by Emma Davies
Isobel nodded, gratitude flowing over her, and a sudden unexpected anxiety. ‘Will I see you in the morning?’ she asked.
‘You bet,’ grinned Tom. ‘I’m coming to breakfast.’
Chapter 19
For the first ten minutes or so after he woke up, Tom stared up at the ceiling with a big wide grin on his face. He couldn't help it, he'd never felt this way before. He couldn't remember any of his journey home the night before after leaving Isobel. Instead, it had been quite a surprise to arrive at his cottage and on entering he had sat in the kitchen for quite some time with an equally wide grin on his face. He hadn't thought he would be able to sleep at all, but the moment his head touched the pillow he was out for the count.
This morning his recollection of the previous day, although not quite as vivid, was just as extraordinary. He really shouldn’t be smiling though. He wouldn’t have wished the things that Isobel had shared with him on anyone, and yet, she had shared them with him, and he felt like a giddy school boy. She wasn’t the only one whose perception had shifted over the last few days. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he felt as if he not only knew where he was headed, but that he was headed there for the right reasons.
A check of his clock confirmed just how early it was, but Tom threw back the covers with a sheepish grin and headed for the shower anyway. Judging by the state of him he might well need to make it a cold one.
He hadn't even made it halfway across the yard at Joy’s Acre before the front door opened and Maddie came out to meet him. He was surprised to see that her normal cheerful greeting was missing.
‘Morning, Mads, is everything all right?’
She gave him a rather fierce look. ‘Well I hope so,’ she said. ‘That may well depend on your answer to my next question. Although I am at least pleased to see that you made it home last night.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Do you even need to ask the question? Given that what you want to ask is whether I had my wicked way with Isobel last night, and you've already had the answer.’
Maddie had the grace to look embarrassed even though there was still a little glint in her eye. ‘It's not that, Tom, I…’
‘Yes it is. That’s exactly what it is.’ He felt a knot of resentment tighten in his stomach. He knew he had a bit of a reputation at Joy’s Acre, but he had also thought that they knew he had never treated anyone badly, and never would. ‘Do you really think so little of me?’
Maddie swallowed. ‘That has nothing to do with it, Tom, you know I think the world of you, but Isobel is our guest, and more importantly our first guest. It matters a very great deal that she is happy and enjoys her stay and, when I see her like I did yesterday, looking so upset, and with you hot on her tail, what am I supposed to think?’
He glared at her. ‘Oh, I don’t know… perhaps that I was trying to help rather than automatically think that I was the cause of her upset? Thanks a lot, Maddie.’
She blushed. ‘I admit, I might have jumped to the wrong conclusion…’ She trailed off, hanging her head. ‘I'm sorry. That was incredibly rude of me.’
‘Yes, it bloody well was. You’re right, Isobel was upset, but not because of anything I’d done. In fact, she’d had the most amazing day that came out of nowhere, and spent most of it playing in a string quartet at a wedding. You can ask her about it if you like.’ He paused for a moment, trying to calm down. ‘Unfortunately though, it brought back some memories of her past that made her angry and, when I tried to talk to her about it, she insisted we come back here.’ He gave her a very direct look. ‘I also promised I wouldn't discuss it with anyone.’
‘No, no, of course not. It’s none of my business—’
‘No, it isn’t. And in case it had escaped your attention, we’re both grown adults. I happen to care a great deal about Isobel, and I understand perfectly that she’s our guest, but whatever happens between us is our business and no one else’s.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Maddie, Isobel is fine. She loves it here, actually, so you really have nothing to worry about. Ask her, if you don’t believe me. Now I'm just on my way over there to have a chat about a couple of things, so do excuse me.’
Maddie held out a hand. ‘Tom, I am sorry. I should never have said anything… I was just being overprotective, and interfering…’
He softened slightly at the look on her face. ‘You care, Maddie, I get that. Just don’t shove it down my throat, okay?’
She nodded.
‘I also know that I have a roof to be getting on with, so you needn’t worry about that either.’ He checked his watch. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he said, walking away, fully aware that Maddie was still staring after him.
Isobel answered the door so quickly he wondered whether she’d been standing behind it waiting for him, but then he chased the thought from his head. As if.
‘Morning!’ Her smile was bright as she stood back to let him in. ‘Oh,’ she faltered. ‘Is everything okay?’
Tom nodded. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had my head chewed off by Maddie.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Why would she do that?’
It was on the tip of Tom’s tongue to tell her, but then he thought better of it. He didn’t want to make her feel awkward.
‘Just a misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘Never mind, it’s nothing to worry about.’ He brightened his face. ‘So anyway, what about you? I was about to ask if you'd managed to get any sleep, but I'm guessing that you might have.’
Isobel's face shone. She had on another simple cotton shift dress, hair loose and flowing over her shoulders; everything about her looked more vibrant than he remembered.
‘I did. I had the most amazing sleep. I don't think I woke up at all. Mind you, as soon as I was awake, that was it, I had to get up and get going. I’m ridiculously excited.’
‘I can see.’ Tom laughed. ‘But that's okay, in fact it's more than okay. I did wonder how you would be feeling this morning. Whether you would still be positive about things, or if the doubts had begun to creep back in again.’
She shook her head firmly. ‘Nope,’ she said. ‘I feel better than I have in ages—’ She stopped suddenly, frowning. ‘It’s bizarre because nothing has actually changed, but suddenly everything seems so simple, and I'm determined to keep it that way. When I first got up I thought about all the plans I should be making, but then I realised that I don't want to make any at all. I'm just going to enjoy letting things be for a while, and simply see what happens.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘But first I'm going to have some breakfast, I'm starving!’ She touched his sleeve. ‘Come on.’
Tom followed her into the kitchen where he could see that the table was already laid for two. He laid the book he’d been carrying face down next to one of the plates.
‘I guessed that Trixie would be up early, and I was right. Although I think I made her jump when she saw me, I was practically lying in wait for her.’ She indicated the middle of the table. ‘I got what I went for though,’ she added. ‘When I leave here I'm going to have to get the recipe for these muffins. I can't get enough of them.’
Tom thought about whether he should say anything, but instead he just smiled.
‘I don't blame you, they're my favourites too.’ He took a seat. ‘Actually, if you haven't got anything particular to do this morning, I wondered if you might give me a hand with something?’ He waited until she sat down as well. ‘Well actually two things?’
‘Oh?’
‘Although the second thing is more of a question…’
Isobel was already slathering butter onto a muffin. ‘Go on,’ she said, handing it to him. She pulled apart another of the savoury buns, generously buttering this one too and placing it on her own plate.
‘Coffee?’
Tom nodded, licking his lips before he spoke.
‘I wondered if you might like another occasion to practise being brave?’ he said carefully. ‘Although you don’t have to give me your answer just yet, you can have a think about it.’
‘The wedding we’re gigging at is in two weeks’ time,’ he said, ‘and I think you should come and play with us.’
‘No.’ Isobel’s answer was swift and unequivocal, even though delivered through a mouthful of crumbs.
Tom’s own muffin paused halfway to his mouth. ‘How can you just say no like that? After yesterday?’ He wondered if he had offended her in some way.
She smiled. ‘Because you play in a folk band and I’m a classical musician.’
He was about to argue when he caught a tiny twinkle in her eye as she chewed her breakfast. He sat back, shaking his head.
‘Oh, very funny. Hilarious in fact.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I know I’m not worthy to even be in your presence, but despite our lowly status, the lads in the band are really good fun. It’ll be a great day.’ He pulled a slight face. ‘And good practice… you know, for getting back out there again.’
She suddenly sobered. ‘I know, Tom, and I will think about it, but, despite how I’m feeling this morning, there is the small matter of a piece of music to be conjured out of thin air, and although I’ve had one or two ideas, nothing has magically materialised just yet. I do have to be sensible about this, and I just think that my energies might be better spent trying at least to fulfil my contract.’
‘And you’re sure that’s what you want to do? Not just cut your losses and do something else instead?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Only that if you go ahead and submit a piece of work to this agent of yours, he will then be obligated to do something with it. And knowing your story like he does, you're a performance artist first and foremost, that will be uppermost in his mind. So whatever he does with the music you've produced, at some time you will be expected to perform it, surely? Otherwise what would be the point?’
He paused, thinking, but there wasn’t really a way to soften what he had to say next. ‘And I’m just concerned that this might not be what you want to do. That it could escalate, and become the very thing you’ve been trying to leave behind.’
‘Yes, but that would be up to me. I don't have to perform to a massed crowd at all, there will be other ways of easing myself back into it.’
Tom shook his head sadly. ‘I'd like to think you're right, Isobel. But the only way your agent makes any money is if you make any money, and so it's in his best interest to make you as much money as possible. It might not seem that way at first, but I’d be willing to bet that at some point he'll try to convince you that making your story public is the only way to go. And when that happens, you'll have very little control over what comes next, and the next thing you know you’ll be out in front of a massed crowd who the media will already have whipped into a frenzy, and will essentially be baying for your blood.’
She swallowed. ‘But you told me I had no obligation to him,’ she replied, her voice becoming louder.
‘You don’t,’ he said. ‘Until the moment you send him anything… Isobel, I'm not trying to be harsh, simply helping you see the possibility of things. If you don't want to ever perform again in public, then that's fine, if that's what you really want, but I’m not sure that submitting to this agent will allow that. And if you want to compose, then compose, but do it for you… and no one else.’
He grinned, trying to lighten the mood once more. ‘And for God’s sake, please come and gig at the wedding with us. They’re an ugly bunch of bastards, and I get fed up of looking at the back of Pete’s bald head.’
He was relieved to see her smile again. ‘I will think about it,’ she said, taking another bite of her muffin, ‘but no promises. Now what was the other thing you wanted help with?’ She directed a look towards the table. ‘And what’s in that book that you so carefully laid face down?’
He grinned. ‘Have you ever made a corn dolly before?’
‘I don’t even know what one looks like, let alone ever made one.’ She pulled a face. ‘You have to remember that I’ve led a very sheltered life. When you practise more than nine hours a day, every day, it doesn't leave time for other hobbies. I have a feeling that I'll be spectacularly crap at most things.’
‘Or spectacularly brilliant. Come on, you're a musician, you’re hardwired to be creative. I think you might surprise yourself.’
Isobel just laughed. ‘We'll see,’ she said.
After they had finished their breakfast, and were on to their second cup of coffee, Tom pulled the book towards him.
‘I suppose it’s my own fault,’ he said. ‘In that we’ve given each of the cottages a theme, and the latest one is the Thatcher’s Cottage, so… Maddie has in mind a few ideas for decoration which fit with the theme, and one of these includes hanging corn dollies… quite a few by the sound of things.’ He opened the book at one of the more simple styles, pulling out the strands of straw he had tucked there. ‘Once you get the knack, it’s pretty easy really.’
Isobel groaned. ‘And, don’t tell me, it’s getting the knack that’s the difficult bit.’ She peered at the pictures. ‘Go on then, show me.’
Tom got up and moved chairs so that instead of sitting opposite Isobel as he had been, he was now sitting beside her. He shuffled his chair a bit closer. Picking up the strands of straw, he separated them so that he had six in total, arranging them in his fingers to form a set of spokes. He held them out.
‘See? Like this.’ He passed them to her.
Isobel struggled to even hold them, groaning as she fumbled to keep them all in her grasp. ‘This is not going to end well,’ she said, ‘I can tell.’
‘Oh ye of little faith…’ He adjusted them in her hands. ‘Now, pass the strand closest to you over the next two, going clockwise.’
She giggled. ‘What?’
Tom laid his hands on top of hers. They were soft and warm. He gently manoeuvred the finger holding the straw she needed to bend.
‘Now twist the whole thing so that the straw you just crossed over is facing you. And bend this one over the next two.’ Again, he pressed down her finger. He repeated the movement two more times, each time murmuring the instructions in her ear as he leaned in close. Their bare forearms were touching and he was suddenly aware that every hair was standing on end.
He pulled back slowly, relinquishing her hands. ‘I need to go,’ he said, with a rueful grin. ‘I’ve got a roof to thatch. But thank you, both for breakfast, and for your help.’
‘I’m not sure “help” is exactly the right term to be using. I hope you've got lots of straw, I have a feeling I might need it.’
‘I’ll drop some off in a bit. But don’t worry, you have the whole day to practise.’ He stood up and made for the door.
Isobel stared at him.
‘So I shall expect to see a heap of wonderful creations later on.’ He ducked out into the hallway, popping his head back around the door at the last minute. ‘Oh, and have a think about gigging at the wedding with us, won’t you? And keep Tuesday free…’
‘Tuesday—’
‘Yeah. We’ve been invited for dinner with Kate and Adam. And this time I need you to hold my hand.’
Chapter 20
Isobel poured herself a glass of lemonade and carried it back out to the bench in the middle of the garden. Half an hour ago she had picked up the book that Tom had given her, and started to look through it. She had even got so far as to pick up several pieces of straw and begin to think how they might go together, before she realised what she was doing. And the thought made her smile.
She was sitting inside. Again. And it seemed to her now, looking back, that pretty much her whole life had been spent inside. She knew from watching films, and reading books, that people of her age always remembered their childhood summers – long afternoons spent playing outside, arms and legs tanned golden brown, and the feeling that there was all the time in the world. Those hazy lazy days of summer, that's what they were called. Unless you
were Isobel of course, whose summer days were no different from her winter days, or her spring or autumn days for that matter. There was never any time for playing outside, and the delicious feeling of soft warm air on her skin was something she had little experience of.
Well, today was going to be the day that this all changed. She had picked up the book and the pieces of straw, and carried them outside. And then after a few moments she had gone back inside the house to collect a cushion, and now, she had a drink as well. She was all set.
Opening the book again, she began to leaf through the pages, trying to find the design for the corn dolly that Tom had shown her. It was a simple twisted ring, and she began to read through the instructions. Then she picked up six pieces of straw and read the instructions again, and then one more time, trying to remember how Tom had positioned them for her. She put the whole thing down in her lap and smiled, staring across the garden. She could remember his touch, but not much else.
She pushed the thought away and, trying to concentrate once more, she studied the diagram again, but she couldn't even see how to begin, bending down one straw experimentally and then another before lifting them up again so that she was back to the beginning. It was seemingly impossible to follow. She flicked her hair back over her shoulders and read through the text once more, her tongue stuck between her teeth as her eyes flicked between what she was reading and what she held in her hands. Although she wasn't aware of it, each time she made a bend of the straw she gave a little nod.
After a few minutes she could begin to see a coiled pattern emerge, and it was obvious where she had initially gone wrong once or twice; like a dropped stitch in a piece of knitting. She carried on, bending and twisting, until she had reached the ends of the pieces of straw. In her hands she now held what looked almost like rope, a little raggedy in places, but there was definitely a pattern. She set it down on the bench beside her and picked up another six pieces of straw.
