Stewart laughed. ‘What, no Barry White?’
‘I like Kirsty MacColl,’ I said with a shrug.
‘Bit before your time, isn’t she?’ He examined my features. ‘Unless I’ve seriously misjudged your age. In which case, kudos to your Botox guy.’
‘I’m 25,’ I said, smiling. ‘S’pose it reminds me of my mum. She loved a bit of Kirsty. It’s one of my earliest memories, her dancing me round the kitchen to Don’t Come the Cowboy while Dad cooked.’
‘Where is your mum?’
‘Dead. When I was five.’
His eyes filled with sympathy. ‘You’ve had some bad luck, kid,’ he said gently.
‘Yeah.’ I summoned a smile. ‘Come on, let’s cheer up. Here. Lie back with me.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Hello.’
I nudged him. ‘To look at the sky, I meant. Cheeky person.’
We lay back on the rock, side by side. The day had drifted into dusk now, the sun all disappeared, and the moon was just peeping through a wispy lavender cloud. Stewart shuffled closer so our sides were touching and reached for my hand.
‘So how did you manage to get rid of Harper this evening?’ I asked. ‘I thought he was shadowing you.’
Stewart shrugged. ‘Gave him a fiver, sent him to the pictures.’
‘Didn’t look like he was asking you much about cycling on your little dinner date last week.’
‘Yeah, he managed to make it all about him as usual. He used to pull this sort of thing when we were kids, too. Comes of being a spoilt only child.’
‘And that girl Claudia’s his agent, is she?’ I said. ‘They seemed… inappropriately close.’
‘Mmm, he seems to have a few of them. And funny thing: he always wants to meet them at some isolated dive in the middle of nowhere. Er, no offence.’
‘She’s never from a theatrical agency though.’
‘She’s from some sort of agency. Not sure it’s got the word “theatrical” in front of it.’
My eyes went wide. ‘No way. She’s an escort?’
‘Yep,’ Stewart said with a grin.
‘God. That’s probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened at Flagons.’ I inclined my head to take a sip of wine. ‘How come he brought you along?’
‘Dunno, cover? Easier to explain if he gets papped.’ Stewart rolled so he was leaning over me on one elbow. ‘Not such a bad night from my point of view though. I got to meet some interesting people.’
I flushed. ‘I’m not interesting.’
‘I’m interested in you.’
‘Why?’
‘Not exactly sure.’ He swept my breeze-tossed hair back from my forehead. ‘Something here, I think,’ he said, running one finger around my eye.
I felt my cheeks burning. With Stewart’s face so close, my first date nerves were back in force. It’d been a long time since I’d had a pair of lips that near to mine.
My eye had started twitching, probably making me look at least a little deranged. Maybe that’s why Stewart was smiling.
Shit, he was going to kiss me, wasn’t he? Could I remember how to do it? What if my tongue did something weird, or I opened my mouth too quickly? Or too wide? Oh God, it was a minefield. Kissing was second-date territory, definitely.
Guiding him away, I sat up and grabbed the wine bottle.
‘Top-up?’ I asked brightly.
He sat up too, frowning. ‘Something wrong, Lana?’
‘Look, could we just talk for a while? I’m… I mean, I don’t want to inflate your ego too much, but I’m kind of out of practice at all this. I wouldn’t mind taking it slow.’
‘Of course, whatever you want. Here.’ He took the wine and filled our glasses, then slipped his arm around me again. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’
I sipped the wine gratefully. ‘So tell me about you then. How did you get into cycling?’
He shrugged. ‘They took the stabilisers off one day and that was it, never looked back.’
‘Come on, tell it properly.’
‘All right, if I must,’ he said with a smile. ‘I used to love biking when I was a kid, belting around on a BMX. Then when I was ten I joined my school cycling club and it all grew from there. We used to go on trips – Lakeland, the Peaks.’ His eyes shone. ‘The hills and the open road from the saddle of a bike, the wind in your face just like you’re flying: I couldn’t get enough of it. You ever cycle, Lana?’
I shook my head. ‘Not like that. I can just about manage to sit on the thing without falling off. When did you start competing?’
‘In my teens. My mum pushed me into it at first. I loved the freedom of being on a bike but I never really had that drive to be the best. Once I’d started though, the rush of it: it was addictive.’
‘Winning?’
‘Partly, but the personal challenge too. That need to be better and better every time. I couldn’t imagine not competing now. It’s my life.’
He was gazing towards the viaduct, almost like he was talking to himself. Eventually he shook his head to bring himself back to where he was.
‘Sorry,’ he said with a guilty smile. ‘We do tend to get a bit religious about it. Probably sounds weird when you’re on the outside looking in.’
It did a bit, but it was still inspiring, seeing how committed he was. It wasn’t something I could quite get my head round though, that compulsion to win. Maybe it was a testosterone thing.
‘Anyway, enough about me,’ said Stewart. ‘I already know about that guy. Tell me about you. This is actually my first ever date with a medieval serving wench.’
‘Really? You haven’t lived, love.’
He laughed. ‘So was that what you always wanted to do?’
‘What, dress up like a pillock and shove my tits at people over a plate of hog flesh?’ I shrugged. ‘Not especially. It’s a living.’
‘Then what did little Lana dream?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘My brother’s a couple of years older, and it never occurred to him he’d do anything but go into the family business. He’s more entrepreneurial. Takes after Dad.’
‘But you’re not.’
‘Not like Tom. I used to waitress for a bit of pocket money when I was at school, but I never thought it was something I’d be doing forever. I used to imagine…’ I smiled. ‘It’s stupid really. I had this thing about the stars, when I was a kid.’
‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘You wanted to work for Heat?’
‘No, the other kind,’ I said, laughing. I lifted my eyes skywards, where a couple of glowing pinpricks were just becoming visible against smoky velvet. ‘I was fascinated by them. Wanted to be an astronomer.’
‘Horoscopes?’
I nudged him. ‘Astronomer, not astrologer. Study the skies.’
‘How old were you?’
‘About four, when it started. We visited a planetarium on some family holiday and there was this amazing lightshow, every star in the heavens. We had to lie on our backs in a domed room while a voiceover told us about each galaxy and constellation.’
He was looking at me keenly.
‘Here.’ He took my hand and guided me down so we were lying on our backs again. ‘Like this?’
My eyes darted over the stars, picking out the constellations like old friends.
‘Yeah,’ I said softly, squeezing his hand. ‘Just like this.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Oh, I was obsessed for a bit. Used to watch The Sky at Night religiously every week. You couldn’t get into my room without tripping on an astronaut for a while.’
‘So what, you grew out of it?’
‘Not exactly. I mean, the astronauts disappeared, but it still interested me. I actually started looking into BSc courses at a few unis.’ I sighed. ‘But then Dad was d
iagnosed, and I knew I was needed here. He’s only got me and Tom since Mum died: the rest of his family’s in Italy. Three years is a long time to be away, especially when – ’ I swallowed, ‘when we didn’t know how long we’d get to keep him, you know?’
‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to stop your education, would he?’ Stewart said gently, rolling over to look into my face.
‘No. That’s why I never told him.’ I gave a bleak laugh. ‘He probably thinks working in the restaurant’s my dream job.’
‘You should tell him.’
‘I can’t do that. And I am happy, Stewart, honestly.’
He reached for my cheek, brushing the back of his fingernail over a wet patch that had appeared under one eye.
‘Not sure I believe you.’
‘Not sure I do either.’
He was scanning my face again. I wondered if my mascara was smudged.
‘Think I still owe you a tip from the other week, don’t I?’ he said at last. ‘You can have it in the form of a hug if you like.’
‘Yes.’ I smiled weakly. ‘Yes, I think I’d like a hug.’
We both sat up. The arms went round me, hot and strong, and I let myself relax. God, it felt safe in there. The combination of smells, of wine and aftershave and sweat, so human and so real, went with the sense of serenity that filled me. Stewart’s fingers meshed behind my back, keeping me right up against him.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered.
‘Why sorry?’ His voice sounded different this close to my body. I could feel it, deep and soft, vibrating through the cheek that was laid against his neck.
‘For crying at you. You can probably tell I don’t date much.’
‘Then it’s time we changed that.’ He held me back a little to smile at me. ‘You know, if you’d told me this time last week I’d be on a night out with a sobbing medieval tavern wench…’
‘And I’d be spilling my life story to a random customer…’
He laughed. ‘It does feel slightly surreal. But I’d like a bit more of it, all the same.’
‘I think I would too.’
‘I’m back to intensive training on Monday but if you give me your mobile number I’ll call you soon as I get a break, ok? My turn to pick the venue for the next date, I think.’ He glanced at my phone, blaring out Kirsty as she unromantically griped about inappropriate footwear. ‘And the music.’
‘As long as it’s not harpsichord.’
‘Nothing medieval within spitting distance, I swear.’ He drew a finger down my cheek. ‘I was thinking a nice tapas restaurant I know. Big on the mood lighting and easy jazz.’
I smiled. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘I really like you, Lana. I know we just met last week, but I think this could be… something, you know?’
‘Yeah,’ I whispered. ‘Me too.’
‘In that case, don’t suppose you’d be interested in carrying this date on at my place?’ he asked, smiling. ‘I’ve got an impressive selection of euphemistic coffee you can sample.’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t spoil it, love.’
‘Sorry,’ he said gently. ‘I like being with you, that’s all.’
‘Let’s just enjoy right now. We don’t need to rush, do we?’
‘Like I said. All the time in the world.’
My eyes were locked into his. Suddenly I wasn’t worried about uncontrollable tongues or lips, and kissing wasn’t a minefield but a simple, natural thing that was just right for the moment. I tilted my lips up to Stewart’s and relaxed in his arms as our mouths joined, feeling happier than I had in a long, long time.
Chapter 4
One year, five weeks and two days later…
‘Here you go,’ said Gerry, dumping my Guinness and Tom’s Boltmaker down on the table. ‘And make sure you tell your old man I bought you both one. He can scratch it off against that pint I owes him.’
‘Why is it you two always seem to owe each other drinks?’ Tom asked, claiming his beer.
‘Because they’re as tight as each other, that’s why,’ said Sue, nudging her husband in the ribs as he sank back into his seat.
He shrugged, wiping a fleck of foam off his moustache. ‘You knew what I was like when you married me.’
Tom groaned. ‘Can you cut out the bickering, guys, just for today? This is our first night out in months, we don’t want to waste it giving you two marriage guidance.’
Gerry grinned. ‘Just keeping the old lady on her toes.’ He gave his wife’s sizeable backside a hearty slap. ‘If there’s one thing your Uncle Gerry can teach you about women, son, it’s you’ve got to treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen.’
‘Still not getting the whole gay thing, is he?’ Tom muttered to me.
‘He’ll get the hang of it when you meet someone.’
‘Heh. At the rate I’m going he’ll be waiting a while.’
‘Any news then, kids?’ Sue asked in a gentler voice.
‘Nothing since we saw you last,’ I said soberly. ‘Could be days, could be weeks. Nothing to do now but keep him comfortable.’
‘And how are you both feeling?’
‘It’s like… like we’re in some sort of hellish limbo,’ Tom said in a low voice. ‘I mean, we’re dreading it, obviously. But part of us just wants it to be over.’
He reached out to take my hand and I gave his fingers a firm squeeze.
‘Is that bad? To feel that way about it?’ I asked Sue, too aware of the pleading note underpinning my tone.
‘It’s not bad,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t want to see him hurting. We’ve been just the same.’
‘You look knackered, the pair of you,’ Gerry said, radiating concern. ‘You sure he wouldn’t be better off in the hospice now he needs round-the-clock care?’
‘No. He’s not going there.’ Tom looked almost fierce. ‘He wanted to be at home when he – when it happened. That’s what he said so that’s what’s going to happen.’
‘He wouldn’t want you making yourselves ill over it.’
‘You think we’d be any different if he was in the hospice?’ I grabbed my phone off the table and quickly scanned the screen, just to make sure Dahlia, Dad’s nurse, hadn’t texted. ‘That’d be worse. Knowing we couldn’t be with him straight away if he wanted us.’
‘Fair enough, petal,’ Gerry said gently. ‘You know what’s best. If we can do anything, just let us know.’
There was silence for a moment, everyone staring into their pints.
I was 18 when Dad was diagnosed and barely 20 when he’d found out the cancer was terminal: not much more than a kid, trying to prepare myself for the loss of the second parent in my young life. But nothing, nothing had prepared me for the daily agony that was the very end of the end. It was good of Gerry and Sue to drag us out and try to take our minds off it for an hour or two.
‘Well, he wouldn’t want us moping,’ Gerry said at last. ‘We brought you out to cheer you up, not make you cry.’ He lifted his pint. ‘Tell you what, here’s to absent friends. My best mate Phil, as good a lad as ever drew breath, who never cheated at pool when he thought anyone was looking and never dodged his round when he thought you were too drunk to notice he’d only got you a half. Wish you were here, mate.’
‘To Dad,’ we echoed, clinking glasses.
We went quiet for a minute, each alone with their memories.
‘So how’s the maypole dancing, Gerry?’ I asked after a while, summoning a bit of cheerfulness to lighten the mood. ‘Will the farm be extra fertile this year or do we need to sacrifice Tom in a giant wicker man?’
Gerry shot me a look. ‘It’s morris dancing, young lady. The maypole hardly comes into it.’
‘Yeah, pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’
Sue groaned. ‘Do you know how many times you’ve done that joke?’
‘And still it never gets old.’
‘It bloody does, you know.’
I shrugged. ‘That’s only your opinion.’
Tom glared at me. ‘Oi. Did you just call me a virgin?’
‘Probably the closest we’ll get round here. You haven’t been out with a lad in nearly three years.’
‘Bloody hell.’ He knocked back a morose gulp of his pint. ‘The sad thing is, that’s true.’
‘It’s no good picking on him, Lana,’ said Sue. ‘I don’t see you going out with many boys. What about that young chef with the punk-rocker hair your dad likes?’
Tom snorted. ‘Deano?’
‘That’s the one. Phil was always full of him.’
‘I’m all right, thanks,’ I said. ‘Deano’s lovely but he’s about 99 per cent whacko. Not for me.’
‘What about the band then? You must meet some pretty trendy young men there.’
I laughed. ‘Egglethwaite Silver’s not Oasis, Sue. There’s only three of us under 50.’
‘Seems to me you’re past the point where you can afford to be picky. It’s been over a year for you as well.’ Sue paused to take a sip of her pint. ‘What was his name, the bike man?’
‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘Come on, you remember. That cyclist you went out with who never called you.’
‘No, I don’t remember. I don’t remember Stewart McLean at all actually.’
Tom drew a zip over his lips. ‘Nix on the S-word, Susan. We don’t mention that guy.’
‘Well, it’s time our Lana got back out there if you ask me.’ She skimmed down my body. ‘What size are you now, love?’
I winced. Ok, so I’d gained a bit of weight in the last year. Caring for Dad, it’d been too easy to grab a ready meal or some restaurant leftovers before I took over from Tom for the evening watch. Still, I was far from an unhealthy size. Bloody Sue, she always had to ask.
‘Mind your own business.’
‘Mmm. You want to come to Slimming World with me?’
‘I don’t need Slimming World. I just need to look after myself a bit, that’s all.’
Gerry shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you girls can’t let yourselves be. Nothing wrong with a bit of jiggle. Gives us fellers something to hold on to.’ He leaned back to cast an appreciative look at his wife’s backside.
A Bicycle Made For Two Page 4
