by Claire Peate
Would he accept her advances? Last night he’d been pretty resolute in peeling off her hand every time it strayed back to his thigh. But then he had been on something of a mission with his sheep lying mauled to death in a nearby field. Who could blame him for not being in the mood for love? Perhaps tonight he’d be less quick to remove her hand? Or would he fling her aside and stride over to me, whisking me up and taking me back to his farmhouse, rejecting Louisa’s classic beauty and preferring instead my ready wit and sense of humour? Perhaps…
I kept reliving the moment when I opened up the front door and there he was, a roguish smile on his lips, standing in the porch and holding out his proof of ID. Gwynfor Jones. Farmer.
14
One by one we went off for our spa treatments, coming back much the same as before but smelling nicer. My manicure was amazing, however, and I couldn’t stop looking at my hands. I went for another swim and every time I pushed my hands out and in front of me at the start of each stroke I gave a little “aah” as I admired the craftsmanship at the end of each finger. The manicurist had buffed and polished the nails, shaping them into smooth almond arcs and then given them three coats of light polish that made them gleam.
But poor old Henna. The girl who had most needed a pick-me-up after last night’s drinking. She trotted off happily enough for her mud soak and hose down but an hour later she slunk back to her lounger by the pool, hidden under a towel. Underneath she was bright red and patchy.
“Oh my God. What did they do to you?” Cathy gasped.
“Yes, OK, thank you,” Henna bit back. “You don’t have to step back looking quite so horrified, Cathy. I do know how I look. You don’t have to make me feel worse than I already do.”
“Sorry, I just…”
“Well, apparently,” Henna began despairingly, “the redness will go down in an hour. But what they didn’t tell me before the treatment is that all these spots that are starting to appear on my face are my toxins coming out. And they’re going to be getting worse over the weekend!”
Louisa couldn’t disguise the fact that she was just a little bit pleased, probably on account of Henna showing such an interest in Gwyn. Now at least Henna was well out of the race. Pretty, flirty and quick to get rat-arsed she might be, but covered in weeping sores and purple bruises she was no match for Louisa’s polished good looks. “Oh dear,” Louisa managed, “still, at least you’ll be toxin-free by Monday.”
“But think of all the alcohol I had last night,” Henna wailed. “There’s so much toxic crap inside me I’ll just be one big gaping sore in a few hours time. I can’t believe it! My weekend’s ruined – I’ll look like a plague victim or something. And my bruise is getting worse…”
Laura looked down at the newspaper in front of her and suddenly became quite interested in changes to hunting laws in Northern Canada.
“My weekend is ruined! No one’s going to come near me!”
I looked up from admiring my hands and gave her a sympathetic smile. “We might not see Gwyn again.”
“Yeah, right!” Louisa snorted. “Like that’s an option.”
It seemed like no time at all since we’d arrived but now we were surreptitiously reclaiming our shamefully old cars and driving back to the farmhouse to get ready for an evening at the pub. Laura was sitting in the back of my car, Cathy having argued, whined and pleaded with me not to have the TA terror in her car again.
“Please, please.” She clasped her hands together in front of me.
“Fine. Fine. But you can take one of my chores from me for doing it.”
“Anything. Of course. Thank you!” She ran off to her car, half-skipping and taking Louisa and Henna with her.
As it turned out Laura was completely relaxed and in a contemplative mood on the journey back. I barely heard a peep out of her; the massage must have done the trick.
“Look at that!” she exclaimed suddenly as we emerged from woodland near the Hen House.
“What?” I peered up to where she was pointing. “Oh!” Overhead two helicopters were circling.
“What do you think they’re doing?” she said, winding down her window and sticking her head out for a better look. “Looks like they have their side-doors open and someone hanging out. Oh my God. They’ve got a gun. I think it’s a gun. The one marked as a police helicopter.”
“Fucking hell!” I swerved back on to the road, having momentarily veered off a little in all the excitement. Perhaps I’d better concentrate a bit more on my driving. And perhaps I’d better stop taking my eyes off the road every few seconds to admire the sheer brilliance of my beautiful nails on the steering wheel.
There was a noticeable chill in the car as Laura and I started to consider the same thing. Surely the helicopters overhead were connected to that big cat sighting? They must be. So perhaps a big cat had attacked Gwynfor’s sheep? Outside our house last night. Suppose we were actually in mortal danger?
“Do you think we’ll have to go home early,” I asked, “you know, if the police come and have a word with us or something?”
“Do you know how hard I’ve worked arranging all this?” Laura slammed her hands down on the seat. “Do you think we’ll give up just because there might or might not be a cat out there? No. We’re perfectly safe.”
“OK,” I agreed, nodding. I wasn’t going to argue with Laura. I didn’t want her to lean over and nut me while I was driving and then make out that we just happened to collide when we went round a corner…
It still gave me the creeps to imagine that there could be a dangerous animal lurking out there, watching us, but we couldn’t see it. Anything that merited policemen with guns hanging out of helicopters had to be a fairly substantial threat. Or maybe they were training their guns on Laura? Maybe she was AWOL from the army, escaped in a frenzy of madness…
“I wonder if there are any big cats over in the valley that the boys are having their stag weekend in?” she interrupted my thoughts.
“Well, the danger of a big cat is nothing to James in comparison with what Louisa is going to be dishing out when he gets back to their flat,” I said. “Anyway, the boys will be fine,” I added, “they’ve got paintball guns to shoot it and go-carts to escape from it. And isn’t big game hunting one of their activities?”
“If it wasn’t before then it could be now,” Laura said, deep in thought.
15
Laura was pacing up and down the sitting-room, the gong beater twirling from one hand to the other, looking like a majorette in a military band. The usual plain combats had been ditched for combats (shock!) but with an embroidered hem. She’d also chosen a close-fitting white T-shirt that beautifully accentuated her six pack.
“Four minutes to go.” She glanced at her watch for the twentieth time. “Do you think one of us should go and check on Cathy?”
“Give her time,” Henna sighed, raising her eyes skywards. “God, I should think that she knows what time she’s due down. You told us often enough.”
“I told everyone to be down here five minutes before we were due to leave.”
“Yeah well, last time I saw her she was texting her fiancé but she was all dressed up and ready to go,” Louisa said, picking at the sequins on her sparkly strapless top.
“Stop fretting, Laura,” Henna moaned.
Laura spun the beater angrily, bringing it to a halt, pointing it at Henna. “I think you’ll find that I am not fretting.”
I’d had enough bickering with Marcia to last me a lifetime. I got up and strode out of the sitting-room. “I’ll go check on her.”
“Good woman!” Laura nodded her approval to me and I shot Henna a mock-superior look. I was definitely in Laura’s good books. Henna stuck two fingers up but hid them the minute Laura turned round to see what I was smiling at.
Upstairs I knocked on Cathy’s door. “Come in.” Her voice was small and tight.
She was sprawled across her vast double bed, staring up at the beams in the ceiling, her mobile phone flung on the pil
low.
I perched beside her and put the phone on the table. “Trouble?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. What do you think of this?” She sat up and grabbed her phone, flicking through the messages. She handed it to me and I read the message. That’s it. Enough!
“Hmm.” I put the phone down again. “That’s not great, is it?”
“What do you think he means?” she asked
I shrugged. “You know better than me. What do you think?”
“I don’t know! Should I go back home? Louisa must be really pissed of with me as it is. I’ve been absolutely rotten this weekend. I’d probably be doing everyone a favour if I went home, wouldn’t I? Are they talking about me downstairs?”
“Laura’s a bit concerned that we’re not strictly adhering to the Schedule and Rota.”
Cathy grabbed her watch. “Oh crap. I should have been down five minutes ago!”
“Don’t worry about it. The crosser she gets with you the more sympathy everyone else has with you.”
“True. So what do you think I should do?”
“Ditch the phone and come out with us. Whatever it is between you and Heath it can wait another day or so. Leave the phone on the table and come out and enjoy yourself.”
She nodded. “Very good advice.”
I beamed. I was recommending spontaneity and a little recklessness. Hardly a DLC thing to do.
“Is that what everyone’s wearing?” She pointed to my black t-shirt, jeans and kitten heels. Pretty understated compared to Louisa’s strapless sequinned ensemble but then at least I wasn’t going to be overly conscious about what I was wearing.
“Louisa’s got a strapless sequinned top on, Henna’s got a gold halterneck and mini-skirt combo and Laura’s got combats on. Again.”
“So Henna and Louisa have really dressed up then?”
“Yeah, well to be honest with you,” I leant in and whispered, “Henna’s face is looking pretty bad, even under all her make-up, so it’s probably a good move to draw attention everywhere else.”
“Do you think my dress is too showy? I wasn’t sure about red.”
“It’s great! Really. You look fab, now let’s go. No, leave the phone there. Come on, Laura will go mental if you stay up here any longer.”
Cathy actually laughed. “Yeah. I heard she actually nutted Henna the day they arrived.”
When we got downstairs it was clear that something had happened between Laura and Henna. Henna was sulking in her chair, curled up and picking at the wounds on her face while Laura was pacing up and down in front of the fire. Louisa was staying well out of it, applying more lipstick and then hoisting up her spangly top, which was falling down on her recently-trimmed pre-wedding figure. I looked at her from the corner of my eye, taking in her appearance from her pointy sandals to her daring cleavage and ruby red lipstick. All dressed up in sequins. She really was taking the seducing Gwyn plan seriously. She naturally looked stunning, being so thin and blonde and Scandinavian-looking. Dressed up in a sequinned top and gold stiletto sandals, how could anyone fail to notice her? Especially when she was on display in a rural pub tucked into the Welsh hills. And yet … and yet was it really so bad? At the end of the night she might well get her man because, it had to be said, she looked just fabulous and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. How could any man fail to notice her great figure and her pretty face? It was there, right in front of them. Where as I? I wanted the same thing as she did, if I had to be honest with myself. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the Welshman since I’d met him last night, and while Louisa was going out there and trying her hardest to make it happen, what was I doing? Wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and tying my hair up? Did I want to bag a man out of sympathy? Did I hope that my manicure alone would be enough to entice him to me? Even Laura had made an effort with her embroidered combats.
What would Marcia do?
“Back in a minute!” I dashed out of the living-room, into the kitchen and ducked into my room, hearing the exasperated shouts of Laura in the hallway.
I pulled the brush through my hair and let it fall loose over my shoulders, whipped out my concealer, mascara, liquid rouge and then a bold red lipstick. I checked the tiny mirror. Better.
Laura was in the doorway. “Rach, what the…”
“Ready. Sorry!” I turned out the light and followed her back into the hallway, having slipped several notches down in Laura’s estimation.
Laura stood in front of the gong, still twirling the beater. “Now we’re all finally ready, shall we walk up to the pub?”
Cathy looked troubled, “Walk? What about the cat?”
Ah yes, the cat. Somewhere along the way we’d managed to temporarily forget about the big cat threat.
“It’s not that far to the pub,” Louisa whined, “and we need to call on Gwyn anyway. Come on.”
“Don’t you think we could get attacked?” Cathy insisted, adopting a serious expression that said, “I’m a doctor, listen to me.” “It’s a dark road and there’s no one about until we get to the village. Anything could happen. Besides, I’m wearing red, it’ll go for me first.”
“Actually, that’s bulls that go for red. And we’ve got torches,” Laura argued. “Don’t worry. Off we go then!” She swung the beater in the air but Henna deftly grabbed it mid-swing before it hit the gong. “Don’t,” she said. “Just fucking don’t.”
It was still light when we walked up the road to the pub, but that didn’t stop it being a mind-bendingly terrifying experience. While no one went as far as to talk about the possibility of being torn in two by a big cat it was obvious that we were all thinking about it. We huddled together in the middle of the track, speed walking as fast as our completely inappropriate footwear would allow us, heading uphill and shooting nervous glances into the thick black woodland on either side. What had seemed like a two minute trip between the Hen House and the pub actually turned out to be a twenty minute walk of sheer terror. Several times one of us would drop behind as our kitten heels slipped off in the rush or we wobbled into potholes. Then there would be a cry of “Hold on!” and we’d have to wait while shoes were hastily slipped on again and we could continue. The rutted farm track was not the easiest surface to negotiate in our best footwear. Still, at least our killer heels could be used in self-defence if needs be. But could any of us high kick? My jeans were so tight I could probably only manage a high kick to just above my ankle level. Would that be sufficient to ward off a cat attack? Maybe I could spear its paw with my heel? I bet Laura could high kick, and with her loose-fitting combats she’d be perfectly dressed to deliver a knock-out blow to any feline attacker.
Midway up the hill we came to Gwyn’s farmhouse.
“I’ll go and knock,” Louisa selflessly volunteered. The rest of us stood in a group and watched her dash across the front yard as best she could in her four-inch heeled gold sandals, which was a feat in itself. With the dexterity of a woman on a mission, she dodged the ruts and dung piles in the path and knocked at the door. She stood in the porch, stamping her feet to keep warm – the evening was rather chilly, especially as she was wearing about as much material as went to make the handkerchief sensibly stowed away in my handbag. My God, I was turning into my parents…
Louisa knocked again.
Nothing.
I, like most of the girls, was spending my time peering nervously into the surrounding trees, hoping not to see a pair of eyes watching us. The smallest sound of a bird on a branch or a rabbit on the ground and I got palpitations. I really hoped Louisa would give up; he wasn’t there and I didn’t want to be standing out here any more than I had to. There was a worrying amount of rustling and snapping coming from the woodland that bordered the farmyard. The whole woodland was alive.
“There’s no light on,” Henna shouted over to Louisa. “He’s not there! I think we should press on.”
Louisa looked crestfallen. “Does anyone have a pen and paper on them? We could write him a letter so i
f he gets back in time…” But no one had. Not even Laura who might have been expected to carry that sort of thing. She’d left her trusty tool belt back at the Hen House. I know because I’d seen it abandoned on a chair in the kitchen and was about to take a sneaky peek into it when Louisa had appeared and ruined my chance of discovering just what a TA girl carries in her workman’s handbag.
Louisa click-clacked back to us and we hastily continued walking up the hill.
We reached the pub and practically clambered over one another in the rush to get through the narrow doorway and into the warm smoky safety of the bar. All pretence at politeness and “you first” was abandoned as we pushed and shoved our way to safety.
Once inside, with the solid old wooden door closed firmly behind us, we began to relax and look a bit sheepish at the various pushings and shovings that had gone on. I could feel my shoulders begin to unknot and I saw Henna arching her back while Laura was doing some sort of breathing exercise. Had they all been as scared as I had? Shit! I’d only been managing to hold it together thinking that the others were feeling more confident than I was. Walking home would be fun then. Perhaps I should drink myself into a stupor and then any cats that come prowling round would be put off by the alcohol fumes.
16
We made our way through the crowded room over to the bar, suddenly able to talk now and there was plenty of “you should have seen your face” and “I thought you were going to wet yourself when that bird flew out of the tree” while we got the drinks in. The female equivalent of backslapping, but it needed to be done.
While we were at the bar I looked around and took in our surroundings properly. It was an amazing old place with most of the stone walls exposed and only the enormous chimney, which ran up one side of the room, painted a chalky-white. There was the usual mix of maroon pub carpet, dark wood tables and chairs, and dried hops hanging from the rafters.
