The Love Solution

by Ashley Croft

  After she’d changed into warm clothes she waited in the sitting room for him to reappear. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected the place to be like: perhaps coldly minimalist and devoid of clutter. While the house was tidier than her flat, which wouldn’t have been difficult, there were plenty of personal touches. Interesting prints of landscapes and botany hung on the walls while stripy rugs covered the oak boards and scatter cushions adorned two squashy, well-worn sofas. The cupboards and dresser were home to a variety of interesting objects: bottles of weird booze, ethnic statues, oriental vases and photographs of Ewan in exotic places.

  Molly picked one up. It showed a younger Ewan with his arm around a guy and two young women, but she couldn’t tell from the pose if either of them was a girlfriend – or his ex-wife.

  ‘Didn’t know which you’d prefer so I made coffee and hot chocolate …’

  Guiltily, Molly turned round, still clutching the photo.

  Ewan stood a few feet away with a steaming mug in each hand. He was wearing a Cambridge blue sweatshirt and dark shorts that showed off his rugby-honed and hairy thighs. His knee was patched with a white absorbent dressing, which only seemed to add to his appeal. He looked hotter than July and Molly’s hormones started bubbling away like a cauldron.

  ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be nosy,’ she said, replacing the photo on the dresser.

  Ewan walked over and picked up the photo, his expression frustratingly neutral. ‘That’s Nepal. We were on an expedition during the third year of my PhD. Although it was more of an excuse for a piss-up than an expedition.’

  ‘Are these your lab colleagues?’

  ‘Two of them are. The other is my ex, Anna.’

  ‘Oh, I see … I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘But you wanted to know?’

  ‘I wondered.’

  ‘We met during our second year but we weren’t seeing each other when this was taken. Soon after though.’

  He edged the photo back into the exact same position. Molly wondered why he hadn’t thrown it out.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked, as they moved back to the sofa. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving and we should replenish the calories we’ve used.’

  ‘I was hoping to lose some,’ joked Molly.

  ‘Rubbish. Trying to diet while you’re doing such a lot of intense work is stupid,’ he said gruffly. ‘And anyway, you don’t need to lose any weight. I’ll get some food.’

  He returned a few minutes later with a plate laden with brownies and flapjacks.

  Molly sniffed the air. ‘Mm. They look good.’

  ‘I hope so. I made them.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised.’ The smile he tried so hard to suppress during the week appeared. It changed his whole face.

  Molly’s mouth watered and it had nothing to do with Ewan’s brownies. She took one from the plate and crammed it in her mouth. Crumbly chocolate fell onto her tights and the seat of the sofa. Ewan watched her as he demolished a flapjack. Molly shifted around in her seat. Was he into watching women devour cake or something? Was he one of those guys who posted photos on the Internet of women eating?

  ‘Sorry, making a mess,’ she said, brushing the crumbs off her lap and onto the floorboards. ‘Oh, that’s worse.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. He picked up the plate. ‘Another?’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’

  Molly couldn’t take her eyes off his thighs. He kept talking in his deep voice. When he leaned over to reach for another brownie, his T-shirt rode up and she caught a glimpse of his stomach. It was toned, taut, not a six-pack but probably four. She’d love to make a closer examination.

  She wanted to bite her fist in frustration. The lust hormones had her in their grip, pulsing through her and making bits of her hum like power lines in the rain. She curled her toes into the soft pile of the rug then stopped when she noticed Ewan watching her. She tried not to tense up her body and nodded and smiled and hemmed in all the right places while barely taking in a word he’d said.

  ‘Maybe I will have another,’ she said, reaching for the plate on the coffee table.

  He held it out but Molly knocked it from his hand. It fell onto the floorboards with a sharp clatter. China exploded over the boards and rug.

  ‘Oh shit, sorry!’

  She knelt on the boards.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ said Ewan, crouching next to her and helping to clear up the broken crockery. Molly cursed herself for her clumsiness.

  ‘It looked like an expensive plate.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Oh dear. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘But Anna chose it so it doesn’t matter and for God’s sake, stop saying sorry.’

  His hand brushed hers as they reached for the same shard of china. The hairs on his wrist tickled her fingers. She couldn’t see his face but his skin was warm. His hand rested over hers. Flattened it against the boards.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘What?’

  Ewan pulled his hand away. Molly held up her open palm, a tiny globule of crimson glistened on the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb.

  ‘Wait.’

  Ewan plucked a shard of china, so thin it was almost invisible, from her hand.

  ‘Got it.’ His voice was husky.

  Still kneeling on the rug, he held the shard between his fingers. Molly sucked her palm, where the sliver of china had pierced it. Ewan stared at her sucking her hand, seemingly fascinated. What was this? Twilight? Molly felt her cheeks warming. His lips parted and he swallowed. She felt shivery with lust. Were they going to do it here on the rug?

  ‘Ewan?’

  He frowned, and stood up abruptly.

  Molly got to her feet too but the spell was broken.

  ‘I’m sorry about the plate.’

  ‘Like I said, I didn’t like it anyway. In fact, I’m glad it’s gone.’ He turned away with the pieces of plate in his hand. ‘Um, if you’re OK, I’ll get rid of this mess and then I have work to do if you don’t mind.’

  What? One moment he could barely take his eyes off her and the next, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her?

  ‘I’m busy too,’ said Molly coolly. ‘There’s no need to see me out if you’re busy.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ He strode ahead of her into the hallway.

  ‘You could have fooled me,’ she muttered, picking up her cycle helmet from the bottom step of the stairs.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll email you some suggested times for our next training session,’ he said, still holding the plate.

  ‘You mean, there’s going to be another one?’

  He frowned. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t there be?’

  ‘No idea.’ Molly walked out of the house without looking behind, unlocked her road bike and cycled off. Annoyance and frustration with Ewan had given her fresh energy. Bloody, bloody Ewan: if the DNA of Brian Cox, Aidan Turner and Doc Martin had been blended together, you’d have something close to him.

  If he was so hell bent on keeping her at arm’s length, why invite her into his house? Why engage her in conversation and say she looked OK as she was and touch her hand and act like he wanted to swallow her hole then bundle her out? She’d thought the tandem was a cry for help but he was driving her insane with his mixed messages. She would make a renewed effort to be as grumpy and cool as he was. She wasn’t going to waste any more time on him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sarah was working on some new tiara designs for a wedding fair while also trying to boost her jewellery stock for a Valentine’s craft event the following weekend. She’d been working flat out and showing a string of prospective buyers round the cottage. Some – OK, most of them – hadn’t been as hideous as the Pratt-Deaths, but she’d still found it almost impossible to show any enthusiasm for selling the cottage. Despite this, it was clear that several couples were very taken with the prop
erty’s pretty exterior and its garden. One or two had even mentioned her Kabin and their plans for it. Although no one had put in a serious offer yet, she knew it could only be a matter of time.

  After a busy morning, she made a mug of ginger tea before preparing to face Cassandra Burling who was coming for a final fitting for her tiara.

  Sarah slapped on a happy smile as she saw Cassandra hold the finished tiara up. The crystals and pearls shimmered in the workshop lights. Although it wasn’t her favourite creation, she was quietly satisfied with the job she’d done. She’d worked extra hard on it, way beyond what she was charging for, and hoped her client would be satisfied. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and she wrinkled her nose, as she turned the tiara to and fro before letting out a dramatic sigh. Sarah’s hopes nosedived.

  ‘Hmm. It’s OKayyyish …’ Cassandra drawled. ‘But not exactly what I’d imagined. I wanted a dove with pearl in its beak and that thing looks more like a pigeon.’

  ‘It is a dove,’ said Sarah patiently. ‘It’s the one you saw and loved in the online catalogue.’

  ‘Well, it looks like a pigeon now it’s here. Can you find another dove? A cuter dove?’

  ‘That’s the only dove I’ve seen. The only other birds I’ve ever come across are owls and you don’t want an owl on a bridal tiara, do you?’

  ‘No … but what about another animal? Something cute and classy, and tasteful.’

  Sarah stopped a second before she suggested a hippo and gritted her teeth instead. She’d already spent hours over the time she’d allow for a normal bridal tiara, and she thought the finished result was tasteful and pretty instead of tacky. Even the dove with a pearl in its beak, which had been tricky to work into the design, looked quite quirky and cool … ‘Well, I’ll scour the web now and send you some links but you need to make a quick decision because I need time to order it – and if it’s a new supplier to me, I can’t guarantee it will arrive – and I need time to rework the commission.’

  ‘Thanks. I knew you’d work a miracle. Now, I like the bridesmaids’ headdresses. They’re gorgeous but I did wonder about one more teensy little thing …’

  As Cassandra spoke, a wave of nausea sprang out of nowhere and rolled over Sarah. ‘One teensy thing?’ she said, holding on to a chair back for support.

  ‘Yes. I know the peachy pink is lovely but you don’t think they’d have been better in a pinky peach, do you? Sarah? Are you OK?’

  ‘Sozcassandraamgonnabesick.’

  In a brief hiatus between bouts of throwing up, Sarah found time to apologise to Cassandra and promised to search to the ends of the known universe for a replacement bird, while convincing her that the tone of the bridesmaids’ headwear was just right.

  No sooner had Cassandra tottered off down the path than Sarah had to race to the cottage again. Finally, she finished retching and lifted her head out of the toilet. The flush died away and she’d started brushing her teeth when someone knocked on the door.

  Damn, it must be Cassandra with more demands. Cursing, Sarah splashed her face and hastily wiped it before trying to fix on a smile and opening the door.

  It was Niall. Her heart sank and her smile slipped. That was all she needed.

  He stared at her and pulled a face. ‘God, Sarah. You look terrible.’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I um … I’m um … feeling a bit peaky.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about the baby but she held back. She wasn’t sure of his reaction and if he started ranting and raving she couldn’t handle it. She might see how the conversation went.

  ‘Sorry to hear it. Well, I won’t get too close to you but I do need to talk to you.’ His voice softened. ‘It’s important, Sarah, which is why I wanted to see you face to face.’

  All trace of his cocky demeanour had vanished. He did seem serious. Maybe he was regretting what he’d done and wanted to ask her to let him move back in. Sarah was torn. If he wanted to move back that would mean Sarah wouldn’t lose the home she loved. But if that was the case, she had to stand firm. There was no way she could forgive him, even if it meant that she could stay at the cottage.

  He stamped his feet. ‘Can I come in? I’m freezing my nuts off out here.’ He tried a small smile and reluctantly, Sarah let him in, steeling herself for what was to come.

  He sat down on the sofa and peered at her. ‘There’s toothpaste on your jumper.’

  ‘I’ve just brushed my teeth. Busy day.’

  ‘Oh.’ He glanced around him, taking in what must have been the familiar sights of the cottage sitting room. He seemed very subdued. She braced herself for another plea to let him back.

  ‘Well, I may as well come right out with it. The agent called me this morning. She said you’ve been telling buyers that we have rats and subsidence and that Mrs Sugden runs a bondage den.’

  ‘That was a joke, Ni,’ said Sarah.

  ‘They obviously took it seriously. Now I know why some of the buyers didn’t even come round for a second viewing.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Obviously some people have no sense of humour. And I’ve been so bloody busy keeping the place tidy and showing people round. It’s a lot of work.’

  ‘I did offer to do some of the viewings myself.’

  ‘No! I mean, it’s more convenient for me to do them when I can fit them into my schedule,’ Sarah said hastily. She hadn’t wanted Niall in control of the situation or in the house at all, but it looked like she was losing the battle to avoid selling. Pretty cottages in nice villages around Cambridge weren’t going to hang around for long.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Luckily you haven’t managed to scare everyone off. I had a call this morning. We’ve actually had a sensible offer from one of the viewings. It’s a cash buyer and is only five hundred short of the asking price. I’ve told the agents yes, but I need your say-so too. There won’t be a problem, will there?’

  Sarah swallowed down her shock and disappointment. ‘No, no problem. No bloody problem at all …’

  ‘Jesus. I knew you’d react like this …’ Niall slammed his mug down on the table but his next words were softer. ‘Look, darlin’, things are hard for all of us but this is a great offer and it gives both of us the chance to make a fresh start. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  Niall’s voice cracked with a wobble of emotion and Sarah thought she glimpsed regret in his eyes. He looked tired but still handsome. Her stomach flipped with a familiar feeling of lust. No matter what he’d done, she still loved the glint in his eye, that cheeky smile, even his bloody quiff. She remembered the night she’d first met him, how she’d thought he was a bit of a chancer and then how he’d told her risqué jokes and insisted on calling her a taxi and told her how he’d wanted to be a paramedic since he was four and his mum had caught him dismembering his sister’s Barbie dolls.

  ‘Look, Sare. I’m sorry it’s come to this. Really I am. Sorry I caused it.’ He covered her hand with his. She let it rest there a second and her heart softened a degree. She’d loved him once, and despite everything she still did and she was carrying his child. How would he react if he knew? Would it make him change his mind about selling the cottage? Although he was happy for Sarah to move, he surely wouldn’t want to see his own child kicked out of their home? They could start again … though it could never be the same, not even with a baby on the way. Especially with a baby on the way … but she at least owed it to him to tell him, even if he’d said he was dead against a family. The words were on her lips, waiting to be said. Any moment.

  He took his hand away from hers and got to his feet, with a sigh. ‘I didn’t only come round to tell you about the offer. There’s something else and I wanted you to hear it from me before you find out on the grapevine …’ His tone hardened. ‘I may as well tell you. I’ve decided to give things a go with Vanessa. We’ve had a good talk and she’s asked me to move in with her and I’ve said yes.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Molly rang the bell at the cottage and stamped her feet to keep warm while she
waited for Sarah to answer. When no one came she rapped the knocker, waited another couple of minutes and then peered through the window. Sarah’s car was on the drive and a lamp glowed behind the curtains but there was no sound of the TV on in the sitting room.

  The letterbox almost took her fingers off as she called through it. ‘Sarah, it’s Molly!’

  Getting no answer, she fished her phone from her bag. Her fingers were numb with cold as she prodded the buttons. Sarah’s mobile and house phone went straight to answerphone. Anxiety tugged at her: what if Sarah had had an accident? What if she was losing the baby and lying in a pool of blood on the floor?

  No, she was probably in the shower or having a nap or something or in her workshop; that was far more likely than any disaster. Molly dragged an empty stone flower tub to the garden gate and stood on it to unlock the latch. Relief flooded her when she saw the lights of the workshop casting pools of yellow on the frosty path. Sarah was working and must be distracted by her work. She pushed open the gate, calling cheerfully, ‘Hi, hon. Nice to see you’re doing some—’

  She didn’t get any further. The workshop looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. Beads, wire and tiny gemstones covered the worktops, the chairs and floor like glittering colourful snow. In the centre of it all sat Sarah. Mascara streaked her face, her hair shimmered with tiny beads and she held a broken tiara in her hands.

  Molly dashed forward and fell to her knees, taking Sarah in her arms. ‘Oh God, hon, are you OK?’

  Sarah let out a huge juddering sob. ‘I’m f-f-fine.’

  ‘What the hell happened? Have you been burgled?’

  ‘N-n-no. It’s N-n-niall.’

  Molly gasped. ‘What? He hasn’t smashed up your workshop!’

  ‘No. Ni didn’t smash it up. I did.’

  Molly hugged Sarah, feeling as if her own heart would break. ‘Why, hon?’