by Penny Parkes
The effect was electric. Holly fought the urge to simply give in to the kiss, but she needn’t have worried. Taffy stepped back, but pressing his hand over hers to keep the connection.
‘I’m a mum,’ Holly said, the tears rising in her throat as she looked at this man – this spaniel-eyed, floppy-haired, rogue of a man, whom she simply adored. ‘I’m a mum.’
‘I know you are, Holly. And I know those boys are everything to you. But I wanted you to know how I feel. It’s selfish, I know. But I see you, making all these compromises, all these choices every day, with them in mind, and I wanted to say . . .’ he leaned down and gently kissed her injured finger, ‘that you have options too.’
Holly was openly crying now and he folded her into his arms. She sobbed into his chest, past embarrassment, past caring, just loving the feel of his arms around her.
‘Listen, I can’t sweep you off your feet into a different life. But maybe you might let me into yours? Your boys are wonderful, Holly, because of you. Because they have such a wonderful mum, who always puts them first. Maybe just this once, with this one decision, they wouldn’t mind if you put yourself first instead?’
Holly could hear his words through the pounding in her ears as she struggled to get herself under control. One decision. One simple word and their lives would be turned upside-down. The only thing Holly had to work out – was upside-down necessarily worse?
‘Now then you, we have a song to practise. Apparently you get a bit down on Mondays and when it rains, so come on, let’s see how it sounds.’ He guided her to the same bench where she’d chatted with the Major about his wife all those weeks ago. She wondered what kind of marriage they had shared, that left him still pining after so long.
She looked over at Taffy, at his warm open expression and sighed, looking across the graveyard. She saw a bright new headstone beside the path. Brian French – Beloved Father and Husband. She gulped, as the memories swamped her. She remembered only too clearly the wrenching pain of losing her dad. Was she really so selfish and blinded by her emotions to willingly put her gorgeous boys through that?
Taffy’s expression changed as he watched her and Holly knew that her thoughts must be written all over her face. He rallied a little, strumming melodramatically on the ancient guitar.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Holly whispered. ‘I just . . .’
Taffy brushed her hair from her reddened eyes. ‘Well then, maybe we can be mates? I gather it’s possible for men and women to be friends?’
‘So I’ve been told,’ Holly answered sadly, feeling a small part of herself shatter.
‘Well then, as mates, or indeed as the oddly incestuous Carpenters once said, we could just sing a song . . .’
‘Dear God! That’s awful,’ managed Holly, the tension dissolving into laughter.
Taffy got to his feet and began striding around the graveyard, strumming tunelessly and singing with perfect pitch. He’d just got to the chorus of his 1970s medley, when Holly realised where he was standing.
‘Taffy, get off! You’re standing on somebody’s grave.’
He looked down and leapt quickly to one side, crouching down to read the headstone. ‘Sorry guys,’ he said. ‘Just got a little carried away.’
He straightened up and looked Holly in the eye, his tone light and flippant, as though he were chatting to Dan Carter in the pub, ‘Did you see that, Holl? It’s a family plot – three generations in one place. Jesus Christ,’ he said with a waggle of his eyebrows, ‘they must be stacked in like Jenga down there!’
Holly’s laugh was far from respectful or ladylike, but she was simply overwhelmed with gratitude that this gorgeous, sweet man was trying his best to make this easy for her.
They walked back to work, chatting about inconsequential nonsense. Just as they neared the car park, Taffy dropped back. ‘You go on,’ he said, ‘I just need a minute.’ He rubbed a hand roughly over his face and eyes that now seemed sore and tired. ‘Hayfever.’
Holly nodded. ‘I’ll see you later, though?’
‘You can bet on it.’ He paused. ‘I’m always here, Holly, if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.’
And with that he turned away and Holly felt shattered all over again.
Chapter 36
Julia stood outside the window of Squire & Bates, mentally comparing each property with her own and wondering what the hell to do. Property wasn’t really her area of expertise but the valuation report she’d duly received from Justin had seemed ridiculously low. Looking in the window though, at all the New Lower Price stickers, maybe Justin had a point. If she wanted to sell quickly, it had to be reflected in the asking price.
‘I wondered if you’d considered my proposal,’ said a deep voice at her shoulder, making her jump.
She whirled round to give Justin a piece of her mind, only to stop short when she saw Henry Bruce standing there. His suit was immaculate as always, his hair perfectly trimmed and his well-moisturised face was newly tanned. When he’d dropped off their radar, everyone had assumed he was just lying low, waiting for the storm to pass. It hadn’t occurred to any of them, that he’d taken himself off on holiday!
Henry tutted as he looked over her shoulder. ‘Property prices still in the gutter, I see. It’s a buyers’ market, Julia, not the best time to sell your lovely house. Especially when there’s really no need.’
He was smooth, thought Julia, she’d give him that. He was using his best you’ve-got-cancer voice, soft and supportive and incredibly confident.
‘Oh, I’m not going anywhere,’ Julia said determinedly. ‘Why on earth would I want to leave Larkford?’
‘Possibly because you’re about to lose your job and you’re undoubtedly in negative equity? Maybe it’s time you left your pride behind and accepted my offer?’
‘I wasn’t aware that you’d made me one,’ she parried, wondering whether this might be the perfect opportunity to turn double agent and find out what he was really up to.
Henry rested his arm across her shoulders collegially, the wafts of sandalwood from his cologne making Julia’s stomach heave. Since when did men think it was appropriate or attractive to smother themselves in heavy, cloying scented products? She’d bet Henry Bruce used pomade on his hair, not to mention half a bottle of aftershave. Urgh. What was wrong with smelling fresh and showered, with a hint of masculinity – like Dan.
Julia felt instantly awkward. She’d been thinking about him more and more these last few weeks. She blamed Elsie for that. Or maybe Holly. Either way, all this chat about how to live, had forced Julia to re-examine everything she thought she knew. When it came to her job, a few small changes in attitude had allowed her to see that her colleagues could also be her friends. When it came to Dan? Well, if she were being completely honest, she could kind of understand why he’d split up with her.
She’d been broken. Broken and clinging to control like a lifejacket. She hadn’t truly let him in to her life. She’d allowed him to visit. She’d set so many boundaries for herself, always thinking that if she played by her own rules, then she could avoid all the heartache.
The only problem with that scenario?
Those rules – the ones she’d constructed over the years to protect herself? Well, she was beginning to think that they might just be stupid.
She’d drunk a Martini with Elsie Townsend. Just one. It had tasted nice and given her a pleasant buzz, but she hadn’t wanted to go out and drink the whole damn bottle.
She’d had an honest conversation with Holly Graham – almost as if they really were friends rather than colleagues – and the world hadn’t ended. Holly hadn’t betrayed all her confidences, but rather had supported and encouraged her.
Even the barmy old Major had offered her his gatehouse at a peppercorn rent, when she’d confided in him over a whisky. Bless him, he was all in favour of her selling up – true, he’d opined, she might take a financial hit, but the freedom and independence she would gain would be priceless. She had to concede that he had a p
oint.
It was as though the focal length on the lens of Julia’s entire life had shifted.
Coming at situations from a different angle had given her a different perspective and a clarity that surprised her. She didn’t want to leave Larkford. Even if it meant driving into Bristol or Bath every day for work. She wanted to tell Dan she was sorry, that she knew she’d pushed him away. She wanted to sit in The Kingsley Arms, making small talk, with a packet of crisps and a white wine spritzer. Hang it all, if she was living in the crumbly old gatehouse, she might even get a dog and sod the mess.
There was one good thing in her favour with this double-agent plan, though. She’d been so aloof and standoffish over the years that nobody would question her decision to stand by Henry Bruce. They would just assume that she’d returned to her usual, cold-hearted, financially motivated ways. Besides, she didn’t need everyone to believe her, she just needed Henry Bruce.
‘Probably a good idea to walk and talk,’ she suggested, turning away from the Market Place and striding out, Henry falling into pace beside her. ‘What did you have in mind?’
Henry couldn’t disguise the smile on his face. ‘Well, in an ideal world, I need you and Taffy Jones. I can do without all the simpering do-gooders and admin staff are two-a-penny. I can make you both offers you can’t refuse and you can still do that little TV programme you’ve been yapping about. Taffy can run the sports injuries side of things. And all you have to do, is help me make it happen.’
‘And why would we do that? For the money?’
‘Of course for the money, you daft mare. Taffy must know that all his I-need-my-freedom guff about staying a locum means he has no contract and no redundancy cheque. And, Julia, my love, we both know that you need the cash. I do my homework, you know. I’m perfectly aware that Mummy dearest is drinking her way through every rehab facility in the South-West. And go on, you can admit it to me, but wouldn’t it feel good to get one over on holier than thou Dan Carter?’
Julia swallowed hard, a little frightened by how easily this could have gone differently. What a difference a day makes. If Henry had come to her only weeks ago, even being so bloody invasive and rude, she’d still have been putty in his hands, driven by money and revenge and the need for control. And now . . .
Now suddenly, none of that seemed to matter. So, she’d have a bit of a commute into work. But all the shoulds that she’d been shedding like old skin? It had rewired her thinking.
Turning away from the devil on her shoulder that was counting piles of filthy lucre, she pasted on a smile. All Dan’s boring books about spies during the war were coming back to her.
‘Well, I won’t come for peanuts, Henry, you know that,’ she said sniffily, trying to make it convincing. ‘This offer of yours better be good.’
He didn’t bat an eyelid, merely reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled out a card. Written on the back was a very large number and the magic words ‘plus profit sharing’. She swallowed hard, thrown off course for a moment.
The opportunity cost of being a decent person, who considered her fellow team members, was certainly higher than she had imagined.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll need a car.’
Henry leaned in and kissed her cheek, his moist lips cold on her face and his sour breath wafting over her. ‘No problem. You get Taffy on board and you can take your pick. I’m warning you, though, his loyalties may be a little harder to break than yours. I’m almost impressed, Julia. You handled this negotiation like a man.’
Julia breathed out slowly, resisting the urge to knee him in the nuts.
Instead she just gave him a condescending look. ‘You mean because I asked for what I want and forgot to say “please sir”?’
Henry grinned. ‘You’ve got balls, Channing. That was a pretty generous offer, you know. But asking for the car? Well, you obviously know what you’re worth to me.’
‘I was thinking a nice new Audi, actually. With a ragtop, of course.’
Henry’s expression was calculating in the extreme. ‘Well for a ragtop, I’d probably need to see some commitment up front, you know. Taffy Jones signed up and that stupid bloody website taken down for starters. And this concert idea? Well, that needs to stop now, doesn’t it, darling? All too likely to rock the boat.’
Julia was secretly delighted that the prospect of the concert had got him rattled. She had no idea how she’d go about the other things on his hazing list, but then maybe she wouldn’t actually have to . . . She was just about to start milking him for information when his next words froze her to the spot.
‘I’m thinking that we take your famous compère out of the equation and the whole house of cards will come tumbling down.’
‘Compère?’ Julia managed.
‘You know, the old bird, that nosey trouble-maker . . . what’s she called? Elsie something? Well, I’ve arranged an assessment for her.’ He gave Julia a meaningful wink. ‘I’ve called in a favour. So sad when these old biddies aren’t safe to stay in their own homes, isn’t it? But not to worry, she’ll be safely tucked up at Willowbrook Nursing Home in no time. Such a relief for us all to know she’s being taken care of. Dementia is so insidious, isn’t it . . .’ Henry trailed off from his little monologue looking terribly pleased with himself.
Julia had to blink hard to remind herself that she was supposed to be on his side now. She felt sick to her bones that Elsie was in such a precarious position and that Henry Bruce was so much worse than she’d ever imagined.
Was there anything more frightening than a bent doctor, she wondered. All that power, all that influence . . .
Well, it turned out that Henry Bruce knew exactly how to motivate her. And it wasn’t the money.
She was going to bring him down, whatever the cost. Even if The Practice had to close, she was damned if Henry was going to get away with this.
She smiled slowly, clasping hold of Henry’s arm. ‘Seems you’ve got that covered. How handy to have all your contacts.’ She took a deep breath and took a chance. ‘So tell me then, since we’ll be working together soon, what exactly am I pitching to Taffy Jones?’
And so he told her. Everything.
Chapter 37
Holly lugged yet another load of washing out to the line in the garden. The twins were happily throwing sand at each other in the sand pit and laughing their heads off. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Holly felt like they were one singing chipmunk away from a Disney movie.
It hadn’t escaped her notice though, that she was the one hanging out sheets and scrubbing the floor. ‘Wash the dishes, do the mopping, Cinderelly, Cinderelly . . .’
She watched the boys as they hooned around the garden, loving that they had so much space to burn off their never-ending Duracell supply of energy. They were babbling away to each other in their own little twin language again, but rather than intervene, Holly decided to leave them to it. She was actually chuffed to bits that her boys would never get lonely – they would always have a best friend to turn to, someone who knew them inside out, for better or worse.
After all, that’s what friends were these days, as everyone moved away from their roots so much – friends were the new family. And old friends even more so.
Your best friend was who you turned to for life’s ups and downs but without any biological compunction to meet up at Christmas and birthdays.
Maybe that’s why falling out with a best friend felt just like breaking up with a boyfriend – possibly worse. You still got the heart racing, sweating palms when your paths crossed – you still carried the fear of saying something completely stupid or not looking your best. Surely looking as though you were absolutely fine, thank you very much, was de rigueur in either situation.
But when you broke up with your boyfriend (or your husband) – who did you turn to? Your best friend . . .
When suddenly, and for no explicable reason, that friendship died – what then?
You had to make do with bizarre role-playing conversa
tions with yourself in the shower, saying all the things and asking all the questions you were never really brave enough to say in real life. Like, ‘Why?’
Holly stabbed at the sheets with the pegs rather viciously. Lizzie may have been her oldest friend, but she hadn’t been a very good friend recently, had she?
But what Holly would have given on this beautiful Disney morning, to pack up the Beast and go round to Lizzie’s: to pour out her heart and soul at the kitchen table; to cook up a decent and believable excuse as to why she couldn’t go away with Milo; to tell her all about Taffy Jones; to ask her advice about the concert . . . The list of things she wanted to talk to Lizzie about was growing longer by the day.
Thank God for Elsie and Julia and Dan. She’d have been lost without them.
Obviously Taffy should also have been on that list, but since he brought more to the party than simple friendship, it was probably best to leave that aside.
With the concert only days away, Holly was quietly gutted to be going away. She wanted to be here, revelling in the anticipation and preparation. She wanted to be practising with Taffy and running through her cello solo on the stage in the Little Theatre . . .
And the Little Theatre was an absolute gem – the ancient tiered seating had seen better days, but the acoustics were amazing and there was plenty of space for the audience and also backstage, just as long as you didn’t mind getting up close and personal.
Holly felt a thrill at the very thought.
Okay, so the only time she’d been to a performance there had been the local AmDram production of Equus. It was one thing seeing Daniel Radcliffe in the nude, quite another seeing the local fishmonger tackle out – and not the fly-fishing variety either. It was no coincidence that Holly had given Waves a wide berth since she’d moved here.
But Holly had a secret hope that their concert wouldn’t just be good. From the little snippets she’d heard of various clandestine rehearsals, Holly was harbouring a secret hope that their concert, her concert, would be nothing short of sensational.
