Twilight Song

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Jack,’ she murmured, breaking off to take his glass and put it down, to move Shalimar behind her, then returning to him with her lips, her arms around his waist. He moved closer, his hands sliding up her back, his fingers pressing lightly, the thin fabric of her dress not dulling the sensation as their kisses became more passionate.

  ‘Abby Field,’ he said, in between kisses. ‘This was not why I asked you to come with me tonight.’

  ‘Really?’ She smiled at him, running her hands – finally – through his luxurious, dark hair. ‘Because it was part of the reason I said yes.’

  He looked at her for a moment, then took hold of the silky fabric and pulled the dress over her head, and she undid his shirt buttons, her movements careful and slow, not wanting to rush any of it as she revealed all of Jack Westcoat, bit by beautiful bit, until they were no longer hiding anything from each other.

  [text break]

  She woke early, birdsong and sunshine slipping in through the bedroom window, caressing the walls, the duvet cover and the sleeping, still form of Jack. Abby lightly kissed his shoulder. His skin was warm, his head turned away from her. She snuggled up to his back, wrapping her arm around him, and her eyes drifted closed again.

  At some point during the night they had made it upstairs, but sleep had come late, and Abby was happily exhausted. A part of her couldn’t believe she had been so brazen, had taken the initiative like that, and yet a part of her had known, from the moment he had knocked on her front door in his suit, with the blue handkerchief in his jacket pocket – from long before then if she was entirely honest – that this was what she had wanted. Jack Westcoat, as close as she could possibly get him.

  He turned over, so that their faces were inches apart, his eyes blinking slowly open.

  ‘Hello.’ He smiled, the dimple half hidden by stubble as he kissed her.

  ‘Morning,’ she replied as he pulled her against him, and then his kisses became deeper and words were no longer important.

  When he was sleeping again, she tiptoed downstairs and found paper and a pen. She wrote him a note and left it on the coffee table, placing Shalimar on top to act as sentry and paperweight.

  Dear sleeping beauty,

  I have to go and attend to the other man in my life – Raffle needs a long walk.

  Can I come around later? Text me.

  Abby x

  She picked up her dress from the sofa, slipped it on and found a lightweight navy jacket hanging on the hook by the front door. It was far too long for her, the sleeves flapping over her hands, but at least it would distract anyone who saw her from the fact that her outfit was not remotely suitable for a Saturday morning stroll. She added to her note.

  PS I’ll bring your jacket back when I come.

  The morning was warm, and honeybees buzzed lazily around the hanging basket, its heather resplendent once more. Abby took her usual shortcut back to the village, the birdsong loud around her. It always lifted her heart, but at that moment she was convinced she had reached the ceiling; there was nowhere higher for her heart to go.

  If anyone saw her walking barefoot, pale blue dress shimmering below a too large jacket, hair in disarray, she didn’t notice. She was too lost in her own thoughts, the surrealness of the previous evening, the people she had met and champagne she had drunk, the image of Jack so alive and confident as he charmed his peers, the way he had deflected Eddie’s cruel words, showing the strength to walk away, and the constant pinch-me moments that she was at his side, her hand pressed between his arm and his torso. Together.

  She tried to think what Tessa might say. Would she suggest that getting Abby into bed had been Jack’s intentions all along, but he was clever enough to make it look like it had been her choice? He had told Gene to take them back to Peacock Cottage, but that would have been Abby’s choice too – she just hadn’t wanted to assume that he felt that strongly. No, Jack wasn’t using her – he cared about her, she was sure of it.

  She unlocked the front door and gathered her husky to her as he greeted her with a wagging tail, his tongue protruding happily. ‘Oh Raffle,’ she said. ‘I have had the best time. I would never abandon you, but you might have to get used to a bit more of Jack, what do you think?’ Raffle licked her arm.

  She went into the kitchen to top up his water bowl, and found a note on the counter:

  Dearest Abby,

  Raffle is staying with me tonight, just in case Jack Westcoat does the decent thing and whisks you off your feet, a la Cinderella, and you don’t make it back here. ;) I’ll drop puppy off in the morning and give him some food.

  Love and kisses

  Octavia xoxoxo

  She was touched by her neighbour’s thoughtfulness, even if it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Wondering how long Octavia had known about her passion for Jack, she went to take a long shower.

  She pulled her damp hair into a ponytail and put on a T-shirt and shorts. Her Converse sneakers felt like soft cushions around her aching feet, and the memory of Jack massaging her toes in the car, and then later, in his bed as he’d started there and worked his way slowly upwards, made her body burn with longing.

  ‘Come on Raffle,’ she said, suddenly desperate for fresh air. ‘Let’s get going.’ He didn’t need to be told twice.

  She walked along the wall of Swallowtail House and peered in through the side gate, Jack’s shiny padlock and chain seeming out of place against the rusted metal. It looked the same, though everything was much greener than it had been during their February visit, a new snake of ivy slinking towards one of the ground floor windows. It wouldn’t be long before the whole place was consumed by greenery, and she hoped that when that happened it would still be in Penelope’s hands, that its quiet, natural beauty wouldn’t be disturbed by a stark future it didn’t deserve. She retraced her steps, her phone beeping as she reached the main road.

  It was Rosa:

  How was last night? I want all the details! xx

  Abby grinned, turned in the direction of home and almost bumped into someone. ‘Oh, I’m sor—’ she started, and then her words lodged in her throat.

  Even with his baseball cap and shades, he was easily recognizable, but it took her brain a few seconds to process the fact that he was in Meadowgreen. He didn’t belong here. Goose bumps prickled her arm, but before she had a chance to step away, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, angling his head towards hers. She smelt alcohol on his breath and pushed her hands hard against his chest just as Raffle surged forward, barking, jumping up at Eddie Markham with his teeth bared.

  Eddie released his grip and backed off, laughing as he removed his cap and sunglasses. Abby tried to blink away her shock, half-heartedly dragging Raffle away, worried only about the implications for her dog if he hurt him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, cursing her voice for sounding so weak.

  Eddie ignored her and turned around, giving someone the thumbs-up. Dazed, Abby followed his sightline, and saw a man standing on the opposite side of the road beside a white van, a camera with a long zoom lens hanging round his neck. He returned Eddie’s gesture, then jumped into the driver’s seat just as Eddie turned back to face her.

  ‘Abby Field,’ he said, eyeing Raffle warily. ‘That’s your name, isn’t it? Didn’t anyone tell you not to get involved with bad boys?’

  ‘You can’t do this.’ She rubbed her arm, the skin tender where he had grabbed her.

  ‘What have I done?’ He shrugged elaborately, but then his grin faded, replaced with a hard-set expression. ‘Jack owes me for what he did last summer. He busted my nose – I had to pay for reconstructive surgery – not to mention the humiliation he caused me. I would have let it go if he’d been prepared to apologize last night, but he was too busy trying to impress you. I came all this way to sort things out with him, but a few minutes ago he turned me away from that ridiculous fairytale cottage without so much as a hello, even when I took pains to compliment him on his new woman.’

 
; ‘Why would he want to speak to you after everything you said about him – what you said to him last night?’

  ‘Only the truth, darling.’

  ‘You made it all up!’ she said, fury building inside her.

  ‘Is that what Jack told you? He really has got you under his spell. Don’t feel too bad – we’ve all been there.’

  ‘Last night showed that people are ready to move on,’ Abby said, and Raffle joined in with a low, threatening growl.

  Eddie glanced at the husky again. ‘Maybe that’s true, but when the next chapter in his dirty little story comes out, how he’s supposedly cut all ties with Eddie Markham but is happy enough to share his women, it’ll come back to haunt him.’

  Abby felt winded. ‘I did not allow you to touch me!’

  ‘Maybe you’d better give someone an exclusive then? Oh wait, they won’t care what you have to say, and Jack will think that by staying quiet he can hold onto his integrity, play the loyal, upstanding gentleman. What a fucking joke. Take my advice, Abby. Jack Westcoat is a broken man; it’s only going to go downhill from here. Pick someone whose star is ascending.’

  ‘You’re the joke,’ Abby spat back, trying to suppress a wave of panic.

  Eddie laughed at her, long and loud, and then sauntered over the road towards the van and his waiting photographer. Abby thought about calling for help, getting someone to stop them, but what would be the point? All they needed was a laptop and an internet signal, and the photographs would be on their way to whichever news desks Eddie had pre-warned.

  She took a few steps back and sank onto the grass at the side of the road. It was dotted with buttercups, bees flying eagerly between them without a care in the world except seeking out more pollen.

  She was still shaking, her body vibrating with anger. Had Eddie Markham really just tried to assault her, all so it could be caught on film and he could fabricate another story about Jack? Only moments ago she had felt happy and content, full of hope. Last night’s gala had been a triumph; she had been sure that it would help Jack move on and the past, however ugly it had been, would be properly behind him.

  But in a matter of moments, she could have ruined everything. She had been naive. She should have walked away the moment she realized who he was instead of standing, frozen, like a scarecrow. What would that moment of hesitation cost Jack? And what would it cost her, once he found out what part she had played in it? Would the papers even be interested in this ridiculous non-event? She prayed that they wouldn’t be, but she would have to wait to find out. What couldn’t wait, was telling Jack.

  Raffle nuzzled his head into her lap, whimpering.

  ‘I’m OK boy,’ she said, stroking his ears, but she didn’t feel it. She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her shorts, and saw that she had three missed calls from Jack, and a text message:

  Call me – it’s important. Eddie’s here.

  He must have phoned during her altercation with Eddie – a couple of minutes too late. She was about to call him back when the phone rang in her hand.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice was small.

  ‘Abby, where are you? Are you OK?’ Jack sounded breathless.

  ‘I, uhm – he found me.’

  ‘What? What did he do? Are you all right? Tell me where you are.’

  ‘Five minutes away, on the main road near Swallowtail.’

  ‘Stay there.’ He hung up.

  Abby wrapped her arms around Raffle and waited. She heard the screech of wheels on tarmac, and the Range Rover came to a halt haphazardly on the side of the road. Jack hurtled out and dropped onto the grass next to her, caressing her cheek, lifting her head up to meet his gaze.

  ‘What did he do?’ His blue eyes were sharp with concern.

  ‘Nothing,’ Abby said. ‘He tried, but Raffle stopped him. But Jack, there was a photographer, I don’t know what he got, but—’

  ‘Never mind about that. Come on.’ He helped Abby to her feet and led her to the car, letting Raffle hop into the back seat. He did a U-turn and drove back to Peacock Cottage. It took less than a minute.

  Once inside, he settled Abby on the sofa, Raffle at her feet, and then disappeared, returning with cups of strong coffee.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ he said, running a hand through his hair. ‘I should have called you sooner, but – I was so surprised to see him; I opened the door thinking it was you, and then—’ His voice hitched. ‘Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Abby said, sipping her coffee. The heat of it was comforting, despite the warm day.

  Jack took her hand. Now the anger had dissipated he looked worn out. Their night together had left him with hardly any sleep, but Abby knew it was more than that. The appearance of Eddie Markham in Meadowgreen, when he had believed things had finally begun to turn a corner, was a shock. It had shaken her, too.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ she said. ‘I didn’t react quickly enough. He made a pass, and waved to this guy with a camera … it was a set-up. He told me that you still owed him for breaking his nose, for the humiliation you caused him. He was angry you’d refused to apologize last night. He doesn’t want you to get away with it, to get back in everyone’s good books.’

  Jack hung his head. ‘I need to call Leo,’ he mumbled.

  ‘He said that you would never give your side of the story out of loyalty. Is that true? Is that the reason you won’t talk about what happened? What did happen Jack? Will you tell me the whole story? I know last night I stopped you, but … can you tell me?’

  When he finally met her gaze, his eyes were bright, wary, somehow. Abby couldn’t look away. She didn’t want him to think for a second that he didn’t have her full attention, that she doubted him; that she wasn’t there for him.

  Because, whatever he told her now, Abby knew what kind of a man Jack was. She had spent too many months tiptoeing around him, believing that because of their early, heated conversations and the whispers about his troubled past, she would be best staying away from him and living her easy, uncomplicated life.

  But even while she had been telling herself that her feelings were temporary, heightened by the presence of this new, mysterious man in their village, a part of her had known she was fooling herself. All that time, Jack Westcoat had been working his way under her skin, getting comfortable in her thoughts and her fantasies, setting up home and refusing to leave.

  And then, last night, she had finally accepted it. The way she felt about him, the realization that his feelings mirrored hers. They had shed their skins for each other, had stopped holding back. And now, even if what Eddie had said was right, that the damage he had caused – was continuing to cause – meant that Jack’s career was over, Abby would stand by him. She didn’t give herself up to people easily; she had stayed sheltered in her quiet, comfortable life for so long, and had felt exhilarated and impulsive in Jack’s presence, but never, not once, threatened or unsafe. She knew what kind of a man he was, and she wanted him to believe it too.

  ‘Tell me, Jack,’ she whispered.

  The late May sun streamed through the window, and she could feel the gentle pressure of Raffle’s nose on her foot, keeping her close while he dozed. And as a blackbird sang its fluty, soaring song just outside Peacock Cottage, Jack stroked his thumb repeatedly over Abby’s hand, looked into her eyes, and nodded.

  About the Author

  Cressy was born in South East London surrounded by books and with a cat named after Lawrence of Arabia. She studied English at the University of East Anglia and now lives in Norwich with her husband David. When she isn’t writing, Cressy spends her spare time reading, returning to London or exploring the beautiful Norfolk coastline.

  If you’d like to find out more about Cressy, visit her on Twitter and on Facebook. She’d love to hear from you!

  /CressidaMc‌LaughlinAuthor

  @CressMcLaughlin

  https://cressidamclaughlin.com

  Read on for an extract of Cressy’s heart-warming novel, The Once in a Bl
ue Moon Guesthouse…

  Chapter 1

  Even with its cloak of December grey, Campion Bay was beautiful. Robin Brennan tucked her gloved hand through her mother’s arm and slowed her pace. The sand was compact beneath their feet, and Robin wanted to take her boots off and feel it against her bare soles, despite the blistering cold.

  She had been back here for three months; back in her childhood town, with its quaint teashops and Skull Island crazy golf course and the sea stretching out alongside them, never the same, today a dark, gunmetal grey with barely a hint of blue. It was the last day of the year, a time to think about starting afresh and promised resolutions, but Robin felt in some respects like she’d gone backwards.

  ‘It’s encouraging that we’ve got a full house for the New Year,’ she said to her mum. ‘We can celebrate properly tonight.’

  ‘Yes, darling.’ Sylvie Brennan patted her arm. She was trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice, but Robin could tell her mind was elsewhere. ‘No empty rooms for the first time in … well, months.’ She gave Robin a quick, unconvincing smile.

  ‘Maybe things will improve now.’ Robin bent to pick up a pebble polished smooth by the sea, the thin sliver of quartz running through it glinting in the weak sun. ‘I know there are going to be fireworks later, but it’s not exactly an extravaganza. Most people like to spend New Year’s Eve in big cities or at house parties, not the Dorset seaside, so the fact that people have booked to spend it here means that … that they want to come here.’ It was a pathetically obvious statement, but Robin was finding positivity as hard to come by as her mum was.

  The Campion Bay Guesthouse, Sylvie and Ian Brennan’s pride and joy since the family had moved to the area when Robin was four, was in trouble. Robin had returned from London because of her own problems, feeling like she had nowhere else to turn, and had discovered that she wasn’t the only one who was suffering. She’d thrown herself into helping out, managing the changeovers, baking fresh bread for the breakfasts, setting up Twitter, Instagram and Facebook accounts. She’d used her experience to try and give the guesthouse a boost, and it had taken her mind off her own struggles for a time, but then her parents’ worries about the business – the worries they had obviously been trying to keep from her – had become her own. Now it was New Year’s Eve, they were hosting a party for their guests and for a few friends in the bay, and if her mum and dad were feeling anything like she was, it would be hard to muster up enough celebratory spirit to pop a single champagne cork.