by Katie Fforde
She managed this and realised the step wasn’t wide enough and this increased her panic. Somehow she worked enough saliva into her mouth. ‘Can’t.’
‘OK, shut your eyes and don’t struggle.’
She realised she had never been so dependent on another human being for her safety. She wouldn’t have known how to help herself even if she hadn’t been paralysed with fear. She had to surrender herself into someone else’s care completely. There was no choice.
She felt him feel for her limbs and then heave her body over his shoulder.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Keep your head down and your eyes closed. We’re off.’
It probably only took a few minutes but it seemed to Lorna to go on forever. The blood rushing to her head, her face pressed into Jack’s back smelling his washing powder and possibly his shower gel, her eyes clenched shut, she somehow got through it without crying, or vomiting, or embarrassing herself further.
They landed in a tangle at the bottom of the staircase and somehow Lorna found her feet. Her knees gave way and she had to cling on to Jack.
‘Oh God, I am so sorry,’ she said, teeth chattering, shaking with shock and relief.
‘I’m sorry for putting you through the fear,’ he said. ‘I should have checked.’
‘It was my fault, I should have said.’
‘Well, let’s not argue about it. Let’s get you a cup of tea.’
Lorna appreciated the tea but couldn’t eat the chocolate cake Jack bought her to go with it. She pushed the plate towards him. ‘You have it. Think how many calories you must have used up, carrying me down those stairs.’
‘Not that many. You’re not heavy, Lorna. You forget, I’m a banker mason. I’m used to heaving great blocks of stone around.’
‘I’m sure you have equipment to help you with that,’ she said, but she appreciated his efforts to make her feel OK about what happened.
‘We do have equipment but we still have to be strong.’
‘I don’t suppose giving people fireman’s lifts is part of the training for a mason. Even a banker mason, whatever that is.’
He laughed. ‘The fireman’s lift thing I learnt when I was a retained fireman at college.’
‘Well, I’m very grateful that you learnt that.’
‘I’m very grateful too. I always knew it would come in useful even though I never used it when I was fighting fires.’
‘Did you fight many?’
He shook his head. ‘Disappointingly few.’ He smiled at her.
Lorna smiled back, finally acknowledging that she was more than a little in love with this big, strong man who so recently had got her out of the nastiest situation she had ever been in.
‘I’m going to take you home. You must be tired after your ordeal. But although I know I shouldn’t take advantage of your weakened state, I’m going to.’
He paused while she hoped he didn’t ask for anything too outrageous because she knew there was no way she would refuse him.
‘Will you let me take you out for dinner?’
She laughed weakly. ‘I think it’s the least I can do!’
This time Lorna did take pains with her appearance. She wanted Jack to stop thinking of her as the complete wimp he had to carry down the stairs. Her pride required him to fancy her, even if he had just been nice to her out of friendship up until now. And would he really be so keen to invite her to dinner if he just wanted to be friends? Surely not when they’d spent the entire day together.
Part of her would have preferred to just have a bath, eat some toast and then go to bed. But as she’d agreed to go, she would have to make an impact.
It was odd to be dressing up for a man. She had never really bothered to dress up for Peter because he never noticed her. And she couldn’t dress up to garden – that would be insane.
She went for a simple look. Mid-calf black wrap dress, her best soft, long boots, amber necklace and wide silver bangle. Never in fashion, never out of it, was her trademark look. She added a large, fine woollen shawl as although it was now nearly May, it was still quite chilly. Then she went to check her emails. You could spend too long evening up your eyebrows and seeing what you’d look like with a facelift. Her eyebrows were fine and she couldn’t afford to have ‘work’ done.
There was an email from her son, Leo. She smiled as she opened it. She hadn’t seen him for ages and he wasn’t brilliant at keeping in touch.
Hi Mum, how are you? Fancy a visit? I was thinking of coming up for a few days.
She emailed back quickly.
Lovely, darling! It will be brilliant to see you.
She very nearly added, I’ve got so much to tell you, but decided she didn’t really have anything particular to tell him. Just because she thought she might be falling in love, that wasn’t anything she needed to confide in her son.
By the time they had had coffee and left the restaurant – only after the staff had done some rather overt clearing up around them – Lorna felt that she and Jack had talked about everything. She had never felt so connected to anyone.
‘Well, that was really lovely,’ she said, standing beside his car. ‘Are you going to think I’m churlish if I don’t invite you in for more coffee?’
‘You’re tired. You’ve been up at least two hours longer than I have. No, not churlish at all.’
He brushed a stray curl behind her ear and kissed her cheek, very tenderly. ‘Goodnight, Lorna. I’m going to ask you out again, very soon. Shall I walk you to your door?’
‘Certainly not!’ Lorna was brisk, hoping it disguised her disappointment that he hadn’t kissed her on the lips, or even protested when she hadn’t invited him in.
He waited until she’d unlocked the door and opened it and then, with a raise of his hand, drove away.
Hmm, thought Lorna, back in her kitchen, so much for leaving them wanting more.
She got out some milk to heat and some brandy to put in it. She didn’t want thoughts about the missing kiss to keep her from badly needed sleep.
In the morning there was a text on her phone saying goodnight. She smiled, glad that she’d missed it. It made it clear she wasn’t a teenager, constantly checking her phone. But she did wonder what she’d have done if she had seen it. Maybe she would have replied. And ended her text with kisses.
14
The following week Philly couldn’t help feeling anxious about Lucien. He’d gone off in his van to Newbury at the crack of dawn on the Monday morning and they didn’t expect to see him back until after the last race on Friday. As she made herself some sandwiches to take with her to Burthen House, slicing Lucien’s bread, her grandfather said, ‘So, child? Are you missing the young scamp already?’
She laughed. ‘Not really, but I am concerned. He was talking about “having a flutter” and I’m worried he’ll get into the hands of a terrible tipster, who’ll tell him there’s a horse who’s the secret love child of Shergar and he’ll lose all his wages.’
Seamus shrugged. ‘He wouldn’t be the first to do that, for sure. But he’s a clever lad. He won’t do anything rash.’
‘I think he might well do something rash, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him. He’s his own person.’
Philly looked up from her bread-cutting to see her grandfather gazing at her speculatively.
‘He’s so intent on raising enough money for his kitchen,’ Philly went on. ‘I just don’t want him to blow it. That’s all.’
‘Well, no, nor do I. I think it’s good having him as a lodger. He cooks better than we do and it’s young company for you. I’m just not sure how long it will be before your mother comes over here to take a look at him.’
Philly laughed. What would her mother make of Lucien? Would she think he was flighty, bound to break her heart, or a good catch? ‘He’s got a very expensive-sounding accent. That should please her.’ She paused. ‘The trouble is, she’s had her heart set on me marrying my childhood sweetheart since I left off being a child.’ She put the lid on her sand
wich box, picked it up and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. ‘I’ll be on my way, then.’
‘Oh!’ he called as she reached the back door. ‘Don’t worry if I’m not here when you get back in. Just carry on without me. I may be out.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘Just out. Now away with you, you’ll be late.’
Philly was halfway to her car when she realised she didn’t have to be at the garden for a few minutes yet. She’d let herself be chased out of the house, confused by her grandfather saying he’d be out and not saying where he’d be. It was very unlike him. She halted for a second, wondering why.
The days passed. On Friday, Philly and Lorna were working hard in the garden when Kirstie and Peter came to chat.
‘My goodness, you are beavering away,’ said Peter.
‘I always beavered away, Peter,’ said Lorna crisply, ‘but now I’ve got help you can see the results.’
‘And you’ve got more help coming?’ said Kirstie. ‘I know Peter said you could take on more people.’
Lorna nodded, glancing at Philly. ‘I’ve put some cards up in various places—’
‘I’ve asked around my plant friends—’ put in Philly.
‘But so far, no joy,’ said Lorna. ‘I’m not sure there are enough people who want to do hard physical labour for the living wage.’
‘I don’t know why not,’ said Kirstie. ‘I love gardening.’
‘Why don’t you join us?’ said Philly. ‘We’ve got plenty of kit and we’d love to have you with us. It’s fun.’
Kirstie frowned slightly. ‘As much as I would really love to, I’ve got a whole lot of artists to sort out. They need to do a garden visit and it’s like herding cats.’ She paused, regarding the flat space above the red-and-black garden. ‘That’s a lovely spot.’
‘That’s Jack’s,’ said Lorna and then blushed slightly. ‘He came ages ago and bagged it. His is a big piece and needs to be fairly near the path or he couldn’t install it.’
‘Oh, OK,’ said Kirstie. ‘Jack is quite famous. He should have a good spot.’
But Lorna thought she looked doubtful, as if she’d give the spot away in a heartbeat if someone more prestigious came along.
After Kirstie and Peter had gone, Philly said, ‘Did you know he was famous, Lorna?’
Lorna shook her head.
‘You didn’t google him, did you?’
‘No. It felt like stalking. And I don’t really want to know how old he is.’
‘Well, it obviously doesn’t matter. You’re – seeing each other?’
Lorna nodded. ‘Nothing serious, of course.’
‘Why of course? Don’t you like him?’
‘I do but – well, you know, it doesn’t seem right…’ She decided to change the subject before it got too complicated. ‘Hey? Did I tell you my son is coming to stay for a few days? I’ll invite you all to dinner. If I dare have Lucien to dinner, that is!’
‘That would be great. Though I’m not sure he’d be able to come. He’s working at the races at the moment, and when he’s not doing that he’s trying to raise money to set up a bakery by devious means.’ She made a face. At that moment her phone pinged. She pulled off her gardening glove and retrieved it from her pocket. ‘Oh. Speak of angels. A text from Lucien.’
‘Open it, then,’ said Lorna.
Philly scanned the text.
Hi! Van broken down. Any chance you or Seamus could bring the tow truck and collect me? Wouldn’t ask but I’m desperate.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Philly. ‘He took his van to the races but needs a tow. I’d better ring Grand.’
She did, asking him if he could pick up Lucien in the tow truck.
‘Actually, Philly darling, why don’t you do it? I’m a bit busy here,’ said Seamus.
‘Are you? But I thought you’d have loved to go!’ Philly knew her grandfather loved rescuing people more than anything. It made him feel needed and useful.
‘The crowds will be terrible. I’d rather not. You go.’
‘I’m working!’ said Philly, looking at Lorna who, she noted, seemed amused.
‘You’re your own boss, Philly. Go and get Lucien from the den of iniquity you sent him off to on Monday.’
‘It’s Newbury Races, Grand—’
‘Go on,’ Seamus persisted. ‘You drive that truck as well as I do.’
Philly disconnected her phone. ‘Grand won’t pick him up. Would you mind if I went?’
‘’Course not. You’re your own boss, after all. And I need a break too. I must put more effort into finding more help, or this garden opening could be an embarrassment.’
Philly was gathering her things, putting her thermos into her bag. ‘I’ll put effort into it too. Are you sure you don’t mind me leaving now?’
‘Get on with you. Go and get your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ But as Philly denied it, she wondered how long it would be true. Her heart gave a little skip.
Later, when Philly had arrived in Newbury, she allowed herself to feel excited. She’d missed Lucien. He was exhilarating to be around as well as being very cute.
‘OK!’ she said to Lucien on the phone. ‘I’m here. The car park is full. Where’s your van? The traffic was awful.’
‘Just pull in and I’ll come. Where are you?’
When she’d given Lucien as many clues as she could as to her whereabouts, and got out of the way, Philly resigned herself to a long wait. There were thousands of cars here. Lucien would never find her. At least he didn’t expect her to find him.
But waiting for him wasn’t boring. All the world seemed to file past her. Some were wearing proper racing clothes: tweeds, elegant long coats in shades of lovat green, straight out of gentlemen’s outfitters who’d been in business for years. Others were wearing their ancient Barbour jackets over corduroys, and yet others were looking, Philly felt, what her mother would describe as chavvy. She didn’t see many women in outrageous hats; they’d all be in the boxes, waiting for the last race. There was a really great atmosphere and she identified plenty of her countrymen, recognisably Irish, ruddy-cheeked, good-natured and laughing.
At last she spotted Lucien running towards her, still in chef’s whites, looking unfairly handsome, considering his hurry and dishevelment.
He got into the truck and kissed her cheek. ‘OK, this way. Follow that car. He’s my mate. He’ll show you where you can park.’
‘What about the van? Shouldn’t we pick that up?’
‘Not until after the last race. I’ve got money on it!’
‘Oh God, you didn’t bet your day’s wages on a horse?’
‘Um, not exactly.’
Philly didn’t dare take her eyes off the car leading her through the crowds so she couldn’t look at him.
‘Which means?’
‘I have an accumulator. That’s when you put money on one race and if it wins you put that on the—’
‘I know what an accumulator is. You are mad, you know that?’
‘Not mad, desperate. I need money to get my career going, you know that. If this comes off I’ll have enough to be able to go to my godfather and ask him to lend me the rest.’
‘You could save up to do that,’ said Philly. ‘Why not just do what you’re doing, working hard and saving up?’ As she spoke, she had a horrible feeling she sounded like her mother.
‘I’m impatient. I could win over three thousand pounds. That would be enough.’
‘Would you have to tell your godfather how you got it? Wouldn’t he disapprove?’
Lucien laughed loudly. ‘Good God, no! He’s always been a terrific gambler. Which is why I hope he’ll take a gamble on me. Now, can you see where Spike is going?’
As Lucien pulled her along behind him, through the crowds, most of whom seemed to be going in the opposite direction, Philly picked up the excitement. Here she was, with a boy she really liked, on a sort of adventure. He had a lot at stake – literally – and because she cared
about him, she had a lot too.
He dragged her forward, towards the rail. ‘We’ve got a good spot here.’
‘Shouldn’t you be working?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s all over except the clearing up. My boss knows what I’m doing with the money – and my share of the tips – so said I could find you and watch the last race.’ He paused. ‘Although strictly speaking we’re not allowed to bet if we’re working.’
‘Grand couldn’t come. He should have done really, he loves racing.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Not like he does.’
‘I’m glad it was you who came. You’ve been so supportive, you should be here when my horse comes in!’
Philly shook her head, laughing ruefully. ‘Horses quite often don’t come in, you know. I have a gambling uncle too. It didn’t work out for him, mostly.’
‘It’s going to be different for me, you’ll see.’ Lucien was oozing confidence.
They happened to be standing within easy earshot of the commentary, which gave Philly a speedy lesson on the riders and runners. Everyone seemed to think the favourite would win. She relaxed a little. It seemed Lucien hadn’t been so crazy after all. She moved a little nearer and squeezed his hand with the one of hers he still had hold of. He looked down at her and grinned. ‘This is going to be the start of my own business, Philly. You’ll see!’
It seemed to take ages for the horses to get ready. Philly and Lucien were near the finishing line and could only see what was going on at the start if they could see the television, and although she tried, Philly found screwing her head round at such an awkward angle too painful. At last came the cry, ‘They’re off!’
The commentator was set on the favourite. He seemed to be passing everything. Philly found she was clutching Lucien’s hand in excitement. She glanced up at him, keen to share the moment with him. He wasn’t smiling.
‘Lucien?’ she shouted. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Not really. I didn’t bet on the favourite. The odds were much better on an outsider.’
