The Runaway Year

by Shani Struthers

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  LAYLA WOKE LATE THAT MORNING from a deep and dreamless sleep. Stretching, she rose from bed and parted the curtains, pleased to see bright blue skies, the storm having successfully cleared the air. Oh, shit, the storm, she thought, suddenly remembering how she had panicked, called Joseph over, plied him with drink, and kissed him—again.

  “Oops,” she said, sitting back down on the bed. But whether she was sorry or not, she couldn’t tell. She felt unfaithful to Alex, the irony of which was not lost on her, but it was just a kiss, nothing more, although it could well have been if Joseph hadn’t stopped it. He had stopped it because of Clare—and rightly so. She liked that, respected him for it.

  As she got on with the housework she had put off yesterday, her mind kept wandering back to their kiss. The vivid memory of it led to more memories, memories she had been careful not to entertain until now. Of the night they had spent together, the way his skin had felt against hers, how he had looked at her—really looked at her—stirring something inside, something she hadn’t known existed.

  Her breathing was getting heavier, and she couldn’t continue. She would need a cold shower if she did. Would she ever feel this way with Alex? She was surprised when a little voice inside her, piped up, “No.” It was the same voice that had urged her to come to Trecastle in the first place. What did it know that she didn’t?

  Discarding her duster, she thought she’d immerse herself in writing instead. Perhaps that would occupy her mind more fully. Unable to string a decent sentence together, however, she grabbed a book off the shelf in the living room. She plowed through several chapters, soon realizing she still didn’t have a clue what the story was about.

  Sod it, she thought, I’m going for a walk. Clearly, today was going to be as unproductive as yesterday.

  She stepped outside and immediately shivered. It was cold, really cold. Retreating back inside, she shrugged on her jacket. Suitably attired, she tried again. A few houses up, Mrs. Taylor was shuffling her way back from the village—a bulging blue carrier bag indicating a trip to May’s. Layla waved to her before starting determinedly forward.

  The first thing she should do was go see Joseph at his workshop, apologize for last night. Heck, she didn’t want to apologize; she just wanted to see him again, why not admit it? Perhaps even kiss him again, perhaps even more. Stop! she almost screamed out loud. You are not single, and neither is he.

  Yet…that little voice piped up again.

  Walking past the fields, the houses, the school, the small quota of village children having learned their lessons for the day, she felt an almost involuntary grin spread across her face. She felt good, better than she had done for a long time, as far back as she could remember, in fact.

  Her good mood was hampered by the fact that Joseph’s Land Rover was nowhere to be seen. If he was at his workshop, the car usually was too.

  “Damn!” she was disappointed.

  Oh well, you never know. Several bangs on the door, however, did let her know he was not in residence. Frustrated, she glanced sideways at the Trecastle Inn. She’d go in there instead and see Hannah. Oh, God, Hannah. Her mind had been so full of Joseph, she hadn’t thought about Hannah. If anything were to happen between her and Joseph, and it was a big if, they would have to play it very sensitively where Hannah was concerned. There was no way Layla wanted to add to her pain.

  There were a few people in the pub, but it could hardly be called busy. Holidaymakers were long gone now the weather wasn’t so clement. The quiet was a relief, though. Sometimes she, Hannah, Tom, and Kate had been left feeling dizzy with exhaustion at the end of a busy summer’s night. It seemed you needed the winter to recover.

  She knew Hannah was working today, and as the door swung open, there she was behind the bar, looking bored stiff. But when she spotted Layla, she snapped to attention.

  “Hey, Layla, have you heard the news?”

  “No, what’s happened?”

  “It’s Joe and Clare. They’ve split up!”

  Layla could feel every inch of color drain from her face as she got to the bar. That was fast work!

  “What do you mean split up?” she asked, careful to conceal just how much the news was affecting her.

  “Grab a stool and I’ll tell you. What are you drinking?”

  “Erm, just a lime and soda, thanks.”

  Filling her own glass with lime and soda too, Hannah leaned forward conspiratorially. “Joe showed up at ours around ten this morning, looking as though he hadn’t slept a wink. Jim’s working with him on a job at the moment, and they had to go off and get some supplies. When Jim got back, he told me Joe was out of sorts. Apparently, he and Clare had an almighty row last night, and she walked.”

  Last night? But he was with me last night, thought Layla before realizing. Oh no, Clare must have been with him when I called! In which case, why had he come? He should have just said no. As for rowing afterward, she would have heard them, surely? They were only next door. Then again, after wine and whisky, she’d been dead to the world.

  “What’s more,” continued Hannah, thankfully so wrapped up in her story she didn’t notice Layla’s growing horror, “it turns out that Clare is the niece of the people who own Hill House. You know Hill House? Up on Bodmin Moor? It’s more of a mansion, really. Joe does lots of work up there. That must be how he met her, come to think of it. Anyway, the owners are very influential in this area. They’ve been putting in a good word for Joe, here and there, for years—that’s why he’s always so busy. Well, he got a phone call this morning from the owner, Rob Yeates, who tells him to come and get any tools he’s left at the house and to never darken his doorstep again. He says he’ll find himself another carpenter, too, one that won’t use and abuse his niece!”

  “Oh no, this is all my fault!” cried Layla in despair.

  It was Hannah’s turn to look puzzled. “Your fault? Why? What have you done?”

  “I had no idea he was with Clare. It didn’t even cross my mind. The storm last night frightened me out of my wits. I called Joseph and asked him to come round.”

  “So?” said Hannah, flicking a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “Why should popping round to yours upset her?”

  “Well,” Layla was hesitant, “he didn’t pop round as such; he stayed for quite a while. A couple of hours, in fact, maybe a bit more.”

  “A couple of hours?” repeated Hannah.

  “I was scared,” Layla stressed.

  “Yeah, but a couple of hours? That storm blew itself out pretty quickly, didn’t it?”

  “Not quick enough,” said Layla earnestly. In a rush, she added, “It’s not as if we did anything. I mean, not really. There’s nothing for Clare to worry about. We just sat and talked. Honestly, nothing happened. Nothing at all.”

  From the look on Hannah’s face, Layla knew her over-the-top protestation had damned her. She slumped against the bar defeated. “Where is he now? Do you know?”

  “Joe? I don’t know. Probably begging Mr. Yeates and Clare to take him back if he’s got any sense. That’s a lot to lose just because you did nothing at all.”

  Staring at each other, the tension between them grew more and more palpable. Layla could have swooned with relief when Mick suddenly appeared.

  “Mick!” she cried. “Good to see you. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll have a pint of Tribute, please.”

  Hannah turned away to get his drink, still looking distinctly irked. Mick, however, remained delightfully oblivious. As he chatted merrily away, Layla soaked up his easy manner. He was just what she needed right now, his big, friendly presence a refuge from the suspicion in Hannah’s eyes, from the huge lashings of guilt coursing through her, from the certain knowledge that she had once more messed things up.

  “Come on, let’s go and find somewhere to sit,” said Mick, taking her arm and leading her to a dark corner at the far end of the pub.

  �
��Oh, yes, please,” Layla replied, desperate to escape Hannah’s glare.

  As they sat down, he patted the seat immediately beside him and said, “Snuggle up. Tell me about your day so far.”

  “God, no! The last thing I want to talk about is me. Tell me what you’ve been up to. Don’t leave anything out. I want to hear all of it, every last detail,” she said, needing to just sit and listen, to have her mind filled with something other than this latest fiasco.

  Mick was quick to comply. He told her how he had sailed his boat during the early hours of the morning, along with his dad and a couple of crew members, and hauled another great catch just off Rumps Point, further down the coast—mackerel mainly, but also gurnard, ray, and pollack. Mick was one of the main fish suppliers in this area, servicing restaurants great and small, and clearly he loved his job. Listening to him punctuate his chatter with jokes galore, she relaxed. He was so refreshing. Nothing seemed to affect him; he was always the same, always in the best of spirits. One seemingly very contented man.

  Laughing out loud at yet another of his nautical capers, she leaned her head on his shoulder, snuggling into him as he’d suggested. As Mick lent in to plant an affectionate kiss on the side of her head, she looked up at him, and he caught the edge of her mouth instead, lingering there for a second or two longer than he should have. Intending to playfully admonish him for taking advantage of her, she caught movement at the bar instead and looked up.

  Joseph was standing there with Jim, looking at her with eyes that even from the other side of the room she could see were as cold as steel. Hastily extricating herself from Mick and sitting ramrod straight, she wondered when he had come in. How long had he been standing there, looking at them both, huddled together and laughing as though they hadn’t a care in the world between them? As for that kiss, could he tell it had been a mistake, just bad timing on her part for what was purely meant as a gesture of affection? She chanced a smile at Joseph—a rather worried one, she had to admit—but his face remained severe, resembling one of last night’s storm clouds. It was Joseph who looked away first, severing the connection between them. Leaning in toward Jim, he said a few words and then turned and walked out of the pub, completely ignoring Layla and Mick as he did so.

  “Oh, heck,” she said, not realizing she was speaking aloud, “here we go again.”

  “Do what again?” asked Mick happily.

  “Oh, nothing,” she sighed. “It’s just me. I can’t do right for doing wrong. With some people, anyway. Look, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. I’ve got some explaining to do.”

  “Don’t go,” said Mick, looking disgruntled now. “Surely it can wait.”

  “If only,” she said, smiling wryly, “but I don’t think it can. Sorry.”

  She stood, grabbed her jacket off the seat beside her, slung it over her shoulder, and hurried toward the exit. Before she left, she turned to wave goodbye to Hannah and Jim, both of whom waved back, but with very different looks on their faces.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  HANNAH KNEW HER INSTINCTS had been right—something had gone on between Joe and Layla. And it was still going on, by the looks of it, Layla’s emphatic denial anything but convincing. But why wouldn’t Layla tell her? Why keep secrets? Hannah felt hurt at Layla’s unwillingness to confide. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t asked her to. She had said, that night on the beach, that if she had anything to say, even if it concerned Joe, it was okay. She would understand, be glad for them, even. At this rate, she’d have to torture the truth out of her!

  After their awkward exchange at the bar, Layla had latched onto Mick as though he were a life jacket and she the drowning victim, moving with him to a table in the far corner. Another thing that had hurt: that outright desperation to get away from her. Every so often she had looked over at the pair of them. They seemed cozy enough, Layla laughing raucously at Mick’s jokes, but then everyone laughed raucously at Mick’s jokes. It was hard not to. If the fish supply in Cornwall ever depleted, he needn’t worry—he’d have a fantastic career as a stand-up comedian. His thirtieth birthday was coming up soon, and the whole village was going to his party. Mick was loved by all; nobody would miss the celebration for the world.

  Clearing away empty pint and wine glasses left on the bar for her, she had just happened to glance over again. This time they were kissing. Mick and Layla! Okay, it hadn’t been a full blown snog, but it was a kiss, undeniably so. Unbelievable! And poor Joe, after the morning he’d had, walking into the pub at that very moment. Shocked was not the word for it. He’d looked as though his whole world had gone up in smoke. She had so wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but she couldn’t because Jim was with him. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t because Joe wouldn’t want her to. She couldn’t do anything except stare at him as she tried to fathom what Layla had that engendered such strong feelings in him when she had been unable to summon up anything other than friendship, despite her very best efforts.

  And now what was Layla planning to do, following hot on the heels of Joe’s swift departure? Appease him? How exactly? That was the problem; she didn’t have a clue, because Layla wasn’t telling. Nothing at all. Best friend? She was beginning to wonder.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  THE LIGHT WAS ON IN JOSEPH’S WORKSHOP. He hasn’t gone home, then, thought Layla, partly relieved, partly disappointed. Recalling how he had looked at her in the pub, her nerves threatened to fail her, but she held firm. Her need to apologize was even more urgent now. Not only had he lost his girlfriend because of her but his most important client too.

  Once again she knocked on the door, and once again there was no reply. Knowing he was there this time, however, she pushed it open and walked in. He was tidying some tools away but looked up as soon as she entered, as though he’d been expecting her all along. She hoped to see some sort of welcoming flash in his eyes, at least a glimmer, but there was nothing. Just the cold, hard steel she had encountered a few minutes earlier in the bar.

  Swallowing hard, she said, “I’m sorry to barge in. I heard what happened with Clare and her uncle. I am so sorry.”

  “News travels fast around here,” he answered, looking as though the very fact that it did disgusted him. “Who told you? Hannah?”

  “Yeah, a little while ago, in the pub.”

  “Oh, right, in the pub, having a good laugh about it with Mick, were you?”

  “No, no, of course not!” She was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. “I would never laugh about such things, nor would Mick.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, actually sneering at her. “I’m not paranoid. I know he wouldn’t. You, however, I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, come on, Joseph,” she countered. “That’s not fair. I came here to say sorry, not to argue.”

  “You’ve wasted your time, then. I’m not interested.”

  Unsettled to say the least but also determined to say her piece, she continued, “I didn’t realize Clare was with you last night. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have called you. I would have braved it out.” She didn’t think that was true for one minute, but it didn’t hurt to say so. “You should have just told me to get lost.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “You call me at midnight, screaming down the phone, and I’m supposed to tell you to get lost? You sounded as though somebody had their hands around your neck, squeezing the life out of you. I couldn’t just ignore it, could I?”

  “Okay, okay, fair enough,” she conceded. After all, it had been rather a desperate shriek. “But perhaps you shouldn’t have stayed so long, once you’d seen I was okay, I mean.”

  His face was incredulous as he replied, “So it’s my fault then, is it? Last night was entirely my fault. It’s got nothing to do with you at all?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” she flustered. “I’m just as much to blame as you are. More so, of course.”

  “Damn right, you are. You’re the one who insisted I stay long after the storm had passed, and you’re the one who k
issed me, not vice versa.”

  “I know. I know I did. I was just so grateful.”

  “Grateful? You kissed me because you were grateful?”

  She was about to babble again, she could feel it. “No, no, I didn’t kiss you because I was grateful. Well, I was grateful, for you coming out so quickly during that storm, but—”

  “So that was my reward, was it?” he cut across her. “And what about the time before that? What did I do to deserve actual sex?”

  Flinching at the sarcasm in his voice, she had to take a deep breath before replying. “Look, discard everything I’ve just said. I’m talking rubbish. I’m shocked, I suppose, about Clare and her uncle. I came here to apologize for kissing you last night. It was wrong. We’re both with other people. And I had no idea it would have such consequences.”

  “Consequences?” he spat. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. You do exactly what you want, when you want, without a thought for who you’re hurting. One minute you’re engaged to that twat from Brighton, the next you’re making moves on me, and now you’re all over Mick. He’s a simple bloke, Mick. He doesn’t need someone like you messing with his head.”

  “I was not all over Mick!” she protested. “He’s just a friend. We were having a laugh, that’s all.”

  “You were kissing him, Layla.”

  “No, I mean, yes, I know it looked that way, but I wasn’t. It was an accident. It’s really quite funny. If you’ll just listen to me, I’ll explain. What happened was—”

  Again he interrupted her, his voice low this time and bordering on the savage. “You might find it funny, throwing yourself at just about everyone that crosses your path, Layla, but I’m not exactly laughing, am I?”

  She tried to reply, but couldn’t. Shock had finally silenced her.