Searching for Steven (Whitsborough Bay Trilogy Book 1)

by Jessica Redland

  I sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to wait until next Monday and make sure I’m in early and looking my best.’

  ‘Wait till next Monday? No chance! I bet you do a recce round town tomorrow to see if you can spot him!’

  Chapter 9

  * From Elise

  Keep your eye out for gorgeous window cleaners on your way to the shop this morning. Sarah Higgins. Sounds OK! :) xx

  I put the phone back in my bag and chuckled to myself as I pressed the bell to stop the bus. Elise knew me far too well. As soon as she’d said it, I’d realised I couldn’t wait a week before eliminating Steve Higgins as The Steven. I’d decided to take the long route to work in the hope of spotting him and finding out if he was old, had no teeth, or had hair sprouting out of his nose or ears.

  The bus pulled into the stop. As I stepped off, I yawned. This searching for Steven thing was very tiring. I’d been up since six experimenting with different outfits just in case I did spot him which was pretty pointless because there was no way I was planning to speak to him. I’d finally settled on my favourite jeans and a plain navy tunic-style top. Very flattering.

  I spotted a couple of window cleaners outside an estate agent to the north. Eek! I hadn’t thought about Steve Higgins being part of a team.

  I tried to walk slowly and casually towards them without staring but how can you check out your potential destiny if you don’t actually look at him? Then a thought struck me. Unless he was wearing clothes emblazoned with his name, how the hell would I know if he was Steve Higgins or not? Durr! It seemed that ill-considered plans were becoming my forte.

  One of the men was doing something at the back of the van. Ah! Van! Perhaps that would have a name on it. The other one was up a ladder with a baseball cap obliterating his face. Damn!

  ‘So did you get your end away last night?’ shouted the one on the ladder, looking down at his colleague, before starting his descent. What sort of question was that to be shouting out at half seven in the morning? The other one shut the van doors, snorted loudly, then spat on the ground. Ew. Dirty disgusting man. Well, if that was Steve Higgins, then he wasn’t the Steven for me. My Steven wouldn’t do something so gross.

  I quickly crossed the road, preferring not to stick around to hear the answer. Glancing back, I checked the writing on the side of the van and my shoulders sagged as I read, ‘Steve Higgins Window Cleaning Services’. Pants. I looked back at the two men again, just to be certain. Baseball Cap lit a cigarette and the other one spat on the ground again before lighting up too. No. Not for me.

  I turned round to take the shortest route to the shop, feeling disappointed yet at the same time glad I had closure instead of spending the week building him up into some sort of demi-god!

  Places of Worship… Planning Consultants… Plant & Machinery Hire… Got it! Plasterers. Three pages. Let’s see… AA Plasterers… Ace Plastering… Aidan & Steve’s Plastering Services… Ooh. Aidan and STEVE.

  I sat forward on the desk chair, a flutter of excitement in my stomach. An unexpected source of Stevens! I lay the Yellow Pages flat on the desk as I poured over the advert for Aidan and Steve. ‘Plastering, artexing, coving, skimming. Aidan and Steve each have over twenty-five years experience…’ I stopped reading and sat back. Twenty-five years experience? Even if they’d started out straight from school, that made them both over forty. I didn’t envisage myself with a man ten to fifteen years my senior.

  Oh well, plenty more fish in the sea or, in my case, plenty more Stevens in the phonebook. Interesting. I ran my finger down the page again. Ha! Stephen Lewis. No hint at his age. Oh, and Steve Pinder. And Steve Walters. Surely it was best practice to get three quotes.

  I picked up the phone. Wait. Stop. What person in their right mind selected their plasterer on the basis of their name? My hand moved back towards the phone cradle, but I didn’t put the handset down. Was selecting them by their name any more illogical than ringing the last one listed alphabetically, like Clare did? Or picking a company because they like the sound of the name like Elise did? Not really. Then what the heck…

  An hour later there was a knock on the door. I’d had to leave messages for the two Steves, but Stephen Lewis had answered his phone on the third ring. He said he had a day off and was coming into town anyway so he’d pop by in an hour.

  Relieved that Auntie Kay was still in York, I’d wasted that whole hour getting ready. I re-did my make-up and faffed with my unruly hair. I washed the mugs Elise and I had used the day before and picked up the pens she’d spilled over the desk. I even squirted some bleach down the toilet. Don’t know why I did that. My final act of insanity was ordering coffee and muffins from The Chocolate Pot. They don’t deliver, but determined not to make the same mistake of leaving the shop and missing Stephen, I did a bit of swift negotiating. Clare would have been proud of me. I persuaded the owner, Tara, to do a one-off delivery for a 50% discount off the next bouquet of flowers she ordered. Actually, scrub that about Clare being proud. Given that they were only at the end of the street — about eight doors down — and my order would have been a fraction of the cost of a decent bouquet, I hadn’t really come out as a winner in that negotiation. Perhaps I could get a lesson from Clare at the weekend. She’d already come up with some fantastic PR ideas to help get the shop off to the best possible re-launch. Lesson two could be negotiating techniques.

  I opened the door and beamed brightly at the incredibly attractive man stood before me. I eagerly took in the short dark hair (freshly cut), clean clothes (nice smell), bright blue eyes (beautiful) and friendly smile (dreamy). Exactly how I’d described on my Life Plan. OMG! He could be The Steven.

  ‘Sarah?’ he said.

  I nodded, dumbstruck by his beauty.

  ‘Stephen Lewis,’ he said. ‘We spoke earlier about a plastering quote.’

  Stop staring at him. He’s speaking. Answer him.

  ‘I am at the right shop?’ Lines of confusion dented his perfect face. ‘It was you I spoke to earlier, wasn’t it?’

  SPEAK! ‘Yes, er, sorry. Miles away. Come in.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing the kids with me.’

  Kids? I reluctantly peeled my eyes away from his face and looked down. Two small children clung onto his legs. How had I missed them?

  ‘And the baby,’ he continued.

  There was a baby too? Sure enough, there was a lime green pram next to him. How had I missed that? It was practically fluorescent!

  ‘This is Josh and Luke.’ He affectionately rubbed the heads of the two limpets. ‘They’re two.’

  ‘Twins?’ One word at a time was about all I could manage.

  ‘Identical.’ He beamed proudly. ‘And the little angel in the pram is Caitlin. She’s eleven weeks.’

  I reluctantly peered into the pram. ‘Cute.’

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My wife and me.’

  Of course. Why wouldn’t he have a beautiful wife and beautiful kids; he was beautiful. Even if he wasn’t married, he was so out of my league, it made me want to cry.

  ‘I’m really sorry about the kids. I know it’s not very professional, but I rang round everyone I knew. But nobody was free and I couldn’t miss out on the chance of some work. I promise I don’t bring them with me normally. I can come back later if you prefer.’

  I shook my head, opened the door wide, and tried to sound cheerful. ‘Everyone in.’ Ooh, two words. Big improvement.

  ‘Something smells nice,’ he said.

  Oh crap. The coffee and muffins. I glanced guiltily towards the pasting table I’d found in The Outback. Resting on it was a plate of perfectly stacked muffins alongside the pair of steaming coffees that I’d transferred out of the paper cups into proper mugs. Quick. Think of something. Anything.

  ‘Er, yeah. Elevenses,’ I said.

  ‘At half nine?�
�

  ‘Late breakfast. Early elevenses. I was up early. It’s for my… my… my mum. She’s here. Well, she’s not here. She’s coming. Soon. One of the coffees is for her. And a muffin. If she wants one. Not that I’m going to force her. She doesn’t have to have one. But they’re not all for me either. Mum can have them all if she wants. I don’t mind. I’m not precious about them.’ Maybe more words wasn’t such a good idea.

  ‘Right.’ Stephen gathered the twins closer to him. ‘So, you wanted a quote for some plastering?’ He slipped off his coat and lay it across the pram — oh wow, look at those tanned muscles — and dug out a notebook and pen. ‘What exactly do you want doing?’

  ‘Doing?’

  ‘Plastering?’

  ‘Of course. Plastering.’ I swept my arm round the shop. ‘How much for all of this?’

  He wandered over to one of the walls and stroked it. Lucky wall. He really was yummy. A dreamy ‘hmm’ escaped from my lips.

  ‘Sorry?’ he said.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Muffin crumb. Lodged in my throat. Just clearing it. Ahem. Ah, that’s better.’

  He looked at the plate of untouched muffins then back at me again. ‘O-kay. The walls aren’t too bad. Just need a quick skim. Do you want me to do your back?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘My back? Now?’

  ‘Now works for me if that’s okay with you.’

  I looked at the twins who were chasing each other round the shop. ‘What about your children?’

  ‘They’re fine here aren’t they? I don’t think even they can do much damage in an empty shop.’ He laughed.

  ‘Are you sure you want to see my back?’

  ‘Unless you only want a quote for plastering the shop part.’

  Oh! Out the back. Not my back. Why would he want to see my back? Especially in front of his kids. He has a wife and three children. Sarah Peterson, what is wrong with you? You must sound completely deranged. Your behaviour is bordering on irrational. This is not you. You are not a letch or a man-eater or a cougar or whatever it is he probably thinks you are right now. Wrap it up and get rid of him.

  ‘Actually, the back’s good,’ I said. ‘I don’t need the back doing. Just the shop. How much for the shop?’

  ‘What do you want doing with this archway?’ He stretched a tanned arm towards The Outback entrance, flexing his muscles as he did. Then, just to torment me even more, he walked past me towards the arch with a tantalising aroma of musky aftershave trailing in his wake. My pulse quickened and my legs weakened. What are you doing to me? Just say the words and I’ll lock the kids in the loo and you can have me right here, right now on the lino.

  He ran his hand round the arch. ‘Any ideas?’ he asked.

  Plenty, but they’re all x-rated and probably best not shared with you right now. I shook my head, trying to dislodge my wicked thoughts. ‘No. No ideas. Just leave it.’ I moved towards the door. There was an awkward silence. ‘So, thanks for coming.’ I opened the door, grateful for the cold blast of air to cool my flushed cheeks.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He reached for his coat and put it back on, flexing those muscles again. ‘Don’t you want to know how much it will be?’

  ‘How much what will be?’

  ‘The plastering.’ That look was there again; half-scared, half-sympathetic as if not sure whether I was mad as in dangerous or mad as in simple.

  A nervous giggle spilled out of my mouth. ‘Sorry. I… er… thought you’d already said. How much?’

  ‘About £750 to £800.’

  ‘Great. That’s fine. Thanks. Bye.’

  Stephen hesitated. ‘I could start tomorrow if you want. I had a couple of jobs fall through so I’m free and I could really use the work.’ He glanced towards the baby.

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ I said. But I can’t have you working here you beautiful unavailable man.

  Stephen pushed the fluorescent pram and ushered the twins out the door. He turned round just before I could shut the door and, almost in a whisper, said, ‘So, do you want me to do it then?’ He looked terrified. I felt terrible. Surely he didn’t want the job after meeting me, but clearly times were tight and he had a young family to feed.

  ‘Er. A few people to see,’ I said, trying to sound really positive. ‘I’ll be in touch. Bye.’

  I pushed the door shut and leaned against it. Could that have been any more embarrassing? Muffins and coffee? Doing my back? Oh. My. God. Cringe, cringe, cringe.

  I stomped into the kitchen area with the mugs and tipped them down the sink before returning to the shop where I stuffed an extremely large chunk of muffin into my mouth. Oh well, one down, two more Steves to go. If I could face them.

  Early that afternoon, Steve Walters called me back to say he was snowed under for the next three weeks then he was getting married. He could give me an appointment in February, at a push, when he was back from his honeymoon.

  Forty minutes after that, Steve Pinder called me to say I must have a very old copy of the Yellow Pages because he’d retired four years ago. I closed it and looked at the front. Yep, five years old. I threw the directory at the wall, taking a large chunk out of the plaster. Definitely needed plastering now.

  * To Clare

  Missing you heaps. Tried to stalk a window cleaner & pull a plasterer today. Epic disasters. Think I need lessons from the master. Also discovered I can’t negotiate my way out of a paper bag. You still coming this weekend? Please say you are. I need you xx

  * From Clare

  See you on Friday. Get the wine chilled and your pulling gear ironed. Time to watch and learn :)

  Chapter 10

  ‘You grab a seat; I’ll get some drinks.’ Clare rummaged in her bag for her purse. I headed for a couple of comfy armchairs in Minty’s, my favourite bar at the top of town. Leather sofas, brightly coloured armchairs and an eclectic mix of wooden chairs and stools jostled for space around homemade tables erected from railway sleepers, driftwood, and beer barrels. Clearly it had been incredibly well designed, yet managed to look like it had just been thrown together. Old pictures and adverts promoting the area across the past century adorned the wall, interspersed with paintings of local scenes by local artists, including some by the owner. Bookshelves displayed novels that were either set in North Yorkshire or written by local writers and glass cabinets displayed locally made crafts. Minty’s was clearly proud to be local, yet the landlord was extremely welcoming of tourists resulting in one incredibly successful business.

  ‘I’m surprised,’ Clare said as she re-joined me with two glasses of wine.

  ‘At what?’

  ‘It’s really nice in here.’

  ‘And that surprises you because…?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I expected somewhere a bit rough. Northern seaside resort and all that.’

  ‘How rude! We’re not all completely unsophisticated up north you know. We do have a few nice bars and even one or too posh restaurants. We also got electricity recently. And indoor toilets are starting to become popular. It’s all very exciting.’

  ‘Alright, you’ve made your point, so you have.’ Clare took a sip from her wine. ‘So, will you be sharing your game plan?’

  ‘My game plan?’

  ‘Your plan to snare your man Steven.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in all that.’

  ‘I don’t but it’s pretty obvious that you do, so let’s say, just for a moment, that your clairvoyant woman isn’t a raving eejit and is actually right. You’re about to finally fulfil your childhood fantasy of meeting this perfect being, getting married, having one point seven children and living happily ever after. We now believe he answers to the name of Steven. How are you going to make sure you meet him?’

  ‘I don’t know. I figured it would just happen naturally. If it’s
meant to be, it will happen.’

  ‘“Naturally”?’ Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘“If it’s meant to be, it will happen”? Don’t give me that bollocks!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This is you we’re talking about. The girl with the Life Plan. The girl who uses post-it notes to make the key decisions in her life. The girl who was practically peeing her pants at the contents of that clairvoyant tape. Waiting for something to happen naturally is not part of that girl’s DNA.’

  I took a sip of my wine and frowned. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a plan. I’d assumed he’d just appear and, after my window cleaning and plastering episodes, I figured the less interference from me, the better. ‘Maybe he’ll be a customer?’ I offered half-heartedly.

  ‘Yeah, sure he will. He’ll sweep you off your feet while he’s buying a bouquet for his wife to celebrate their wedding anniversary or the birth of their first gremlin.’

  ‘Baby.’ Clare and babies don’t mix. I’ve always wanted children although I admit I’m not one of those women who goes gooey around them like Elise. I do, however, think Clare’s view of them is a little extreme.

  ‘Gremlin!’ she growled. ‘Okay, let’s not worry too much about where you’ll meet him. Let’s imagine it’s happened. What are you going to say to him?’

  ‘Say?’

  ‘Will you be blurting out that he’s your destiny and proposing on the spot or will you be playing it cool and risking him walking out of your life?’

  ‘I… I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  ‘You haven’t thought about much, have you?’

  I felt a jolt of panic. Clare was absolutely right; I needed a game plan for this or I could blow it big time. How crazy would I look if I mentioned the tape to any Stevens I happened to meet? They’d run a mile!

  ‘I need to listen to the tape again at some point.’