Rumours

by Freya North

  The impact from the message was utterly electric. All Stella wanted to do was run; run as fast as Xander. Push back her chair and belt from this house, cover the one and a half marathons which was the distance separating Watford and Long Dansbury in the blink of an eye. Hammer on his door and fall into his arms.

  Memories of the morning’s kissing filled her mouth, her mind, took her far from Alistair’s dining table and left no room for Juliet’s duck. It was only her brother’s sharp kick at her ankle that returned her to the present. That hurt! Her phone dropped to the floor. She made to move her chair back but stopped when she saw how Alistair was frowning at her and Juliet was looking from her plate to her face worried, as if there might be something wrong with her cooking. The Griffins and the Hendersons were simply looking at Rupert who’d stopped mid-sentence, halfway into his Guatemalan adventure.

  ‘Sorry,’ Stella said to the table at large. ‘It’s just work – I have to be available to Lady Lydia at all times. Will you excuse me a mo’?’ She left the room. Rupert’s story ended in a damp fizzle. He’d only really recounted it for Stella’s benefit and the Griffins and Hendersons, who’d been primed by Alistair and Juliet, hadn’t been that enthralled by it anyway.

  ‘Stella?’

  Juliet had to say her name twice. Stella was standing with her back to her in the kitchen, head bowed. When Juliet went over, she saw it was because she was staring fixedly at her phone. She put her hand on Stella’s shoulder.

  ‘Everything OK? It’s nine o’clock. Can’t the old bat give you an evening’s peace?’

  But when Stella turned, Juliet was taken aback by her flushed cheeks, the pervasive sparkle which seemed to create a glow around her like the Ready-brek kid. ‘Are you all right?’

  Stella stared at her and then she broke into an expansive grin and stood there shaking.

  ‘What is it?’ Juliet hissed.

  ‘Finally I’ve met someone!’ Stella whispered and she threw her arms around Juliet and squeezed her.

  ‘Alistair will be so pleased,’ Juliet hugged her back.

  ‘I know,’ said Stella. ‘I can’t begin to describe how I feel!’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t eat my gorgeous, expensive, slaved-over-all-afternoon duck?’

  ‘I’m sorry!’ Stella pulled back and tried to add a sheepish edge to her broad smile. ‘I’m just a bit distracted. And Al keeps kicking me. But I just feel so –’ She had no words so she made a shuddery sound as if she was simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold.

  ‘He’s lovely,’ said Juliet.

  ‘I know!’

  Then Stella stopped. Who’d said what when? ‘How do you know?’ Had she mentioned Xander to either of her sisters-in-law?

  ‘Because Al’s known him for years.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ Stella felt alternately thrilled and confused. ‘Al knows Xander?’ Of all the crazy coincidences.

  The smile left Juliet’s face like air seeping from a balloon. ‘Who?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Xander?’

  Stella nodded, searching Juliet’s face.

  ‘Not Rupert?’ Juliet asked.

  ‘Rupert?’ Stella stared at Juliet. Then she clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh shit.’ She reached for Juliet’s arm. ‘Oh shitting shit.’

  Juliet tried to edge her own obvious disappointment with a smile, but actually she just looked bewildered. ‘But he’s handsome, fit, stable, single – and normal,’ she pleaded.

  ‘I thought he was gay,’ Stella mouthed.

  Juliet looked down but her shoulders shook and when she looked up Stella could see her biting back giggles. ‘So did I,’ Juliet mouthed back. Then she slammed her hands on her hips. ‘So who the fuck is Alex-blinking-Xander?’

  ‘He’s just Xander,’ said Stella, beaming. ‘And he’s at his home eating beans on toast and I asked him what he was having for pudding and this is what he replied.’ She showed the text to Juliet who read it and then clapped the phone to her heart.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Juliet’s smile was back.

  ‘Oh my God what?’ said Alistair, suddenly in the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong? What are you doing in here? What’s going on?’

  But Juliet winked quickly at Stella and said ‘Just Women’s Things’ to Alistair, which always shut him up.

  Snuggled up to Will in Alistair and Juliet’s spare bedroom, Stella scrolled back and forth through the texts. She hadn’t yet replied to him. She hadn’t wanted to be continually kicked by her bemused brother so she’d returned to the dinner table and had conscientiously tried her best to converse with everyone equally.

  Now she was alone with her thoughts, thinking back over an extraordinary day, the morning seeming so long ago but the sensations ever present. For Xander’s pudding, he’d had thoughts of her. She’d had zabaglione. He’d had the courage to tell her. It was heading for one in the morning. It all happened yesterday. Stella was exhausted, elated, wanting to reply but not knowing what to say. She just wanted there to be contact, it seemed safe to let him know she was thinking of him – after all, he’d ignored any preposterous dating etiquette or ridiculous rules and had let her know that was precisely what he was thinking.

  G’nite. Sx

  Xander read the text, put down his book, switched off the light and went to sleep with a smile on his face. His bedroom didn’t seem quite so cold.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Once Alistair and Robbie had swallowed their slight ignominy that their baby sister had rejected the suitors they’d worked so hard to put her way in favour of some bloke they’d never heard of, Stella’s family banded together to assist the fledgling romance with offers of babysitting. Initially, Stella had felt a little reluctant to accept and was somewhat vexed that details, let alone the simple fact that at long last, she’d found someone she wanted to see, were now to be shared. But babysitting was expensive and hitherto she had rarely called upon anyone other than her family or her closest friends anyway. I don’t get out much was one adage that Stella was famous for – said in a self-deprecating way. But the truth was, over the last two years, she really hadn’t much wanted to go out, to leave Will. The last two years had been given over to building a safe fortress for herself and her son and, despite the dragging loneliness which ensued once Will was asleep, there’d also been the sense of relief that evenings need never again revolve around wondering where Charlie was and whether or not he’d be coming home.

  So, when on the Monday Xander phoned and asked whether she might be free for dinner two days later, Stella knew she’d have three offers of babysitting – four, if she asked Jo too. She called upon her mother in this first instance, not merely because it was the right thing to do but also because she knew her mum would skirt around details and be happy enough if her daughter was smiling. Stella was also aware that it was giving her mother two gifts for the price of one: an evening with her grandson as well as relief and joy that at long last her daughter was Out There, taking tentative steps towards a chap she really liked.

  Xander, too, had his little army in the wings. When he phoned Stella, Mrs Gregg was sitting at her desk preparing invoices, unable to believe that what she was hearing was as simple as it sounded. Surely Xander must be arranging an after-hours business meeting! But his voice sounded so soft. She considered this alongside the periods in which he didn’t seem to working at all, just sitting there gazing into the middle distance. It was all a little peculiar. She couldn’t quite believe what it could equate to.

  ‘Well, Wednesday it is then,’ she heard him say and glanced up to see him grinning, revolving around on his chair. ‘Lovely. Yes. Ha! Stroppy mare.’

  Had he suddenly become interested in horses? Perhaps that was it. Off to see some stroppy mare.

  ‘The Black Ox.’

  Or cattle.

  ‘OK. Ha! No. I’ll run first – can we make it eight?’

  Eight oxen? Or eight o’clock? Sounded late to be viewing livestock.

  ‘Come to mine – I�
��ll see you at mine. We’ll stroll down together.’

  Who! Who! Who is Xander Fletcher going to be ‘together’ with?

  ‘Everything all right with those invoices, Mrs Gregg?’

  She looked flustered and Xander knew it had nothing to do with payment terms and conditions. He did love the way that Mrs Gregg tried so hard to be 100 per cent professional during working hours – but was actually enslaved to a little eavesdropping however hard she tried to defend against it. It hadn’t been on the job description. She did everything he could ever ask of her, and often went beyond the call of duty. And she cared – for the company, for him. He knew that and he was grateful and he really shouldn’t tease her so wryly.

  ‘Everything is fine, Mr Fletcher,’ she said officiously, but she scoured his face in much the same way as his mother was prone to do when she worried about him. ‘Almost done,’ she said, airily. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Like?’ Xander was unable to resist.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she breezed, rifling through papers and checking the desk diary. ‘Wednesday night – did you want me to make a booking?’ She appeared to be counting paper clips now. ‘A reservation?’ She was organizing a pile of compliment slips into a crenellated pattern. ‘For – two?’

  Xander thought quietly back to how kind Mrs Gregg had been to him when he finally broke up with Laura. How, every couple of days, she’d bring in Tupperware containing a stew, or a casserole – which she feigned was leftovers. How she’d diverted calls when he needed a moment to stare deep at nothingness forlornly, how she’d talk tangentially about so-and-so whose son was to be married just nine months after some awful woman who was never worthy of him had left. Mrs Gregg had met Laura on a number of occasions and had been sweet and welcoming but when they split, she never mentioned her name again. Well, just the once. I found her a little self-centred if truth be told, she’d said to Xander. The world seemed to revolve around Laura – whereas I’d like to see you with someone who thinks the world of you.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Gregg,’ Xander said, realizing he hadn’t thought of Laura for some time. ‘But the Black Ox is my local – and they don’t take bookings.’

  ‘You’re taking her to a pub?’ She bristled, as if he should think again.

  ‘It’s a gastro pub,’ Xander said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Gregg, sorting envelopes by size and lining up the top-left corners. ‘All the rage.’

  ‘It’s very nice,’ said Xander.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mrs Gregg, looking over her glasses and down her nose at an invoice she was sure had been paid. ‘And her name is?’

  ‘Her name’s Stella,’ said Xander evenly.

  And then Mrs Gregg looked at him squarely and her voice changed. It was level and wise and tender too. It wasn’t his PA speaking. ‘Good for you, Xander. Good for you.’

  Caroline phoned Xander on Tuesday, asking him if he’d mind babysitting the following evening.

  ‘Sorry, Cazza – I’m busy.’ Then he thought, I really needn’t say anything else at this point. And then he thought, but wouldn’t it be nice for Caroline if I did. ‘I’m – er – going out to dinner.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes – with Stella.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Wow. Very good. Where are you taking her?’

  ‘Black Ox.’

  ‘Our Black Ox?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s brave!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I might call in, and stare at you both and fire questions at her.’

  ‘God. Please don’t.’

  ‘I’m joking. Anyway, I won’t need to – the rumour mill will swing into action and I’ll hear all about it at various points the day after.’

  Xander laughed. He hadn’t thought about that. He’d simply wanted to take Stella to a place he really liked. And anyway, who cares who saw him or what was said. He certainly didn’t – not this time.

  When Will asked Stella where she was going and what time she’d be back, she paused. She could very well say, I’m just going to have some supper with a friend. But he’d ask which friend. And if she said Jo, that would be a lie. And she never, ever, intended to lie to her boy. But if she said Xander, would Will wonder why she hadn’t simply said so in the first place? Because Will thought of Xander as being his pal as much as hers.

  ‘Your friend Xander asked if I wanted to have some supper with him,’ she said, wondering if Will’s pyjamas had shrunk because surely they couldn’t be above his ankles and wrists already.

  ‘Oh!’ said Will, as if a penny had just dropped. ‘That’s what an off chance is. It’s a supper invitation. I see.’

  ‘I won’t be back late – and I told Grandma you can read until eight o’clock.’

  ‘And will I be awake when you get back?’

  ‘You might be – or you might be asleep. But I’ll come in anyway – you know I always do.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘OK. Night, angel.’

  ‘Night. Mummy –?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You look nice.’

  It was a beautiful evening. After a fine day, wisps of cloud sneaked across the sky and the slumbering sun spun them salmon pink. It was warm enough now just for short sleeves but Stella had taken the lavender-coloured ballerina wrap that Alistair and Juliet had bought her last Christmas. It went well with her white top and slate-grey trousers which her mother kept telling her were either called pedal-pushers or clam-diggers in her day but for the life of her she couldn’t remember which. Stella thought they were called cigar pants – but then she thought perhaps it was cigarillo pants. So she and her mother had decided on calling them Slim Fit Ankle Length. Her mother begged her to wear a Nice Pair of Heels – but Stella insisted on her black suede ballet pumps because she loved them. And Xander had said something about a stroll.

  ‘But if you’re in heels, you have every excuse to teeter and to take his arm for balance.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘OK. All right. What do I know. Just enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Hope so.’

  It was tingles of desire, a zip of anticipation and a heart running twenty to the dozen on hope, which propelled Stella down the garden path to Xander’s front door.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, thinking she looked lovely, wondering if he could say it out loud but feeling strangely unconfident to do so. She felt thrilled by the sight of him, bit down on a grin and made that peculiar snort thing of hers.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said and they kissed quickly, clumsily, and said boring things about the weather. He was wearing a soft washed denim shirt and had either forgotten to tuck one side in or else had omitted to pull the other out. She wanted to do it for him, but she clasped her hands together and rocked on the spot.

  ‘I’ll just get my keys,’ he said, with a scratch of his head.

  ‘And your shoes,’ said Stella.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘You should always untie laces before you put on your shoes.’

  ‘Cheeky mare,’ he muttered.

  She put her hands on her hips and tutted and thought to herself, oh my God I’m so happy to be here.

  With its beams and flagstones and mismatched thick wooden tables and chairs, two inglenook fireplaces and also a secluded but sizeable beer garden, the Black Ox suited every season. Xander and Stella were seated at a table for two, by a window overlooking the garden. The staff referred to him by name and Stella liked that; flattered not to have been taken anywhere else. Eyeing another diner’s fish and chips, both she and Xander ordered the dish and happily tolerated the slow service as it gave them the chance to linger over their drinks and privately delight in how smoothly conversation flowed.

  ‘Are you going to get rip-roaringly drunk on me?’ Xander asked.

  Stella shook her head soberly. ‘That’s my modus operandi for blind dates only,’ she said. ‘Anyway, it’s a school night.’ She paused,
looking around the pub, loving it all. ‘Do you come here often, then?’ She said it in a cockney accent.

  ‘It’s my lair,’ he said. ‘I take all the girls here.’ It was obviously far from the truth and she felt chuffed.

  ‘Well, I’m honoured.’

  ‘How’s Will?’

  ‘He’s fine – he got Gold Book at school so he’s cock-a-hoop.’

  Xander thought how much he liked her turn of phrase. It was quirky and old-fashioned and so much more descriptive than ‘fantastic’ or, God forbid, ‘awesome’.

  ‘My mum’s babysitting,’ Stella told him.

  ‘Are you close?’

  She nodded. He wanted to know about her family so she told him about her brothers and their families – even made mention of her errant father. And she told him about Jo who, she said, was as close as she came to having a sister. He responded with talk of his own small family and both Xander and Stella thought to themselves, so many names to learn – and, in time hopefully, faces to put to names. The dinner arrived; the fish butter-flake-fresh encased in balloons of crispy fragrant batter, chips the size of kindling piled high and a gloss of peas obscuring any remaining white china.

  ‘Mayo please,’ Stella told the waiter, ‘and ketchup too. Please.’ She looked at Xander. ‘It’s Will’s invention – you mix it together in precise proportions and you have mayonetchup.’ She let him dip a chip into her concoction and it may as well have been the finest hollandaise for all his nodding. But he didn’t mix it for himself, he stuck with tartare sauce. Chat was the most delicious accompaniment to the meal. Work. Hertford. Lydia. Friends. Family. They argued a little about Longbridge – Xander putting across his misgivings, Stella defending her position. It was an impasse but neither of them wanted it to be a barrier. They moved away from it.

  In between the details asked for and the facts given, there was teasing and joshing and easy chatter interspersed every now and then with the heady contradiction of spontaneous yet lingering looks. Privately, they both hailed and cursed the setting – a public space, a table between them, food that really ought to be eaten hot. Undoubtedly, it prevented the privacy that his cottage might have afforded yet it also assisted in providing an ideal forum in which they could converse at length. He told her he half expected Caroline’s face to press itself against the window. Stella admitted her phone was on silent because no doubt there’d be a barrage of texts from Jo.