Bea woke early and getting up quietly, so as not to disturb Shani, she dialled Luke’s number as soon as it was a respectable enough time to do so. “Yes,” croaked a deep female voice.
Bea panicked, and slammed down the phone in horror. Leilani. Furious with herself for daring to believe him when that they weren’t together and for not having the foresight to consider Luke would probably be with Leilani, Bea pushed her jealously to the back of her mind. She paced her bedroom floor trying to work out the best way to contact him without raising Leilani’s suspicions, finally coming to the annoying conclusion that she would simply have to wait.
Bea was frustrated that she couldn’t arrange to see him. She knew she should keep her distance from him, especially as when his girlfriend was right beside him in his bed. The picture forming in her head of his toned body wrapped around Leilani’s perfect perma-tanned limbs gave her a sick feeling deep in her stomach. However hard she tried to remember what Tom had told her about Luke, she still couldn’t help her feelings. It didn’t help when he acted the way he had at the ball. She needed him to know that he couldn’t play with her emotions. He had a girlfriend and it wasn’t fair on either of them to play games.
She didn’t want to wake Shani, so decided that maybe today was the perfect day to start jogging, after all despite her best intentions, she hadn’t been jogging since going out with Paul and Shani recently. It would do her good to run on the beach, she decided. So, dragging on her tracksuit and tatty trainers, Bea kissed Flea goodbye and promising to take him out for a walk later. He was getting too old to want to do anything more energetic than walking. She pushed a few pounds into her pocket so that she could buy the newspapers on the way home, grabbed her phone and drove to Grouville Bay.
Bea remembered to stretch her legs gently to warm up and took a few deep breaths of fresh air. “Ahh,” this was more like it. She walked down the cobbled slipway and gazed appreciatively at the sea and the tough surfers as they rode the rolling waves on their colourful boards.
After taking several deeper breaths, she became a little dizzy. Too much, too soon, she decided before setting off at a slow jog. “Phew,” she grumbled, “this is far harder than it looks when Paul and Shani do it.” After only about fifty yards she was panting and if it hadn’t been for the other fit runners pacing away along the beach, she would have allowed herself to collapse in a heap face down onto the damp sand.
Bea forced herself on, one step after the other for as long as she could bear to. She could hardly breathe. Her chest was tight and her calf muscles burning. There was nothing for it but to casually slow to a walk and then stop. Bea stood feet slightly apart, hands firmly on thighs, bent over, puce in the face and gasping for air.
Having finally managed to slow her heart rate to somewhere near normal, she turned to walk back up the slipway to the catering van, to compensate her efforts with a Galaxy and a large coffee when her phone shrieked the Dance of the Knights by Prokofiev. “Bloody Paul,” she moaned, “I wish he’d stop messing about with the ringtones on my mobile,” she said wishing he didn’t love watching The Apprentice so much. With shaking fingers, she pressed the green button as she paced along eager to reach the liquid refreshment she had promised herself. “Hello?” she panted.
“Is everything all right?” Luke whispered. “I saw I had a missed call from you?”
“Argh,” she screeched, as her trainer caught a stone, tripping her up so she landed in an ungainly heap, cracking her knee on the concrete path, grazing her hand and sending her phone flying out in front of her with a loud clatter. “Shit, shit, bollocks,” she grimaced, rubbing her knee hard and brushing away the tears of pain that seemed to come from nowhere. She grabbed her phone. “Luke, I…”
“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you,” she heard Luke shout just as she held it back against her ear. “Where did you say you were?”
“Just off the first slipway, Grouville beach,” she breathed. “But I’m…” the phone went dead. “Fine,” she added. Bea held the phone in front of her and stared blankly at the screen. “Sod it.”
She pulled her trouser leg up and winced when she spotted the blackening bruise and beads of blood already on her knee, then remembered Luke said he was coming. “Oh hell.” She covered her leg again and tucked loose blonde strands behind her ears to try and look reasonably human. He was going to see her unwashed and sweaty, and after only having run fifty yards. It then occurred to Bea that Luke didn’t have to know that she had only run approximately twenty paces before nearly suffering a coronary. And anyway, what did that have to do with anything?
Yes, let him come, she decided. Let him think she did this thing every Sunday, like Bea was damn sure Leilani did. An annoying image sprang uninvited into Bea’s mind of Leilani, her endless toned legs, tanned to perfection in the tiniest micro shorts, pacing comfortably along the beach as her long hair flowed elegantly behind her. Cow.
Bea hobbled towards the van, something that she did most Sundays, but usually with Flea ambling along at the end of his lead, sniffing for other dogs who dared walk the same route as he, before lifting his leg to pee and regain some invisible ownership of his imagined territory. “Morning, Des,” she said, trying to sound cheery than she felt now that she’d finally managed to regain some composure.
“Bleedin’ ’ ell, Bea, you bin runnin’?” he teased, taking in her dishevelled appearance. “That’s not like you, my love.”
“Yes, but keep it to yourself, won’t you?”
“Want your usual?”
Bea nodded. “Yes, please.” She tidied up her hair and smiled at him when he handed her a coffee, bar of chocolate and her newspaper and passed over several notes. “It won’t do any harm people thinking I take regular exercise, will it?”
“What people’s that then?” he asked, scratching his head.
She spotted Luke running towards her. “Bea, what happened?” he demanded urgently.
She turned to Des, her eyes wide with embarrassment. “People like him.” She motioned discreetly, doing her best to ignore her stinging knee.
He stifled a guffaw with little success, as he handed her a cappuccino and a Galaxy. “See ya next week then, love.” He winked.
Bea turned to Luke. “Morning.”
“Morning? What happened?” he panted, looking her up and down. He pushed a hand through his messy fringe. Bea was painfully aware his hair was still tousled from racing straight to her from his bed.
She stared at him silently, intent on remaining as composed as possible. “Nothing, why?”
Luke’s concerned expression morphed into one of fury. He grabbed her by the elbow.
“Hey,” she glared at him, “my coffee.”
“Sod your bloody coffee, you said something had happened,” he accused angrily.
Bea shook him off. “No, I didn’t. You presumed something was the matter. You cut me off before I could finish what I was saying, if you remember.” She turned and walked off, her chocolate bar pushed into her pocket.
He soon caught up with her. “Do you realise how infuriating you can be sometimes?”
“Now you listen here.” Bea glared at him.
“No, you listen. When I phoned you back, you sounded like something was wrong. I thought you were hurt.” He noticed her torn tracksuit. “There’s blood seeping from your knee.”
She glanced down at her leg. “I slipped when I answered your call. I was slightly out of breath that’s all,” she sniffed. “I’d been for a run.”
He thought for a moment, confusion spreading across his angry face. “Christ, you sounded like you could hardly breathe,” he argued, confused. “That must have been some run. Why didn’t you phone me back if there was nothing wrong? You knew I was coming to find you.”
She stopped, causing him to stride ahead for a couple of paces, and having to double back to continue his onslaught. “Bea, you phoned me at some un-Godly hour this morning, if you remember?”
“Surely Leilani can�
��t be very impressed that you’ve come here to meet me?”
Luke shook his head. “I didn’t feel the need to tell her, if you must know. So, now that I’m here, you may as well tell me what was so damn important it couldn’t wait?”
Bea shrugged. “I did phone you, but only because I wanted to arrange to see you, so when you cut me off so abruptly, the best thing seemed to just let you come here.”
His hands fell by his sides “You wanted to see me? Why?”
“To discuss this thing.” Bea was beginning to feel a little awkward. This wasn’t going to plan. He was supposed to have, what? She wasn’t quite sure.
“Thing?” he mocked. “Are you still drunk from last night?” Bea stared at him in silence, trying to figure out what to say next. “Well go on then. I’m waiting,” he shouted.
“Last night, Luke, your behaviour was ridiculous.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Because I bid against Tom?”
“No, that isn’t what I meant.” She took a sip from her cappuccino, immediately wishing she hadn’t when she scalded her lip.
“Well?”
“Coming over to our table, being sarcastic and insinuating things by staring at me, and then again when we were dancing. Then there was that ridiculous business with the auction.”
He looked down at her. “You’re lecturing me?”
“I’m just saying!”
He ignored her protests. “Do you realise how badly you’re behaving?” He stared at her, his eyes searching hers for answers. “I thought there could be something between us, but it seems I was wrong. Fair enough. But I’ve caught you looking at me as if you’re searching my face for an answer to something, and I’ve no idea what it is.”
Bea couldn’t look him in the eye. He was right, only she couldn’t tell him the truth.
“Fine, I’ll leave you to carry on with your jogging then.” He marched off towards his car “Bloody woman,” she heard him curse.
Bea watched him leave, wishing more than anything that she could afford not to care about his past. If only Simon didn’t want half of her house, if only she didn’t need to keep her job to be in with a chance to get that sodding mortgage. She walked towards her car, pulling her keys from her pocket as she balanced the coffee and papers in both hands. If only bloody Tom hadn’t told her about the investigation.
She dropped her bar of chocolate, hearing it break in its wrapper.
SEVENTEEN
February - Pruning Deadwood
Bea didn’t have to look at the calendar to know it would have been Annabel’s birthday today. She stood outside her kitchen door holding the neck of her coat closed as she drank her coffee and stared out across the walled-in garden. “I miss you,” she whispered; glad to be alone with her memories. Bea wished she could go back one year to the birthday treat she’d surprised Annabel with. “It isn’t every day you’re seventy,” Bea recalled telling her aunt when Annabel had expressed horror at how much her gift must have cost. “It’s from me and Simon. He’s done all the arranging and booked the tickets for the mystery walk with the Kew guide and for us to see Les Miserables. We have him to thank for this really.”
Was it only me who was shocked at Simon’s double life, she wondered. She shook her head and held tightly on to her mug. No, Aunt Annabel had always been fond of him, too. Bea tried not to think how devastated her aunt had been when she’d discovered him with Claire. She hated to think that her aunt’s heart attack could have been brought on by that devastating night when their three lives had changed forever. She breathed in the crisp, frosty air and swallowed the lump restricting her throat. She’d shared enough tears for Simon and her aunt would hate for her to spend today crying. No, she’d begin her day by visiting Aunt Annabel’s grave and take her some of her favourite orange roses.
“I know they’re shop bought,” Bea murmured her warm breath frosty, aware that there were one or two other people close to the immaculate grave, it’s wooden cross looking out of place among the other engraved stone creations, “so I’ve brought you the hyacinths. I didn’t kill them off this year. There’s one in blue and one in pink.” Bea smiled. “You never could decide which colour you preferred.” She breathed in the familiar scent which took her back to so many winters watching the ritual of her aunt first planting the bulbs and then watching them flower on the kitchen windowsill. It was a tradition she was determined to continue.
She picked up the vase and, noticing there wasn’t any water, sat back on her heels to get up and fetch some. “Here, let me.”
Startled by Luke’s voice, she stood up quickly, nearly dropping the vase in her hand. “What are you doing here?”
“I hope you don’t mind me intruding, but I saw your car as I was driving past and realised it must be a special anniversary of some sort. Your mum, or your aunt maybe?”
Bea cleared her throat. “It would have been Aunt Annabel’s seventy-first birthday today.”
“I presume you planted the hyacinths especially for today, then?”
Bea nodded. She could feel herself welling up and turned away from him. “I was just…”
“Let me.” He took the empty vase from her hand and walked away.
Bea watched him and struggled to retain her composure. She didn’t want anyone to be too kind to her today. It would be too much to bear. She crouched back down and placed the hyacinths either side of the cross, pushing their enamel containers slightly into the ground so the wind couldn’t disturb them.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her back the vase three-quarters filled with water, their hands grazing lightly as she took it from him.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the vase and placing the roses into the water. She rested a hand on the cross. “I can’t wait for this ground to settle and be able to order Annabel a proper gravestone. I gather you have to wait about a year, though.”
“Yes, something like that.” He placed a hand lightly on Bea’s shoulder. “I hope you didn’t mind me coming here. I’ll leave you in peace now.”
Bea put her hand up until she could hold his fingers. The warmth of his touch on her shoulder was strangely comforting. “I don’t mind you coming here. Thank you for looking out for me, it was kind.”
As his footsteps receded along the narrow path, she could almost hear her aunt’s approval. Aunt Annabel liked strong men. Her Antonio had been a well-built man, always needing a formidable team of polo ponies to take his bulk. She’d like the idea of Luke working with his hands. She never did understand people’s preference for working in offices. Bea’s breath caught in her throat as emotion got the better of her. She sat back on her heels and cried for a few minutes. “I’m so lost right now,” she whispered, placing her hand on the cold wood of the cross. “Surely things would have to get better soon.”
Bea arrived at her father and stepmother’s home a short while later. As usual it hadn’t occurred to either of them that maybe this might be a day when Bea wouldn’t want to have to talk about her sister’s wedding plans. It was easier for her to go and get it over with than to row about it endlessly though, so she forced a smile on her face and went in.
“I’ve invited Tom,” Bea heard Mel say as she let herself into the house. “He doesn’t have a partner either, so I thought Bea, oh there you are.” She said looking confused at Bea’s unhappy expression. “I was saying you’re pairing up with Tom for the wedding.”
“I’d really rather not though Mel.” She had no intention of staying a moment longer than was necessary.
“Now, now, girls,” her dad said, standing up to give her a bear hug and looking equally as fed up at the discussion. “No fighting. Mel’s right though.”
“I don’t have a problem with it, but why should it matter if I take a partner or not?”
“Because then I can deduct your ‘plus ones’ from the invitees.” Mel took her crystal-covered biro and scrawled out the writing next to Bea’s name and then Tom’s on her spread sheet.
Bea scowled at her sist
er. What was she on about? She looked at her dad for a clue.
“Mel and Joyce have got a little enthusiastic with their invitations and Grant has finally put his foot down.”
“Not Grant,” Mel groaned. “Dad’s the one being selfish.” She pulled a face at him. Bea could remember when that princess-look of hers used to work, but she must have been all of five years old at the time. She tried not to be irritated with her sister.
“Thank you, Melanie,” Joyce snapped, coming through to the living room carrying a tray of biscuits. “I think your father is being perfectly reasonable about this.” She looked Bea up and down. “You’ve got here then? I thought we said ten-thirty, not eleven o’clock,” she said pointedly looking at her watch. “I do have a list of items to work through today, Beatrice. We can’t all be spending time wallowing.”
Bea ignored her and sat down, soothed by her father’s glare in Joyce’s direction as he left the room. She knew he’d have a go at her stepmother when she’d left, but a part of her wished he’d do it in front of her. Just for once.
“Melanie tells us she’s inviting that handsome chap, Luke, is it, and his model girlfriend. You and Tom will have to team up. I won’t have any argument on the matter.” She hesitated for a moment. “Although I do think that refusing to allow any more than one hundred people in the marquee is probably a little too conservative, Eric. Your precious lawn will grow back if we do decide to hire a larger marquee,” she shouted over her shoulder in the general direction of his study, where Bea presumed her father must now be working.
The Jersey Scene series box set Page 19
