“Yeah maybe you will, but promise me you won’t fall in love until you’ve had an orgasm.” She puts an extra dollop on my Pavlova. “And then you can eat ice-cream.”
I shake my head at her, I’ve got no intention of ever falling in love again if this is what it results in. The pain I’ve endured in the last few months has been unbearable and not an experience I’m in any hurry to repeat.
We move into the living room, both curling our legs up onto the sofa and settle in to watch the newest episode of the latest talent show on TV.
Poppy snatches the remote and presses the mute button.
“Anyway, you don’t have to look very far.”
“What are you on about?”
“That gardener bloke. He’s definitely got the hots for you, and he’s just your type. All educated and everything.”
“Educated? I don’t think so, he’s as uncouth as they come.”
I try to grab the remote back from her but she’s too quick.
“How so?”
“Well, all that nonsense with bananas, I’ve got a good mind to telephone Mr Crane and tell him not to let his nephew come on my property again.”
“He was just having a laugh; flirting with you.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.”
“Well I do, and if he’s going back to Oxford soon then you won’t have to fret about him hanging around afterwards?”
“Afterwards?” I nearly choke on my ice cream. “Seriously Sis, you’re going to have to give it a rest. I’m really not like that.”
“We’ll see.”
I shake my head at her.
She unmutes the TV, because apparently this conversation is over.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosa
It’s been two months and still no sign of a bite on the house. Even I’m starting to get sick of it, although there is no way I’m going to give in to Charles’ demands and let him move in instead.
That was the secret that I had kept to myself. Judging it to be that ridiculous that it wasn’t worth bothering Poppy with. She would have definitely have flipped her lid over that one.
I’ve pretty much closed off every room that I don’t use on a daily basis, as the cleaning is getting to be a right pain. Or more to the point, I can’t be bothered to clean and if the estate agent calls at the last minute, with a viewing request I’ve only got a couple of rooms to sort out. Which is doable. Just.
I’ve also landed myself a job as an architect’s assistant at a practice that competes with the one Charles is at, which gives me great delight. It’s not very stretching but the money is handy.
I’ve not seen Kane since the banana incident at his uncle’s cottage and at least Poppy has stopped asking about him at every video call we have.
My social life has taken a bit of an upturn too and I’m about to get ready to go out with the girls from the office tonight. I’m gutted that I’ve sold all my decent dresses but seen as they’re all talking about wearing jeans I’ll probably still be okay.
I pick some jeans out and match them with a pale grey camisole and eventually, after trying several pairs of boots and shoes, some strappy-heeled sandals.
I’ve put full make-up on too. I need it as a confidence booster.
I hear the taxi pull up outside and the horn beep a couple of times. I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach. It’s as if I’m sixteen again, going out on the town and worried that my looks will be judged by leering men and catty girls. I have even done what I would have at that age; had a good swig of vodka straight from the bottle to calm my nerves.
One last glance in the hallway mirror and I’m out the door, heels sinking into the gravel as I try to tiptoe to the gate.
I open the door to the taxi and all three occupants turn to look at me.
“Hiya Rosa. Wow, you look great,” remarks Ruth.
“So do you two.” I reply.
I squeeze in the back beside them and the driver speeds off, checking me out in the rear-view mirror in a very disconcerting manner.
“Where are we heading first?” I ask.
“That new wine bar that’s opened on the high street. They’ve got live music later and if you buy one bottle of Prosecco you get the other free.”
“Sounds good.” Trying to hide my snobbiness of preferring Champagne over Prosecco.
The gossip in the taxi immediately turns to others in the office, a trait that I’m not keen on and I keep my mouth shut, but listen all the same. It seems that there is a complicated dating history that I am completely oblivious to and that I have done well not to put my foot in already.
We pull up outside the wine bar and I’m slightly nervous when I notice how busy it is. If Lizzie wasn’t pulling on my arm, I would remain in the taxi and demand to be taken back home. This really isn’t my thing. I’m thirty years old and surely beyond all this? Apparently not.
We squeeze our way through to the bar and order the Prosecco that’s on offer. It’s handed over in two insulated buckets and I follow Lizzie and Ruth to an elevated table near the window, placing one bucket in the middle of the table and the other on the windowsill. They’ve both already got their groove on, jigging about in their heels and scanning the ‘talent’, referring to any potentially single guy in the bar.
“Ooh, don’t look now, but bagsy him.” Lizzie says, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Who?” asks Ruth.
“That one there, next to the DJ booth, dark hair, tight white tee and a backside so tight you could bounce a coin off of it.”
I pour out the Prosecco and take a sip.
Ruth spins in her seat, giving him a good look over. “Hmm, yeah, you can have him. Too muscly for me, I like them more wiry.”
Ugh, and that’s my view on their ogling and not the Prosecco, although that’s equally distasteful.
“Do you do this often?” I ask, trying to divert the conversation away from talking about mens’ backsides.
“What pick out potential fantasy dates?” asks Ruth.
“Erm no, I mean go out.”
“Every couple of months or so, as you know we’ve both got young kiddies, so a night out without hubbies and kids is a bit of a treat. So we pretend we’re single again and flirt, harmlessly of course, before going home a little refreshed to our boring lives.”
“Ah, okay, that’s a relief.”
“What do you mean? You’re separated, aren’t you? No fantasy for you, it could be the real thing.”
I just smile. A smile that’s covering up the horror that could just as easily spread over my face at the thought of flirting with any guy in this wine bar.
I’ve told everyone in the office I am separated, although I am sure they will all have had the lowdown on my situation before I started. I’d be naive to think that one of the directors of the biggest competitor firms wasn’t mentioned in the debrief they had about their new hire.
“Ooh, grab hold of your knickers Lizzie, he’s coming over.” Ruth giggles.
I look up and a look of shock gets the better of my smile as I realise it’s Kane.
“Evening ladies.” He nods at each of us. “I thought that was you walking in earlier, Rosa.”
“Yes.” I state the obvious.
“Should be back at yours this week. Uncle’s back is still causing him problems.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Which I genuinely was, on both counts.
“Can I get you all a drink?”
“No, I think we’re good.” I reluctantly advise wishing we weren’t. Something better than the Prosecco would have been welcome. Even if it was bought by Kane.
“So, what you been up to Rosa?” He continues, which I find a bit rude considering I’m here with some friends. I turn to check on them but find they don’t seem to be in the slightest bit bothered. They’ve actually turned to each other now and are chatting about children and a recent review on visual baby monitors. I turn back to Kane.
“Not a lot really. Just working mainly.”
“O
h, good. I really like your hair by the way.”
I touch it to remind myself what’s different, then remember I was in a temporary phase of going back to a mousey brown tone when I last saw him.
“Thank you.” It’s nice of him to say but at the same time a little bit personal and way too forward for my liking.
“Head butted any other guys recently?” He chuckles.
“Erh no, and I am sorry about that, it was a complete accident.”
“I know, and I should apologise too…” he pauses, letting a cheeky smile erupt on his lips.
If he says that he’s sorry for not bringing me a banana around or any such thing then I’m going to walk right out of here. I wait patiently for him to finish his sentence, ready for anything he cares to say.
“I was a little bit tongue-tied when I saw you and may have come across as a little too arrogant. I want to apologise for that, I didn’t mean to offend.”
Okay, well I wasn’t expecting that.
“It’s fine, really, and I should also apologise if I came across as a bit rude.” I find myself saying.
“No, not at all I…”
I zone out from what he is saying to me watching his mouth and perfect teeth form shapes, as charmed words fall from his lips. I zone out because I have just subconsciously latched onto Lizzie and Ruth’s conversation about Crimson and her soon to be born baby.
Crimson?
They are talking avidly about how she was single when she left our practice, and now she’s already engaged and due a baby. Really fallen on her feet apparently. The guy is loaded, has a double-barreled surname and is high up in the firm she is at now.
Double-barreled surname? Due a baby?
I feel a strong hand on my shoulder and look up with tear filled eyes to Kane. I can still see his mouth moving but his eyes tell me the sentiment of his words have changed to ones of concern. I can’t hear him though, I can’t hear anything other than ringing in my eyes. I lurch off the bar stool and push towards the door. Aware that I am knocking over drinks and rudely barging into people.
I stop outside and take in several deep breaths, holding my stomach to alleviate the deep pain that has built up in there.
I hear the door open beside me and the noise of the bar as it blurts out.
“Are you okay?” Kane’s heavy hand is on my shoulder again.
I look up and, without thinking, throw my arms around his neck and press my face under his chin. I feel his arms close in around me and I let go. His arms containing my sobs, muffling them into his chest.
I hear a rowdy group of young lads approaching us from the other side of the road, probably making their way into the bar.
“Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.” He says softly.
Chapter Fourteen
Kane
I’ve got her handbag in the crook of my elbow, which feels a little weird if I’m honest. I’m trying to hold it like a rugby ball. Although I’m sure if anyone sees me with it, they will know it belongs to the beautiful woman hooked under my arm.
I don’t know what it was I said, but the way she lurched out of the bar floored me, and her friends didn’t look any more clued up than me.
Her phone is ringing. I stop, but she shows no attempt to move from under my wing so I fish it out and answer it.
“Yeah she’s fine. We’re just taking a walk… Yeah I’ll let you know… Sure no worries.”
I drop it back in her bag and steer her towards the wall at the side of the canal.
“Here. Sit down.” I guide her onto the wall and sit beside her, my arm still in a position that seems so natural laying over her shoulders.
She lets out a sigh, a couple of sobs and then a deep intake of breath.
“I’m sorry. You must think I’m a right div.”
“No, not at all. I hope it wasn’t something I said?” I ask tentatively, knowing that I had not endeared myself to her on the last two occasions we’d met and even wasn’t sure she took to me on our first brief encounter either.
She shakes her head, which is a relief.
“Anything I can help with?”
She shakes her head again.
We sit for a while, my arm getting seriously numb, but there’s no way I’m giving up on having her so close, because as convinced as I am that this is going to happen again, I’m not going to let go just yet.
“I think I need to go home,” she whispers.
“Of course, I’ll drive you.”
She glances up at me. The first time she has met my eyes since she ran out of the bar. If I look beyond the black streaks of mascara, which I easily do, I see the most stunning hazel irises, with flecks of the rainbow dancing around in them. I already knew I was sold but now I’m in hook, line and sinker.
“But haven’t you been drinking?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
“Ah, okay. Don’t you have to tell your friends where you’ve gone.”
“No,” I chuckle. “It doesn’t work that way with guys.”
“Well in that case, yes please.”
We stand up, still linked at the shoulder and I walk us towards my car. I help her up the step, hand over her bag and then run around to my side.
She doesn’t say much on the way back to her house, which is good, because it’s pretty noisy in my Defender. The windows don’t wind up properly and the air rushes in, in buffeting waves.
“Code?” I look across at her when we reach the gates, hoping she doesn’t say that she’s fine from here. I need to make sure she is safely inside and if that means me accompanying her in, then all the better.
I tap in the code and pull the Defender up to the stone steps in front of the house. It’s similar to mine in Oxford, except they’ve put an ugly extension on the side of this one.
I hold out my hand and she produces her keys. Good sign. Real, good sign.
I stride around to her side and open the car door. She still looks very subdued and, although I know now it’s not my fault, I’m still not sure what it is that’s got her this way.
I unlock her front door and hold it open for her to lead the way in.
“Thank you. Would you like a night cap, or coffee or something?”
“Sure.” I can’t believe my luck and do well to hide my inappropriate grin. “Coffee would be great.”
She stops the bleeping by punching another code into the alarm box in the hallway, kicks her shoes off and throws her bag onto the floor.
I follow her through to the kitchen. It seems different from this angle, although if I recall, it wasn’t the kitchen I was looking at, it was this beautiful woman necking Champagne out of a bottle. She’s obviously got problems, but who am I to judge? My dalliance with alcohol was short lived but damaging all the same. I quickly learnt my sorrows didn’t drown in the stuff but floated like a turd that always followed me around. I was happier without it and learned to cope with my loss in a more productive way. Eventually.
“Do you want a fancy one?”
“Yes, I’m always up for a fancy one,” I joke. Biting my lip after the words come out. I’m not sure she is ready for one of my crass double entendres right now.
She smiles.
Good.
“Cappuccino or latte?”
“Whatever.”
She pours some beans into the top of an expensive looking machine and froths up some milk with a steam wand.
“You don’t mind if I indulge, do you?” She waves a bottle of red wine toward me.
“No, not at all. Knock yourself out. Well not literally of course.”
She smiles again.
Good.
“I’ll use a glass this time,” she laughs.
So she has got a sense of humour after all. That’s reassuring, because it was the only thing that I had a reservation about.
“Shall we take them through to the living room?”
I don’t need asking twice.
She retrieves her bag on the way and takes her phone from it, pluggin
g it into a sound system on the shelves. Another fancy bit of kit. I think she’d probably be disappointed in my lack of home technology.
“Any special requests?”
“Anything as long as it’s not Adele.”
“Hah. Yeah I’m a bit done with Adele too.”
She puts on Royal Blood. A bit rousing for a night cap, but good choice, none the less.
She pours another glass of wine, which takes me back a bit as I didn’t see her drink the first.
Seemingly a bit more relaxed, I ask her, “So what was all that back there?”
“Just some bullshit about my ex.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, ah, anyway he’s not my problem anymore and I shouldn’t have got upset about it. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Sure.”
“You seem a bit of an enigma. A professor. A gardener. Dog lover. Sober. Anti-Adele. What else can you throw into the mix?”
“That’s pretty much me covered really.”
“What are you a professor in?”
“I major in cell biology. My research is in a specific field - the effect of plants on human cells.”
“Sounds important.”
“Yes, it is. To me anyway and hopefully someday to others too.”
“So where does the gardening bit fit in?”
“It’s actually a family business. Dad was a gardener with Uncle Joe, but when Dad passed it’s pretty much been down to Joe, and then with his back acting up I stepped in to keep it going. Although I have to limit it to the holidays, I can’t drop my research just like that.”
“No, I suppose not.”
She seems to have drained that glass too.
“So how about you?”
“I’m an architect, although at the moment I’m not quite living up to that dream. Recently had a go at interior design but couldn’t make that work either. You could say I’m a bit of a failure.”
“I’m sure you are perfectly good at all of those things. Don’t write yourself off as a failure. It’s just the universe is against you right now.”
She curls her legs up on the sofa next to me.
“Hopefully you’re right. I just need to move on really. I’ve been wallowing in this shit for too long already. Do you know how it feels to lose someone?”
Into the Light Page 9
