“Of course I don’t mind.” The stab to my betrayed heart had caused my breath to catch in my throat.
“Are you okay?” I could hear the concern in his voice.
“Yes, sorry, a piece of my sandwich went down the wrong hole, couldn’t breathe there for a moment. Oh, hold on, I think Ronan needs me…” I pulled the phone away from my ear for a few seconds. “Joe, I have to go. I’ll call you back later?”
“Sure, and it was great to hear from you. I miss you, you know? When are you coming home? I might have some nice properties for you to look at.”
“Soon, and I miss you, too. Email me the details. I really need to start thinking about somewhere to live.”
I disconnected the call after saying goodbye and placed my phone down. I felt a hand on my shoulder as a tear left my eye and dripped onto the wooden table.
“Your sandwich is there,” I said, as Ronan took the seat beside me.
“Why are you crying?”
“I choked on a piece of—”
“You didn’t. I was standing by the door.”
“Joe just told me my ex bought a million-and-whatever pound property and he’s going to their housewarming, for business reasons mind, and it seems everyone is moving on, but I’m stuck going round the same circle,” I said without taking a breath. “He’s also emailing me some property details, so I guess I need to think about buying a house.” I wiped my eyes on the back of my sleeve and stood. “Anyway, enough about that. What happened?”
“I told Manuel he had a week to clear his things from the cottage and that he has lost his job. If he goes quietly, I won’t get the police involved in his theft.”
I widened my eyes, impressed by Ronan’s firm handling of things. “Oh, what did he say?”
“He called me a prick, a wanker, a tosser, and a loser.” He laughed, not that I thought he should have. I bristled in anger on his behalf. “Then he told me my mum gave the best blow jobs and liked taking it up the arse.”
I spat my tea across the table. “What did you say to that?” I asked after gathering my composure.
“I know.”
“You know?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I just said, I know.”
I frowned.
He exhaled a deep sadness-filled sigh, betraying his earlier laughter. “I don’t know, obviously, but it stumped him enough to have him shut up. Now he’s wondering what I meant by it I guess.”
“What happens now?”
“Now, I have to find a replacement. And I’ve called all those that were paying him. They didn’t question when he just gave them new bank details and are very much apologetic.”
“Well, that’s a good job done, I guess.”
“What’s up with the gigolo?” Maggie asked as she walked into the kitchen.
“He got fired for stealing money from us,” Ronan said, not holding back the details.
Her eyes were wide. “He did what?”
Ronan told her what we’d found in the office.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I think you’ve been too generous with him,” she said.
“Where is the cottage he lives in?” I asked.
“Further down the lane from the one you face planted in the mud at. There’s a row of three. He has one, and the other two are empty.”
“When did you last make sure they were all secure? He could be renting them out as well as diverting income.”
Maggie rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go and check. I could do with getting out for ten minutes.”
The three of us piled into a Land Rover—different to the one we’d driven in before that stunk of wet dogs—and Ronan drove us to the cottages. We were half expecting to see Manuel but thankfully didn’t. Instead, we made our way to the middle one. Maggie had a key, and she opened the front door. The cottage was absolutely gorgeous, the kind I’d expect to see on a twee programme about country living or read about in a book. It was the kind of cottage I’d love to live in if it could be transplanted to Kent. The front door opened into a hallway with a brick inlaid floor. There was a wooden staircase up and two doors off. The first led us to the living room with its log burner raised on a brick plinth. The wooden floorboards were in need of a sanding and varnish, and there was a lighter patch in the middle where a rug had sat for years. Beams crisscrossed the walls. The living room ran into a dining area, which then led sideways into the kitchen. I was surprised at the size; the cottage was a little tardis. Every now and then, as we walked around, I smelt something sweet.
“Can you smell that?” I asked. Ronan shook his head, but Maggie frowned.
“Almonds,” she said. I wasn’t sure what an almond smelled like so couldn’t confirm.
“I think this is a wonderful cottage. Why aren’t they rented out?” I asked.
“There aren’t that many people around here, to be honest. Those that are, live closer to town,” Ronan said.
“What about a holiday let then?” I asked.
“If I can find the right manager then, yes, in the summer we get a lot of tourists, especially around the loch.”
I loved the way his accent came into force when he said, ‘loch.’ He practically spat the word.
I left the room and walked up the stairs to find two decent sized bedrooms and a bathroom. The smell, however, became stronger. As I looked around one room, I noticed a light. It filtered through a gap between the ceiling and the wall. I headed back out of the room and looked up.
“Is there a loft?” I shouted downstairs.
“I imagine so,” Ronan called back.
I found the loft hatch in the second bedroom. I also found, rather conveniently, a stick with a hook specifically designed to open the hatch, which I did, and then pulled down the metal ladder.
“What are you doing?” I heard.
“Checking the loft. There’s a light on,” I said.
“Don’t go up there on your own,” he said, as I was halfway up. “And if you ignore that, don’t step between the beams.”
“Oh my fucking Lord!” I exclaimed, and then immediately stepped between the beams.
I felt the floor give way, my foot continued in a downward motion, and the scrape against my skin most categorically told me I’d gone through the floor, or ceiling, or both, or whatever it was called.
“What the…?” I heard.
“I fell through the floor, but, oh fuck, Ronan, there’s a drug factory up here,” I shouted. I felt Ronan push my foot as if to propel me back through the hole I had created.
I dragged my foot back up and balanced on a beam while Ronan climbed the ladder.
“What’s going on up there?” Maggie shouted.
“Someone has a cannabis farm going on,” I replied.
“Can you keep your voices down?” Ronan asked, grumpily.
“There is no one here to hear us,” Maggie said.
“Oh fuck,” Ronan uttered, reaching for his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Calling the police.”
“Don’t, we could sell this. This shit goes for thousands,” I said. I was, of course, joking. I had no idea what cannabis sold for.
Ronan hadn’t fallen for the joke. He stared at me through narrowed eyes and screwed up his nose. It was as if he was seeing me for the very first time and wasn’t impressed.
I rolled my eyes and slapped his chest playfully. “I was kidding, call the police.” As he did, I noticed a hole in the wall that would have divided the loft from the neighbour. More lights, more plants, and a stronger smell was on the other side.
“Manuel is a right little drug dealer,” I said, with a laugh.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Ronan snapped. Sometimes I thought he’d had a humour bypass, but I realised, it was serious. He owned the cottages that the drug factory had been set up in.
I felt my cheeks heating. “I’m sorry. Did you tell them about Manuel?”
“No, I just said we climbed into a loft, a
nd it’s full of drugs.”
“What do they look like?” Maggie asked.
“Green plants,” I replied.
I heard her muttering and was sure it was, “Oh, dear.”
“Maggie, is there anything you want to tell us?” Ronan asked flatly.
“Well, he told me they were herbs, good for the old folk,” she said. Although I couldn’t see her, I could imagine her wringing her hands.
“Maggie?” I said. I had managed to keep to the beam and had crouched down to look out of the loft hatch as Ronan descended the ladder.
Her brow was crumpled, and her nostrils flared. “Manuel said they were herbs and good for the joints. He told me to put them in the cakes.” If she continued to wring her hands, she’d have no skin left, I thought.
“What cakes?” I said, but started to giggle. I had an idea which ones she meant.
“The art group,” she almost whispered.
I raised my eyebrows, despite the fact it was no surprise. “The naked art group? No wonder they were able to prance around the woods without clothes on a freezing day.” I could barely get the words out such was my mirth.
Maggie started to laugh with me.
“It’s not funny,” Ronan said. “You could have killed them.”
That made us laugh harder. “Oh, Lord, do you think I’ll go to prison?” she asked, spluttering the words.
“I need to pee,” I said, swinging my bum out of the loft hatch. I fumbled around, finding the treads on the ladder while still laughing.
“Oh, those poor pensioners,” Maggie said, forgetting she was one herself.
That was it. I was halfway down the ladder and needed to cross my legs so tight. I held on while Ronan was trying to assist. I was laughing too hard to speak and tell him to stop pulling at my legs, for two reasons. First, if he parted them, pee would leak, and second, he was grabbing hold of the broken skin from when I stepped through the ceiling.
I tried to shake him off. “I need to pee, seriously. Stop pulling my leg, or I’ll piss all over you!”
Maggie fell to the floor, and I wasn’t sure if she was having a heart attack or if it was because she was laughing so much. At least it meant Ronan let go of my leg to help her. I jumped down and rushed to the bathroom, grateful my bladder held until.
“Oh, bollocks,” I whispered. No loo paper.
I’d hovered anyway, so decided to shake. Twerking wasn’t something I’d ever done and was most certainly something I was totally shite at. However, I shook as much as I could and then pulled my knickers and jeans up. I’d have to change when I got back.
It was half an hour later that the police arrived. I opened the front door and was immediately greeted by a drug dog that stuck his, or her, nose straight between my thighs. The thing sneezed!
“That will teach you,” I said, patting its head and then chastising myself for petting a working dog.
I followed the police back up the stairs and into the bedroom where Maggie started to babble away about cakes and naked pensioners, Ronan was shaking his head with exasperation, and the police were climbing the ladder to the loft.
“We’re going to need you to leave,” I heard. I was happy about that.
I grabbed Maggie’s arm and dragged her to the stairs. I looked over my shoulder and stage-whispered. “She has dementia.”
Ronan groaned out loud before waving his arm furiously for me to leave. The policeman was simply frowning at us.
We left Ronan giving whatever details were needed to the policeman, and it was quite exciting to see three police cars in the lane. One chap was on his walkie-talkie ordering up a van, or so I thought I heard. I guessed they’d need to remove the plants and they were hardly likely to fit in one of the cars.
“Do you think we’re in trouble?” Maggie said, with a worried expression as I helped her into the front seat of the Land Rover.
“Yes, I imagine they’ll come by later to arrest you,” I replied.
She gaped, and I laughed. “If you stop telling them you make cakes for the naked OAPs I think we’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Lizzie, I don’t think I’ve laughed as much in years. Ronan sure needs to get that rod out of his arse,” she said.
We were still chuckling, much to his disgust, when Ronan climbed behind the steering wheel. He didn’t speak as we drove back.
“What’s going to happen?” Maggie asked him as he parked up.
“They’ll remove all the plants and then arrest Manuel, they said.”
“If he decided to do a runner, where would he go?” I asked as I climbed out.
“I have no idea. I never really knew him, and I could fucking kick myself for that now.”
“Ronan, this isn’t your fault. And it was rather funny,” I said, smiling at him and trying to lighten the mood a little.
He scowled at me. “I didn’t think so. I think it’s just another load of shit on an already loaded plate for me.”
He walked into the house and Maggie and I stood still. “Is he okay, do you think?” she asked.
“I have no idea. Is he normally this…stiff?” I asked.
“No, well certainly not before…” Maggie didn’t finish her sentence.
“Before I came here?” I asked, gently.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with you, honestly. He’s off, grieving; maybe it’s finally hit him. He hasn’t cried at all, Lizzie,” Maggie said, concern lacing her words.
“Maybe. Anyway, we can’t just stand out here.”
Ronan was nowhere to be seen. I assumed he had headed back to the office. I wondered if the pressure was getting too much for him, and maybe I wasn’t as much help as he was hoping. I decided to go and find him.
He wasn’t in the estate office or the kennels. I looked in the washroom and the shed where he kept tractors and quad bikes. It was too chilly to take a walk around the gardens, so I headed back in and upstairs to find some layers. As I walked into my bedroom, I screeched.
Ronan walked out at the same time as I pushed the door open. “Why is this in the bedside drawer?” he asked, aggressively, waving around the photograph of him and Demi.
I was stumped as to what to say. “Why were you rifling around my drawer?” I said, regretting it immediately.
“It’s my drawer, Lizzie. Please leave my things alone,” he said, and then stomped from the room, not giving me a chance to respond.
In fact, he brushed past my shoulder like he would a man in a bar that had annoyed him. I stood, open-mouthed, watching him walk to his bedroom.
“How fucking dare you,” I whispered.
My voice cracked, though. How on earth could I tell him how I ended up with the photograph? My cheeks coloured just at the thought. I wasn’t sure what to do and was pleased to have the ping from my phone as a distraction. I walked to the bedside cabinet to see the drawer still open. There was nothing of mine in that drawer—my book and e-reader were on the top with my phone. I picked it up to see an email from the art dealer that Joe had introduced to me. He was looking forward to meeting us and was excited to see what we would bring.
After Ronan’s tantrum, I wasn’t sure it would be an ‘us.’
The more I stood there, the more cross I became. I left the bedroom and walked down the hall to Ronan’s. As I approached, my nerve failed me; more so when I glanced in through the crack of the door, and he was lying on the bed with the photograph on his chest. I wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. I should have barged in and woken him. I should have told him what an arse he was being. I did neither of those things. I carried on down to the art room, and I packed the images I knew I would take to London the following day. Bollocks to Ronan, but I wasn’t going to let Joe down.
I headed back to my room and packed my suitcase.
Chapter Fourteen
I had Charlie run me to the train station early the following morning. Ronan hadn’t surfaced; he hadn’t joined us for dinner the previous evening, either. He had dismissed Maggie when she’d taken h
im a snack and hot chocolate.
“I’m not running away. I genuinely have to get these pictures to the art dealer,” I said to Maggie as she wrapped a scarf around my neck as if I were a child.
“But you have your suitcase,” she said.
“Yes, I have stuff in there I need back home: my hairdryer, makeup and whatnots.”
I was being honest. I didn’t care that Ronan was being a prat; I wasn’t running away early in the morning because I was upset, although I was still very upset. I’d googled the trains and preferred that method of travel to sitting in a hostile environment with him anyway. I had my books, I would buy some snacks, and I had pre-booked a first class seat. I could have flown, but I didn’t relish the taxi fare from the airport or trying to work out which coach to get home.
“I’ll call once I’ve arrived home,” I said, having handed Maggie my mobile so she could plug in her number.
The old Land Rover rattled its way into town and the station.
“He doesnae mean any’hin by it, yer ken,” Charlie said. I’d now gathered that he wasn’t referring to me as ken. He simply meant ‘you know’.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that in his defence, Charlie.” I felt I had a better grasp of his accent in the week I’d been in his company.
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “He doesnae, that’s all. He needs to grieve.”
“I’m sure he does. Maybe you could tell him that?”
“It’s the anniversary, yer ken?” Charlie said as he unloaded the suitcase.
“Anniversary?”
“Of her death…Demi…she died. Did he no’ tell you that?”
No, he hadn’t. It might explain why he was upset that I had her photograph, but it didn’t explain why he felt the need to be so rude.
“He didn’t tell me that. Still, it doesn’t excuse how rude he was to me,” I explained.
“No, he doesnae know how to express himself. It was his mother, see? She had all the expression and the boys? Well, they brought themselves up. Me and Mags, we didnae do a good job in that.”
I reached across and patted his arm fondly. “Charlie, don’t ever think that. If they had to bring themselves up, you two were the best people to have around for guidance. No one is to blame for rudeness other than the one offering it,” I said.
Limp Dicks & Saggy Tits Page 16
