‘Glass of wine?’ I said, waving the bottle.
Bryn nodded and, ducking his head under the doorframe, stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. He made a move towards me, the sort that starts with a peck on the cheek and ends with a full-blown snog. I stepped neatly to one side and found glasses in the cupboard. I poured wine, taking care to keep the kitchen table between us.
‘How are you?’ he said, his eyes never leaving my face.
‘Oh, you know, busy. I went into town this morning, saw my solicitor and did some stuff. Important things. Met up with an old friend.’
My mouth was so dry my top lip was sticking to my teeth. I did a passable Humphrey Bogart impersonation, took a swig of my wine and choked a little as it went down the wrong way. ‘You?’
‘Working at Trehorlicks Hall. It’s going to be beautiful. I should take you to see it,’ he said.
‘That would be nice. I love a good gardener. I mean I love a good garden.’
God Almighty, is this a Freudian slip I see before me?
‘Lottie…’
‘Flowers and that. You know. Trees,’ I gabbled on.
‘Lottie.’
Bryn put his glass down on the table and came round it towards me. I played chase me Charlie for a few seconds.
‘Lottie, please.’
‘What?’
He put his hand out and touched my arm. I could feel the heat of him through my shirt. I went a bit woozy.
‘The other night,’ he said.
He was so close now. I could almost feel the warmth of his body. I could smell the faint tang of wood smoke clinging to his shirt. There was a tiny twig caught up in his hair and it took all my willpower not to reach up and remove it.
‘Oh that,’ I said, and shrugged.
The most staggering experience of my life and I bloody shrugged?
I saw a flicker of something in his eyes and he stepped away, picked up his wine and sipped it.
‘So you’re not…’
Not what? Not bothered? Not in my right mind? Not gagging for him?
‘Oooh, you know. It was great. Thanks,’ I said.
Thanks? Was I insane?
‘That’s OK then.’ He reached into his pocket, pulled out my Mickey Mouse socks and put them on the worktop. ‘You left these behind.’
‘Thanks.’
I don’t suppose you found my ring too, did you?
He finished his wine and put the glass on the table. I looked at the shape of his hands, his fingers, a small white scar on the back of his thumb.
I had the terrible urge to take hold of his hand and kiss his palm, feel his fingers on my face.
Then I reminded myself of a couple of things. This is a man who cheated on his girlfriend. This is a man who isn’t speaking to his brother because he swindled his mother. This is not the man who is going to fix my life any more than Ian did. I needed to do that for myself.
I spent another night wrestling with the duvet and a headache courtesy of yet another bout of self-medication. I got out of bed at about three thirty to get a glass of water and some aspirin. I caught sight of my reflection in the hall mirror. All this self-medication mixed with a stomach-curdling dose of guilt, embarrassment and lust was doing me no favours. My eyes were huge, my face pale and miserable. Pathetic. I was a grown-up. Well, as good as.
I shouldn’t need to resort to such juvenile tactics to:
1) Get to sleep
2) Stay asleep
3) Stop remembering Bryn’s face above mine, his blue eyes lustrous in the dusky light as he held my face in his hands and kissed me
4) Stop remembering the feel of his mouth on my body, my throat, my shoulder, his warm breath making me tremble, his tongue coaxing, brushing…
5) Oh shut up, Lottie, give it a bloody rest.
As I lay down in the darkness I wondered how my sister was getting on with Trent.
I should email her. And tell her what exactly?
That now I knew what she meant by the phrase mind-blowing sex?
That I had allowed my next-door neighbour, the bear-like, black-hearted Bryn, to shag me senseless?
That I was about to be made homeless again but I had some money at last?
I dozed on and off until the small square panes of the bedroom window glowed with the dawn and then of course I fell asleep.
When I woke it was half past ten and it felt as though someone had emptied a dustpan onto the floor of my mouth. I padded downstairs and made some tea. The reflection in the hall mirror was no more encouraging than it had been earlier. I needed to sort myself out before my liver exploded.
Following some alternative therapy of toast and marmalade I began to feel a bit better. By the middle of the afternoon I was fully recovered and feeling pretty positive. But my heart sank when I saw Jess pull up outside. I think my face did too.
‘Oh, don’t look like that! I know I’ve been such a bad friend,’ she said as she hugged me. ‘Greg and me went off, spur of the moment, and I never thought to tell you. You must think I’m such a big fat cow.’
She looked anything but. She was wearing one of her artless little frocks, this one in pale blue and white polka dots that probably cost a fortune in some exclusive boutique. In comparison, I must have been the one who looked pretty bovine. None of my clothes fitted properly any more and my baggy brown painting trousers were held up with an old belt. From behind I must have looked like the back end of a pantomime horse.
I reassured her I was quite OK and put the kettle on. I told her my news (well some of it) and then I asked the question that had been lumbering about the kitchen like the proverbial elephant. Was she going to sell the house?
Jess blushed and looked at her hands, fiddling with a rather fine aquamarine bracelet. At last she looked up.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so indecisive, it wasn’t fair on you at all. I needed the money, if I’m honest, to sort something out. But anyway, Holly Cottage isn’t going on the market.’
The relief at this was immense and I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
‘I expect it’ll be rented out again at some point, but…’ She hesitated and seemed unsure what to say. At last she smiled and looked at me. ‘Let’s not worry about that for now. Let’s have coffee?’
I was happy to agree. It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders.
We moved on to her news.
‘We’ve been sorting out a bit of business,’ she said. She nibbled at a fingernail. ‘Something Greg should’ve done a long time ago. I think it’s going to make things better. I hope so anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jess shook her head. ‘Oh nothing. I can’t say. Personal stuff. Just business.’ Her face brightened. ‘So how are you getting on? How’s Bryn? Have you seen him?’
I made a non-committal noise. Something between um and er. I turned my back on her for a moment so she couldn’t see me blushing. I busied myself making coffee and pretending to look in the biscuit tin. Jess looked concerned.
‘Has he been a nuisance? I know he’s a bit of a loner now, which is a pity because he’s very handsome, don’t you think? And Bryn’s really nice when you get to know him. I’d hate to think he was making your life difficult. I could have a word, if you like?’
‘No, absolutely not!’ I yelped.
‘Well apart from being a friend, you’ve been my tenant. So I’m not going to let him get away with any nonsense.’ Jess looked as stern as she could considering she appeared about fifteen in her cotton frock and pale blue ballet pumps.
‘Please don’t. Everything is fine,’ I said. I pushed a mug of coffee towards her.
She sighed and sipped her drink.
‘Such a pity.’ She threw me a look. ‘I’ll be honest, I was hoping he’d fancy you and you’d fancy him and get him out of the clutches of that awful ginger piece.’
My radar crackled onto high alert. Phasers on stun, Mr Sulu. I could almost f
eel my ears pricking up like a Springer spaniel at a Boxing Day shoot.
‘Ginger piece? You mean Bonnie?’
‘I’m beginning to think she’s mad. She’s been phoning me up recently, though how the hell she got my number I have no idea. Have you met her?’
‘Several times.’
‘She was a friend of his wife. She and Bryn had a – you know – a thing a few years ago.’
Whoa! What? Wife? Bryn has a wife? And he and Bonnie had a thing? Had a thing? Past tense? What sort of thing? Was it a big thing or a small thing like he told me? Has he no decency at all?
I covered my eyes with one hand and tried to concentrate.
‘So he’s married, but he had a fling with Bonnie and they’ve split up? I mean they aren’t a couple? I thought…’
Jess screwed up her nose. ‘Urgh no. You’ve met her. She’s a right bunny boiler. Any other man would have got a restraining order by now. Bryn’s fault, he’s too soft.’
My head was spinning.
Wife? Bunny boiler? Restraining order?
I wanted to bring up the case of the bedside earrings but that would mean admitting I had been in Bryn’s bedroom and open up a whole new line of questioning.
Instead I found a packet of chocolate Hobnobs and emptied them into the biscuit tin.
‘And? Go on? What’s all this about a wife? I didn’t know he was married.’
‘Well, he’s divorced now, obvs. Even Bryn has his limits. Between you and me I think he must have a new love interest. Or at least Bonnie thinks he has. She’s been phoning me up, crying down the phone, asking me to help her win him back.’
‘Goodness! What did you say?’
‘I told her she needed therapy, silly cow.’
I stifled a laugh.
‘Have you seen any new ladies around the place doing the walk of shame?’ Jess asked. She poked around in the biscuit tin until she found a broken fragment of Hobnob and took it.
I shook my head and tried to look innocent.
‘Well, that’s very annoying. I would have thought if Bryn was getting a bit of –’ she made a rather rude gesture at this point ‘– you know, bed action, he would have been nicer to you.’
‘He hasn’t not been nice to me. I mean, he’s been fine,’ I said, finding a tea towel to fold so I didn’t need to look at her.
‘Are you sure? I’ve got to have a chat with him about something else.’ She nibbled around the edge of her biscuit then looked at her watch. ‘He should be here in a mo. I don’t mind giving him a good telling off. In fact, I’d enjoy it.’
I stretched a false but beaming smile across my face and pointed to it.
‘Nothing wrong at all. Nothing to declare. See?’
Hang on.
Here in a mo? Did she say Bryn was going to be here in a mo? And how could I get her back to the subject of the wife without seeming too obvious?
I did what I always do and went for the subtle approach.
‘So what happened to his wife?’
Jess looked puzzled. ‘Whose wife?’
‘Bryn’s wife. Jess, keep up.’
She made little flapping motions with her hands. ‘Sorry, I was thinking about something else. His wife, Helen – we used to call her Hell behind her back, for obvious reasons – ran off with Bonnie’s fiancé. I thought you knew? They’d been married for less than a year. Craig was always a bit of a flirt with anything in a dress and a pulse so no one thought anything of it. You know – the way they were with each other? Flirty chat. A bit touchy-feely. Then out of the blue Craig and Hell disappeared together. They surfaced six months later running a dive school in Barbados. Craig was minted, loaded, did I mention that? That was quite funny, wasn’t it, what I just said? Surfaced, dive school? Get it?’
I nodded, stunned, as I processed all this information.
‘Then, in zero seconds flat, Bonnie honed in on Bryn like a nuclear warhead. She must have caught him at a weak moment. He soon realised his mistake. We all knew it would never work. It all seemed very amicable to start off with. A sort of friends with benefits thing, but Bonnie wouldn’t let it run its course. Seemed to think the four of them could just do a bit of a shuffle around and it would all work out. I suppose Bryn felt sorry for her.’
‘I suppose so.’ I felt a bit wobbly.
‘Anyway!’ Jess slapped her hands down on her knees. ‘Who cares?’
‘Well…’ I bloody cared, but I knew I couldn’t say anything more without raising suspicion.
‘I love how the cottage is looking. You’re doing such a brilliant job,’ Jess said. ‘I can’t believe how well you’ve done it. I totally love the wallpaper you’re using in the back bedroom; it’ll be like sleeping in a garden. And the colours of that chalky paint in the hallway are perfect. So that proved you were right and so was I and Greg doesn’t know sod all about anything.’
‘Thanks. I suppose it’s just about finished now. Not much left to do.’
‘Well yeah, but hello!’ She waggled one index finger from side to side. ‘What about the garden? And that brings me to why I’m here. I won a competition recently for garden plants, two hundred and fifty pounds’ worth. Lucky, eh? Our garden is a bit of a mess what with the swimming pool complex not finished yet and the garden office planned for next month, so we can’t use it. Greg says he’s going to get someone in anyway, once all the builders have left. And this has an expiry date and we’ll never get round to using it before then. So…’
Jess paused for breath at last, handed over an envelope and blinked up at me. The picture of innocence. Something wasn’t right here but I was darned if I could put my finger on it.
I took the envelope. On the outside was typed First Prize, and inside was a gift certificate for the South West Garden Centre; £250, just as Jess had said.
‘What are you up to?’ I said.
Jess laughed and finished her biscuit fragment, something that had taken her all this time. I, on the other hand, had eaten three. Can’t eat proper meals but never say no to a Hobnob.
‘Nothing! Honestly, Lottie! I’ve just given you a gift voucher to spend on this garden.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Just take it there before the end of the month and tell them that you are the prize winner come to spend your loot. They’ll help you.’
‘Well OK, but…’
‘There are some tools in the shed. You can use those.’
‘But…’
‘God, is that the time? I must fly!’ Jess stood up and shook out her skirt. ‘I have to see Bryn. I thought he might call round. I mean he must be able to see my car in the drive. Oh well.’
She hurried out of the back door and over to Bryn’s garden. After a few minutes I heard his familiar laugh and I closed the door and sat down to think.
Greg didn’t get on with Bryn, but Jess did.
Bryn had been married.
Bryn’s wife had run off with Bonnie’s fiancé.
Bonnie wanted to carry on a relationship with Bryn.
Bryn didn’t want to. Or did he?
What had he said? Bonnie was a lovely girl, but…
So it looked as though he had been telling the truth after all. So how would he explain those bloody earrings by the side of the bed?
I rested my chin on my hands and closed my eyes.
There was only one way Bonnie’s earrings could have got to that side of the bed and that would be when she put them there. Was there any reason other than she was sleeping with Bryn? I couldn’t think of one. And I knew those earrings hadn’t been there for months, forgotten after their latest tryst, because I had seen her wearing them only recently.
Horrible images of her in bed with Bryn flickered behind my closed eyelids. She wouldn’t be worried about cellulite on her bottom. She didn’t have much bottom to start with. She wouldn’t be self-conscious, pulling the duvet over herself when she woke up as I had. She would probably have pranced about the room stark naked. Did I have it in me to prance? I wriggled about on my chair for a moment, trying
to visualise it.
No. I sighed and took another Hobnob.
CHAPTER 18
Yellow carnations – disappointment, rejection
I crept around Holly Cottage like a burglar over the next few days, hoping to avoid Bryn and yet at the same time longing to see him. When one morning I found myself crouched, peeping out from behind the bathroom curtains to catch a glimpse of him as he got into his truck, I realised I was being ridiculous.
Even if he did look rather gorgeous in jeans and a cream Aran sweater.
He had made no further effort to contact me.
Which surely put him in the wrong. Didn’t it?
Yes, it did. Even though I had behaved like an idiot when he came round to see me. I mean, it wouldn’t have hurt for him to come round again would it? Try one more time? If he was really keen?
I thought about this all morning, carrying on the imaginary discussion as I dug out ground elder from one of my flowerbeds that morning and worked myself up into what might be called a Right Old State.
If he had meant half the stuff he had said to me – all that longing and desire business, my lovely eyes, my hair, etc. etc. – surely he should have come round to see me? Brought me flowers? Suggested a date? I don’t know, written me a poem? Perhaps that was pushing it a bit. And yet there had been nothing. No apology for treating me like that. Not the faintest suggestion that he wanted to establish a relationship with me. Other than one based on random, mind-blowing sex.
I stood up from my digging, indignant. Flaming cheek of the man! Well if he could carry on with daily life and not give a second thought to it then I could too. I’d been wrong, hadn’t I? Ian had warned me about this but I hadn’t wanted to believe him.
‘Look, Lottie, it’s a fact of life. All men play around a bit if they get the chance. You know that. Any man who says he doesn’t is a liar.’
Perhaps Bryn really was no different? Maybe there were dozens of delusional women around the South West all thinking we were something special to him.
Perhaps Lady Trehorlicks was not as I had been led to believe, an eighty-year-old Empire builder but a young trust-fund babe in ripped jeans, Joules wellingtons and a spotty Seasalt raincoat. I bet she didn’t have a Border terrier called Nigel either.
The Summer of Second Chances Page 20
