by Kirsty Ferry
‘No,’ says Ewan and his voice is low and a little dangerous.
Oh my. I really like his voice like that and it makes me go deliciously shivery in certain places.
‘You were meant to trust me,’ he says, still in that voice.
‘Trust you?’ she yells, breaking the spell. ‘When you’ve been with her all day, and you’ve been to the pub and you’ve been pawing each other?’ Fern has a habit, I have noticed, of over-emphasising words.
‘Pawing each other?’ I cry, emulating her. ‘The only person pawing anyone around here has been Schubert. We have not been pawing each other all day at all!’
Although God knows I’ve wanted to paw Ewan Grainger for years, but that’s very different. I mentally run through the physical contact we’ve actually had today and it’s all been very respectable and innocent. There was that moment in Kincladie when we hugged, and when he rubbed my back when I was dying from physical exertion after the pub and I remember that we held hands so as not to become separated in the haunted woods. Not much really. Oh, and the LuaLua moment. But that hug in the forest was the nicest – and if it wasn’t for what Aggie had implied, I wouldn’t even have let that happen.
I know now that he’s going to be mine anyway, one day, so why shouldn’t I have helped things along a little back there?
‘And I haven’t even seen the tattoo on his shoulder!’ I throw in for good measure, just to prove it to her.
Oh dear.
Maybe that wasn’t quite the right thing to say.
Chapter Sixteen
EWAN
I really can’t believe what I’m hearing Fern say. I have never been accused of anything like this in my life, and it’s not going to happen now. God knows I’ve been faithful to her and yes, today has made me see what I’m maybe missing with Nessa, but I haven’t done anything about it at all.
But you know what?
Famous boyfriend?
Is that what it all boils down to in the end? Me and Vinnie and Jude – and possibly Guy Ritchie – and Fern, just in there, just loving the spotlight?
I really wish I had done something about Nessa today. This has finally made me realise how false and stressful my relationship with Fern has become.
I’m not blaming Nessa at all. And I’m not blaming myself, either. It’s just I’ve had a sudden revelation and this is what has to happen. I can’t be happy with Fern. I will never be happy with Fern. I think, without the film deal, it might have fizzled out anyway. She’s pretty, no denying that – but it was never meant to last. We were never meant to go beyond those first few heady months were we? It was just easy to have her there, dealing with the media fallout, while I worked on screenplays and soundtracks and posed every so often for a photoshoot.
I’ve realised that I don’t want my life planned out for me. If I plan anything at all, I want it to be planned with someone I care about and who cares about me – someone who doesn’t care about how much money my latest book has made me and how good we look together in the gossip columns. And someone who doesn’t care that we should eventually move to a better part of the town and who doesn’t care about contacting Yay! and Hiya! magazines to film our “perfect proposal” in the Caribbean.
I hate the idea of the Caribbean.
I hate the idea of proposing to Fern.
And I know for a fact she contacted those magazines because both editors rang me to get an exclusive.
‘Fern, I have no idea where you got this impression from. Nessa is a friend. She came with me today because I thought she’d be interested in it all and I needed to get away from the whole imaginary club-scene thing and breathe some proper, fresh air. But you know something else? I’ve had a bloody good day with Nessa and I’m not about to let you spoil it. You’re controlling and resentful and jealous and I don’t think I can deal with that any more. I’m sorry, Fern, but I think you’ve just crossed the line and I don’t really want to be with you any more.’
There now. I’ve said it, and it can’t be unsaid. I’m waiting her for the thunder and the lightning and the sky falling down – but strangely nothing happens.
‘Well now.’ That’s Nessa. She’s sat up under that hairy rug and she is, in turn, staring at me and staring at Fern. ‘I think you’re being a little bit impulsive Ewan. It’s one mistake. Is it enough to dump her over?’
‘You keep out of it, you horrible little witch!’ screams Fern. She leaps up from the bench seat – no mean feat in a crowded camper van – and looks as if she wants to punch someone. I stand up as well, because there is no way I’m letting her punch Nessa. If she wants to punch someone, she can punch me. Winnie lurches oddly with my movements, but I stand my ground.
‘Fern. It’s over,’ I say. ‘This has just proved to me how bad things are. The fact you felt you had to line up a reporter—’
‘Investigative reporter,’ interjects Clarence Wood. I’d completely forgotten he was there.
‘—investigative reporter,’ I continue, ‘because you wanted some more coverage. And it’s not the first time you’ve tried to get Nessa into trouble. Do I have to remind you of the drug incident? Or the nasty poster about Nessa outside the house? It’s not on, Fern. It’s not right. What’s she ever done to you?’
‘I. Just. Don’t. Like. Her,’ hisses Fern. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘Have you heard yourself?’ I say, incredulously. ‘You don’t even know her.’
‘Stop sticking up for her!’ yells Fern.
‘No!’ I yell back.
‘Cup of tea, anyone?’ trills Nessa. ‘Please? Can we have one? To settle ourselves? Oh look, Schubert’s sorting it out for us.’
The comment is so random that both Fern and I stop in our tracks and stare at the cat.
I can’t believe it. He has nosed the top of the tea caddy off and, as we stare at him, he stares back and lifts a paw.
Then he tips the caddy over, and two tea bags fall onto the counter.
Schubert sits down and glowers at us. Then he glares at me and Nessa, and glares at the coffee jar.
‘I think he wants us to have coffee, Ewan,’ mutters Nessa. ‘Look at him. I’m not going to go against his wishes. Are you?’
‘No,’ I say faintly. ‘Not at all. But that’s not the tea caddy I used earlier. Is it okay—?’
Schubert hisses.
‘He says that it’s fine,’ says Nessa in a low voice, the sort of voice you would use if you were in the wilderness and a wild animal was nearby. ‘My brother Alfie has a degree in Nutritional Physics. He works in a health food shop. I do believe those are the teabags he gave me at a discounted rate. I’ve never had any. I put them in here because they smelled funny and I prefer normal tea. But any port in a storm, eh?’
I have never heard of Nutritional Physics, but this is not the time to argue. At least we’ve covered all her brothers now.
‘No. That tea will be fine, I’m sure,’ I say, still staring at the cat. ‘And I’m very happy to have coffee if Schubert thinks it’s best’
‘I cannot believe you are talking about tea when my life is just crumbling around me!’ wails Fern.
Oh great, she has morphed into ‘wronged partner’ Fern. I’ve never really noticed how dramatic her speeches are, but now I have, I find that it’s quite wearing.
‘Get a grip!’ says Clarence Wood from the corner. Again, I look at him in astonishment. ‘I can’t think of a better thing than a cup of tea right now. Hey!’ he says with, I think, an attempt at humour, ‘will the cat make the tea as well?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Nessa, her voice dripping sarcasm. ‘He’s a cat.’
I try and fail to hide a smile as Clarence licks his lips nervously, clearly wishing he hadn’t suggested it.
Nessa compounds it all by saying, ‘I wouldn’t trust him not to overfill the kettle. He’s never been that good with measurements and spatial awareness. Here, Schubert, let me do it.’
She struggles out of her fleecy cocoon and I take a step forward
s to help her, but she looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘Sit down, Ewan. I have to do this. It’s important.’
I see a flash of Gothic Nessa there, in the pale face and the dried blood in her hairline and I decide it’s best not to argue with her. I sit down as she suggests and watch her bustle about in the tiny kitchen area, supervised closely by Schubert.
‘We haven’t finished our discussion,’ says Fern eventually.
‘There’s nothing left to discuss,’ I tell her as the kettle whistles joyfully. ‘I don’t want to be with you. That’s it. You’re not going to change my mind.’
‘But Ewan …’ she starts, and her voice has mutated into that awful girly whine that she uses when she wants her own way.
‘Please. Just leave it. You got a reporter to chase me up here. I don’t need that sort of thing.’
‘Here’s the first cup of tea,’ says Nessa. She looks at Fern then looks at Clarence. Pointedly, I think, she gives the cup to Clarence. ‘And here’s the second,’ she says, handing a cup to Fern with a look of distaste on her face. ‘Please don’t choke on it. I’d like you to, but it would create a Difficult Situation, so it’s best just to drink the stuff. And no. I haven’t poisoned it, it’s ginger and something, it’s herbal,’ she says as Fern makes a big thing about sniffing the steam coming off it. ‘I just don’t want to be responsible for you two setting off into the night and being cold. It’s a chilly night and a long drive home for you. I don’t have any biscuits. Sorry.’
I know for a fact there is half a packet of chocolate Hobnobs left in the biscuit barrel, but don’t mention it.
‘Coffee, Ewan?’ says Nessa, handing me a fat, blue cup. ‘It’s nice and strong. Two sugars and black, just the way you like it.’ She smiles at me and takes the second to last cup on the counter before shuffling back to her bench seat.
The remaining cup on the counter is one of those giant coffee franchise ones that look like soup bowls, emblazoned with the logo of a well-known coffee chain, and I wonder briefly how she managed to smuggle it from the shop and into Winnie.
Then I see Schubert dip his tongue ever so delicately into it and my thoughts are consumed by the idea of a caffeinated cat and I no longer have room in my mind to ponder Nessa’s possible kleptomaniac tendencies.
Chapter Seventeen
NESSA
At least I know now why she’s here. Her and Clarence Wood. I can’t quite believe the fact that she thinks Ewan and I were up to something. If I’d really wanted to push that, I’ve had plenty of opportunity at home. Why would I bring him to the countryside in a camper van in order to do that?
The answer, of course, is that there are fewer Fern-shaped distractions in the countryside. Fern is maybe thinking that is the case, but she’s still managed to become a distraction, only I would never, never have thought that she could have done it in such an ingenious way.
You’ve got to give her credit for that one.
‘Is your coffee nice?’ I ask, peering at Ewan through the steam coming out of my cup. He’s chosen to sit next to me again, which is very nice, although there is a definite droop to his manly shoulders, which makes me quite sad to see.
‘It’s lovely. Thanks, Nessa,’ he says. Poor Ewan. I think the fact he has apparently terminated his relationship with Fern has hit him quite hard. It’s a huge decision and perhaps inside my camper van with an audience was not the best place to do it.
‘She’ll probably take you back if you ask her,’ I whisper to him. ‘Blame it on a crime of passion. That sort of thing.’
He looks at me in surprise. ‘But I don’t want her back,’ he whispers. I realise the surprised expression on his perfect face is his own surprise being externalised.
‘Are you sure?’ I whisper.
‘Quite sure,’ he says.
I’m desperate to ask him who, if anyone, he wants instead, but I don’t.
There’s a strange little moment when we look at each other and I think I know what the answer to that one would be, but I’m the first to look away. It’s maybe not quite right to look like that at each other when Fern’s in the van. I may be many things, but I’m not a bad person. I take the opportunity to check what Schubert is doing and I’m pleased to see he’s looking remarkably relaxed for a cat who’s just had a cup of coffee.
I look back at Ewan, to point out the fact that Schubert has somehow, swiftly and silently, crept into his carrier, retrieved Catnip and is now sitting on the bench licking him and cleaning him as if Catnip were a kitten.
But Ewan is staring at Clarence. ‘Bloody hell!’ he says. ‘Will you look at that, Nessa McCreadie?’
My name sounds funny spoken like that, but I like it. I look over in the direction he is nodding his head and I think in passing that he looks like one of those solar flowers you see on windowsills – nod, nod, nod. With the same stultified expression on his face.
‘Bloody hell!’ I say. But in contrast to his shocked expression, I can’t help but smile. ‘Ahhhh, how lovely,’ I say. ‘Look at him!’
Clarence Wood is staring at Fern like a love-struck teenager. He is gawping at her and his tongue is practically hanging out. His tea has been drained and the empty cup dangles loosely from his fingers by the handle. It swings dangerously.
‘I’ll take that, Clarence Wood, thank you very much,’ I say and lean across Ewan to grab the cup from him. Ewan feels lovely and warm as I lean across. He managed to get next to the heater which blows warm air out from under the window, which may be part of it, but I don’t hurry getting back upright to my side of the bench seat. ‘Oops, sorry,’ I say, having to lean briefly on his thigh as I sit up.
Well, I don’t really have to lean on his thigh, but it’s nice to do it.
Ewan just shakes his head. ‘Look at him! Just look at him!’
Then I tilt my lips up to his ear . ‘Look at her, Ewan,’ I whisper.
‘Bloody hell!’ he says and makes to stand up.
I put my hand on his arm to stop him. ‘No! Stop! Look at her!’ I repeat.
Fern is staring at Clarence Wood and before our very eyes her expression changes from a twisted mask of utter dissatisfaction verging on a temper tantrum, to one which softens and relaxes as her eyes fix on Clarence Wood.
Clarence licks his lips which would kind of spoil the mood if it was me on the receiving end of it, but with her, Fern, her eyes widen and her pupils dilate.
Her own empty tea cup slips and dangles from her fingertips and I make one more leap across the man-mountain that is Ewan to grab it. ‘Mine, I think,’ I say and rescue it from certain doom.
‘You know, I don’t think I told you how flattered I was that you’d invited me up here on such an important mission,’ says Clarence. He runs his finger around the inside of his camouflage jacket collar as if he’s building up heat somewhere inside him.
It must be the ginger that was in his tea.
‘I don’t think I told you how you were the only person I could trust this whole time,’ says Fern, with a delicate tremble to her lips. A perfectly pear-shaped tear rolls down her cheek and I wonder cynically how many times she has practised that manoeuvre.
‘I would do anything for you, Fern,’ says Clarence.
‘I know you would,’ replies Fern, a catch in her voice. ‘A lot of men wouldn’t and I do so appreciate it.’
I do so want to stick two fingers down my throat and make vomiting noises but I do not.
‘Fern, my dearest, are you ready to go now?’ asks Clarence. He drags his dopey gaze away from her and looks at us. He smiles, a rather slack, sloppy sort of smile and blinks. ‘Thank you for the tea. It’s been an emotional evening, but I think it’s all worked out,’ he says.
I look at that mouth and my stomach churns a little thinking about how it’s going to feel to Fern when she snogs him later. Because she is so clearly going to be doing that. I can tell.
‘You’re very welcome,’ I say. ‘Can we trust that no silly stories are going to be circulated?’
/> ‘You have my word,’ says Clarence.
‘Okay. Thank you, Clarence,’ I say. ‘Now, have a safe trip back and I really hope I don’t see either of you again for quite a while. I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.’ I smile innocently at him and he nods.
There is a quick flash of hatred in Fern’s expression, however, as she glances at me, but it’s nothing I can’t cope with, thank you very much.
‘The car?’ she says. ‘Will it start now?’ I can tell it’s almost killed her to address me directly.
‘It most certainly will,’ I tell her.
‘Good,’ she says. But her attention is already sliding away from me. I know that she will have other things to think about tonight, and that becomes apparent when she looks at Clarence again. The hatred in her face melts away and she matches his dopey, smiley expression.
‘Let’s go, darling,’ she says and stands up. She’s a little wobbly on her feet, but she holds her hand out to him regardless and he stands up and takes it. ‘Oh, and Ewan? Just post my belongings to me, will you? That would be helpful.’
Ewan just nods, apparently speechless.
‘Coming through,’ I mutter and bend my legs sideways as Clarence and Fern walk down the centre of the van and out the back like it’s the aisle of a church and they’re doing the wedding march. They never take their eyes off each other and I’m surprised they don’t miss their footing and tumble into a messy, sweaty heap on the ground outside Winnie and just stay there doing whatever they are definitely going to do in the next B&B they see on the drive back. I would have to move them along if they were on the ground outside of Winnie, I really would.
‘Well now,’ I say when they’ve gone. ‘Well. Now. I tell you one thing, Ewan Grainger, and that’s the fact I would be willing to bet they stop at the first place with a bed they find on their way home. What an amazingly super-duper fast relationship that was. Ah well. More coffee?’ I hold my empty cup up and smile at him invitingly.
