Tess had blown caution and finance to the wind with a huge shop at Sainsbury’s. She’d bought an ocean of seafood, a bottle of wine, a date and walnut loaf, blackberries the size of fifty pence pieces and dark organic chocolate. She was going to cook his favourite meal of seafood linguine and blackberry and apple crumble. It didn’t stretch her culinary skills, but once, when they’d played a game of What If, he’d chosen this meal to be his last request meal. It somehow seemed appropriate.
Tess had been descaling fish and peeling prawns for ten minutes before she realised that she’d left the linguine in the staff room.
‘Damn.’
She held her forehead in frustration. She could hardly ask Blake to pick up his you’re dumped ingredients himself, so she didn’t have a choice. She’d have to drive a couple of miles to Jackson’s Store in the next village and as it was now nearly six o’clock already, she’d have to get a move on before the shop closed. Tess hurriedly covered the prawns with a food net, washed her hands and grabbed her handbag from the kitchen table.
Soon she was driving along the narrow winding country roads, her mind awash with thoughts of how to finish with Blake. Perhaps she should explain in the Star Trek terminology he was familiar with. ‘I need space, this is the final frontier.’
Tess slowed her car down to a walking pace, enabling a large delivery van to edge past her on the other side of the narrow twisting lane. Driving closer to the lane’s hedges, she cringed as twigs squeaked along her car’s windows and paintwork. In her rear-view mirror she saw a black Land Rover Defender pull up behind her as the delivery van manoeuvred his way past them. She peered into her rear-view mirror again to look at the driver. He looked vaguely familiar.
Catching sight of her face in the mirror, she stared in horror. Her reflection was crusty and peeling, reminding her of Marlow in The Singing Detective. How could she have suddenly developed psoriasis of such monstrous proportions? On closer inspection, and to her great relief, she recognised fish scales.
The road was now clear and a quick beep from the Land Rover behind only gave her a few seconds to brush the scales off her face. She slipped the gear stick into first, pressed her foot on the accelerator and continued on to the store.
Indicating left, she turned into the small parking area outside Jackson’s. She was looking in her handbag, hunting for a mint, when the Land Rover pulled alongside her. It towered above her Mini, its paintwork gleaming like melted tar in the bright sunshine. She was still searching through her messy bag when the Defender door slammed shut on the driver’s side. Tess looked up and saw two dogs rubbing dribble against the inside of the rear window. Recognising them, her heartbeat quickened.
Then she saw him. He walked so close to the front of her bonnet that she could almost see his eyelashes. Tess breathed deeply and looked back at the two furry faces that were panting in much the same way that she was.
What should she do now? She needed pasta. Should she wait until he’d left? Surely she couldn’t come face-to-face with him without her make-up on and smelling of prawns? But it was getting late and she had to prepare the crumble before Blake arrived. She had no option. She’d just have to dodge him in the aisles. Her heart was hammering. She opened the car door, climbed out and walked towards the shop. Tess hesitated. Her hand rested on the flaking paintwork before she took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
A smell of spices filled the air. She couldn’t see him but there were only five small aisles so he couldn’t be far away. It was a small intimate shop and she was beginning to waver again and think about hiding in the car until he’d left. Walking alongside shelving that displayed loaves, rolls and cakes, Tess’s eyes scanned ahead. The pasta wasn’t on this aisle so there wouldn’t be a quick getaway. Turning into the next aisle, she stopped. He was sitting on his heels studying a dog food label, with two pints of semi-skimmed milk tucked under one arm.
Tess rocked on her feet, not knowing whether to back away, or take a step closer. Slowly, almost tiptoeing, she moved forwards. He was now six feet away and thankfully still engrossed in the ingredients on the can. Carefully, she passed behind him, holding an in-breath. She almost brushed against his arm. His hair was tousled as if he’d just got out of bed and, on closer inspection, she noticed that his clothes were splattered and smeared with paint. Perhaps he’d been decorating. She passed behind him but didn’t dare look back.
Around the next aisle she spotted sauce mixes and dried pasta. Having quickly snatched up a packet of linguine, she took it straight to the till. With a bit of luck she’d be out of there before he needed to pay. Tess placed the packet on the counter.
‘Hello, is that all?’ asked Mr Jackson.
‘Hi. Yes, thanks.’
‘Have you settled in?’
‘What? Oh yes, thank you. Just cooking?’
‘Anything special?’
‘Seafood linguine. I’m in a bit of a rush actually.’ Tess discreetly turned to see if the man with the dogs was in sight. Thankfully he wasn’t.
‘You youngsters are always in a rush. Do you need a mobile top up?’
‘Just the pasta, thanks.’
‘Stamps?’
‘Not today.’
‘How about a lottery ticket? Might be your lucky day.’
‘Believe me, it isn’t. Just the pasta, please.’
‘Okay. That’ll be one pound, ten pence, please.’
Tess lifted her bag onto the counter and felt for her purse. ‘Won’t be a sec. My purse is here somewhere.’ She searched manically through her cavernous handbag. Hot with embarrassment, she emptied the detritus of her bag bit by bit onto the counter. A packet of tissues, a lipstick, a mobile phone, a set of keys, a half-eaten Kit Kat, several out of date receipts, a packet of painkillers, three biros and some mints. No purse.
‘I’m really sorry. I must have left my purse at home. Can I bring in the money tomorrow?’
Mr Jackson leaned forwards, sniffed and furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted.
‘Here, my treat.’
A paint-splattered hand placed a two pound coin on the counter. In front of them all lay the contents of her bag looking like a car boot sale. She knew without looking that the deep voice and tanned hand belonged to him. By now her face was on fire with shame as she piled everything back into her bag. She couldn’t ignore him, so she quickly glanced at him. Yes – he was gorgeous.
She looked away. ‘I couldn’t possibly, but thank you. I’m sure Mr Jackson wouldn’t mind if I called in tomorrow with the money.’ She gave the storeowner a wide-eyed look, trying to convey an urgent telepathic message to him. His mind obviously wasn’t receiving the signal, so she smiled through gritted teeth, daring him to say no with her glare.
Mr Jackson was oblivious to her embarrassment. His pale eyes were scrutinising her face. ‘I’m closing in ten minutes and I need to cash up and make the till balance. Could you owe this gentleman instead?’
Accepting defeat and wanting to escape this unbearable embarrassment as soon as possible, she accepted the coin without looking up again. ‘Thank you very much. I’ll get it back to you.’
‘Please, don’t worry. I’m happy to help.’
Tess held out her hand for the change, picked up the pasta, said a very quick goodbye to the two men then hurried out of the store.
Turning on the ignition, she reversed and sped home leaving a whirlwind of dust in the car park. She stopped outside Rose Cottage, turned off the engine and took a deep breath. What must she have looked like? As if to clarify her thoughts, Tess pulled down the mirror behind her sun visor and studied her reflection. As she peered at the crusty fish scales decorating her cheeks, the Black Land Rover roared past her car.
She groaned in despair.
Chapter Five
Blake shook hands with the glamorous owner of the house he had just valued. ‘Thanks for showing me around. I’ll get a letter in the post to you confirming my valuation.’
&nbs
p; The woman seemed reluctant to release his hand. ‘I’m in most days.’
Blake smirked, used to lonely housewives flirting with him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
The woman held his gaze while slowly closing her front door. He turned and walked down the garden path. Still got the old Snipes’ charm, he thought. He sneezed then muttered to himself as he opened the door. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he sniffed deeply.
‘Bloody pollen.’ He opened the two front windows, loosened his tie and stretched across the passenger seat for his cigarettes.
Blake was twenty-nine and had an air about him that swayed between self-confidence and arrogance. His cropped hair was fair and despite needing to lose a few pounds, he was an attractive man who made many a female vendor fall over their words in a fluster. He’d been working at Price and Finkle Estate Agency for nine years, having joined them after leaving college. He had slowly worked his way up the corporate ladder, from general dogsbody to associate director. A position he wished would impress Tess more than it seemed to.
Home was a small modern mews house in the centre of town and although he’d tried numerous times to persuade Tess to move in with him, she’d stubbornly decided to rent a tiny cottage out in the sticks, instead. You could dress it up all you liked by calling it Rose Cottage, he thought, but the fact was that the air smelt of cow shit and the village green was dotted with the stuff. To add insult to injury, the fields of floating pollen and exploding seeds made his hay fever worse. Tess called it nature’s loveliness. He called it nature’s slovenliness. Surely in his late twenties he should be at the peak of fitness and health? Instead, he usually felt drained and drowsy by coughing in the city or sneezing in the countryside.
An off-the-cuff remark by a colleague who’d mentioned smoking, coughing and cancer in one shocking sentence, had forced him to book a doctor’s appointment that evening, after work. His constant fatigue had been affecting his job and he had made several silly mistakes recently. It hadn’t helped his clients’ confidence in him when he’d posted house descriptions and valuation confirmation letters to the wrong addresses. That very morning, one couple had taken their business elsewhere after they’d received a letter describing their newly renovated barn conversion as, ‘tired and in need of extensive upgrading.’ He’d been in trouble at work for his mistake and knew it was time to visit his doctor.
But it wasn’t only his health that Blake had on his mind. He’d felt uneasy since eavesdropping on Tess and Holly’s conversation the previous week. His attempt to show her just how witty and professional he was, had backfired miserably in the local coffee shop. He’d tried to make her feel possessive with his talk of Amsterdam. He’d tried to make her laugh at silly remarks that would have had her giggling last year. He’d tried to make her see that he possessed sharp business acumen while on the telephone to the office. But nothing had worked. She’d stormed off and although he’d gone round to eat that same night, she’d been distant and her friend Holly had played gooseberry.
They hadn’t seen each other for the past few days and had only communicated through a couple of stilted phone conversations. Tess had continued to make excuses not to see him and it had surprised him just how much he’d missed her. He was beginning to wonder if she had dumped him without saying as much but to his great relief, Tess had phoned him that morning to invite him round for some seafood linguine. Surely that was a good sign? After all, you don’t go to the trouble of cooking dinner for someone you want to finish with, do you? Let alone choose to cook their favourite meal.
Later that day, Blake stood outside the doctor’s surgery sighing with a huge sense of relief. He was suffering from asthma, not the unmentionable – not the dreaded C word. In fact, the appointment also had an additional benefit. Tess knew that he’d been suffering with a persistent cough and she’d urged him to see someone about it. Unwittingly, she had set up the backdrop for his iniquitous lie. A deceit that he hoped he wouldn’t have to carry out, but one that he would willingly go ahead with if it prevented her from ending their relationship.
Tess replaced the receiver and sighed. She had rushed for nothing. Blake had called to tell her that he’d been delayed due to an appointment and he wouldn’t get to Halston until later. She looked across at the neatly laid table, anxiety gnawing away in the pit of her stomach. She’d hoped that by eight o’clock they’d have finished their dinner and would be hugging goodbye and promising to keep in touch on Facebook. No dramas. No tears. Just two adults shaking hands and heading off in opposite directions. Fat chance!
She reluctantly put the raw seafood in the fridge and covered over the other ingredients on the worktop. It was nearly half past six and he wasn’t arriving for another hour. Weary from the heat, she picked up the packet of pasta and laid the cool plastic packaging against her forehead. She felt sick with nerves about telling Blake they were over and confused that the man in the shop had unsettled her in some way. Tess could feel the throb of a headache threatening and decided to relax and switch off for half an hour with a glass of Australian wine and an Australian soap. Damn Blake. He couldn’t even turn up on time to be dumped!
Tess threw the packet of linguine down onto the worktop in frustration. A jar of rosemary fell from the spice rack and sprinkled its contents onto a parcel that had been sitting next to the kettle. Tess began to clear up the herbs and caught sight of the brown paper package while holding a palm full of rosemary. She had forgotten about the parcel that the postman had entrusted to her to deliver to Mrs Campbell across the road. Her elderly neighbour had been out when he’d knocked on her door that morning on his round. That was it then. There’d be no Neighbours watched on television now. Instead she’d have to muster the energy to actually visit one.
Tess crossed the road carrying the parcel. She’d only spoken to her neighbour half a dozen times since moving to Rose Cottage in March, but she was a sweet old lady. The gravel on Mrs Campbell’s path crunched with each footstep, making Tess grimace at the thought of it scuffing her heels. Seconds after knocking, she could see a shadow shuffling towards her through the stained glass window in the front door.
‘Hello, Mrs Campbell. The postman asked me to pass this on to you.’
‘Tess dear, do come in.’
Tess followed the old lady’s stooped frame down the hall and into her lounge. The room boasted velour upholstery, swirly-patterned carpets, a caged budgie in the corner and lots of dusty knick-knacks. A grandfather clock chimed half past the hour in one corner and the room smelt of old biscuits and mothballs. Tess handed her the package.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind. How did you know it was my birthday? Do sit down.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know. The postman gave it to me. Happy birthday, though.’
‘What, dear? I must be getting old, Tess dear. I don’t hear so well.’
‘I said happy birthday and I don’t know what the present is,’ said Tess, loudly.
‘Oh, I see. It’s a surprise, is it? What a thoughtful girl you are.’
Tess closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and took a deep breath. She was fond of Mrs Campbell and had found out through their conversations that she was a widow in her late eighties and walked slowly with stooped shoulders due to osteoporosis and arthritis. She thought she’d better change the subject to avoid further confusion. ‘How’s Chippy?’ Tess shouted, pointing towards the birdcage.
‘He’s a good boy. Aren’t you, Chippy? Look! I’ve got another birthday present.’ Mrs Campbell waved the parcel at her green and yellow budgerigar. She turned back to Tess. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Tess really wasn’t in the mood for chatting right now. With so much on her mind, it was taking all her energy to make small talk with a smile.
‘Thank you, but I’ve got dinner in the oven and it’s nearly ready,’ she fibbed. ‘I just wanted to pass on the parcel. I’m sorry I’ve got to dash, but we’ll catch up soon.’
‘Of course. Thank you again, my dear.’
Tess stood up and followed Mrs Campbell down the hallway.
‘Do you know I’ve had five visitors today, including you?’
‘That’s lovely. Birthdays should be spent with family.’
‘Oh, the visitors weren’t family. My children live down south, but they did send me a lovely camera for my birthday. You just press a button, apparently. It’s my first dignified one.’
‘Digital. Lucky you.’
Mrs Campbell smiled to reveal crooked beige teeth. Her lips were wrinkled with lines that splayed upwards and outwards, like a child’s drawing of the sun’s rays. Her cerise lipstick had worn off her lips but still lurked in the ridges of her deep wrinkles. ‘Neighbours have been popping in. Isn’t it funny how everyone batons down the hatches in winter and you never see a soul? Then the days get longer and warmer and they all come out.’
Tess waited while Mrs Campbell reached the front door and turned to continue talking. ‘Mrs Pringle from next to the church hall called in with some flowers, and Daniel, our local artist, picked me up at lunch time in his enormous car and took me for a sherry at The Royal Oak. Lovely boy, but always covered in paint splashes. How we chuckled when he tried to heave my old bones up into that high seat. Always says hello when he passes with his dogs.’
Tess was suddenly very interested in this new conversation. Paint. Big car. Dogs. ‘Daniel, you say?’
‘Yes. Did I say he was an artist?’
‘You did. Does Daniel have dark hair? Is he tall and tanned?’
‘Oh, you’ve met him then?’
‘Sort of.’ Tess was impatient to find out as much as she could about him. ‘Does he live in the village?’
‘He lives at—’
You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story! Page 3
