The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Poor Cole. Here I am moaning about a lack of quality panto while you’ve been painting your little socks off at all hours.’

  ‘My socks are a good, manly size, thank you.’

  I smiled. ‘Wish you were here, love.’

  ‘So do I.’ He kissed his fingertips and touched them to the screen. ‘It seems like so long since I was able to hold you at bedtime.’

  ‘How long will we have to do this, Cole? I miss you.’

  ‘Just a little while, that’s all. I’m selling more now, since the last exhibition at Ryder’s gallery. And just as soon as a lecturer position opens up in Yorkshire, I’ll be there like a whippet up a trouser leg.’

  ‘Offensive,’ I said, raising my eyes. ‘Anyway, that’s ferrets. Check your stereotypes, Lord Snooty.’

  Cole laughed. ‘Sorry. I’ll be sure to do some revision before I move.’ He softened his voice. ‘Are you very lonely without me, darling?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I admitted. ‘I mean, I’ve got my family, but I’ve been away from the village so long, it almost feels like I’m an outsider again. Not that I’m not glad to be back,’ I added hastily. ‘I do think it was the right decision for us – or it will be, when we can be together.’

  ‘It’ll be soon, I promise.’

  ‘Cam thinks I should get out more. Him and Tom want me to join their quiz team at the local pub.’

  ‘And are you going to?’

  ‘I don’t know, what do you think? It’d mean missing our Thursday night date-call.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, it’s not very fair to keep you all to myself. Your brother’s right, you should have more of a social life than just chatting to me.’

  ‘I like chatting to you.’

  ‘Still. We planned for a life in Egglethwaite because we wanted to build a future there. That really should mean becoming part of the community,’ he said. ‘Go out and have fun, Becky. Join a club or something perhaps, make friends. I feel awful thinking of you alone.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. I knew this was the way things would have to be for a while.’ I sighed. ‘But I do feel a bit isolated. You sure you don’t mind me going out without you?’

  ‘Of course not, darling. We’ve never exactly lived in each other’s pockets, have we? I can console myself with a goodnight text in lieu of a phone call.’

  I smiled. ‘You’re the perfect man, you know that?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And quite touchingly humble.’

  ‘I know that too.’

  I reached out to touch the phone screen. ‘Hate thinking of you so far away.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ he said, with the hint of a smile. ‘Just a minute.’

  Cole stood up from whatever he’d been perching on, and a second later the screen went dark.

  ‘Cole?’ I tapped it a few times. ‘Cole? You still there?’

  ‘I’m still here.’

  I stared at the screen. But this wasn’t a tinny, muffled phone voice. Slowly I turned my head.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  I blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear. Yes, it was really Cole: gorgeous, rumpled and most importantly life-sized, filling my bedroom doorframe. It felt like so long since I’d seen him, he’d almost become a dream. And now here he was, as solid as ever and beaming at me.

  ‘When did you get here?’ I managed to gasp. ‘How did you get in? Where did you call me from?’

  ‘Right before you got home. Spare key under the shed door, same place you always hide it. And the attic, respectively.’ He glanced down my body and laughed when he took in my strappy top and baggy lounge pants. ‘So this is what you wear to FaceTime me, is it? And to think I always imagined you in lacy hotpants.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I whispered. ‘Why did you come, Cole?’

  He came and crouched in front of where I was perched on the bed, putting his arms around my waist. ‘To surprise you.’ He glanced up towards the ceiling. ‘And on a more prosaic note, I wanted to have a look around that attic space to see if it would be suitable as a studio. A little small, but I think it will do.’

  ‘How long can you stay?’ I asked, nuzzling into his neck to absorb his familiar scent.

  ‘Only until the morning,’ he said with a guilty grimace. ‘I’m sorry, Becky. I know it’s an expensive trip for just one night together, but I have to put in some painting this weekend if I’m going to be ready for my exhibition.’

  ‘You sure you can’t stay longer?’ I looked up from his neck to give my eyelashes a suggestive flutter. ‘I can ask my stepmum if she could man the shop for me tomorrow. We could stay in bed all day.’

  He smiled. ‘Harlot.’

  ‘That’s why you asked me to marry you,’ I said, smiling. ‘You can leave it till tomorrow night, can’t you?’

  ‘I really can’t stay that long.’

  ‘The afternoon then.’ I sighed, casting my eyes upwards in my best wounded martyr pose. ‘You wouldn’t want me to become one of these poor frustrated housewives, would you? Forced to get her kicks from travelling plumbers and milkmen?’

  ‘Well… if you’re determined to fight dirty, midday then. But absolutely not a second longer.’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Done,’ I said, shaking his hand. I glanced over my shoulder at the bed. ‘So that gives us just over sixteen hours. Better make a start, eh?’

  Cole rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, the windswept romance of it all.’

  ‘What can I say? I’m a romantic.’

  He got to his feet and pressed a gentle kiss to my fingers, just over the engagement ring he’d given me nearly two years ago now.

  ‘Still my girl, Becky Finn?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Always,’ I whispered, pulling him down onto the bed.

  Chapter 3

  ‘You’re glowing today,’ Tom’s sister Lana said when I dropped into her restaurant the following Monday.

  ‘Yeah.’ I stifled a yawn. ‘Treated myself to a pamper weekend. Really seems to have done the trick.’

  ‘What sort of pampering?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Duvet day, face mask, good book.’

  ‘That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, are you?’

  I frowned. ‘You what?’

  She smiled for a customer who’d approached the counter. ‘Here’s a menu, sir. Specials are the game pie, chicken and leek pie or the Man vs Pie pie. Just take a seat, someone’ll be with you in a minute.’

  When he’d gone, she turned back to me. ‘It’s just, I heard from Yo-yo who heard from Rita who heard from Valerie that “some blonde beefcake” – direct quote, as if you can’t tell – was seen sneaking into your place on Friday night.’

  ‘Is nothing private in this village?’

  ‘Not while the Ladies Who Lunch gossipvine’s in operation. So Cole was up, was he?’

  ‘Just for the one night. He had to get back to London.’

  ‘You should’ve brought him over,’ she said. ‘I’m sure me and Stew could’ve found you a nice, quiet table in lovers’ corner.’

  I cocked an eyebrow. ‘What, our first night alone together in months and you want me to drag him to this place for pie and peas?’

  ‘Why not? Very romantic, pie and peas.’

  I grinned. ‘Was never going to happen anyway. We didn’t leave the bedroom till half an hour before his train was due on Saturday.’

  ‘Nympho.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s have a few details.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I said, tilting my nose. ‘A woman’s mucky weekend with her fiancé is her own personal, private business.’

  ‘Aww, go on. Just an overview to liven up my shift.’

  I nodded to the man she’d just d
irected to a table, who was approaching the counter with a black look on his face.

  ‘Oh look,’ I said. ‘An angry customer.’

  ‘How very convenient for you.’

  She slapped on a bright smile as I sidled away to the bar.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the man said. ‘Is this the only menu?’

  ‘Just that and the specials,’ Lana said. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Well, yes. There’s nothing on it but pies.’

  ‘That’s right. This is Pie and a Pint. I mean, that’s literally the name of the restaurant.’

  There was a lad leaning against the bar at my side. ‘These’re always worth watching,’ he said, bending to whisper in my ear.

  ‘I know the restaurant’s called Pie and a Pint, but I didn’t think that was all you’d have,’ the customer told Lana stiffly.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ she said. ‘It’s right there above the door. Pie. And a pint. In big, shiny letters, with a picture of a pie and another of a pint. The last thing you could accuse us of is false advertising.’

  I nudged the man next to me. ‘She’s unleashing the sarcasm. Could be fireworks.’

  ‘Right then,’ the customer snapped. ‘One game pie, if that’s really all you’ve got, and a small red wine.’

  ‘I’m afraid if you want wine, you’ll have to order it by the pint,’ Lana said. Cruelly deprived of sordid details about my sex life, I could tell this was the highlight of her afternoon.

  The customer’s eyebrows rocketed up. ‘You’re joking. Are you really telling me all you do in this place is pie and a pint?’

  ‘No, we’re pretty broad-minded. If you don’t fancy pie and a pint, we’re quite open to serving you the pint first and then the pie.’

  ‘Stew!’ the bloke next to me called to the good-looking blonde man tending bar. ‘Your missus is getting herself into bother.’

  ‘Oh God, not again.’ Stewart groaned and put down the glass he was polishing. ‘Watch the bar a sec, Marcus. Honestly, she’s been primed to go off ever since we put our adoption application in.’

  Stewart hurried to the counter, and we heard him trying to explain his wife’s idea of a joke to the poor customer while Lana, smirking, came to join us.

  ‘You don’t serve wine by the pint,’ I said.

  ‘Course we don’t. I just thought a bit of mischief might cheer Stew up. He’s been so tense since the adoption application went in.’

  The man called Marcus grinned at me. ‘Déjà vu, eh?’

  ‘So you two’ve met, have you?’ Lana said.

  ‘We’re about to.’ He shook my hand. ‘Marcus Teasdale.’

  ‘Becky Finn.’

  His gaze flickered to the diamond sparkling on my left hand. ‘Ah, shame. Hope he’s worth it.’

  I smiled. ‘He is.’

  ‘Marcus is Deano’s brother,’ Lana told me.

  My eyes widened. ‘Bloody hell, there’s more than one of them?’

  It’d never occurred to me that Pie and a Pint’s eccentric chef Deano had relatives. I’d always assumed he was the result of some bizarre DNA experiment in a Play-Doh factory.

  ‘Yep,’ Marcus said, grinning. ‘My parents were obviously lulled into a false sense of security when I turned out all right, so like fools they went on to have Deano.’

  ‘Marc’s a wizard, you know.’ Lana glanced at the counter, where Stewart, having dealt with the difficult customer, was staring morosely into the distance. ‘Can you guys watch the bar while I see if Stew’s ok? Poor lamb, he’s struggling at the moment.’

  ‘When’ll you hear?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘Could be months till the background checks are done.’ She sighed. ‘So much riding on it.’

  She went to Stewart and put a loving arm round his waist. He smiled, bending to plant a kiss on her dark curls.

  ‘Sweet couple,’ Marcus said. ‘What’s your connection?’

  ‘Sister-in-law.’ I frowned. ‘Or sister-in-law once removed, if that’s a thing. My brother’s married to Lana’s brother.’

  ‘Ah right, you’re Cam’s sister. He told me he had one, but I thought he was just making it up to sound cool.’

  ‘So how about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve known them since the Dark Ages. Deano was working here back when the place was still a medieval restaurant.’ He nodded to Galahad, the suit of armour Lana kept propped against the bar for old times’ sake.

  ‘What is it Lana thinks you’re so wizard in then? Kitchen, garden, bedroom?’

  ‘Well definitely not the first two. Deano got all the cooking genes and I’ve killed off three spider plants and a peace lily so far.’

  ‘Third one?’

  He grinned. ‘Not really for me to say. Happy to give you a demo though, if the fiancé’s ok with it.’

  ‘So what are you a wizard at?’

  ‘Magic. I mean, I’m an actual wizard. Card-carrying.’

  Oh God. So he was one of these New Age Wiccan types, was he? All pentangles and healing crystals, probably. I should’ve known there was something wrong with him when he’d started flirting with me.

  He laughed at the look on my face. ‘Ok, so I’m not technically a Hogwarts graduate. I am a magician though. Professionally, that’s what I do.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yep.’ He smiled. ‘What? Some people have to be magicians.’

  I sized him up. Marcus was tall and lean – so far, so magiciany – but he was a long way from a David Blaine, or even a Dynamo.

  His hair was longish, the tight black curls twisting together into spidery fronds. He was dressed casually in jeans and a grungy white t-shirt that contrasted with the rich mocha of his skin, and his relaxed, don’t-care attitude, his easy one-sided smile, as he leaned against the bar seemed calculated to put people at their ease.

  ‘You’re too good-looking to be a magician,’ I told him flatly. ‘And too ordinary.’

  I don’t know why it popped into my head to say that. It was the sort of crack I might make to Lana or Cam, who knew me well enough to know when I was joking, but this guy was a virtual stranger.

  Marcus didn’t look offended though.

  ‘Yeah? What’s your job then?’ he said.

  ‘I run a costume shop in Skipton. Fancypants.’

  ‘Ah, right. That’d explain the outfit.’

  I laughed. ‘Touché.’

  ‘So, do you believe me? I am a 100% bona fide magician, I swear.’

  ‘Hmm. Not sure,’ I said, squinting one eye. ‘You haven’t even got a beard.’

  ‘They’re not mandatory, you know. The Magic Circle’s very open-minded about the whole beard thing nowadays.’

  ‘Prove it. Do me a trick.’

  ‘All right. Bet you 50p I can make your breasts move without touching them.’

  ‘That’s not a trick, it’s an off-colour chat-up line. Go on. You must have a pack of cards stashed somewhere.’

  ‘Sorry. Left them in my other, more magic jeans.’

  ‘Ha! Typical. No beard, no cape, no cards. Bet you haven’t even got a proper magician name.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Dunno, The Great Awesome-o or whatever.’

  He laughed. ‘Nope, just Marcus.’ He gestured to Lana, heading back in our direction. ‘Here’s your sister three times removed or whatever. I’d better drop in on Deano and get off.’ With a nod of goodbye, he walked off.

  ‘You two looked like you were making friends,’ Lana said when she joined me.

  ‘Seems a nice lad. He’s not really a magician, is he?’

  ‘Yep, kids’ parties. We’re thinking of booking him for Pip’s birthday barbecue.’

  I watched Marcus disappear into the kitchen, wondering how he’d look in a top hat.

  ‘Hey, want to hear a joke?’ Lana asked.


  ‘Ugh, not more jokes. Got enough of them at the pantomime.’

  ‘It’s a good one. Why are tables called tables?’

  ‘Dunno, why?’

  ‘Because they arrr.’

  I laughed. ‘I see Pip’s been round.’

  ‘Yeah, Tom and Cam brought her over on Saturday to tell us all about the panto. In quick succession I got why are pirates called pirates, why are tables called tables, why is Uncle Stew called Uncle Stew, all with the same punchline.’

  ‘She’s a cutie,’ I said with a fond smile.

  ‘Hey, why don’t you and Cole take her out together next time he’s up? It’ll be good practice for you.’

  ‘Yeah, good idea. Cole’s not really spent much time with kids. Probably should ease him in gently to the parenthood thing.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a while yet. He needs a job before you start thinking weddings and babies.’

  ‘I just hope it’s not too long a while, that’s all.’ I flicked a fingernail against the service bell on the bar. ‘I’m thirty-four, Lana. There’s only so long I can keep telling my body clock to shut up.’

  ‘When is he next up?’

  ‘Next month.’ I sighed. ‘It feels so empty in the house, just me.’

  ‘Then get yourself out. You can’t sit at home every night just because you feel guilty.’

  I stared at her. ‘How did you know I feel guilty?’

  She shrugged. ‘Obvious.’

  ‘Cole was saying I should join a club or something.’

  ‘There you go then. Hey, you busy tonight?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said cautiously, wondering what she was planning. Twice since moving up I’d let her lure me to the pub for a girls’ night, and both times it hadn’t been pretty. ‘You’re not going to get me drunk again, are you?’

  ‘Why don’t you come to the village society meeting with me and Tom? I can always get you drunk after.’

  I frowned. ‘What, those old fogies?’

  ‘Why not? They’re a good bunch, and we need young blood,’ she said. ‘Ok, so it’s not hours of endless fun, but it’s right at the heart of the village. You get to know everyone.’