by Jill Mansell
A quiver ran down her spine in response to the pictures currently being stirred up in her mind. Was he remembering it too?
When she heard his breathing quicken, she thought maybe he was, until he took an abrupt step away from the spider that was now galloping at speed across the wall towards him.
‘You should have hypnotherapy.’
He suppressed a shudder. ‘It wouldn’t help.’
‘But this is quite a spidery house. I mean, it’s not ideal, is it? Maybe if you think of them as dear little pets, give them names. You could call this one Fenella.’
He was almost smiling, shaking his head. ‘Still no.’
‘Come on, give it a try. Fenella’s lovely! She’s a Gemini, a mother of two, and her hobbies are knitting, catching flies and watching Coronation Street. Well, she used to watch Coronation Street.’ Didi gestured sadly at the ancient TV with the smashed screen lying on its side on the floor. ‘Her dearest wish is for this house to be done up and made beautiful again so your dad can move back in and buy a new telly and she can catch up on all her favourite soaps.’
Shay was laughing now, and with a fizz of joy, Didi remembered how much she’d always loved making him laugh, seeing the sparks of light in his eyes and hearing—
DDDRRINNGGG! Her phone rang and she jumped, brought back to earth with a bump. Whoops, it was Aaron.
‘Hi, I’m here and you’re not.’
‘Sorry, sorry, I got held up at work . . . on my way now. I’ll be there in eight minutes.’
‘Boyfriend?’ said Shay when she’d ended the call. ‘I mean, fiancé?’
‘Yes. I have to go.’ Mortified that she’d forgotten him, Didi pulled her keys from her jeans pocket.
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t have a tracker on your car.’
‘Why?’
‘You told him you were held up at work.’
Didi cringed; why had she even done that? ‘Force of habit. I spend my life being held up at work.’
‘I’m sure he’ll wait for you,’ said Shay.
‘Of course he will.’ To cover her embarrassment, Didi added flippantly, ‘I’m worth waiting for.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Didi jumped out of the car.
‘Stop apologising. Come here, you.’ Aaron enveloped her in a hug, right there in the middle of the station car park, and kissed her as if they were in a movie, which was nice in one way but also a bit embarrassing. He’d once told her that as a child he’d watched the film The Truman Show, starring Jim Carrey, and had become enthralled by the idea that maybe his entire life was secretly being documented too. Didi guessed that it still, on occasion, crossed his mind. Aaron was demonstrative, fond of big romantic gestures, and sometimes when he was in a social situation, listening to other people speaking, she suspected that he was arranging his facial features in the most advantageous way, as if in readiness for his next close-up.
But then maybe lots of people did this, like when you first ventured onto the dance floor at a party. When it suddenly occurred to you that others were scrutinising you, taking notice of your face and body, wasn’t it normal to become self-conscious and suddenly hyper-aware of yourself?
‘Ah, look at them two, all lovey-dovey.’ A woman trundling past with a tartan shopping bag on wheels gave her friend a nudge. ‘Why doesn’t my Derek do that to me, eh?’
‘Because you’ve been stuck with the old bugger for fifty years,’ her friend snorted, ‘and if he tried it, he’d only do his back in.’
‘I wouldn’t even want him to kiss me, not with his teeth. They’re in a right state.’
‘Pot kettle, Maureen. Let’s face it, you’ve both let yourselves go.’
The two women carried on across the car park, cackling like hyenas. Aaron murmured, ‘I’m telling you right now, when we’ve been together for fifty years, I’m still going to be kissing you every day.’
‘Even if I let myself go?’
‘You wouldn’t.’
Once they were in the car, he heaved a sigh of relief. ‘You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you. It’s been a pig of a week.’
He worked crazy hours. Didi said, ‘Well, you’re here now. All you have to do is relax.’
‘That’s the plan.’ He rested his right hand on her left knee. ‘It’s good to be back. How have things been with you?’
‘Great. Busy. The hotel’s full; we had to turn away a few walk-ins yesterday.’ She hesitated, keeping her tone casual. ‘Bit of a blast from the past, actually. One of my exes from years ago turned up out of the blue. So weird; the last time I saw him he was eighteen. And now he’s grown-up.’
See? Casual but not too casual. Not so casual it ended up looking suspicious. As they drove along Moreton-in-Marsh’s main street, she pointed to the newly opened French restaurant with the wooden tables and chairs outside. ‘I’m hearing good things about this place. We’ll have to give it a try.’
‘Flying visit?’
‘Well, we’d stay for a meal.’
‘The ex, I meant. What’s he doing back here?’
‘Oh, it’s really sad. His dad’s dying and wants to come home to spend the time he has left in their old house.’
‘Don’t go feeling too sorry for him,’ Aaron said teasingly. ‘So, how was it seeing him again?’
‘Like I said, weird.’
‘And you were eighteen? What was it, first love?’
‘Nooo.’ Didi wondered if her nose was growing. ‘We weren’t together for that long. It was in our last year at school. Then we broke up and Shay went off to Australia.’ She shrugged, realising that she needed to say it. ‘And now he’s staying at the hotel.’
‘His loss, my gain. I bet he’s kicking himself now. How long’s he here for?’
‘No idea.’ Didi accelerated past an elderly man cycling along with a sheepdog on a lead.
‘Well let’s hope he doesn’t go getting any ideas.’ Aaron was chuckling. ‘You’re mine now.’
‘Are you actually from Victorian times?’
‘Don’t worry, just joking. Is he better-looking than me?’
‘Why? Are you jealous?’
He laughed and patted her knee. ‘Maybe a bit. Should I be?’
‘No. Haven’t you ever bumped into an old girlfriend from years ago?’
‘Ha, it happened once. I was invited along as a plus-one to a wedding and the bride turned out to be an ex from uni. I had no idea until she came walking up the aisle and we suddenly recognised each other.’
‘Oh my God, that’s brilliant. What happened?’
‘She said, “Aaron?” and I said, “Jules?” then she threw her arms around me, burst into tears and said, “How can I marry him? You’re the one I love. It’s only ever been you!”’
Didi grinned. ‘Very good. What really happened?’
‘She got married to the guy waiting at the end of the aisle. And later on, during the reception, she came over to me and said, ‘Hi, I knew I recognised you from somewhere . . . You’re Richard, yeah? You used to work in the petrol station on Falcondale Road.’
‘Ouch. And what did you say?’
‘What else could I do? She didn’t remember me at all, and I was mortified. I had to pretend to be Richard from the petrol station for the rest of the night.’
Didi burst out laughing. This was what she liked about Aaron. Every now and again he might do or say something a bit cringey, but he meant well, was kind-hearted and had the endearing ability to veer from overconfident to self-deprecating in the blink of an eye.
No, she didn’t like him, she loved him. And he loved her. She flexed the fingers of her left hand on the steering wheel, admiring the way the diamond glittered in the sunlight. It still startled her sometimes to see it there. But she’d get used to it soon, would be wearing it for the rest of her life. And in December she and Aaron would be getting married.
When Hillcrest came into view, the blue Audi was still parked on the drive, with Shay leaning against it. This time Didi put her foot down on the a
ccelerator.
‘Look,’ Aaron marvelled. ‘Signs of life at that place at last. At least he doesn’t look like a squatter.’
Time for another split-second decision: to let Aaron know who it was or not? Shay turned and raised his hand in friendly recognition, nodding and smiling as they approached. Didi couldn’t help wondering if he’d estimated the time it would take her to return from collecting Aaron at the station, and had come outside in order to see them drive past.
‘Someone you know?’ said Aaron.
OK, so she was going to have to say it. Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator. ‘That’s Shay.’
Chapter 8
OK, so far, so surreal.
Layla had flirted with dating apps before, of course she had, but nothing had ever really come of it, apart from finding herself on the receiving end of incredulous messages from men who flat-out refused to believe she wasn’t lying to them. The general consensus was that she had to be a prostitute catering to nerdy types.
Basically, over the course of the last ten years, if she’d had a pound for every time someone had expressed surprise that she was an accountant . . . well, she wouldn’t need to be an accountant; she could just sit back and live off the proceeds instead.
But she wasn’t going to change the way she dressed or did her make-up; this was her, and it would just feel weird to wear plain clothes, discreet lipstick and sensible shoes. She couldn’t help her magpie tendencies; practically her whole life she’d found herself drawn like a magnet to the kind of outfits that other people automatically rejected because they were just too much.
As far as Layla was concerned, too much was never enough. And she knew perfectly well that it didn’t always work in her favour either professionally or personally, but wearing the clothes she did and looking the way she did meant more to her than conforming in order to please other people. It was her hobby and her passion so she did it anyway.
And today, for the first time in many months, she had an actual date with a man who looked and sounded perfect. Which, if everything worked out, would mean she owed it all to Shay Mason, because if it hadn’t been for Didi telling her the astonishing news about Shay’s just-sold business, she would never have re-downloaded the app.
Leave it all to Fait, that was the company’s advertising slogan . . . and now she was starting to feel as if it was all meant to be. OK, maybe it wasn’t realistically likely that tonight’s date would turn out to be The One, but it had to happen at some stage, and they were off to a good start because she’d searched for someone within a ten-mile radius and, like magic, there he’d been, a mere seven miles from Elliscombe.
Fingers crossed he’d live up to expectations.
Her phone buzzed with a text to let her know that Will had arrived and was waiting outside. Bang on time, as always. Layla grabbed her bag and all but danced out of her flat.
‘All dressed up.’ Will observed. ‘Looking good.’
‘Thank you. Feeling good!’ He probably didn’t mean it, but she didn’t care. Thanks to her aversion to driving, Will Osborne had been ferrying her around for years. A couple of years older than Layla, he’d spent his teens and early twenties caring for his widowed mother, who’d finally succumbed to her long-standing heart disease. It couldn’t have been easy for him, but he had never complained. He was the quiet, steady kind. Now he lived alone in the family’s small cottage on Comer Street and devoted himself to running the most efficient one-man taxi service in the Cotswolds.
‘Off out somewhere nice?’
‘Don’t faint.’ Layla lovingly smoothed the cherry-printed satin skirt over her lap. ‘I’m going on a date!’
‘Excellent. Where’d you meet him?’
‘Well, I haven’t yet. That’s going to happen in, ooh, about fifteen minutes from now.’
Will frowned. ‘You’re off on a date with a complete stranger?’
‘He’s not a complete stranger. I used a dating app. This is how these things happen nowadays.’ Layla laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never tried it.’ Will had had a couple of girlfriends in the last few years, she knew that, but it wasn’t a subject they tended to discuss.
‘Too busy working.’ He shook his head and expertly reversed the taxi to execute a three-point turn in the driveway. ‘Doesn’t sound very safe.’
‘You sound like my mum,’ she retorted. ‘I’m not stupid, Will. If this guy invites me back to his place then tries to persuade me to climb into that big cooking pot on the stove, I’m planning on saying no.’
He wasn’t smiling. ‘I know you think that’s funny, but it really isn’t. You shouldn’t be going back to anyone’s place if they’re a stranger.’
‘Hello?’ Exasperated, she spread her hands. ‘I’m not going to be doing that, because I’m not an idiot. He’s new to the area, just moved down from Manchester, and we’re meeting on the little bridge next to the Kingsbridge Inn. Then we’re going to go for a walk along the riverside in broad daylight, have a nice chat and get to know each other. You never know, we might even go completely wild and pop into the pub for a drink. Then, when it’s time for me to come home, I’ll give you a call and ask you to pick me up.’
‘OK,’ said Will. ‘Don’t let him get you drunk.’
She rolled her eyes. Honestly. ‘I won’t get drunk.’
‘Have you emailed his details to anyone?’
‘They’re all on the app.’
‘D’you want to email them to me as well?’
‘No, Will. And this is supposed to be a happy time for me, OK? I’m actually hoping he’s going to turn out to be a nice guy and not a serial killer or a homicidal maniac.’
‘Sorry.’ He raised a hand from the steering wheel. ‘I’m sorry, I just . . .’
‘You don’t want to lose a good customer, I know.’ Layla smiled to show he was forgiven. ‘You’ve been reading too many psychological thrillers, that’s what’s got you thinking. I’ll be fine.’
As he dropped her off in Bourton on the Water, close to the Kingsbridge Inn, Will said conversationally, ‘Given any more thought to those driving lessons?’
‘No.’ Honestly, was he trying to put himself out of business?
‘Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind.’
That was never going to happen. ‘OK.’
‘Text me when you’re ready to head back.’
‘I will.’ She climbed out of the passenger seat.
‘Have a good time.’
‘Thanks.’
She waited until he’d driven off before taking a deep breath and preparing to turn to look at the low stone bridge across the River Windrush. She’d never been flat-out stood up before, but it was always a possibility; it could be about to happen now. If her date wasn’t here, she’d just have to walk up and down for a bit and pretend to be admiring the scenery before slipping away and sending that text to Will. Oh God, the humiliation . . .
But when she turned, he was there. Better still, he was watching her and smiling broadly, as if genuinely delighted by what he saw.
Best of all, he looked every bit as good as he did in his dating profile. Like, seriously good. Bonus!
Layla stepped off the pavement and narrowly avoided being mown down by a familiar car. Will, having turned around and come back along the high street, braked sharply and gave a pay-attention shake of his head as he drove past her.
Then he really had gone, and it was safe to cross the road.
‘Hello,’ said Harry Gray.
The butterflies were going crazy in her chest. ‘Hello.’
‘It’s you.’ He had an irresistibly infectious smile.
‘I know.’
‘No, I mean it’s you.’ He gestured towards her hair, her outfit, her shoes. ‘I was in Elliscombe last week and I saw you from a distance, walking down the street. I just felt . . . you know, it was one of those moments that catches you by surprise. I had this incredible urge to chase after you and find out who you were, but then you turned the co
rner and I lost my nerve, because what if you thought I was a complete lunatic and couldn’t get away fast enough? So I let you get away and spent the rest of the day kicking myself.’
‘Oh wow.’ Layla was speechless. It was astonishing enough discovering she was capable of evoking such a reaction from a stranger in the street, let alone a stranger of this calibre looks wise.
‘Then this morning I took a quick look at Fait and nearly dropped my phone when I saw you on there. Well, I was almost sure it was you; I couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain.’
‘And it was me?’
He nodded. ‘It was. If this isn’t fate, I don’t know what is.’
‘I know the person who invented the Fait app!’ Did that make her sound like a terrible name-dropper? Oh, but it was so relevant! ‘His name’s Shay and he came to my eighteenth birthday trip to Venice . . . He’s staying in Elliscombe right now!’
Harry grinned. ‘Well whoever he is, I owe him a drink.’
They walked side by side along the water’s edge, which felt easier than having to sit opposite each other in a pub and make potentially staccato face-to-face conversation. This way there wasn’t a hint of awkwardness and it was all Layla could do to stop herself casting covert sideways glances at him as they chatted away. Harry was a personal trainer and it showed; he was wearing jeans and a tight-fitting white T-shirt that clung to his biceps and clearly delineated abs. He had tanned, lightly freckled skin and green eyes, and his dark hair was cut really short, enhancing neat ears and the excellent shape of his skull. His cologne was fresh with a hint of pine, but in a good way rather than a lavatory-freshener one. His mum was from Yorkshire, his father Scottish. He’d been living in Manchester for the last six years.
‘And I talk too much,’ he concluded with a wry grin. ‘Sorry about that, it’s only because I’m so nervous. Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about you. What do you do for a living?’
