Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1)

by Michael Ross

  “Morning, JB—Jess. This place unbalances me.”

  The girls hug.

  “Come on in. Coffee and cakes are lined up waiting for demolition.”

  “You seem more than happy.”

  “I’m good. I feel fresh, sharp, alive and ready for anything that the world throws at me.”

  “Mm, being in love suits you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m in love, but yes, I feel the happiest I have for a very long time.”

  “Maybe it’s unemployment that suits you.”

  “That’s more like it.” The girls giggle and sit down. Gemma breaks the silence that is building.

  “It must have been pretty bad.”

  “It was horrible, but it’s over and I learnt a lesson. You don’t need to say ‘I told you so’ because you did. I’ve put it out of my mind. Time to move on.”

  “Are you certain about that? Surely if you were approached, you would come back?”

  “There are no circumstances in which I would consider going back, but from Head Office’s point of view, from the emails they have sent me, I think they’re going to sweep it all under the carpet. But Monsieur Clement’s days are numbered. They’ll pick the right time, the wrong indiscretion and he’ll be gone—by the end of the year is my guess.”

  “So why not come back and tough it for a few months? If he leaves, you’re bound to get some sort of promotion.”

  “Gem, I’m finished with the company. I’m finished with the rat race. I want to do something different with my life. I’ve already had one offer, the same sort of package, if I move to Reading, but I don’t want that.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I haven’t a clue, not the slightest idea. But in a perfect world, it would include you.”

  “Oh, Jess, what a lovely thing to say.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So what about Danny then? How was Paris other than being attacked by your boss? Jess—you’re blushing!”

  “I am not!”

  “No, you weren’t, but you are now. Was it good?”

  “Yes…better than good. Anyway, on to other business. Today is your last day in my employ. I give you formal notice I will no longer require your duties as a driver.”

  “Boohoo, you can be so cruel. You could have let me down gently.”

  “That’s the new me. Take it or leave it—that’s up to you.”

  “I’m all choked up inside. Where is my last job taking me?”

  “Do you fancy Bradford-on-Avon?”

  “Sounds as good as anywhere.”

  ***

  Edwin has not turned up by six, so I give Derek a lift back to the hotel. I have always found him straightforward and somewhat reserved a rather dour sort of chap, but he seems to be bubbling at the present—possibly excited at seeing his family again? I stay inside as he manoeuvres his way out of the car.

  “Thank you, Danny. That was a good week. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”

  “Sure thing, Derek. Say hello to Chan and the monster for me.”

  He has mastered those crutches without a doubt; by the time I’ve completed a three-point turn, he is out of my sight.

  I have been home almost an hour before Edwin phones me.

  “Hi, Danny, sorry I missed you. A busy day one way or the other. I’m not far from you; shall I pop over?”

  “That would be good. I’m making myself a pasta bake thing to eat. There’s more than enough for two if you fancy a meal.”

  “I’m ravenous. It’ll save me rustling up a Pot Noodle.”

  “Yuk, revolting. Come on over, you’re due for a treat.”

  I am not the best cook in the world, but the few things I do make and concentrate on are pretty damn spectacular. I add some more pasta to the pan, top up the ingredients and whistle merrily away as I gently stir my masterpiece to life.

  The bell rings.

  “Hi, Ed. Come on in.”

  “Cheers, Danny. I brought you a bottle of white. That smells good.”

  “That’s because it is. Do you want a glass yourself?”

  “No, thanks—a glass of water will be fine.”

  “You don’t drink at all?”

  “Not a drop—not of alcohol, that is. I’m not a prude; it’s the way I was brought up. I witnessed the havoc it created in my uncle’s life and I decided it wasn’t for me. It’s a personal decision—don’t let me stop you.”

  “It’s been a crazy week, so I will be guzzling as we talk.”

  “Tell me about it.” I fill him on my trip to Paris and Jess’s problems, but skip the good stuff. As I said before, I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy.

  “How about you? The work at the site seems to be coming on rather nicely.”

  “Couldn’t go any smoother.”

  “Is Derek doing all right?”

  “More than all right, he’s a diamond. In fact, he has paid for himself already.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t be hard because our company is covering his wages.”

  “Yes…let me reword that. This week he has already saved us two thousand pounds with some ideas he had about refitting the electrics to the building. It was something I should have spotted and probably would have when it was too late.”

  “That’s almost as much as we’re paying him for the whole contract.”

  “Really? Well, that money stays in our pockets, which is a massive help to our bottom line. How much are you paying, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Four hundred a week.”

  “He’s worth more.”

  “That’s nice to hear. How about your week—your uncle’s will was being read, you said?”

  “Yes, that was Wednesday. Dad and I knew roughly what to expect, but to hear the details read out by a third party was still pretty sobering.”

  “From a non-drinker, that’s saying something.”

  It does not deserve it, but he laughs at my attempted joke.

  “No big surprises then?”

  “He’d always made it clear the charity and his legacy were the most important factors in his life. His death was quick and unexpected—a massive stroke—so if he had more time he might have made some adjustments, but other than a few personal gifts to close friends and family, all of his estate was passed on to the charity.”

  “Which you will run?”

  “I was formally named as the executor and administrator of the charity in the will, but that was drawn up nearly three years ago. Since then, Dad has handed over the reins of Edwin Pedlar and Sons to me. The thing is that if the charity was to move on at its present speed I could just about cope, but in his will he left the charity with over six hundred thousand pounds and a route map of how he saw it expanding. I get the feeling that if he had not died, he intended to devote his remaining years to carrying out that plan.”

  “Six hundred thousand! That must make a massive difference. How do you spend all that?”

  “A lot harder than it sounds because the actual overheads of the charity are not that punitive. To spend that money wisely, we have to widen the scope of the charity. It needs to be national rather than local. There are all sorts of grants available that we have never bothered to explore. It’s a massive headache.”

  “Can you amalgamate with another charity, one with some experience and clout?”

  “I’m sure we could, but until I have exhausted other avenues, to do so would feel like stabbing my uncle in the back.”

  “I get that. Sit there and I will bring you a plate of pasta à la Daniel. You’ll want a second plate—guaranteed.”

  And he did. Maybe I could open my own restaurant in a few years’ time. Daniel’s—it has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

  “I’ll make you a coffee before you go. Do you fancy coming around on Sunday?” From the kitchen, where I’m boiling the kettle, I call out, “Jess and Gemma are coming over. Maybe we could go out for lunch.” I am a little devil. If I was in the room with him, he would see my mischievous grin. My face is
reflected in the back door; my mischievous grin looks like I’m dying from very serious digestive problems.

  Ed calls back, “I can’t promise but I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  Great—he’s coming! “Anywhere you can recommend around here?”

  “If you don’t mind a fifteen-minute drive, there is a pub in the hills, The Singing Robin, that does a spectacular Sunday lunch. You need to book long in advance, but I’ll see if they have a table available.”

  I told you he was coming.

  We finish the coffee and Ed disappears into the night. I am not sure how I will sleep tonight; I’ve got used to having someone to cuddle. Oh well, best to have cuddled and lost, than to have never cuddled at all.

  Chapter

  Forty-Five

  “I’m not sure if I’m happy about this, Jess.”

  “Gemma, don’t be silly.”

  “It feels like you’re forcing me into a relationship, and much as I like him, I’m happy to be young, free and single at this point in time.”

  “Gem, I am not trying to marry you off. If anything, you’re doing me a favour. I would have felt a bit outnumbered if you weren’t coming.”

  “Oh sure, like Edwin would have turned up on his own to share a meal with you two love-birds. You take me for a fool, JB?”

  Jess turns away from Gemma and stage-whispers behind her hand, “The young wench is not easily fooled. I may need to ply her with wine before the day is over.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. My sides are aching with unbridled mirth.”

  “Come on, it will be great. I am so excited.”

  “Jess, you are excited because your driving ban is over and you are free to come and go as you please. I am excited because your driving ban is over and you are free to come and go as you please. I am deliriously happy to know you will be under your own steam until the next time you get caught doing over a hundred miles an hour on the motorway. The good thing is that when that happens, you won’t be my boss anymore and I will be able to tell you where you can stick your lift requests.”

  “Gem, you can be very hurtful at times.”

  “Good!”

  “Can I say one thing?”

  “Go on then.”

  “For someone who does not want to come out for Sunday lunch, you look rather stunning. Beautiful even.”

  “It’s nothing special.”

  “Well when you do make an effort, let me know, because today you look ravishing. Just make sure you never come closer than twenty feet away from me.”

  “Pah! I’ve never heard so much rubbish.”

  “Come on, Cinderella, let me drive you to the ball.”

  ***

  I am showered, shaved and dressed by mid-morning. Edwin and the girls are not due until much later, so I am surprised by a loud knock at the front door. I open it to find a man in his sixties holding a wicker basket. He speaks without looking at me.

  “Wherzmeapplezizwaitinallwek.”

  What? Pardon? I look at him carefully. He might well be on his way to church; he’s wearing a grubby suit, an old whitish shirt and a colourful, if somewhat stained, floral yellow tie.

  “Wherzmeapplezizwaitinallwek.”

  “Mm, sorry, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Could you call back later this afternoon, please?”

  “Ohwellillbecuminunback.”

  I think he said he was returning. Hopefully we’ll be well on our way to the pub when he returns. The joys of living in the country, I suppose.

  The earliest that Edwin could get a table was two o’clock, so the other three are all due at about one-thirty. I’ve finally unpacked and lined up my music system, so I load up some CDs and set the car’s system to random. I love surprises.

  ***

  Edwin is the first to arrive, and he is dressed to kill.

  “I thought it was just a pub we were going to?”

  “A Michelin-starred pub, Danny. Have you never heard of The Singing Robin?”

  “I can’t say I have. Are you saying that you’re not overdressed then? Will the girls know how posh it is?”

  “Anyone who is local and lived here more than a few weeks knows how ‘posh’ The Singing Robin is. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I’d better nip upstairs and get changed.” I’m down to my underpants when I look out the window to see a newish Saab convertible pull up outside my front gate. Who could that be? Gemma gets out of the passenger door, and Jess emerges from the driver’s side. I’d not thought about it too much, but I had presumed she couldn’t drive. I should know by now not to take anything for granted with that girl.

  As they walk arm in arm to my front door, they look too beautiful for words. They would turn heads at a Hollywood dinner. And they certainly know that The Singing Robin is posh. I have a new, unopened shirt, so I have to fiddle with all the paraphernalia that comes with opening a new shirt. It seems to take the best part of a day and a half—it’s probably closer to three minutes. I nearly trip as I run down the stairs. I ignore the other two and embrace Jess, and she doesn’t even seem to be embarrassed. I move over to Gemma and kiss her on both cheeks.

  “You look gorgeous, Gemma. I bet Ed has already told you that, hasn’t he?”

  “Well no, he hasn’t, as you ask.”

  “That’s the trouble with him—he’s got such high standards.” I turn to Ed. “Oh well, mate, make do. It’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

  “Daniel!”

  I would guess in the future if Jess uses my full name, I will be in some kind of trouble with her. I need to change the subject matter.

  “So Jess—you can drive.”

  “Don’t you dare try and change the subject. You’ve embarrassed them both.”

  “Okay. Edwin, Gemma, I apologise, but if Edwin has not said that both the girls look ravishing, he’s a fool.” I wink at him. Get in there quick, Ed, while you have the chance.

  “Danny is right. You both look incredible. I thought it would sound creepy if I said anything, and now Danny has grabbed my thunder. We are two lucky guys, regardless of any tasteless blind-date jokes from our host.”

  Before there is any chance for an uncomfortable silence, we hear a knock at my front door. It has a familiar ring to it, if you get my gist. I walk towards the door.

  “Ed, can you come with me? I might need your help.”

  He follows. The girls are intrigued and bring up the rear. Sure enough, it’s the strange man with the wicker basket.

  “Wherzmeapplezizwaitinallwek.”

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I let Ed squeeze through.

  “Wherzmeapplezizwaitinallwek.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wants to know where his apples are.”

  “What apples?”

  “What apples?” he asks the man.”Myaplezthatzalayshereeryur.”

  “The apples that are here every year.”

  “Ah, those apples. What apples?”

  “What apples?”

  “Weyzleyvumoubyfruntdr.”

  “They’re always left out by the front door.”

  “Ixegutpastrydunnaneedaplztomaykmepye.”

  “He says he has his pastry all ready and he wants the apples so he can have an apple pie for tea tonight.” I feel I have let him down. “Tell him to come back in an hour, and I’ll have some ready for him.”

  “Ifzyucumzinunhurhewlavsumfore.”

  The man nods his thanks and walks away without another word spoken. Behind me, the restrained giggling bursts into loud cackles as the girls come out from the lounge.

  “How funny! What was that all about?” Jess asks.

  And then it hits me. I am pretty damn sure I know what it is all about.

  “Hang on to that thought for a minute. I need to nip out to the shed.”

  The grass is fairly long so I jog on my toes out to the shed, nearly falling over when I am caught out by a large fallen apple I hadn’t spotted in the long grass. The giggling is now aimed at me. The shed is not
that big, and I have not had the chance to do anything other than glance inside, but I do remember seeing a large, rather tatty wicker basket with a piece of cardboard pinned to the front.

  “Da-dah!” There is no one to witness it, but it’s my version of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. The sign reads:

  Apples from our orchard. Take as many as you want—but no more than you need.

  As I do my tip-toe trot back to the house, I stop to pick up the apple which earlier had nearly caused my downfall.

  “This is what he was looking for. Bill and Mary must leave this out in front of the house. I’m going to get my wellies on and see if I can collect a few fallers or reach any from the trees.” I turn to Ed. “There are two full bags in the kitchen; can you weed out the rubbish ones and put any decent apples in the basket? We still have time, don’t we?”

  “Of course we do!” chimes in Jess. “Go to it, white hunter!”

  I am not quite sure why I am so keen to do this. It’s something about being part of a community, about giving, about honouring Bill and Mary’s marriage. Weird, I know, but there you go.

  When I get back inside, they are queued up at the sink washing their hands.

  “So who got the best job then?” asks Jess, pointing to the basket. Only six or seven apples of varying sizes. Mm. Still, with my five it is a start, and certainly enough for Mr. Grumpy Voice. I can’t believe how excited I am, nor do the other three. Wellies off, basket placed neatly outside the door, and we are ready to leave. I seem to have worked up an appetite. The four of us bundle into Edwin’s Range Rover, men in the front, ladies in the back, and head to The Singing Robin.

  ***

  Whenever I’ve seen the word gastropub, I’ve always thought that it sounded a bit like a posh word for tummy ache, but what it actually means is “walk this way for foodie heaven.” Once I succeeded in convincing my brain not to think about the prices, I settled into the convivial atmosphere in the pub generally, but at our table particularly.

  I did that thing where I wondered what the other diners thought of us as a group. Edwin and Gemma look like a couple who should be modelling for high-end fashion catalogues. They are a photographer’s dream. He has this easy, rugged look about him and no doubt he’s got a twelve-pack to make girl’s hearts flutter. Actually, I was doubling up six-pack, but I think I lost something by trying too hard to make the point that the guy is fit. Gemma is slight, very slim with a sharp bone structure and fascinating black eyes. I’ve caught Edwin out a few times staring at them. Jessica is outright gorgeous, and she always will be. And then there’s me—not repulsive but not exactly good-looking. An ugly duckling eating with the swans. I imagine myself as the film producer taking his cast out to lunch before taking the leading lady back to his casting couch.