedly dim) light had to be a sign. That walk in her parents’ garden, underneath the apple trees, where they’d come so close to a kiss, had to mean something. And the fact he’d come virtually straight from the train to her home. She needed to get over this hurdle, get over her own hang-ups about that night in London fifteen years ago and move forward. But, first of all, she had to know if he really had forgotten all about her.
‘What is it?’ Charlie said, his voice betraying a little concern. ‘Is everything OK?’
Holly smiled again, as much to reassure herself as him. ‘It’s fine, honestly. But will you trust me for a moment?’
Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Of course. But you’re not going to make me do any twilight rebirthing or transcendental meditation? I’ve had quite a long week!’
‘No meditation, I promise.’ Taking a deep breath, Holly prepared to level with him. She took the wine glass out of his hand. ‘Give me a minute, OK?’
‘Sure,’ Charlie said.
He looked as nervous and uncertain as he had all those years ago, Holly thought. Somewhere, in this very grown-up man, were the vestiges of the boy she’d met; the boy with the smiling eyes. She turned away from him and prepared to let him in on the secret she’d been keeping to herself.
Charlie felt distinctly unsettled. He’d had a long week, and he still felt befuddled by the low candlelight and the rather odd expression Holly had had on her face before she’d turned away and headed to the bedroom of her flat. Charlie prided himself on his efficiency, on his ability to put all aspects of his life into the correct mental pigeonholes and deal with everything in the most effective way possible. And now, here was Holly Renton suggesting that he’d made an error; an error that he should have remembered.
‘Remember what?’ he asked. His voice was a little more brittle than it should have been. ‘Did I do something stupid after you gave me that first massage? Did I leave here stark bollock naked or something?’
Holly laughed. ‘Don’t you think that would have been all over the local paper if you had? “Willowbury MP in flashing scandal”?’
‘Round here, I doubt it would have been much of a scandal,’ Charlie replied, remembering the notes about the nude sunbathing shop owners that he’d found in one of Hugo Fitzgerald’s box files.
Still none the wiser, he heard what sounded like the flip of a briefcase catch and the rustle of some papers. Taking a sip of his wine, he willed the chilled, bone-dry liquid to calm him down. There were too many mixed signals here, standing in this house, with this woman, waiting for the big reveal. Charlie was about as risk-averse as he could be, even more so now he was an MP, and being here made his stomach flutter and his hands shake in a way they hadn’t for years. In fact, the last time he could remember feeling so unnerved was… was… He reached for the memory, for the tantalising truth that had been eluding him since his arrival in Willowbury, but once again it danced from his fingertips, away from his mind. And then, before he could try to grasp it fully, Holly returned, clutching a couple of what looked like photographs to her chest.
‘Christ,’ Charlie muttered, heart beating faster. This was worse than he’d thought. ‘What are those?’ It was a politician’s worst nightmare, he thought; photographs were more likely to be digital and pop up all over Instagram these days, but the thought of being caught on camera doing something that looked incriminating was an unnerving one.