‘It makes absolute sense for both of you.’ But Darcie’s air of despair was comical.
‘Sorry,’ he offered.
She groaned. ‘You’d better buy me a sandwich and a beer, while I get over it.’
His heart gave a little hop. ‘I’m glad we’re going to be civilised.’
And they were civilised. They chatted about Wellbourne Workshops over sausage sandwiches, and neither of them mentioned hot sex or regrets. ‘My plan is to ask each of the artisans to supply a few more affordable products in their ranges, to get visitors in a buying frame of mind. And, before you ask, Chrissy is on board with it,’ he told her. And he didn’t ask if she was still in touch with Dean, or still thought of him.
‘That should work,’ she agreed, thoughtfully. ‘I could do some less complicated lampshades, and some small stuff like coasters, photograph frames and light catchers.’
‘Sounds great.’ He didn’t drag her across the table so that he could kiss her so hard that she’d never think of Dean again.
So it all went very well.
Until, walking back to Wellbourne, she lapsed into frowning silence.
‘Have I done something?’ he asked, after several minutes. ‘We seem to be back in frost territory.’
She hunched her shoulders. ‘Why do men always think it’s about them?’ Then she took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. That was uncalled for. What I mean is that I’m bothered about something that happened last night, something unconnected to you.’
‘Ah. So, in the interests of fostering good relationships between us, is it something you need help with?’
She shot him a look. ‘Too much niceness from you is unnerving. All the time I’ve known you you’ve been acerbic, sarcastic, abrasive and blunt. I’m not sure I can cope with you being helpful.’
They climbed back over the gate and regained the footpath, birds fluttering up from the hedgerows at their approach.
‘What I’m not is stupid enough to fall for your transparent attempt to goad me into an argument, which would conveniently distract me from finding out what’s getting you down and probably make me say something objectionable so that you’d have every reason to keep me at a distance.’
She gave a thoughtful lift of her eyebrows. But she didn’t confide. Until they were back at the workshops and she was fishing for her key, then, ‘It’s Ross,’ she admitted. ‘He’s got a thing for this girl, Casey. I don’t like her and I’ve let it show. Last night he showed me where she lives – it’s horrible, Jake. A real hellhole. So now I feel guilty and Ross has turned grouchy. He’s going away on holiday with his friend, Ben, on Thursday. It’ll kill me if we part on bad terms. I don’t really know what to do.’
‘Darcie, you lost your parents and you lost Dean. You’ve had a horrible time. The responsibility of turning into a mother for a teenage brother would get to almost anybody. It’s huge.’
A lump like a stone jumped into Darcie’s throat and suddenly she couldn’t speak. She just stood there, until Jake took her key, unlocked the workshop and sat her down on a stool beside her workbench while he got busy with the kettle and instant coffee.
‘You’ve done a great job with Ross,’ he said, bringing her a steaming mug and the packet of sugar with a spoon sticking out.
She tried to say, ‘Thank you,’ but her mouth squared itself off in a brief silent sob and she slammed a hand over it, horrified.
Jake dumped the coffee and pulled her up off the stool and into his arms. ‘It’s OK,’ he murmured. ‘It’s OK to cry, Darcie.’
But she was able to beat back the tears. She just rested her forehead on Jake’s shoulder, taking a moment’s comfort from the pulse of his body. One of his hands was firm in the small of her back, the other stroking her shoulder blade. She let herself sink against the heat of his chest. Solid.
She heard his breathing quicken. There was no mistaking his sudden tension. Gently, she disengaged herself, smiled weakly and picked up her coffee. ‘Thanks.’
Chapter Seven
‘They’re calling our flight now. I thought I’d just call to say ’bye.’
‘Yeah, ’bye. We said it last night, anyway.’
‘I know we did.’ Ross felt a hollow inside him at the despondency in Casey’s voice. ‘Will you be OK?’
‘Have to be.’
‘What’s going on with your dad?’
Casey laughed bitterly. ‘He’s hanging around. Scummy bastard.’
Ross raised his voice over the droning of the PA system. ‘I’ll text you.’
‘Yeah, you said. I won’t be able to text you back unless I can get some credit. Anyway, have a great time in the sunshine in that cool villa. Have a happy holiday.’
Ross felt wracked with guilt that he was going to a Spanish villa on holiday. Not a small, grubby house in a dodgy area with bits of old pram in the front garden waist-high with weeds, stalked by a mad bastard of a father.
It sucked.
And he had a nice home to go back to …
Darcie made it possible for him to live in that home. The social services would have put him with foster parents, without Darcie, no matter that half the house had been left to him. His conscience pricked him. He hadn’t hugged her goodbye. He thumbed a quick text to Darcie. C U when I get back.
In seconds, he got a big smiley face in return. Have a great time! xxx
At her workbench, Darcie worked on sketches of the new shades for the affordable range and tried not to look at the clock and wonder whether Ross was actually up in the air, yet. He was fifteen-years-old and with a family she knew and trusted. There was no way she should be worrying about him, especially once he’d texted her a more-or-less friendly message, like a little piece of cyber forgiveness to warm her heart.
She tried to settle to her task. The new shades would be less intricate than her more expensive individual pieces, quicker in production and suitable for making in batches. Heavy on style and proportion but light on complexity.
Absorption took over and soon she was drawing templates on squared paper with a sharp pencil. Eight panels to form a simple, scalloped shade, each panel consisting of the same pattern of three triangles and a semi-circle. She’d make up a jig to contain each panel as it was assembled, in the interests of symmetry and ease. She’d need fresh stocks of brass caps to solder over the top opening of lampshades, spiders for added strength or where a cap wasn’t used, copper foil, copper wire, solder and flux.
Her workshop door stood open to let in the breeze. And suddenly Jake was framed in the doorway. ‘I’m working on the more affordable pieces you want,’ she said, conversationally, as if she’d quite expected him, as if their relationship didn’t have more loops in it than a roller coaster track.
‘You don’t waste any time.’
She gestured towards one of her Tiffany-style lampshades under construction at the end of the bench, myriad pieces of glass rosettes in glowing shades of blue and red. ‘The new stuff is going to be a cinch, in comparison to something like that, which takes hours and hours of work.’
Carefully, he ran his fingertips over the smooth glass and raised lead work. ‘It’s beautiful.’
She gave him a quick smile. ‘Every one of those pieces is an individual design, each tiny piece of glass cut to shape to make up like a 3-D jigsaw. The new stuff will still be pretty, but more basic. And I’ve already done a couple of coasters for you to look at. They’re so quick they seem like cheating.’ She pulled out a small cardboard box from under the bench, passing him a clear glass coaster with a silver swirl motif showing through from the bottom, little silicone blisters under each corner to protect delicate surfaces.
He ran his fingers over it. ‘Certainly a poor relation compared to your individual pieces, but decorative and functional. It will really help the shop to have budget lines, if it’s not too much of an affront to your artistic soul to turn them out.’
‘My artistic soul is more affronted by my bank account being empty.’
But he’d dr
ifted off to browse the shelves where she had completed work stored. He lifted a leaf-shaped bowl, its stalk sticking out from its rounded end like a robin’s tail, and held it up to the light. The glass was almost clear at the base of the bowl, filtering to a watery green at the rim.
‘Those usually sell OK.’ She joined him at the shelves and lifted down a larger, oval dish, pale pink as if blushed by a winter dawn. ‘These are ready for when the shop needs more stock.’
‘How do you make them?’
‘It’s called slumping. You need a mould – I can get them made by Kit, or make them myself using her stuff – and the glass has to be fired hot enough to sag into it.’
His eyes smiled. ‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘It’s lot easier than the leadwork, but nowhere near as satisfying.’ She replaced the bowl and moved away, wanting to put distance between her and his disturbing heat. ‘You haven’t taken over from Auntie Chrissy already, have you? I saw her this morning.’
He propped himself against the workbench, steering carefully clear of the area around the intricate rosette lampshade. ‘No, I’m just getting the feel of the place and helping her with a stocktake.’ He changed the subject abruptly. ‘I was talking to Kelly and she says you should come round to hers tonight. She knows that Ross has gone on holiday and she thinks you need company and comfort food.’
She picked up her pencil and frowned down at the design she’d been working on. ‘Will you be there, too?’
‘Is that a problem?’ His voice was neutral.
She shook her head. ‘Just wondering whether to bring one bottle of wine, or two.’
‘Kelly says I’m to tell you not to bring anything. She has something particular planned.’
Darcie arrived at Kelly’s flat when the light was just turning to the steely blue of twilight. Kelly let her in with a cheery, ‘You’re just in time. I’m about to put supper on the plate.’
Darcie followed her into the kitchen, glancing around her. There were no cooking smells or signs of preparation. Gravely, Kelly selected two packets from a cupboard. ‘Cornflakes or Honey Nut Cheerios?’ On the table stood a bottle of Bailey’s.
‘Kelly, we used to do that when we were sixteen!’ Darcie protested, laughing.
Kelly made her expression affronted, though her eyes shone with fun. ‘And your point is?’
Jake strolled into the room, hands in pockets. ‘I’ve been trying to remind her how drunk we got, but she’s on a nostalgia trip. She thinks it’ll cheer you up.’
Kelly began pouring Cornflakes into bowls. ‘Don’t you remember that party? I ate three bowls and was sick afterwards.’
‘Me, too.’ Darcie winced.
Jake snorted. ‘At least you got home first. Kelly was ill in someone’s front garden. We had to run away. Life’s all bad behaviour and happy days when you’re sixteen.’
As Kelly opened the Bailey’s Irish Cream, Darcie said, wistfully, ‘I bet it’ll be horrible, we’re not kids any more.’ But she’d received another text from Ross to tell her of his safe arrival, on the walk from her house, and she was ready for her tension to dissolve. Stupid fun did seem kind of appealing. ‘OK, Cornflakes.’
‘Cornflakes!’ Kelly poured the thick, pale liqueur over the cereal with an air of satisfaction.
Shrugging, Jake took a seat at the table in front of one of the bowls and picked up a spoon. ‘Cornflakes for me, too. Guten appetit and cheers.’
Darcie sat down to the rolling-back-the-years supper. ‘Cheers.’ She took a spoon and a deep breath. The cornflakes were crisp and the Bailey’s cold and thick, smooth on her tongue but stinging the back of her throat. ‘Urgghh,’ she spluttered. But, after the first couple of flinching spoonfuls, the combination didn’t seem too bad, even if her eyes did smart. She choked only once, and Kelly patted her considerately on the back.
Jake crunched and swallowed. ‘I wonder how it’d be with Weetabix? Maybe we could sell the idea to one of the cereal giants.’
Darcie got up to fill three large glasses with nice, cold water. ‘Wow, it hasn’t lost any of its potency. I feel my eyes sliding around like marbles on a tin lid already.’
Kelly took some water. ‘It’s because you chug it straight down, I think. But we’ve two more bowls to go, yet.’
‘I’m not eating two more! It’s lethal.’
‘Don’t be such a lightweight. We’re reliving our youth, remember?’
‘Including the being sick bit?’
Jake shook more Cornflakes out of the packet. ‘No, skipping that is today’s challenge.’
They spooned and chewed, grimaced and laughed. The mixture was sweetly cloying and Darcie was glad she hadn’t chosen Honey Nut Cheerios. ‘Don’t give me any more after this, ’cos I won’t drink it. Eat it. Whatever.’ The words were disobedient on her tongue.
Kelly had pushed her second bowl away. ‘I think I’d better stop, or I’ll fail the challenge. Maybe my sweet tooth has gone.’
Jake stirred his Cornflakes and Bailey’s together and carried on eating. ‘It must be nearly time to go lie on the grass and study the universe.’
Darcie’s head was buzzing; she rubbed it with the flat of her hand. ‘We’re not doing the watching the stars thing, too?’
‘The stars are there, just like they used to be.’ He smiled at her. One corner of his mouth lifted more than the other.
Darcie liked Jake’s smile – a hint of laughter, a flash of mischief, a gleam of what might come next. Damn, she was looking at his mouth. She looked away. ‘That drink’s gone straight to my legs.’ Her spoon clattered into the dish. ‘And my hands.’
‘Shoes off, then, let’s see how the grass feels on bare feet tonight.’
‘Not me.’ Kelly pushed herself off the chair and tottered through the archway to the sofa in the lounge area. ‘It’s not summerish enough.’ She flopped into a corner of the sofa and scrabbled inelegantly for the TV remote.
‘Wimp.’ Jake took Darcie’s arm and she found herself gliding beside him down two flights of stairs and out of the rear entrance of the flats to the pocket-sized communal garden. Before she had time to get her fuzzy head around whether it was a good idea, she found herself alone with him in the darkness.
The dewy garden was heavy with evening scents. The stars were already pricking the darkness. They pulled off their shoes, letting cool grass thread between their toes. He watched her slim, high-arched, pink-nailed bare feet and thought about buying her toe rings and anklets to decorate her elegant feet.
‘Here.’ Jake dropped down more suddenly than he’d intended to, but it did have the effect of pulling Darcie almost on top of him. Their shoulders pressed as they lay down on the moist lawn, and she didn’t move away. They gazed up at the spangled navy sky.
Darcie pointed. ‘Orion’s Belt. The only constellation I know.’
He gazed at the three stars spaced perfectly in a row. They seemed uncomfortably bright and difficult to focus on.
‘The lawn’s beginning to move,’ she complained, ‘as if we’re on a giant roundabout.’ Her voice was breathy and near. He could smell her shampoo.
‘We are. It’s called a planet. Hold my hand, it’ll kid your brain that you’re being held still.’
She took the proffered hand, giggling. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
Her hand felt fine and delicate in his. ‘It’s perfect common sense. I always sleep with one foot on the floor when I’m drunk, don’t you? It keeps the bed still.’ He was pretty sure that his own spinning sensation had more to do with Darcie than with the Bailey’s.
‘I’ve never thought of it. I’ll try it tonight.’
‘You’re not really drunk and you’ll be sober by the time you get to bed. You’re just buzzing with drinking so quickly.’
‘Brr.’ She shivered. ‘Think your sister was right. It’s not warm enough for this.’
He slid an arm around her and pulled her close. ‘Share body heat.’ She was warm and soft.
‘You’re nuts,
wanting to lie outdoors in the dark.’ Nevertheless, she allowed their bodies to press together, side-against-side.
‘It’s what you like most about me.’ His voice had dropped several notes and could be described as relaxed. Hers was dipping into the realms of slurred.
She shifted slightly to accommodate her slender frame against the lumpy grass, and him. ‘I’m not sure I like anything about you.’
‘’Course you do. I bought the Bailey’s.’
She gave a breathy little giggle, wriggling again, kicking his pulse up at least ten points. ‘I’m too thin to lie on the ground. I need upholstery.’
‘You’re not thin, you’re slender. Willowy.’ He thought of the angles of her cheekbones and the sexy little scoops around her collar bones.
‘You used to tell me I was like a draining board and two satsumas.’
‘At sixteen, I had no real idea of what words would tumble out when my lips parted. I’m better able to express appreciation, these days.’ He turned to watch her profile. ‘You’re built like a gymnast – a stretch version. If you’d ever come to the spa you would have had everyone sighing in envy.’
Her eyes closed and she put on a languid, demanding voice. ‘I’d need the full pamper treatment, of course.’
‘Massage for Madam, perhaps?’
‘Mmm, massage sounds wonderful …’ She opened her eyes and her mouth curled as if to laugh as she turned towards him. But when her eyes met his the laughter faded, became something else. He couldn’t look away. His breathing first skidded to a halt, then set off at a gallop.
In slow motion, he dipped his head to hers. And kissed her. Gently. The softness of her mouth moved voluptuously under his, his tongue parting her lips. He shifted to let his body melt and reform to exactly fit against her. Who would’ve thought that a draining board and two satsumas would feel so fantastic? The sensation of the world spinning returned. So, wow, the Earth really could move.
He gave a grunt of satisfaction in his throat, sliding his hand up her ribs, skimming her shoulder blade, finding the nape of her neck as he took possession of her mouth in a kiss he felt right down in his insteps. Bare insteps that were being brushed by her dew-damp toes.
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