Day after day, she wrote until she fell into a kind of rhythm, the weeks passing peacefully by as spring melted into summer. During this time, she produced not just one or two but several stories to send off to various publications, scoring a few successes along the way. She had grown more confident about writing a novel too, certain that as soon as a good enough plot hit her, peopled with characters she could believe in, she’d be unstoppable. Working outdoors by day, she was developing a nice tan, her skin, an olive tone in the first place, darkening to a deeper hue. In contrast her hair was lightening in the sun, strands of golden brown a pleasing contrast to her natural, much darker, shade. She looked well and felt even better. Her job at the pub was enjoyable too, more so now they were busy. A far cry from her coveted position as marketing executive, she actually preferred it, unsure she could ever stomach an office environment again. She felt freer somehow, less restricted. Joseph had mentioned that living in Trecastle changed people, made them less concerned about material things, and he was right. Having the latest high-heeled wedges from Kurt Geiger or a show-off handbag didn’t matter here. Nobody cared. Mind you, that was one of the few things he had been right about.
Since Penny had left, she’d only seen him a handful of times, and each one of those had been at a distance. If he came into the pub, which wasn’t often, he’d simply order his drink and walk away, as though he barely knew her. It hurt, if she was honest, but two could play at that game, and she had. If others noticed their coldness toward one another, they didn’t say anything, although Hannah cocked her head thoughtfully at her from time to time. And dying as Layla was to say, “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she didn’t. She let it pass.
Today, Layla was down at the beach. She smoothed flat a wicker mat on the sand, rolled her cardigan into a makeshift pillow and thought she’d rest for a while in preparation for a burst of creativity. She was actually fast asleep when Hannah sat down beside her and gently touched her arm, startling her into wakefulness.
“Sorry,” laughed Hannah, her nose wrinkling in amusement. “I didn’t realize you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t,” insisted Layla, quickly pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I was thinking, that’s all.”
“You were snoring,” Hannah pointed out.
“Oh, God, was I?” asked Layla in horror.
“Of course not. I was just joking. But you were asleep, admit it.”
After sheepishly agreeing, she and Hannah sat in congenial silence for a while, soaking up the beautiful day and their equally beautiful surroundings. The village was heaving now as high summer approached. It seemed everywhere you looked there were young couples in love, strolling hand in hand to the castle or the beach. Although schools hadn’t yet broken up, there were plenty of young families too, kids trailing behind their parents, buckets and spades in hand, intent on some serious digging. “No Vacancies” signs were hanging in almost all the B&B’s, and even Trecastle’s one and only hotel, perched slightly out of the village in a spectacular spot on the headland, was packed to the rafters. Layla enjoyed the lively vibe. It reminded her of Brighton, and although she hardly missed Brighton, she had grown up there, so a bit of hustle and bustle was in the blood.
“For such a small village, it packs in the visitors, doesn’t it?”
“It’s the history of the place, and the beach…plus the fact that two of the most gorgeous barmaids in Cornwall happen to live here!” Hannah joked. More seriously, she added, “And it’s magical. Whether you believe in magic or not, it’s what draws people back here year after year.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” said Layla, wistfully recalling that long ago tale of the smoke fairies. “There’s definitely magic in the air.”
Layla had first been touched by that magic as a child. As soon as she and her mother arrived, the world would seem all right again, if just for a short while. Mind you, Trecastle’s particular brand of magic could affect you in surprising ways, make you act a bit crazy, as she had done that night with Joseph. You had to watch it at times.
“Anyway, what are you up to?” Hannah asked, idly picking up a smooth shiny pebble and throwing it slightly ahead of her.
“Just getting another story ready to send off whilst waiting for inspiration to hit me so I can start a novel. Nothing new.”
“I can’t believe you’re a famous writer, Layla. I’m so impressed.”
“I’m hardly famous,” scoffed Layla. “I’ve been lucky enough to get a few short stories published, that’s all. But Rachel’s hoping to include me in an anthology she’s putting together. I’m really excited about that.”
“Do you think you would have started writing again if you’d stayed in Brighton?”
Layla thought for a few moments. “Do you know, I don’t think I would have. Life was so hectic there; I barely had time to think most days. I’m busy here, but it’s in a different way, a good way.” Smiling at Hannah, she continued, “I actually think Lenny’s creative spirit has rubbed off on me. It’s him I’ve got to thank for finding my muse again.”
“See, I told you it was a good idea to come and housesit. At this rate you won’t be going anywhere in January.”
“I’ll have to. I won’t have a place to stay.”
“You don’t have a place to stay in Brighton,” Hannah pointed out.
“Don’t remind me,” said Layla grimly.
Changing the subject, Hannah said, “You working in the pub tonight?”
“Yes, I am. I’m doing Tom’s shift. He’s got a hot date with a girl from Bodmin, so I said I’d cover.”
“Okay, it’s probably going to be busy, judging by the amount of people around. I’ve got a meeting with the owner of an art gallery in Bude at five. I shouldn’t be long. We’re just finalizing which pictures of mine he wants to show. I’ll be back to give you a hand as soon as I’ve finished.”
“Yeah, no worries. Kate is working too, so we’ll manage until you get there.” Standing up and gathering her belongings, she continued, “I think I’ll go home now, finish that nap I was having, and grab a shower.”
“You do that,” laughed Hannah, also standing up. “Catch you later.”
It was busy in the pub, but manageable between herself and Kate, a summer-time-only member of staff. Mainly families grabbing a drink on their way home from the beach. The more adult crowd would arrive later on.
A young man with spectacles perched on the tip of his sunburned nose had just ordered two Cokes for his children, a pint of shandy for him, and a glass of white wine for his wife. He also wanted two packets of cheese and onion crisps. Layla knelt down to locate the crisps, situated in a box just below the Pride of Cornwall beer pump, grabbed two bags, and stood up. She was just about to say That’ll be nine pounds and eighty pence, please, when her voice shriveled in her throat and died.
There standing before her, in all his glory, was Alex Kline.
“Layla!” he said. “At last I’ve found you.”
As she stood there staring, she was aware of another pair of eyes burning into her. As if in a dream, she shifted her gaze from Alex to the other man at the bar, who was still brandishing a ten-pound note at her.
“Sorry,” she spluttered. “Em, er, nine pounds, eighty, please.”
Somehow managing to calculate the change she owed, she handed it over with trembling hands before turning back to Alex. “What do you want?” she managed at last.
“I’d have thought that was obvious,” he replied, his voice as soft as the silk ties he liked to wear. “But meanwhile, a pint of ale will do.”
Glad to be issued an instruction, even if it was by him, she forced her limbs to cooperate as she grabbed a glass and lowered the pump, keeping her eyes firmly on the flowing dark liquid at all times. As the glass filled, she endeavored to come to terms with what was happening. Alex had found her! He had told Penny he would, and he had.
As she handed him the pint, his fingers brushed hers, causing the trembling to esc
alate into violent jolting. If he noticed, though, he didn’t say. Instead he took a leisurely sip of his drink before speaking again.
“You look well, Layla. Beautiful, in fact.” As his eyes roamed appreciatively over her, she struggled to keep cool, calm, and collected.
Next he asked if there was somewhere private they could talk.
“I’m working. You’ll have to wait,” she croaked, a far from cool sound.
“What time do you knock off?”
“Not until eleven.”
“That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, moving to one side so she could continue to serve the increasing number of customers.
How she was keeping her mind on the job she didn’t know. Alex was standing opposite her, just staring at her. She felt disorientated, nauseous, but still she managed to pull pints, serve wine, and hand out packets of crisps and nuts, all without so much as a glitch.
It was an hour later and Alex was on his second pint when Jim and Joseph came into the pub, followed swiftly by Mick.
Oh, great, she thought. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.
“Hey, Layla,” Jim drawled, “Hannah’s running late, but she shouldn’t be too long. She says sorry and that she’ll be here as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” she replied, wishing Hannah was already here so she could take Alex and go hear whatever pathetic excuses for his behavior he intended to ply her with and send him on his way.
“Are you all right?” asked Jim, rather perceptively, she thought.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Are you sure?” It was Joseph this time, and the genuine concern in his eyes and voice nearly undid her.
“Yes,” she said, attempting to smile but feeling her eyes well up instead.
He was about to say something else, she was sure of it, when Alex came over and interrupted. “Friends of Layla’s?” he asked, offering his hand.
Jim and Joseph looked confused. Mick, however, offered his hand readily. “We most certainly are,” he said affably. “You too?”
“You could say that. I’m Alex.”
Layla watched Joseph’s face as the penny dropped. The gentle look he had given her when he realized she was upset fell away, replaced by a stoniness instead. He offered his hand too, as did Jim, but then turned away, taking the pint she had pulled with him and retreating to the furthest corner of the pub. Only Mick stayed.
During the hour before Hannah arrived, Mick and Alex got on like a house on fire, their mutual love of the sea providing opportunity aplenty for bonding. Not that fishing was Alex’s style. Rather he liked to take his fancy speedboat, The Molly McGuire, moored at Brighton’s marina, out for long trips on the ocean, round the coastline to Plymouth, down to France even, Cannes and Nice. He had once referred to it as The Love Boat, the namesake of a seventies show he used to love when he was younger apparently. Layla had wondered at the time whether he nicknamed it that for another reason. Certainly he had once tried to woo her on-board, to no avail, however; the sea always gave her such terrible motion sickness.
In between enduring snatches of their conversation, she found the courage to glance over at Joseph. Whatever topic he was discussing with Jim must be equally as fascinating, because not once did he tear his gaze away from his friend. After finishing his pint, he got up and left, without so much as a backward glance, leaving her feeling surprisingly bereft.
Thank God! There was Hannah, scurrying through the door, dressed not in her usual uniform of leggings, mini-skirt, and top but a smart skirt and blouse.
“Hannah, Hannah,” Layla called urgently, “can you cope without me? Alex is here. I’ve got to go.”
“Hang on,” said Hannah, reeling from the flurry of words thrown at her. “What do you mean? Alex is here? Where?”
“Over there,” replied Layla, indicating with her eyes.
With embarrassing indiscretion, Hannah turned and looked directly at him before saying far too loudly, “What, him?”
“Yes, him,” Layla hissed.
“Cor blimey, Layla, he’s getting on a bit, isn’t he?”
Getting on a bit? He most certainly was not. He was forty-three, still positively kittenish by today’s standards. Looking at him again, she tried to see what Hannah saw, but couldn’t. If he had looked disheveled when he’d gone to see Penny, he didn’t now. He looked chic and debonair, totally at odds, in fact, with his rustic surroundings.
“Please, Hannah,” implored Layla. “This is excruciating.”
“Yeah, of course, fine, go. Kate and I can manage.”
As Layla hurried round to the other side of the bar, Hannah spoke again. “But don’t just fall back into his arms, Layla. He really hurt you. Remember that.”
As if she were likely to forget.
Chapter Sixteen
THEY BARELY TALKED on the way back home, the impressive pace Layla was setting more than a match for the thoughts that careered through her mind.
Six months she’d been in Trecastle, six whole months! And now he turned up, just like that, out of the blue, with no warning whatsoever. What had he been doing all this time? Pining for her as he had insisted to Penny, or carrying on with a succession of other naïve young lovelies? And just what excuse was he going to come up with regarding Sarah-Jane? Was it even possible to excuse an affair? Question after question flung themselves at her, relentless in their succession. By the time they reached the cottage, she thought her head might explode.
Shoving her way inside, she threw her keys on the kitchen table before turning round, hands on hips and shouting, “Well?”
“Layla,” he said, a kind of wonderment in his eyes, “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”
“Don’t, then,” she spat back, nostrils flaring. “What do you want from me? Why are you here?”
“I want you, Layla,” he smoldered. “That’s why I’m here. God, I want you. Do you realize how sexy you look when you’re angry?”
She was stunned. He was coming on to her. She hadn’t seen him for six months, and the first thing he does is come on to her. Where the hell was his humility, his heartfelt apology?
“Drop the smooth talk,” she said, her voice menacingly low. “It doesn’t work with me, not anymore. You drop me for that, that…flake, Sarah-Jane Johnson, rip my heart in two, then walk back into my life thinking flattery is going to get you everywhere. It won’t. Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me?”
He stepped closer, too close in fact. “I do know how much I’ve hurt you. I’m not a fool. The fact you ran away told me everything I needed to know. And I’m sorry, I really am. But if it’s any consolation, I hurt myself, too. I didn’t realize how much I cared until it was too late.”
He looked earnest now. Instead of carnal, his eyes shone almost dutifully with unshed tears, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of pretty words that fell from his mouth would ever be enough.
“I didn’t run away.” She wanted to get that fact straight at least. “An opportunity came up elsewhere. That’s why I left.”
“Of course,” he replied, trying to appease.
“I’m hungry,” she said, needing to change the subject, to buy herself time to think. “Do you want toast?”
“Toast?” he asked, taken aback. “Okay, if you want. I don’t mind.”
Turning from him, she walked over to the bread bin, relieved it of two slices of wholemeal bread, and threw them in the toaster. She hadn’t eaten since midday; she was ravenous. Her blood sugar levels were dropping and confusing her further, she was sure of it. When the toast popped up, she quickly buttered it before taking it to the table, sitting down, and devouring it completely, not bothering to offer any in the end.
Alex sank down into the chair next to her, looking nonplussed. As he did so, she noticed a slight paunch above his trousers. That hadn’t been there before. Wasn’t he going to the gym anymore? He used to be obsessed, practically an everyday man. His hair was still the same: expensively cut bu
t with a few strands of gray at the temples. It was also slightly thinner on top. Was that a recent occurrence or had it been like that for a while?
Making a show of looking around, Alex said, “So this is where I find you. Not some far flung country, as I feared. This is your refuge.”
“It’s not my refuge,” she flashed back. “It’s my home.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That’s what I meant, your home. It’s very nice, erm, rustic but not without charm. A change from Brighton.”
“You know what they say, Alex: a change is as good as a rest,” she answered. “A maxim you tend to live by.”
It was the prompt he needed. He reached across to grab her hands. “Layla, please, listen to me. That thing with Sarah-Jane, it was a mistake. The biggest I’ve ever made. I’ve been so miserable without you.”
Hastily reclaiming her hands, she was surprised at how passionate his voice sounded, as though he truly believed the words he was saying. She had dreamed this so often: Alex telling her what a terrible mistake he had made, how he had realized it straightaway, and that he loved her above everything. And now, with the exception of the bit about loving her above everything, her dream was coming true. So how come she felt so flat?
“How did you find me?” was all she could think to say.
“It wasn’t easy, believe me. I searched everywhere for you, Layla, at home and abroad. I was desperate.”
“When did you realize you’d made a mistake?” she inquired further.
“In Florida,” he replied quickly. “The very first day.”
“Oh? If you realized so soon, why didn’t you call me from America or come and see me the minute you got back? I didn’t leave straightaway; I was around for a few days…waiting.”
The Runaway Year Page 13
