by Kate Hewitt
“There isn’t.”
How do you know?”
She didn’t, but she couldn’t contemplate the alternative. “I just know, okay, Chantal? I don’t think he even lives in Wychwood.” Actually, she didn’t know that at all, but neither did Chantal.
“Well, I was going to say, if he might be there tonight, then, yes, wear the stretchy red top, because phwoar. But if not…maybe a jumper?”
“I thought they might go dressy, this being the Cotswolds. They’re all ex-Londoners. At least I think they are.”
“Who are now trying to live the country life,” Chantal said in the voice of someone who thought she knew what she was talking about. “Maybe you should put on a pair of Wellies.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Laura pulled off the stretchy top and grabbed an old faithful—a cashmere sweater in dark blue that Tim had bought her one Christmas because he thought it matched her eyes. She remembered how pleased she had been, yet also swallowing down the sense that perhaps they couldn’t afford it. “How’s this?”
“Boring but suitable.”
“Perfect, then.”
Chantal was silent for a moment, and Laura glanced at her phone, waiting for the usual acerbic but loving comment.
“You know I just want you to be happy, right?” Chantal asked.
Cue massive lump in throat. Laura’s gaze flitted from the phone to her reflection; the dark sweater made her look as pale as a ghost. “I know.”
“It isn’t that I didn’t like Tim or that I don’t respect his memory,” Chantal continued, and now she had the dogged tone of someone who was going to say their piece no matter what. “It’s just…you’re still young, Laura. And there’s so much life ahead of you.”
“I know—”
“And I think sometimes there is a tendency to idealise—or perhaps even idolise—someone who has died.” Laura closed her eyes, bracing herself for what came next. It had been a year and Chantal had never talked about this, although she’d skirted alarmingly close to the topic recently. “And it’s important to remember your marriage to Tim wasn’t all hearts and roses. No one’s is.”
The lump in her throat was getting bigger. “I know that, Chantal.”
“I know you do,” Chantal said quickly. “Better than I do, of course. It’s just…sometimes I think you want to put Tim on this pedestal, maybe for the kids’ sake…”
“He was their dad.” Her voice sounded thick and she had to blink rapidly several times. “And he was a really good dad. They don’t need to know anything else, Chantal.” She’d lowered her voice because Maggie was in the next room, and this was definitely not a conversation she wanted her daughter overhearing.
“Okay…”
“I’ve got to go.” Laura reached for a pair of earrings and stabbed them into her ears.
“You’re not angry, are you?” Chantal asked, sounding anxious, and Laura sighed.
“No, of course not.” She knew her best friend meant well, but sometimes the truth, even just a little bit of it, hurt. And she didn’t need that kind of laid-bare honesty right when she was about to go out with a bunch of people she didn’t know. “Just pick your moments a bit better, okay?” she said with an attempt at a laugh, and Chantal gave a grimace of apology before Laura disconnected the call. Showtime.
“You look nice, Mum,” Sam told her as she came downstairs.
“Thanks, love.” She straightened her top and tried to still the flutter of nerves in her belly. This didn’t have to be so hard.
And actually, thankfully, it wasn’t. She met Lindy, Emily, and Olivia outside in the courtyard, and was glad Chantal had advised the jumper. Everyone was dressed casually as well as warmly for the weather, and they all seemed remarkably enthused to meet her.
“It’s nice to have some kids in the close,” Olivia said, her brand-new wedding ring glinting on her finger. “It’s been a bit quiet, hasn’t it, ladies?”
“Too quiet,” Emily agreed. “Except for the dogs.” She gave Lindy a teasing smile.
“Toby does tend to bark when I’m not around,” Lindy explained. “He’s a rescue greyhound.”
“And soon you’ll have some little ones nearby, as well,” Laura said, doing her best to be part of the banter. “Isn’t Ava due soon?”
“Next week,” Lindy confided. “She said she’d meet us at the pub—Jace is driving her so she doesn’t go into labour on the high street.”
“Alice was going to come,” Olivia chimed in, “but she’s still feeling nauseous. That morning sickness. Not that I know what it’s like, of course!”
“But maybe you will one day,” Lindy said with a purposeful nudge. Olivia blushed.
“Maybe, but I’m forty-one,” she murmured. “Leaving it a bit late.”
The same age as Laura. Olivia’s words caused a sorrowful sweep of unexpected longing to rush through her. When Sam had been little, she’d wanted to try for a third, but Tim had been more cautious, worried about money. Then Sam had come out of nappies, started sleeping through the night and not needing her as much, and the prospect of easy holidays and full nights’ sleep had beckoned, putting paid to that broody desire.
Strange to feel it now, when there was absolutely no chance of it happening.
“Shall we head off?” Lindy suggested, and they all started down the darkened lane.
Laura tried to follow the general chitchat as they walked into Wychwood-on-Lea, the names being batted about making her head spin a little. There was Harriet, whom she’d heard of, and Ellie, whom she hadn’t, but was now apparently living happily near Oxford with her husband and daughter. Richard was Harriet’s husband, and he’d just bagged a new teaching job near Oxford, and Ellie’s husband was, amazingly, a viscount. Then there were the children and dogs—Marmite and Abby, Chloe and Mallory—Laura couldn’t keep track of them all. She let the words wash over her as she gazed up at the night sky and breathed in the frosty air. Live in the moment, she reminded herself. Right now, thankfully, it didn’t feel too hard.
The pub was crowded on a Friday night, warmly lit and full of laughter and chatter. Ava had already arrived, bagging a table in the corner, bottles of both red and white already on the table.
“I thought I’d get you all started, since I can’t have anything to drink,” she said, lacing her hands over her enormous bump. “I can’t wait until this one is out in the world, and that’s a fact. I’m toasting his or her birth with a glass of Rioja.”
Laura was still in the process of shedding her coat when Ava turned a speculative and slightly beady eye upon her. “I hear you’re working at the school till the half-term.”
“Yes, as a teaching assistant,” Laura answered as she took her seat. “It’s nice to keep a hand in.”
“I envy you,” Ava said with a dirty laugh, “getting to rub shoulders with the divine Mr Hill. The whole village has been buzzing about him since he started in September.”
“I haven’t,” Lindy interjected with a laugh. “I’ve been at the school every week with the Year Sixes and I haven’t heard a word.”
“That’s because you’ve been completely smitten with the lovely Roger Wentworth,” Ava replied. “Trust me, every woman between here and Chipping Norton has her eyes on stalks looking out for Mr Hill. He’s insanely gorgeous.”
Laura froze as she caught Ava’s glinting look. A knowing look? Had she said that on purpose? Had someone told her that she’d texted those exact words to James? It felt like far too much of a coincidence, and yet…
“Apparently he’s also incredibly charming and funny and nice,” Ava continued. “Too good to be true, perhaps, although I’m sure he’ll make some lucky woman happy. Laura, what would you like? Red or white? I’ll pour.”
“Oh, um, red please.” She still felt flustered by Ava’s remark, although she was doing her best not to show it. Surely it had to have been an admittedly uncomfortable coincidence.
Ava handed her a glass and Laura took a healthy sip, grateful for the comforting
burn of alcohol. She had a feeling she was going to need a glass or two to get through the evening, what with Ava’s knowing looks—or not. She still couldn’t tell if that remark had been pointed or not, although she told herself she was just being panicky as usual. Paranoid, too.
“Well, well,” Ava said as she handed more glasses round. “Speak of the devil, or should I say the angel, or how about just the sexy?” She gave another dirty laugh. “Look who’s here.”
Laura turned, even though she knew she didn’t need to. She could tell from Ava’s delighted voice who had to be in the pub, just as Chantal had suggested earlier.
And yes, there he was, one elbow propped at the bar, a pint in front of him, laughing at something the bartender had said. James Hill in the insanely gorgeous flesh.
Laura took another gulp of her wine as she wished, fleetingly, that she’d worn her stretchy top after all.
Chapter Eight
James didn’t often go out to the pub. He liked a pint as much as the next man, but he was more of a quiet night in type of guy than a rowdy laugh at the local. He’d let himself be dragged out tonight by his fellow members of the Wychwood Chess Club—yes, he was a card-carrying member—because he fancied a break from his own circling thoughts.
He really needed to stop thinking about Laura Neale. Every time he recalled telling her so abruptly that he was glad she was there, and her ensuing look of bewilderment, he mentally cringed. It wasn’t quite on the same level as her stray text, admittedly, but it still had its own particular brand of awkwardness.
And the fact remained that as lovely as she was, Laura Neale should not be on his romantic radar, for the same reasons he’d enumerated to himself several times before. Mother of a pupil. Widow. Off limits. The end.
“Who are you giving the eye to, then?”
Edwin, an eighty-year-old geezer who also happened to be sharp as a tack and a chess master, elbowed James rather hard in the ribs.
“Sorry, what?” He turned to his companion who had already downed his first pint and was well on his way with the second.
“You’re giving a lady the eye,” Edwin proclaimed with a gleam in his own. “I can always tell. Is it that one in the corner? She might be in the family way but she still looks pretty nice to me.”
“What?” Startled, James clocked Edwin’s knowing nod towards the woman sitting next to Laura, who looked to be about nine if not ten months pregnant. “No,” he said, amusement and irritation warring within him at the old man’s obvious appreciation. “No. Just no.”
“What about the one next to her, then? The blonde one?”
“Edwin. No. Stop.” He shook his head, exasperated as the old man cackled with laughter. “I’m not giving anyone the eye. Honestly.” Although he was looking at Laura. Again.
Deliberately James turned back to the bar. “How about another pint?”
The bartender, a slick-looking guy in his twenties, pointed a thumb at his drink. “You’ve barely touched it, mate.”
“Even so,” James said a bit grimly. He enjoyed playing Edwin over a chessboard, but his conversation and accompanying cackles left something to be desired.
“Why don’t you go talk to her, if you like her so much?” Edwin demanded, and pretending not to hear him, James turned to talk to Jason, another member of the chess club. He was smiling in amused commiseration as he took a sip from his own beer.
“So who were you looking at, by the by?”
“I wasn’t,” James replied automatically, and then gave a sheepish grin. It wasn’t as if he could actually deny it. “Just a woman I know. Mum of a pupil. Nothing like that.”
“Okay, whatever you say.” He shrugged, and then, to James’s relief, started talking about the weather. He could talk about the weather. Cold, even for January. Easy.
Yet his gaze kept sliding towards Laura of its own accord, and then, once, her eyes met his and it almost felt as if he’d put his finger in an electric socket, everything in him jolting with awareness. Good grief. He needed to get out more. Date more. Something.
Moving to Wychwood had meant being closer to his family, but romantic opportunities were thin on the ground, something that hadn’t bothered him too much when he’d been fresh from a break-up, but six months on he was definitely feeling the lack. He forced himself to look away from Laura yet again.
The rest of the club members were talking about Magnus Carlsen, the reigning chess champion’s latest shock defeat, and James drained his pint as he did his best to listen in.
Perhaps he should just go home. He’d bought a falling-down cottage off the high street that needed a ton of work—most of which he was ill-equipped to do—but he was slowly making it as cosy as he could and he had Netflix, after all. Still, the thought depressed him. Thirty-two years old and this was what it had come to?
He looked again at Laura and saw she was looking back. Then, an expression of determination hardening her features, she rose from her seat and started towards him.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as anticipation fizzed in his belly. Her gaze remained locked on his as she marched towards him, and he gave her what he hoped was a welcoming smile.
“Laura…”
“Did you tell Ava what I said?” she demanded without preamble.
James simply stared as belatedly he realised the determination on her face looked more like anger close-up.
“Ava…” Who was Ava? “Sorry, what?”
She shook her head as she bit her lip, her anger turning to anxiety. “It’s just she said…and she seemed to know…”
“Sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Conscious of Edwin’s avid stare, he took her by the arm and gently manoeuvred her towards a more private corner, away from the bar. “Start from the beginning, please.”
Laura let out a rushed breath, her gaze lowered as she forced out, “My friend Ava said something about you being…oh, well you being insanely gorgeous.” The words were spoken reluctantly, defiantly, and had James grinning anyway. “And it just seemed so strange that she would say the exact same thing…” She looked up, her hazel eyes filled with both accusation and vulnerability. “Did you tell her about my text?”
*
She would never have asked if she hadn’t had two glasses of wine in rather quick succession. As it was, Laura’s head was swimming and standing so close to James made it spin all the more. He smelled heavenly, like cedarwood. He was also looking at her in confusion, which then cleared to what could only be considered genuine amusement.
“You think I told this Ava person about your text? Do you really think I’m that much of a complete prat?” And then he started to laugh.
“I don’t,” Laura said quickly, “but then why would she say that?”
He shrugged, still smiling. “If two women are saying it, I guess it must be true.”
Whatever determination she had been holding on to left her and she let out a sound that was half groan, half horrified laugh. “And now I’ve just made this worse, and so I’m even more embarrassed.”
“Laura, don’t be.” He touched her arm briefly and then pulled back. “The text was funny, that’s all. It’s no big deal.” A pause and then he added, almost casually, “If it helps, I think you’re pretty gorgeous, too.”
She glanced up at him, shock firing through her, along with a wary pleasure, even though she suspected he was just saying it to be nice. “But not insanely so?” she managed to tease, even though her heart was racing.
“We-ell…” He pretended to think for a moment and then laughed and shrugged. “Look, let’s just forget about it, okay? I did not tell this Ava, whoever she is, about the text. I didn’t tell anyone. I mean, for heaven’s sake, what would I say without sounding, as I said, like an absolute prat?”
“I don’t know,” Laura admitted. “I suppose I’m paranoid.”
“Look, it was funny, that’s all. What was with the stiletto emoji anyway?”
She risked a glance at him, finding
a smile. “What was with the lizard?”
He smiled back. “It just seemed like the spirit of the thing.”
That heartened her a little. “Well, I suppose it was. My friend Chantal—that’s who the text was meant for—and I have this running joke about emojis. We once had a conversation about how many there were, and then we started signing off our texts with the most random ones we could find.”
“Sounds fun.”
She glanced at him, acutely conscious of how unhinged she must have seemed, rabbiting on about that stupid text like some obsessed sixteen-year-old. James had forgotten it, or at least simply saw it as amusing; why couldn’t she? Well, from now on she would. Honestly, she was being ridiculous. It was time to stop, and start behaving like the grown-up she really was.
“I’m sorry about all this,” she said as she straightened, meaning to head back to her table where—she couldn’t help but notice—Ava, Olivia, and Emily were all watching her avidly. She hadn’t even told them where she was going; she’d just lurched up from the table like a crazed woman on a mission.
With what she hoped was a cool smile she turned to James. “I’m afraid I’ve got out of the habit of socialising in the last year, and frankly, normal human interaction of any kind. I promise I’m not really this odd. Forgetting about the text sounds like a fabulous idea, and one I intend to act on immediately.”
“I don’t think you’re odd,” James replied, his voice dropping to a murmur that swept across Laura’s skin. “But you’ve been going through a hard time.” He paused. “Which is something you can talk to me about, if you wanted to.”
The invitation surprised her, because she’d assumed his light manner was more or less a brush-off, not a suggestion of something more. She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could form any thoughts, James continued quickly, “But of course you don’t have to. I just meant—as a friend. I’m here. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” Laura said after a moment. “That’s very kind.” Something flashed across his face and now she felt like the one who was giving a brush-off. “I don’t have a lot of friends at the moment,” she admitted, and James cocked his head.
