You've Got My Number: Warm your heart this winter with this uplifting and deliciously romantic story!

by Angela Barton

  Blake was growing more comfortable with his lie. He was even convincing himself that he was justified in his deceit. After all, he thought as he rubbed his hair dry, it wasn’t his fault that he’d been forced into such a difficult situation. Tess needed looking after and he was the one to do it. Wasn’t he just protecting her from an unwise decision? He hadn’t asked for all the extra pampering he was receiving from her. It wasn’t his fault that she wanted to indulge him. Okay, he may have told a fib, but what was the harm in a little white lie if Tess still had him to protect her? In a month or two he’d tell her that he’d been cured and they could get on with a normal life.

  Nottingham City Centre was busy for a Thursday evening. People bustled in all directions, some going home having worked late and others dressed up for an evening out. A group of short-skirted giggling girls hobbled by, their heels click-clacking on the pavement. Blake turned to admire their bare legs as they passed him. He made his way through the market area into Maddox Square. Wonderful smells of garlic and spices drifted along the cobbled streets and music blared out of doorways. He passed The Blue Olive and glanced over at the shop where Tess worked. Turning the corner, the square opened up before him. People were still sitting outside under the fairy lit trees even though autumn was fast approaching. He wound his way through tables and chairs and walked in through the swing doors of The Llama Lounge.

  Leather settees and wooden tables dotted the lounge area. Black and white photographs of actors and singers decorated the walls, candles had been lit and George Ezra was singing through the sound system. Blake spotted Kent leaning on the bar, ordering a drink. He walked over and slapped him on the back.

  ‘Alright, mate?’

  ‘Blake, good timing. What can I get you?’

  ‘A pint of bitter. I’ll grab a seat.’

  He wandered over to a battered but comfortable sofa near the window.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Blake, accepting the glass from his friend and taking several gulps.

  ‘How’s Tess?’ asked Kent. ‘I haven’t seen her since the dinner party in June.’

  ‘She’s fine, thanks. Did you see her photograph in the paper?’

  ‘Yeh. She’s a pretty girl but the photo looked a bit weird.’ Kent wiped creamy froth from his mouth.

  ‘They told her to pose. She was a bit miffed about it. How’s Randy?’

  ‘You know she hates you calling her that! Miranda’s fine, thanks. I’ve got a bit of a dilemma actually. Her sister’s getting married on the third of November, on a Friday for God’s sake. Who gets married on a Friday? That’s the date we should be flying to Amsterdam for my stag break. Now Miranda’s suggesting the stag party flies out on the Saturday instead, so I can go to the wedding. That’ll mean no drinking at the wedding and a day less in Amsterdam. It’s not as if Miranda’s even close to her sister. She lives in Scotland and I’ve only met her twice.’

  ‘Can’t you move Amsterdam back a week or two?’

  ‘No. The hotel’s been booked so I’ll lose the deposit.’

  Blake thought it would have suited him to put back the stag weekend. If it were moved into December he would have had another payday.

  ‘D’you think you’re going to make it to Amsterdam?’ asked Kent.

  ‘If Halcott Manor sells. To be honest, I might be struggling if it doesn’t. I could really do with the commission.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it’d take long to sell.’

  Blake drained his pint and got up to get the next round in. ‘Same again?’

  Kent pointed to his half full glass and shook his head.

  Blake turned towards the bar then looked back over his shoulder at his friend. ‘You could always dump Randy!’ He winked. ‘Then you could go to Amsterdam when you want.’

  Leaning against the bar waiting to be served, Blake noticed a barmaid with red hair and a shapely figure. The giddy buzz of alcohol made Blake stare unselfconsciously. He’d drunk a large glass of wine before leaving home and had downed his first pint quickly on an empty stomach. Blake raised a ten-pound note and smiled when the girl came to serve him. He noticed a sign behind her that read, Delicious New Pear Cocktail – Ask for Details. Great, he had a conversation starter.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Tell me about your lovely pear.’ Blake raised an eyebrow at his innuendo.

  ‘What?’

  Blake pointed to the sign.

  ‘Oh. It’s made from Poire Williams liqueur, Grand Marnier with mandarin and pear juice. It’s quite sweet and usually the ladies drink it, so if you prefer a more bitter drink you should go for a gin based drink, like Bitter Bomb or Fallen Angel.’

  He smirked while lounging across the bar. ‘A Fallen Angel sounds intriguing.’

  The girl turned her back on him and began making the cocktail, leaving Blake wondering why his charm didn’t seem to be working with her. It worked on many women whose houses he valued.

  Ninety minutes later, Blake had drunk four pints of beer, one cocktail and two Jack Daniel’s. He felt his eyes roll out of focus whenever he looked at his colleague.

  ‘Not driving to Tess’s place tonight, then?’ asked Kent.

  Blake slurred his speech. ‘I’ll shee how I feel later. A naan bread and rice will mop up most of the alcohol.’ Blake hiccupped loudly, forcibly jolting him back into his seat.

  ‘I think you’d better get a taxi. A sponge the size of a bucket wouldn’t soak up what you’ve put away in the last couple of hours.’

  Blake was feeling relaxed and happy although his eyes weren’t focusing too well. They returned to discussing their first topic of the evening, but hadn’t reached any conclusions to the dilemma of Kent’s stag do.

  ‘Ah, dilemmash.’ Blake leant back in his chair, raising his arms and clasping his hands together behind his head.

  ‘Do you ever find yourself cornered?’ asked Kent.

  ‘I have my momentsh.’ Blake leaned forwards and tapped the side of his nose, knowingly.

  ‘Go on then. Spill the beans.’

  ‘No, mate. It’s a secret.’

  ‘I might be able to help.’

  Blake blinked slowly, feeling very tired and a little emotional. Kent was a good bloke and had been a friend for many years at the agency. Perhaps he should share his secret and get a little support and understanding for his tricky predicament.

  ‘Okay, but promise you won’t tell a shoul.’

  His colleague nodded and leaned forwards.

  Blake swayed slightly. ‘I’ve told Tess a lie.’ He put his forefinger to his lips and exaggerated a shushing sound.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘She was going to dump me. Me!’ He pointed to his chest and looked incredulous at the thought. ‘What could I do?’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I told her I was sick.’ Blake nodded, smugly. ‘Mate, I’ve got to tell you, it sheems to be working like a dream. I know, I know,’ he said, holding his hands aloft in mock surrender. ‘You don’t need to tell me. It was a bit shneaky, but she needs me.’ He wagged his finger at Kent.

  ‘Let me get this right,’ said Kent. ‘You’re telling me that you’re letting Tess believe that you’re ill, when you’re not?’

  Blake stifled a burp that jerked him backwards again. He finished his Jack Daniel’s with a single gulp. ‘Well, putting it like that, it shounds bad. But I’m thinking of her. Buying a bit of time.’

  Kent shook his head slowly. ‘What did you say you were suffering from?’

  ‘Cansher.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Shhh!’

  ‘I can’t get my head around this.’

  ‘It’sh not a big deal. In a few months I’ll tell that her I’m okay. I only did it because… I love her. I want to look after her. Protect her. How can I do that if she dumpsh me?’ Blake raised his shoulders and extended up-turned palms in question.

  Kent raised his voice. ‘But you’re lying to her.’

  ‘Only temporly… tempily… on
ly for a bit.’

  ‘That’s okay, then,’ said Kent, sarcastically. ‘Hey, Tess, I’m lying to you and worrying you sick, but it’s only temporary.’

  ‘You know what I mean, mate. Come on! You musht have lied to Randy now and again.’

  ‘A couple of times—’

  ‘There you go then.’ Blake leaned back and rested one ankle on his bent knee.

  ‘If you’d let me finish, I was going to say when I’d booked a secret weekend away and I didn’t want her to find out where we were going. And then when I needed her to book a day off, so I could propose in a hot air balloon.’ Kent shook his head. ‘I need some fresh air. I’m feeling claustrophobic in here.’

  ‘Let’sh go for a curry then.’

  ‘You know what? Suddenly I don’t feel very hungry. I’m calling it a day.’

  ‘But you asked me to explain. You shaid you could help with my problem.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. That’s you being a complete and utter manipulating bastard.’ Kent scraped his chair back and stood up. ‘She’s too good for you.’

  Blake looked up at him and tried to focus. ‘Have another drink before we go to Ghandishh.’

  ‘How about you just fuck off, Blake!’ Kent threw a twenty-pound note on the table, punched the door open and left.

  Blake turned a little unsteadily and shouted after him, ‘Don’t tell anyone. I said it was a shecret.’

  He ordered another whiskey and started to feel sorry for himself. He shouldn’t have told Kent. He wouldn’t understand. Now he had a headache and could do with one of Tess’s magical massages. He’d pay up after this drink and make his way over to Rose Cottage.

  Blake stumbled through Maddox Square. He found his car after a few wrong turns and then hunted for his keys. They weren’t in his trouser pockets. Damn. Had he left them in the bar? He jumped up and down in the gutter. This made him feel sick and attracted giggles from three girls who were walking past with linked arms. His drunken gymnastics worked. His keys jingled inside his jacket pocket. He opened the door and slumped into the driver’s seat. Blake shook his head, feeling very tired and a little nauseous. Maybe he was a little over the legal limit for driving, but the roads were quiet heading towards Halston. If he took it slowly, he’d get to Tess’s safely.

  He started his car and gingerly emerged from his parking space. Turning left, he headed for the roundabout that would take him in the direction of Halston. The lights seemed to confuse him as he struggled to stay in his lane. The bright yellow streetlights and red brake lights made him squint. He slowed down when he saw an amber light and stopped when it turned to red. Blake decided to close his eyes for ten seconds. He was so tired.

  A sharp knocking on the window woke him with a start. He opened his eyes and saw flashing blue lights. Now what part of the traffic light sequence were they?

  The following morning Tess woke up at seven fifteen when her alarm clock beeped. She pressed the snooze button that gave her another five minutes. Slowly remembering Joy’s unpleasant phone call, and Blake’s night out, she rolled over to see if he’d slipped into bed beside her while she’d been asleep. The other half of the bed was still tidy and cold, the pillow still plump. She reached over to her bedside table and picked up her mobile. No missed calls or messages. He must have drunk too much and sensibly stayed at his own place in town.

  She heaved herself into a sitting position with her legs dangling out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Stifling a yawn, she slid her feet into her slippers and walked to the bathroom. A shower always revived her and within twenty minutes she was humming a tune while rubbing cream blusher onto her cheeks. Tess dried her hair, got dressed and ran downstairs to make some breakfast. She was just pouring milk onto her cornflakes, when her mobile rang at five past eight. She really should have left five minutes ago and it could well be Joy again. Then again, it could be important.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Tess, it’s me.’

  ‘Blake? Why didn’t you call me? Have you got a sore throat, you sound awful?’

  ‘Can you come and pick me up?’

  ‘I’m late for work. Where are you?’

  ‘At the central police station.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  September arrived, bringing with it grumbling mauve clouds that bruised the sky. A watery sunshine pushed its way through fast-moving clouds and shone upon Halston. During the night, a violent storm had swept through the village, loosening roof tiles and knocking over fence panels. This morning the gales had subsided, but the aftermath had woken the villagers early. Swathed in coats and scarves, neighbours righted upturned wheelie bins, collected snapped branches and rescued laundry that had been left on the washing line and was now decorating trees.

  It had been a couple of weeks since Daniel had spoken to Tess. He hadn’t seen her in the village since he’d helped her to pick blackberries and some days he even lingered self-consciously by the same bramble bush, while walking his dogs. Plans for his art exhibition were progressing well, but now he had to contact Tess somehow. He kicked himself for not getting her number because all he knew was that she lived close to the blackberry bush.

  Daniel had slept through the alarm he’d set himself that morning. He’d painted until the early hours the previous evening, while listening to the buffeting of the tall trees in the garden. The rain had lashed against the windows and the thunder had rocked the room when the storm had passed overhead. The intensity of nature had inspired him to paint, smear, rub, daub and splatter. This morning he’d slept until nine thirty, waking in a panic and rushing downstairs to find the dogs sulking and desperate to be let out into the garden. It was now nearly eleven and he was fastening their harnesses.

  ‘Come on, girls, let’s go.’

  Having left The Rookery, Daniel turned to lock the front door with difficulty, as one arm was outstretched behind him restraining his two excited spaniels. They were pulling towards the enormous metal gates and the village green beyond. Daniel pulled them back the obligatory three times while checking that the front door was definitely locked.

  ‘Whoa!’ he shouted as the dogs strained on their leads. ‘Who’s taking who for a walk here?’

  Daniel pulled open one of the front gates that creaked on its hinges. He was disappointed to see that the electric fence and Farmer Bill’s cows had been moved to the front of The Royal Oak. The groundsman was working on the cricket pitch and several families were flying kites, kicking footballs or walking dogs. He decided to walk through the village to a smaller field that still had plenty of room for the dogs to have a good run.

  The clouds were school-jumper grey and yellow leaves fluttered to the floor with each gust of wind. Daniel stopped to read a planning application notice, holding it down with a finger as a corner of the paper flapped. He kicked a fallen apple and waved to a neighbour. Cows bellowed and rooks flew overhead, cawing their displeasure at the blustery weather.

  He spotted Mabel, taking in some washing. Mabel was a widow, a silver-haired old lady who reminded Daniel of his late grandmother. As a small boy he would always receive a lavender-scented hug and silver foil-wrapped chocolate coins whenever he visited his mother’s mother.

  ‘Morning, Mabel. You’re taking your washing in. Do you know something about the weather that I don’t?’

  ‘How nice to see you.’ She tottered towards him, tipping several pegs into a basket. ‘I’ve been listening to the local radio station and they say that another downpour is on its way. We do need some rain though, don’t we? We’ve had a long hot summer.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve been spoilt this summer. I suppose it couldn’t last forever.’

  ‘Sadly not. I saw the poster for your art exhibition in Jackson’s window. You’ll be leaving us for London before long.’

  ‘Not me. Too many memories here in Halston to ever leave, besides, I love it at The Rookery.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true.’ Mabel daydreamed over Daniel’s shoulders.

  ‘Penny for the
m?’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking of my husband, George. When loved ones pass on, you feel closer to them if you don’t move away.’ She turned and pointed to a neat little border edging the lawn. ‘George spent hours planting and weeding. If I close my eyes I can see him there on his kneeling cushion with his spade, winking at me before asking for a cuppa. He built that barbeque over there and the bookshelves in the dining room. It’s comforting, you know?’

  ‘I do, Mabel,’ he said, touching her age-spotted hand.

  Daniel was jolted sideways. Goya and Gogh were growing impatient and pulling.

  ‘I think they’re trying to tell you something.’ Mabel chuckled.

  ‘I pretend I’m in charge, but we all know different.’

  They laughed and said goodbye.

  The cricket pitch and village green were behind him now. He continued along the narrow main road that was flanked on either side with cottages. A short way ahead, Daniel recognised the small hunched figure of Mrs Campbell chatting on a neighbour’s doorstep. He couldn’t see whom she was talking to because the figure was hidden from view by a rose bush. As he reached the gate where Mrs Campbell was in conversation, a gust of wind took his breath away and blew his jacket wide open like leather wings. He looked up and felt an unexpected rush of excitement. Tess was standing in the doorway. Cursing to himself for blushing like a teenager, he raised an arm and smiled. He saw her return his wave. He’d have loved to stop and talk, but Mrs Campbell was mid-flow, so he continued on with the dogs. His pace picked up with a smile on his face. At least he knew where she lived now.

  Tess had been preparing a home-made pizza for lunch. Blake was calling in before going to his mother’s later in the afternoon to finally replace her roof tile. Tess had been happily kneading and punching the dough when a knock at the front door had disturbed her.

  ‘You’re early,’ she shouted, wondering why Blake hadn’t let himself in.

  She shook the loose flour from her hands into the sink and hurried towards the front door. Gingerly she opened it with doughy fingers. Tess smiled weakly when she saw Mrs Campbell at the door, knowing that the old lady didn’t do two-minute chats.