by Karen Swan
‘Obviously I’ll reimburse you whatever you’ve spent on renovations to date. You won’t be out of pocket.’
‘Oh. Good of you. Thanks.’ A cold sarcasm chilled his words. ‘And what about the time and effort I’ve invested in this place? I’ve lived and breathed Lorne since I saw it. I fell for it.’
She looked at him, feeling him receding from her, their chemical charge winding down in the face of his freeze. ‘If you remember, you said I was under no obligation to sell to you because of the pop-up. You knew you were taking a risk.’
‘But I got the money together anyway. In the same time as if we’d shaken on it.’
‘But we didn’t shake on it.’ She bit her lip. ‘I am so sorry, Connor, I never planned for any of this. A lot’s happened in the past few days.’
‘Clearly. You’ve conveniently found an old master just lying around. How helpful. That should get you out of the bind.’
She tipped her head to the side, hating the bitterness in his voice, unable to blame him for it. ‘I promise I came here tonight in good faith, intending to sign the papers.’
‘And I came here tonight intending to kiss you.’ His eyes blazed. ‘I guess we were never on the same page.’
‘Connor—’
‘Don’t. At least I’ve got the answer now to whether I could trust you.’
She frowned. ‘This wasn’t deliberate.’
‘Wasn’t it? Or have you actually been playing me all along? Was it revenge for your father?’
‘No!’
‘Really? I told you what happened with your father was never personal. We’re leveraged to the hilt, that’s not a state secret – it’s written into our business model for the first eight years: invest in assets, consolidate the brand – but that week our bank had just called in a loan. I had no choice but to slash the offer price or walk away. It was just business and we were the losers, not him.’ He inhaled sharply. ‘And now it looks like I’m the loser all over again.’
‘Connor—’ Her voice broke. She didn’t know what to say.
He looked at her coldly.
‘I didn’t want it to be like this.’
‘Neither did I. Believe me,’ he snapped, picking up the contracts and turning to leave.
‘Please don’t hate me,’ she blurted to his back.
He stopped and turned. ‘Hating you wouldn’t be a problem, Willow. Trust me, I would bloody love to be able to hate you.’
‘Can’t we . . .?’ She stepped towards him but he stopped her with a stare.
‘No. This thing is done now. For good.’ And he walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Willow stared into the space where he’d been, her heart pounding wildly – the letter in her hands, the Gainsborough on the floor. She was home at last. But this was no happy ending.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sunday, 22 December
‘Good boy, down you come,’ Pip said soothingly, as the ramp was lowered onto the cobbles. ‘Come and see your new pals.’
Carefully, leading him by the harness with her good hand, she led the young stallion out of the truck and into the yard. Kirsty had done a good job of keeping it swept clear of snow whilst she’d been laid up in bed, all the horses’ bedding fresh and clean.
He gave a small snort as the cold temperatures hit his nostrils, a shiver rippling down the length of his black velvety flank. ‘Come in here, this way, you’ll like it, I promise,’ she murmured, leading him in to his new stall. It was opposite Shalimar’s but the ones either side had been left clear deliberately, in case he turned out to be a kicker.
Slinki was keeping watch over proceedings from her favoured position in the cross-beam, looking down from on high. Fergus and the other horses nodded over their doors, watching curiously as she led him in and turned him around. He nosed at the hanging ball of hay, sniffed the sugar lick. She’d put a mirror on the wall too, and Pip laughed as he admired the handsome reflection, nosing it interestedly.
‘No, it’s not you I want you to love – but her,’ Pip said, positioning him so that he was facing Shalimar. She stepped out of the stall, throwing over the bolt on his door and stood in the passage between them both. ‘This is Shalimar, your new girlfriend. Shalimar, this is Dark Star. And it is very important that you two love each other.’
‘I’m not sure it works that way, Pip.’ The sudden voice made her jump. ‘In my experience, it’ll happen whether you want it to or not—’
‘Jeesht!’ she cried, almost collapsing at the knees as she turned round. ‘What the hell, Taigh? You almost gave me a heart attack.’
‘A heart attack? Hmm, okay, sure, why not . . .’
‘Huh?’
‘Let’s add it to the list of things you’ll do to get me to check up on you: near-drowning, pneumonia, busted hand. Heart attack.’ He was walking straight over to her, not slowing down . . . kissing her.
She pulled away in shock. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Kissing you.’
She blinked. Then blinked again. ‘Why?’
‘Well, your big sister collared me last night, asking me exactly what my intentions were towards you.’
She frowned, bewildered by what was going on. ‘And what did you say?’
‘Survival, chiefly.’
She stared at him for a moment, a laugh caught in her throat as she scanned his face for clues of a trick or joke . . . But as ever, his eyes were already laughing.
‘Why . . . would she ask what your intentions were? I don’t understand.’
‘According to Ottie, no one despises someone as much as you despise me, without actually, perversely, being nuts about them too.’ He grinned. ‘You’re crazy about me, Pip, you just don’t know it.’
‘I am not!’
His grin widened, eyes dancing. ‘That’s not what your kiss just told me.’
‘I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me.’
‘No, not that one. This one.’ And he stepped in and kissed her again. And this time, as she felt his lips against hers, the taste of him, his hands clasping her head . . . she kissed him back.
‘. . . O-kay,’ she murmured when he finally drew back, trying to hide how fast he was making her heart beat; no doubt he’d get his stethoscope out. ‘So maybe you’re not all bad.’
He gave a lopsided grin. ‘Progress!’
‘But you don’t like me,’ she scowled. ‘You’ve never once done anything to indicate—’
‘Jeesht, woman, are you blind as well as accident-prone? I’ve been nuts about you since we first went out. I only dumped you to save meself the pain of getting dumped – it was inevitable as far as I could see.’
‘Well, you did a good job of hiding your heartbreak!’ she scoffed, remembering Lorna Delaney by his side only a few weeks ago.
‘Only because I’ve spent far too long listening to you and keeping well clear, when you’ve got absolutely no idea at all of what’s good for you.’
‘Oh.’
He looked down at her tenderly as he ran a hand through her hair. ‘So let me tell you how this is going to be. First we’re going to get this horse settled. Then I’m going to take you upstairs and do what I’ve been dying to do to you for eight long years. Then you’re going to put your pyjamas on.’
She looked back at him, delighted. ‘Why will I put my pyjamas on?’ she asked.
‘I thought we’d go for a drink at the Hare and tell everyone we’re together finally.’
‘Finally?’
‘Apparently Joe’s had a book running these last eight years.’
Pip threw her head back and laughed. ‘He has not!’ she cried, covering her cheeks – and blushes – with her hands.
‘He most certainly has,’ he grinned. ‘Does that sound like a plan you can live with, Pip Lorne?’
She laced her arms around his neck. ‘Taigh O’Mahoney, for once you’re talking some sense. It sounds just grand to me.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Monday, 23 December
>
Kirsty MacColl was singing to Shane MacGowan, telling him he was a scumbag and maggot, as Taigh came back to the table with another round. ‘No “Fairytale of New York” for you this year, mate,’ he grinned, handing Ben his pint of black.
‘Well, not yet, anyway,’ Ben said, one arm slung around Ottie’s shoulder. ‘What’s the phrase? Manhattan can wait.’
Not for long though. Willow still couldn’t believe Ottie was going to leave here with him in the New Year and try to make it as an artist in New York. On the one hand, it seemed too soon, too fast. On the other, after the way Bertie had kept her isolated, wasn’t a life change like this long overdue? She watched as Ben kissed the top of her sister’s head as she leaned in to him. They were already as tight as a knot, forever talking in low voices, eyes locked on one another as though no one else existed.
Taigh and Pip were no better, hyperactive puppies the both of them, laughing at every joke, reaching over for kisses every few minutes. They were already talking about him moving in with her above the stables.
Willow looked away. She was happy for her sisters, she really was. It wasn’t like she was going to have time to worry about her love life – or lack thereof – with the amount of work she was going to have with the castle anyway. She’d resigned from Pyro Tink that morning, finally giving up the pretence that the splashy, angry life she’d plastered over her social media pages was the one she wanted. She didn’t need Dublin to workout, and she’d resolved to have a word with Al Brody in the Lorne Stores about stocking matcha and extra celery. There were roads from here to the cities, weren’t there?
Caz had cried when she’d called to say she wasn’t coming back and that she should start looking for a new flatmate. Willow had promised to go up for New Year for ‘one last blowout’ and to empty her room but, other than that, extricating herself from the city’s grip was as simple as snipping the string on a balloon and just floating free. This was her home and she was with her blood, her tribe, here.
She looked around her at the familiar bustling scene. The pub was full – not the crazy bursting-at-the-seams level it had been at for the past few weeks as Connor’s SWAT teams had moved in to get the castle ready for the pop-up, but almost every family in the village was represented by at least one member here. The Big Christmas Eve Eve Quiz was happening in half an hour, and everyone wanted to get a table. Pip always took it very seriously, on account of having a problem with losing, and was already drilling Taigh on Eighties pop hits.
Across the room she saw Seamus sitting at a table with his wife Mary reading through the menus, even though everyone knew they’d both order Betty’s Christmas Eve special coronation chicken, Paddy Mahoney filling in the crossword as he waited for the quiz to begin, Mrs Mac with poor beleaguered Mr Mac, who rarely got to see his own wife such was her devotion to Willow’s family, Joe pulling yet another pint with a slow hand and that contented smile on his lips he always had, standing behind his bar. Conn—
She froze as she saw Connor through the window. He was climbing out of his car, that innocuously beautiful E-type which had always been too perfect for here. She watched as he closed the car door behind him and then turned – immediately catching sight of her too, alone at the busy table. He always seemed to find her in a crowd.
Time paused, just for a beat, their eyes holding the moment as she tried not to outwardly react. It was a shock to see him here; she had assumed he had left already and she’d spent the past couple of days and nights in a new kind of mourning, trying to absorb the fact that it was finally finished between them – over before it had ever begun, the love affair that wasn’t perpetually caught in a state of abeyance, something else always having to come first. What was it Ferdy had said to her – you can’t mourn something you never had? But she had so nearly had him – fleeting touches, glimpses, tantalizing tastes . . . And it was a physical ache to let him go.
Slowly he raised his arm and she saw the giant set of keys dangle from his fingers – the castle keys – and she understood why he was here. Now he was leaving.
The knowledge felt like a fresh blade across her skin, drawing blood easily.
She looked away, feeling her chest constrict. ‘I’m just going out to make a call,’ she said to the others, her voice strange.
‘Who are you calling?’ Pip asked nosily.
But Willow was already walking across the floor, towards the door. She stepped out into the chill, his E-type looking so dark and shiny against the snow. It had started snowing again overnight and the farmers had been clearing the local roads with their tractors all day. She hoped they wouldn’t go past, gritting, whilst Connor’s car was still here.
‘So everything’s locked up,’ he said stiffly, no preamble, holding out the castle keys.
There was something exaggerated in the gesture and as she held out her hand to take them from him, he glanced through the pub window – sixty faces immediately turned away. Of course they had an audience. Everyone knew who he was now: the guy who’d nearly knocked the Lornes from their perch.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured.
‘You’ll find it’s been cleaned and everything that was brought in, removed.’
‘Okay,’ she said again, feeling a weight on her chest. It was hard to look at him, impossible not to.
‘Basically, it’s left as we found it – repairs notwithstanding.’
‘Thanks. And I’ll get all the money we owe over to you within the calendar month. With interest.’ Ferdy had received the news of the Gainsborough’s discovery with rapture; in a very short space of time she was going to be a rich woman.
‘Fine.’ He exhaled, as though that was all there was to say. ‘Right then.’
Not sure what else to do, she held out her hand, her gaze meeting his dartingly, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of a pond. ‘Thank you for everything . . . I’m sorry things . . . didn’t work out the way we hoped,’ she faltered. ‘I wish it could have been different.’
‘. . . Yeah.’ He shook her hand, holding it for a fraction longer than necessary as he always did, never quite able to let go easily. ‘Me too.’
Their eyes locked for the last time, both knowing there was nothing more to be said. He was going back to London and she was staying here. They were back in their own lives and even chemistry couldn’t compete with the tide of events rushing against them.
His mouth parted and, for a moment, she felt sure he was going to say something else, something more – but then he turned and she watched as he walked over to the kerb.
She didn’t think anything of it when she heard the pub door open behind her, nor did she at first clock the auburn streak flying past her. But she jumped to attention as she heard the words: ‘Hey, fella!’
Connor turned to find Pip haring up behind him. She slipped on a bit of ice and almost slid straight into him. He caught her just in time.
‘Hey!’ she smiled, getting her balance back.
‘Pip, what are you doing?’ Willow demanded, feeling panic set in. Pip on ‘a mission’ was never a good thing.
‘Hi, I’m Pip,’ Pip said, ignoring her completely and holding her hand out.
Bewildered, Connor shook it. ‘Hi, Pip.’
‘You might not remember me but you hauled me out of a lake just a few weeks ago?’
A bemused smile hovered at the very corners of his mouth. ‘I remember.’
‘Good, I’m glad you remember that,’ she panted, still not up to full strength after the pneumonia. ‘Because the thing is, we have a problem.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘We do?’
‘Yes. Technically you saved me that night – although don’t tell my boyfriend that; he likes to think he was the one saving my life in the ambulance and whatnot.’ She waved her hands around her face. ‘But you did it. You saved me, and that means I am obliged to save you back.’
Connor stared at her. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded solemnly. ‘I’m afraid it’s Chinese law.’
; ‘It’s a Chinese proverb, Pip,’ Willow said desperately, not knowing where this was leading and not wanting to know either. ‘Connor, I have no idea what she’s—’
‘Law. Proverb. Same difference. Either way, I’m indebted to you so if you could just kindly kiss my sister here, then I’ll have saved your life back and we’ll be even-stevens.’
Connor looked between Pip and her, as though Willow might have some sort of clue as to what she was going on about.
Willow felt her cheeks burn with indignation. ‘Pip! What the actual hell . . .?’
‘Why would . . . kissing your sister save my life?’ he asked, bewildered.
‘Kiss her and find out,’ Pip said firmly.
‘Pip, no!’ Willow said crossly. ‘This is ridiculous. You’re embarrassing me!’
‘Wilhelmina—’
‘Oh my God, don’t call me that! Seriously? This isn’t enough for you?’ Willow groaned, turning away.
Behind her, she heard Connor give a low chuckle at their sisterly spat.
‘Look, all I need is for him to kiss you so that I am released from this otherwise eternal bond of debt.’
‘Oh my God! You are not held in some eternal bond of debt!’ Willow cried, throwing her arms out in frustration.
Pip looked back at Connor. ‘Would you tell her, please? She never listens to me.’
Connor was still for a long moment, his eyes flickering between the two of them as he struggled – and failed – to comprehend what was actually happening here. ‘Well, actually – technically speaking, I think Pip is . . .’ He walked forwards and took Willow by the wrist, pulling her slowly in to him. ‘Yes, I think Pip’s right. It is the law.’ He looked over at Pip. ‘It’s the law?’
‘Totally the law,’ Pip nodded sombrely, sounding like a judge passing sentence.
