by Amanda James
Nathan hasn’t broached how he feels in so many words yet because it has been only a matter of days, but he hopes she feels the same. The way she looks at him, the touch of her hand, the little things she says give him hope that she might. Because of his past he’s decided to not count any chickens; things like this don’t happen to him … didn’t. He needs to take things slowly, gently. If he started all the declaration of love and stuff she might run for the hills. He looks back at the iPad to cover a little smile at the image that thought offers up. Nathan might run for the hills with her – saying anything like that scares the shit out of him. He’s never told a woman he loves her before. Apart from his mother, that is.
Bryony looks at him over her shoulder. ‘What’s funny?’
Nathan frowns.
‘You were smiling to yourself.’
She’s caught him then. He smiles again. ‘Just thinking how nice this is. Sunday morning, you preparing a meal for later before we nip down the local for a pint. Also thinking how good it is that Mum is happy in her new place with Sandra.’
Bryony smiles back at him. ‘Yes, it was nice of Angie to call and let you know. And you’re right, this is nice.’ Then her eyes mist over and she turns back to her chopping. ‘My dad would never believe I’m being so domesticated.’
Nathan goes over, puts his arms around her waist and leans his head against her back. ‘You miss him loads, don’t you?’ He feels her nod. ‘How would he feel about you leaving the police?’
‘Not sure. I’ve thought about that one for a while. He’d say go with your heart, but I can’t help feeling that he’d be a bit disappointed. Mum is all for it though.’ She sighs, puts the knife down and turns to him. ‘I wish I could tell her about us, that I’m okay, you know?’
‘Yes. Well, hopefully we can soon. I hope she doesn’t turn against me like Immi did. But I wouldn’t blame her if she did. It’s to be expected.’
Bryony kisses him. ‘If she does she’ll come round when she sees how happy I am.’
‘You are?’
‘You know I am.’
‘And is that because I’m the nicest, most wonderful guy in the world?’
‘Don’t push it.’ Bryony releases him and turns back to her chopping.
Nathan goes back to the iPad and says, ‘There’s a job here in Penzance. A general kitchen help. So dogsbody, I expect.’
‘Yep. You’d get paid peanuts too.’
‘Gotta start somewhere.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I might give them a ring tomorrow.’
‘If you like, but we could have a few weeks getting to know each other better first? No point in breaking your neck to get a crappy job. I told you, I can keep us going for a while.’
The usual answer, the fact that he doesn’t want her keeping him, is on the tip of his tongue, but he decides to swallow it. No fun in ruining the lovely time they’re having by going on about it. ‘Well I’m buying the drinks, then.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
The King’s Arms in St Just is a lovely old Cornish Inn, complete with wood beams, a friendly atmosphere and a good pint. And it’s old, fourteenth century so the landlady said. Nathan loves old places. He wonders how many stories, secrets and lies have been told across the wooden tables over the years, and whispered across the bar. Bryony had been really reluctant to go local, but he’s convinced her. The chances of anyone tracing them here are minuscule, and as long as they don’t come into town too often he’s sure they’ll be fine.
Bryony comes back from the loo and pulls a face as she sits down at their table. ‘The smell of that Sunday lunch is making me drool. Wish I’d not prepared ours for later now.’
‘We can have that tomorrow, if you like,’ Nathan says, but at the same time wonders if that was the right response given that she’d spent ages doing it all.
‘You don’t mind? Oh, that’s fantastic, because I’m so hungry.’
‘Must be that pint and a half of cider you downed in five seconds flat.’ Nathan grins and waits for her to jump on him.
‘Hey, it was well over an hour, cheeky!’ She chucks a beer mat at him. ‘Didn’t see you exactly sipping yours either.’
‘I’ll order the lunch, shall I? And another pint?’ Nathan stands and collects their glasses.
‘No. A half, or I’ll be wobbling over the cliffs if we’re going walking after.’
Nathan looks out of the window. ‘Not sure we’ll go today. There are big black clouds rolling in.’
‘So there’ll be fewer people on the cliff path then, which is good. I like walking in the rain.’
Nathan isn’t so keen and his face must have registered this as he walks to the bar. A guy sitting at the corner of the bar nursing a pint catches his eye and smiles. ‘Couldn’t help overhearing you chatting there. Make sure you’re careful on that path down here in the rain. Some parts can be a bit dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.’
Nathan rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah. I’d rather go when the sun’s shining to be honest.’ The guy nods and sips his drink. ‘You local?’ Nathan doesn’t think so – the man has a tiny trace of a Geordie accent.
‘No. I come down here regular though. Love the walks, the scenery.’ He looks into his pint, seems distracted.
No further conversation is forthcoming, and after Nathan orders lunch he discovers the guy has gone.
Back at their table something starts bugging him about the man. He can’t put his finger on it though. ‘What’s up? You’re quiet,’ Bryony says.
‘Did you notice me chatting to the guy at the bar?’
‘Yeah, forties, dark beard, woolly green hat?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What about him?’
‘I don’t know. We just had a quick chat about the cliff path, he said be careful as it’s dangerous when it’s wet, or bits of it are.’
‘Was he local?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what does he know? I’m better placed than he is to say – we came along cliff paths loads when I was a kid. The one past here too.’ Bryony takes a sip of her drink.
‘He comes down here all the time walking and stuff.’
‘Right. Well if you’d rather not go, it’s fine by me.’ Nathan can tell that she’s made her voice bright and breezy, but she’s disgruntled. He’s already beginning to read her very well.
‘No, we’ll go. There was just something about him that I can’t put my finger on.’ Then it hits him. ‘I think I’ve seen him before … perhaps he’s been on telly?’
‘I’ve never seen him. Mind you, I don’t watch that much telly.’ Bryony slips her hand through his and gives him a peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll look after you out there on the windswept Cornish paths, my handsome.’
Her broad Cornish accent makes him laugh. Just then the waitress comes out with their food, and all thoughts of the man go out of his head as they tuck into a huge plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Not long ago Nathan was lonely, hated what he did, could see no way out, but now look at him. A new life in a wonderful part of the world and a wonderful woman to share it with. Could life get any better?
28
Two nights in a row. A third would be too much, and besides, it’s work tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to show up in the same car together, would it? The entire surgery would be full of gossip. Imogen puts four slices of bread in Jonathan’s toaster and considers scrambled eggs. Before he went in the shower he said she should have whatever she could find in the fridge, which wasn’t much as he needed to do a shop. There were eggs, milk, jam and butter and a few mouldy looking onions. The eggs were in date though, so they might be the best option. He really ought to look after himself better than this; doctors are always banging on about nutrition, aren’t they? Mind you, he is really busy.
Imogen sits at the table and digs into her eggs. Jonathan has just shouted through he’ll be there in a tick and she decides it feels nice. This domestic thing. It’s been a long time since s
he’s shared breakfast with anyone. It’s more like lunch, really; they’d had a lazy morning in bed. A pang of guilt surfaces and she swallows it back down with coffee. She only accepted his offer of a drink because she was too scared to stay at home by herself the other night. But they’d really enjoyed each other’s company and got on so well. He’s completely different outside work. It’s as if he slipped off his doctor’s persona when he walked through the door of the pub and become more relaxed, funny and … human. It had seemed more natural to stay over when he’d asked than go home, but tonight she’d have to go back.
Jonathan comes in, his dark hair, still wet from the shower, almost black. He has the most amazing blue eyes, almost navy, and Imogen can’t help but stare into them. ‘Great eggs,’ he says through a big mouthful of them.
‘Glad you like them. You appear to have not much else in the cupboards or fridge.’
Jonathan looks sheepish. ‘I know. I’m so rubbish at shopping, but I’m always rushing around. Every week I tell myself to plan ahead, do a big shop, then I find myself down the chip shop or the Chinese because I haven’t done it, yet again.’
‘You have an excuse, so I’ll let you off. You’re a doctor going about saving people’s lives. Important stuff like that.’ Imogen pushes her plate to one side, and regards him over the rim of her coffee cup.
He takes a swig of coffee and looks at her. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but do you think there’s a problem me being a doctor, you being a receptionist? It’s just that you’ve mentioned it a few times over the past few days and …’ His voice tails off.
Imogen realises her cheeks are flushed and Jonathan’s looking at them. She considers a white lie, but what’s the point. May as well be honest from the off. ‘Truthfully? I didn’t even think about it at first, but I can hear the tongues wagging already. You know, the “he could do better than her,” yadda, yadda.’
‘And is that what you think?’ He continues with his eggs.
‘No, well, maybe.’ Imogen shrugs. ‘I’ve been going through a bit of …’ She stops, unsure how to tell him about her father, or indeed whether to tell him at all. This might just be a fling with no future, so would there be any point telling him all her backstory?
‘Go on.’ He finishes his food and gives her his undivided attention.
‘What are we doing exactly?’ Imogen feels an awkward silence blocking the rest of her words.
‘Eating breakfast?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘You mean have we just had a nice time these past few days and then going back to our lives – separately?’
Relief moves the silence. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. I mean, we haven’t really discussed it.’
‘Apart from when I just said have you got a problem with me been a doctor, etcetera? Why would I say that if it wouldn’t be an issue in the future?’ Jonathan frowns. ‘Unless I’m jumping the gun here, I think it would be nice to keep on seeing each other and see where it goes.’
Imogen smiles. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’ She finishes her coffee and decides to get everything out at once, rather than drip her problems into their relationship bit by bit like acid. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. I’m likely to listen to the yadda, yadda voices because my dad is in prison and he is one of the most evil people on the planet. I feel like I’ve become tainted by him, wonder how much he’s influenced who I am and feel sick that wherever I am and whatever I try to do, try to be, he’ll ruin it. He’s in prison but he’s still very powerful …’ She stops, tries to read Jonathan’s expression, but he’s had years of training to hide behind.
‘I’m listening,’ he says, and reaches across the table for her hand.
‘And doctors are clever, aren’t they? Have to be really, all that stuff to remember about drugs …’ She looks at the table. ‘I must be dumb to have not seen what a bastard my father was all those years. What he did to my poor mum. When I did realise, I put a stop to it though, so …’ Imogen feels like she’s in a counselling session. Not that she’s ever had one, but she imagines it must be like this. What the hell must Jonathan think of her?
Jonathan releases her hand and leans back. ‘Okay, well it sounds like you’ve had a shit time lately, and I’m sorry about that and your dad. But to be honest, I don’t care about him or anything you see as negative in your past. I care about you in the here and now. And you are one of the nicest people I know, so you can cross the “has he influenced you” thing off the worry list for starters. And what is clever? We’re all clever in our different ways. I’ve known some GPs who are at the top of their game in terms of diagnosis, stuff like that, but have no bedside manner whatsoever. They can’t relate to people. And if you can’t do that, how can you be a successful GP?’ He smiles and pours more coffee.
Imogen wonders if he might be the nicest man she’s ever met and tries to keep emotion out of her voice as she says, ‘Thanks, Jonathan. You have a knack of putting things into perspective.’
‘I’m a GP, we’re clever like that.’ Imogen laughs and then he says, ‘While we’re on backgrounds, mine was on a tough council estate. My dad was an alky, Mum worked all the hours she could to make sure me and my brother were fed, clothed and if we ever brought trouble home, we got a belting. She was determined we’d go on to better things and we did. Tom’s a barrister.’
This wasn’t what Imogen had imagined at all. ‘My goodness, it’s a good job you had a mum like that … well, apart from the beltings.’
‘Yeah, and we only got one or two of those to be honest. We understood where she was coming from and wanted to do our best for her, and for us.’
Imogen nods. ‘Are your parents still around?’
‘Mum is. Dad drank himself to death about fifteen years ago. She married again and is really happy now.’
She gives him a little smile. ‘I’m so glad she’s happy … but it seems that we both have had troubled pasts.’
‘Yes, but it’s the present and future that matters. What we do with each new day and how we respond to others is more important than any skeletons rattling around in our cupboards.’
‘What a wise head on relatively young shoulders,’ Imogen says, with the accent on relatively.
‘Oi, watch it. I’m only five years older than you, miss.’ He gets up and looks out of his kitchen window. ‘Fancy a walk in the sunshine?’
She says she does and Jonathan clears away the dishes while Imogen’s thoughts drift to Bryony. Perhaps she’d been too hard on her over Nathan, because her old friend was always pragmatic, logical, and tough as old boots. If she trusted the guy, then so should Imogen. But love does funny things to a girl’s head. Lots of weird chemicals come in and smack common sense around a bit. Bryony might be out of her depth and just can’t see it. As Jonathan catches her eye, he blows her a kiss and a wiggly warm feeling spreads in her chest. What was she just thinking about chemicals? It’s not love for her though … not yet. But it might be for Bryony. She can’t remember ever seeing her look so happy. Still, when she gets home tonight she’ll call her, see how she’s doing. And, since her chat with Jonathan, she doesn’t feel so worried about going home on her own now.
29
All I have to do is just admit I was wrong and we can go home. Just a few words and I’d be out of this mizzle and mist, cosy in the cottage, or even in bed with a hot chocolate and my hot man. But I can’t do that because I’m me. Stubborn, headstrong, and a bit stupid if I’m honest. We’ll just go to the next bit of the headland and then turn back. I hiccup and wonder how much the Doombar has contributed to my mule-headedness. Sometimes alcohol makes my control freakery worse. I wish I’d not decided that it was absent when Nathan was around the other day. It clearly only needs a few pints and a big roast dinner to rear its ugly head. I’ll stick to red wine in future.
‘At least it’s stopped raining now!’ I yell to Nathan over my shoulder as I scramble down a steep incline in the path. The loose shale slips under my feet
and I have to concentrate on not falling on my arse. The Atlantic to my right is in a really grumpy mood. The breeze and leaden sky has turned it grey and capped its restless swell with white foam. At the moment, because the path winds so close to its surface, it’s spraying us with cold salt water every chance it gets as it hurls itself at the jagged rocks leading to the headland.
Nathan’s voice comes from a little way off and higher up the path behind me. ‘It might have stopped raining, but that mist is getting thicker … it’s coming in from the land. How much further do you want to go?’
‘Just up to the headland! The path climbs in a bit and then we’ll go back on the road. The road’s only about five minutes from there.’
‘Right. I bloody hope so, because …’
Nathan’s voice fades out, but I can hear him talking, though his voice is low and I can’t make out what he’s saying. I turn into the wind, pushing my wet hair out of my eyes. He’s talking to that guy from the pub up the path from me. He’s the first person we’ve seen for a good half hour. Everyone else is more sensible, it seems. I hurry back up the path and say hello.
‘Hello, Bryony, I was just saying to Nathan here how the weather’s closing in. Might be best to head off home.’
‘Yeah, we are in a bit. Only another ten minutes or so …’ I stop talking when I catch the look on Nathan’s face. He’s looking at the man with undisguised contempt; his stance is fight rather than flight, bunched fists, hunched shoulders.
‘How did you know our names?’ he asks. There’s ice in his voice. I had presumed that Nathan had just told the guy our names. Obviously not.
The man isn’t perturbed in the slightest by Nathan’s manner or tone. He gives us both a slow smile. ‘Might have overheard you say them in the pub earlier.’
