by Rhoda Baxter
Tracey gave up on her book. She was clearly not going to have an uninterrupted reading session now. If she wanted to savour the kiss scene, she would have to read it later.
“Will you be coming to the Christmas party, Tracey?” Angie turned to her. “We have some tickets left. It’s only 25 pounds, and there’s a disco after. It’s much cheaper than what they’re charging down the road.” This was followed by a disdainful sniff. “They’re charging sixty five quid for dinner down there, you know. For that price, you’d think they were serving everything gold plated.”
“Down there?” She was missing some vital piece of information.
“The posh restaurant in the village.”
Oh yes. That. Trewton Royd didn’t take to change very well.
“So, will you come? You may as well. You’ll be able to hear the disco in your room, I should think.”
She got the subtext. Come to the party. Support your local pub. Even though this wasn’t remotely local to her. But what was twenty five pounds, to make her aunt happy. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll come.”
Angie beamed. She turned to the man, who put down his sandwich and wiped a smudge of ketchup off his lip.
“What about you, Mr Fonseka?”
“Call me Vinnie,” he said.
“That’s a nice name,” said Angie. She opened her mouth, paused, then said, “Will you be wanting tickets as well, Vinnie?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“That’ll be two tickets for you, will it love?”
He looked down at his sandwich. “Um... no. Just the one.”
“Right you are, love.” Angie turned to give Tracey a meaningful glance, eyebrows raised. Tracey pretended not to notice. She didn’t particularly want to gossip about random strangers. But then, this was rural Yorkshire. Gossip about people they knew was pastime number one. Having strangers to gossip about... well, that was like Christmas.
She shifted position slightly so that she was facing away from Vinnie and returned to her book.
Chapter 4
Vinnie polished off the sandwich and wished he had another. Hot bacon, crusty white bread with butter, not margarine. Perfect. How long was it since he’d had something like that for breakfast? Muesli was very worthy, but nothing could beat a hot sandwich for chasing away the cold. He took a sip of coffee and eyed the cinnamon bun. He was still hungry enough to demolish that in a mouthful, but he needed to slow down before he gave himself indigestion. He stretched his legs out towards the fire. The ankles of his jeans were dark, where the snow had clung to them and melted. It was too much to hope that they’d dry by the fire like this, but at least they’d get a bit less saturated.
It was nice sitting by a real fire. The logs popped and hissed. Funny how you never thought about a fire hissing. He watched the blue and yellow flames. He knew that if he looked closely, every flame had a dark space in the centre of it. A dead thing surrounded by light and heat. A bit like his relationship. How funny. One day you’re planning how you’re going to ask the love of your life to marry you... and the next day you’ve discovered she’s a selfish cow. He rolled the tension out of his shoulders. Maybe she did him a favour, bailing out when she did. It would have been so much worse if this whole thing had blown up after they’d got married.
He crossed his legs at the ankle. So now he was single. He hadn’t been single for a long time. He’d have to go and meet someone again. How did you even do that now? He was getting a bit old for the company socials. That was for the fresh faced new grads who had turned up full of ambition and optimism and with money in their pockets for the first time. He was too old for that.
Internet dating, maybe? He shuddered at the thought.
A log popped on the fire and settled, giving off a rush of sparks that made him jump. He glanced up at the girl who was sitting opposite him. The sudden flare hadn’t seemed to bother her at all. She was back to being engrossed in her book.
Vinnie considered her for a moment. With her manga hair and odd t-shirt, she looked like the sort of person who read comic books, not someone who read Mills and Boon. Hayleigh read a lot of romance books, some with millionaires, some with Dukes and lately, many with things like handcuffs and whips on the cover. He had assumed that she chose to read them as a form of escapism. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was more a wish fulfilment thing. She had never demanded bondage in bed. He had a sudden vision of her, sitting in bed in her pyjamas and felt a wrench of sadness. No more companionable evenings. Loneliness stretched ahead of him. It hurt.
What possessed him to come to this cottage by himself? He could have just paid up and left it unused. He could have gone to the pub and drowned his sorrows. On the other hand, there weren’t many people available to join him in the pub at the moment. Everyone at work was either already on their holidays or frantically dashing around doing last minute shopping. Everyone he knew locally outside of work had been Hayleigh’s friend first. So if he went back to his place, he would have simply ended up sitting at home, by himself, drowning himself in red wine and cheese sandwiches.
So instead he was here. In a pub, where he knew nobody. Staying in a house meant for a cosy couple, all by himself. He had been in such a rage when he left that he hadn’t thought to bring his e-reader or any books. In his bag he had champagne and chocolates, which seemed ludicrous now. No books, no internet, no DVDs. There was a telly in the cottage, but there was nothing else. What was he going to do?
He wasn’t far from home, but his parents were away. Over the years, his family had come to an arrangement that they spent Christmas day however they wanted. His parents went to London, where they stayed with friends and attended an annual do there. His sister, brother and himself tended to spend Christmas with the families of their respective girlfriends. While Christmas was free and easy, all the Fonsekas converged on their parents’ house on New Year’s Eve. Christmas was a religious holiday that didn’t concern them, but New Year felt like the start of something and his mother liked them to be together for it.
A pattering at the window made him look up. Hail. Great. The roads were icy and the idea of driving back to his empty flat looked even more unpleasant. Looked like he was stuck here for the time being.
The four days stretched ahead of him, cold and empty. Maybe it was a good chance to take that break he kept telling himself he needed. Slow down. Take the days as they came. He picked up the cinnamon bun and bit into it. His thoughts ran into a wall of cinnamon and sugar and stopped. He looked down at the bun in surprise. Delicious.
“Pardon?”
He looked up. He must have said something out loud, the manga girl was looking at him.
“This.” He waved the bun at her. “This is incredible.”
“Sue’s famous cinnamon buns. They are good aren’t they.” She smiled for the first time. With the small frown gone, her face changed. She looked younger and... attractive.
He dropped his eyes and looked back at his bun. He shouldn’t be looking at other women, he was... well, he wasn’t taken any more. Was he? Perhaps he was feeling guilty out of habit.
“They’re Sue’s signature confection,” she said. “Have you had a chance to try out some of her cakes yet? She runs Pat’s Pantry in the village.”
He’d pressed his face against the window there. It had certainly smelled amazing. “It wasn’t open this morning.”
“You should definitely try it,” she said.
He noticed her plate was empty. She had a tiny smattering of sugar by her mouth. He indicated to it. “You have...”
She brushed the side of her mouth with a thumb. “Thanks.” She smiled again. Definitely attractive. She was pale and not wearing make up. Hayleigh always wore make up. He’d seen her without it, of course, but whenever he thought of her, he always saw the fully made up version. Funny that.
The girl ... what was her name? Tracey, that was it ... turned her attention back to her book.
“Um ...”
She looked back up.
&nb
sp; “Is there anything to do around here? The internet at the cottage is down and ...”
“It’s down here too. Aunty Angie phoned up, but she was on hold for so long, she hung up again.” She sighed. “Annoying, isn’t it? I feel like I’ve lost a limb.” She pulled her phone out from next to her and waved it at him. “And there’s no network signal. It’s so frustrating.” The frown was back. She looked cranky again. “It’s like I’ve stepped into a pocket universe that got stuck in the 1990s.”
Vinnie sighed. It was. He pulled his own phone out and glanced at it without much enthusiasm. “I can’t check my work email,” he said. “It is irritating, but I’m sure nothing urgent will come in between now and New Year.” He tried to believe it. Even if something did come up, a couple of his colleagues were around to deal with it. The firm was never left unstaffed. The other year he had drawn the short straw and had to do the Christmas shift. Hayleigh had been furious until she’d found a cheap holiday to... New York... oh. That must be how she met the Senator’s son. So all that time when he’d been stuck at work, feeling bad that he wasn’t with her, she’d been... He winced. No. He couldn’t think about that. He needed to figure out something to do.
“Is there anywhere where I can buy some stuff. You know, books, DVDs, that sort of thing?” he asked.
Tracey pulled a face. “It’s been a while since I’ve visited, to be honest,” she said. “You’d best ask Angie. The last time I was here there was the corner shop, which had a few bits and bobs... and the craft shop sometimes has stuff like jigsaw puzzles and things. Sorry. That’s not much help, is it? If you’re brave enough to drive in this weather, Huddersfield’s not too far.”
“Don’t fancy driving much. I was a little worried that my little car would even make it up the hill last night.”
She gave a slow nod, her gaze focused on the fire. “What sort of things are you after? What do you normally do for fun?”
The question floored him. What DID he do for fun? He and Hayleigh watched movies and went to wine bars, but he didn’t do that by himself. Hobbies. He must have had a hobby at some point. What was it?
He was still thinking about this, when Tracey said, “Actually, if you ask Angie, she might have some books kicking around. The guests sometimes leave their reading material behind when they leave.”
He glanced at the pink book in her hand. “Are they all...?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. This is my private stash. You need special permission to access these.” Her eyes sparkled. Was she winding him up? He couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t looking at him, properly. Just little glances, like she was nervous.
“I’m more of a blood and war books man, myself,” he said.
Tracey shrugged. “Bit of a weird place to escape to, but takes all sorts.” She went back to her pink book.
Vinnie ate the rest of his cinnamon bun. He reminded himself that he had nowhere to go, nowhere to be right now and made himself chew slowly. Why was that so hard? When had he last slowed down? He finished off the bun and licked the sugar off his fingertips. If he couldn’t remember, then perhaps he really needed it.
Chapter 5
By the time the weather improved, Vinnie had flicked through the small pile of books that the pub had to offer, requested a packed lunch for the next day and told Angie he would be back at breakfast the next day to pick it up.
The small drifts of snow and ice from the night before was now crunchy with hailstones. It was still slippery. Vinnie carefully picked his way back down to the single street. There wasn’t a whole lot to see. There was, as Tracey had said, a village shop, the bakery, a small shop that looked like a greengrocers, a craft shop, another odd shop that didn’t seem to have any theme to what it sold and, incongruously modern in the middle of it all, the bistro. Vinnie went into each shop in turn, picking essentials like a loaf of bread, some cheese, a newspaper. The bread was still warm when the lady packed it up, so he’d picked up a couple of cheese rolls as well. He munched on one as he walked. He left the craft shop for last. He didn’t really need to go in, but... it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.
It was dark inside, even compared to the overcast day outside. The space was narrow and seemed to be covered entirely in fabric swatches, balls of wool and knitting accoutrements. It smelled faintly Christmassy in a way he couldn’t quite identify. There didn’t seem to be much of interest. Vinnie turned to go back out.
“Can I help you?” He turned back to see that a woman had materialised behind the counter. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed her before. She was wearing a chunky Christmas jumper with a reindeer on it and earrings with red flashing lights on them. He wasn’t good at judging ages, but he’d have guessed she was around the same age as his mum. Late fifties.
“Oh. Just browsing, thanks.” He spotted a few books being held together by art deco bookends which had baubles hanging off them. Closer inspection showed that they were all about knitting, sewing and crochet... at least he hoped the books about happy hookers were about crochet.
“You don’t look like a knitting man,” said the woman.
He glanced over. She was looking at him like a judge on the Bake Off looks at a loaf of bread. It made him want to run away. He fought the urge to back away and stood his ground. “I’m not a knitting man, no. Do you get many of those?”
She shrugged. “Not so many round here. I used to own a shop in Henley. You got a few there. What are you looking for? Do you know?”
Vinnie gave up. He wasn’t going to get out of there without buying something. “No idea,” he said. “I’m staying in the cottage at the top of the hill and there isn’t a lot to do...”
She held up a finger. “Just a minute. I might have just the thing for you.” She ducked behind the counter. When she reappeared, she was holding a slim book of local walks. “It’s a bit cold, but if you wrap up warm, I’m sure you’ll be okay for some of these.” She handed it to him.
He took it on autopilot and flicked through. It looked like it was a self-published pamphlet and had several walks that started in Trewton Royd itself. It was only a few pounds. He reached into his pocket for his wallet.
“You could have a look in the bargain bin,” the lady suggested. “Might find something that piques your interest there.”
He went over to where she indicated, more out of politeness than interest. “So how long ago were you in Henley?” he asked, over his shoulder.
“Years ago. When I was in my twenties.” She laughed. “Which is longer ago than I’d like to admit.”
Vinnie was about to turn away, when he spotted a sketch book. The cover of it was torn. Beside it, as though it had been arranged for him, was a box of broken charcoal sticks. They were both old and tatty and reduced to a fraction of their price. Something stirred. He’d done A level art. It had been his ‘extra’ subject. The thing that counterbalanced his chosen sciences. He couldn’t paint, but sketching... now sketching he was good at. He hadn’t done it in ages. He’d never had the time. But time was pretty much in over supply right now... He picked up the sketch book and charcoal and took it to the counter.
The woman smiled as though she’d been expecting him to choose exactly that. “You could sketch some of the views on your walks,” she said.
“I can try,” he said. “I haven’t done any drawing in years.”
He trudged up the hill that took him out of the valley that held the village. It was a long time since he’d had to walk up a hill so steep. It was still slippery underfoot, but his boots seemed to be able to get more purchase now that it was less icy. The bag containing the sketchbook and charcoal banged against his leg as he walked. How long ago had he done any drawing? When he’d first moved to Leeds, he’d taken an evening art class, hoping that sketching would help him de-stress, but then he’d met Hayleigh and suddenly his evenings had been taken up with going out or staying in. Mainly going out, if he was honest. Mainly to see her friends. He hadn’t even finished the evening course.
He had come out wearing several layers to insulate him from the cold. The exertion of going up the hill was making him hot. By the time he reached the cottage, he was hot enough to have to strip off his coat the minute he got into the house.
Once he’d shucked off a couple of layers and made himself a sandwich, he was feeling better about being stuck in the cottage for a few days. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a holiday like this. Hayleigh tended to favour holidays in five star hotels. Before he’d met her, he had been on many a walking weekend with his friends. Something else that he’d neglected since meeting Hayleigh. What else was there?
The years with Hayleigh blurred into one. When they met, he had just started at the firm in Leeds, so it must have been around four years ago. She had been fun and vivacious and exactly the tonic he’d needed after years of being ground down in his old job. She had been good for him, teasing him out of his shell and introducing him to her friends. They’d had some good times together. If he was being honest, he had known that something was wrong for months now. It was something in the way she looked at him. Some small change in the way she held his hand.
He’d done his best - cooked her dinner a few times, even taken her out more often. In the end, he’d come to the conclusion that she needed him to make a firmer commitment to her. After four years, it was only reasonable to suggest they get married. So he’d booked the romantic getaway and ordered the ring. It wasn’t any old ring, either. It was the ring. She had described it to him one day— the perfect ring. She’d known what ring she’d wanted before she knew the man she wanted it from.
He fetched the box from his suitcase and looked at the ring. A baguette cut emerald with four diamonds, two either side. He’d had to have it made especially. It was beautiful and eye wateringly expensive. What a waste. Putting the open box on the coffee table in front of him, he pulled the sketchpad onto his lap and started to draw.
