by Jill Mansell
Tilly blasted one last jet of water at Lou before releasing the trigger. Jack, emerging from his car, came towards them holding his arms aloft in surrender.
Thirteen whole days of mascara, foundation, lipstick, coordi nated clothes, nice knickers, leg-razoring and scent squishing. All for nothing. And now this. Now he had to turn up.
Nothing like being seen looking your very best.
And this was nothing like her very best.
Whereas Jack, it went without saying, was looking tanned and fit and heart-squeezingly gorgeous.
'It's OK. I've stopped being cruel now.' Had he been abroad? He must have been away, to get so tanned. Had he taken anyone with him? Had they had a fantastic time? How about fantastic sex? Oh God, she was doing that Stella thing again. Stop it, stop it, get a grip.
'Glad to hear it.' He indicated the Jag. 'You can clean my car next if you like. Max not home yet?'
'He's over at Jamie Michaels' place. They're having a dolphin fountain put in.'
'Right. Well, my chainsaw's buggered so I've come over to borrow his. Do you know if it's in the garage?'
'Yeugh, my trousers feel gross.' Pulling a face and emptying her trainers, Lou said, 'I'm going to get changed.'
When she'd squelched off into the house, Tilly led the way over to the double garage. 'What's the chainsaw for? Chopping up troublesome tenants?'
'Can't say I'm not tempted sometimes,' said Jack. 'That's the downside of being a landlord: they expect you to do all their dirty work for them. I've got a couple of trees to take down and some branches to trim back.'
It was no good, she had to ask. 'Been away on holiday?'
'No. Why, have you missed me?'
'Just wondered. You're tanned.'
'I've been working outside for the last few days, clearing the gardens of people too bone idle to do it themselves. So you were wondering why I hadn't been around? That's encouraging.'
Honestly, did he have to say things like that? Having lifted the garage door, Tilly surveyed the boxes piled against the walls. 'OK, let's look for the chainsaw.'
'In fact, it's what I was hoping,' Jack went on.
What?
'In fact,' he amended, 'I stayed away on purpose.'
OK, she couldn't just stand here like a sopping wet village idiot. Her pulse racing, Tilly said, 'Why?'
'To see if it made a difference.'
Her mouth was dry. 'And?'
There was that look again. 'I think we can both guess, can't we?'
Oh God. If he kissed her now, Lou would be bound to reappear, bouncing into the garage like Tigger on springs.
'At least, I know how I feel,' said Jack. 'It might be different for you.'
But since he wasn't stupid, he couldn't really think that. The chemistry between them was inescapable; there was a crackling elec tricity in the air that only a turnip could miss.
Or a thirteen-year-old girl with powerful quick-change skills.
'Honestly, haven't you found it yet?' Lou, now wearing a dry T-shirt and frayed denim shorts, shook her head in disbelief and pointed to the box containing the chainsaw. Tut-tutting, she said, 'It's right there, behind the lawnmower. You're both blind as bats.'
For a split second Jack and Tilly's eyes met, then Jack crossed the garage and lifted out the chainsaw. He turned to Lou and held it up. 'Want me to cut your hair while I'm here?'
'No way. We're going up to Auntie Sarah's wedding this weekend.' Lou darted out of the way as he took a step towards her. 'I don't want to look like a scarecrow.'
'Sarah's wedding? In Scotland?'
Tilly nodded; Sarah was Max's cousin and on Saturday she was getting married in Glasgow. Max, Lou, and Kaye were flying up there on Friday afternoon for a weekend of epic celebrations, Glaswegian style. In honor of the occasion, Lou would even be wearing a dress.
Was Jack thinking what she hoped he was thinking?
Happily, yes. When he'd finished putting the chainsaw in the boot of the Jag, he waited until Lou was out of earshot then beck oned Tilly over.
She kept a neutral I-haveno-idea-what-you're-about-to-say ex pression on her face. Well, tried to. Inwardly, she felt gorgeous and desirable, like a goddess.
'So, are they leaving you here on your own?'
'Mm.' Goddess-like, Tilly nodded.
'Well, if you don't have any other plans, how about I pick you up on Friday? Around eight?'
This was it. He meant business. Things were going to start hap pening at last. If Lou hadn't been behind them, finishing cleaning the car, she would have kissed him. She wanted to, so much. Well, not long to wait now. Only two days.
She gave him a tiny, goddessy smile. 'OK.'
'Deal.' Jack smiled too.
He waved to Lou as he drove off. Lou waved back then turned to look at Tilly.
'Don't soak me again.' Tilly raised her hands in surrender.
'I won't. Sorry about your face, by the way.'
'Why? What's wrong with my face?'
Lou shrugged apologetically. 'It's a bit… you know.'
Oh bum. Peering into the car's wing mirror at her reflection, Tilly no longer felt like a goddess.
'I didn't mean it to happen,' said Lou. 'I just found the bucket of water under the garden tap. I didn't realize the bottom of it was full of gunk and mud.'
Chapter 32
IF JACK HADN'T MINDED her looking like the creature from the black lagoon, the chances were that he wouldn't be too bothered whether she wore her silver-grey top or the navy one.
But it mattered to Tilly. A lot. She wanted to look her best. After so many weeks of prevarication and wondering if she would be making a horrendous mistake, she knew that this evening things were finally going to… well, happen.
Her heart did a swallow-dive just thinking about it. But you could only deny your true feelings for so long. Jack knew it too, didn't he? And he had been the one to instigate it. Tonight, every thing would change. Their relationship would move to a new level. Now, at last, she truly trusted him. This wasn't yet another of his meaningless flings. There were feelings, real feelings involved. He had finally discovered that time does heal and that when you meet the next right person it's possible to move on.
OK, too much thinking about it was getting her all jittery with anticipation, and jitters could only result in badly applied mascara. Deliberately clearing her mind and taking deep breaths, Tilly fin ished toweling her hair dry and said, 'What d'you reckon, Betty? Grey top or blue?'
Betty, lying on the bed with her nose resting on her front paws, raised a bored whiskery eyebrow then lowered it again.
'OK, sorry, not your problem. I'll wear the grey.' Hastily, Tilly held the grey top up against herself. 'No, the blue.' Her eye was drawn to the clothes hanging in the wardrobe. 'Or my white shirt.'
Honestly, what a kerfuffle. Was Jack having this much trouble getting himself ready for tonight, or was he jumping into the shower, reaching for the first clean clothes to hand, and thinking T-shirt and jeans, that'll do?
Oh well, it was different for girls. They had so many more deci sions to make, like dangly earrings or studs, subtle nail polish or bright, flip-flops or proper shoes, bikini-style knickers or thong.
Or no knickers at all…
The TV was on, the newsreader was reaching the end of the news, and for the life of him, Jack couldn't have named one item on the program. His eyes had been on the screen, his ears had heard the newsreader's voice, and nothing—nothing—had permeated his brain. Because all he could think about was tonight. And Tilly. Shit, this was serious.
What's more, she had no idea. How could she know how he felt, how life-changing this evening would be? She couldn't begin to un derstand what was going on inside him. Jack could hardly believe it himself. When Rose had died, his world had changed forever. It had been like a giant prison door clanging shut. That was what happened when you allowed yourself to fall in love with someone; when they were ripped away from you, the pain and grief were unimaginable.
&nb
sp; So he had vowed never to let it happen again, had simply kept that particular door locked. It had been so much easier to act the part of the flirtatious philanderer, to have fun and avoid any form of emotional involvement. OK, so he'd managed to earn himself a fair old reputation along the way, but so what? He'd always been honest from the word go, had never resorted to false pretenses.
But now everything was about to change. Because despite his best efforts, Tilly had unlocked that door. And it might be terrifying, but it was also a fantastic feeling, like being sprung from prison after four years.
The tumble-dryer clicked off and Jack opened it, pulling out the warm, no-need-to-iron, dark-green pillow cases, duvet cover, and king-sized fitted sheet. If Tilly smelled the fabric conditioner on them, would she think he'd taken it for granted that she'd end up in his bed tonight? Would she be offended at having been regarded as a sure thing? Then again, didn't they both know, deep down, that it would happen tonight?
As he carried everything upstairs, Jack wondered what she was doing now. Tilly wasn't the type to flap around, spending ages trying to decide what to wear. She'd probably be out, taking Betty for her walk before heading back to the house, jumping into the shower, and quickly changing into a little top and jeans. That was one of the great things about her: she wasn't high-maintenance or vain, like so many of the girls around here.
Right, that was the bed sorted. He stepped back to admire the end result. The bedroom was tidy, everything was clean, and the lighting was acceptably discreet. All of a sudden, it seemed incredibly important; he wanted Tilly to feel comfortable here and to approve of the way the room looked. Last Christmas Monica had given him a box of candles in colored votive glasses, and said, 'You could put them on the shelves around your bedroom, there's nothing more romantic than candlelight in a bedroom.'
The candles, needless to say, were still packed away in their gift box in the wardrobe. For a moment Jack wondered if he should get them out. On the one hand, he was keen to impress Tilly, but on the other, he didn't want her feeling as if she'd just walked into an Austin Powers shag-pad.
OK, give the candles a miss. They were possibly something only a girl could get away with. Briefly pausing in front of the mirror on top of the chest of drawers, Jack checked his hair hadn't dried funny, then crossed to the window to close the curtains. As he reached out to grasp them, his left arm brushed against the blue and silver ceramic bowl on the window ledge. Rose had bought it from a craft shop in Tetbury and painted extra silver stars and polka dots on it herself, pronouncing it perfect for holding bunches of wild flowers. Which, it went without saying, was something else he'd never attempted. Since Rose's death, the bowl had stayed empty. Well, he was a man. Men didn't pick flowers or light candles. He moved the bowl closer to the glass, then began to close the curtains.
Jack froze as a car turned into his road. Not just any car either; this was a red Audi with number plates he not only recognized, he knew them off by heart. It couldn't be, but it was. For a moment he forgot to breathe, because she'd always had a talent for timing.
Then he gripped the window ledge for support, a great wave of shock and hope and nausea rolling through him as he watched the Audi turn in through the open gates.
Because he wasn't hallucinating.
It was Rose's car.
Chapter 33
THIS WAS CRAZY. JACK shook his head, ordered himself to get a grip. Rose was dead. It might be Rose's car, but Rose wasn't the one driving it. Because she was dead.
He knew that. It was just the shock of seeing it so unexpectedly. For a split second his brain had been tricked into believing the ac cident had never happened and Rose was still alive. There had even been time for guilt to kick in, because she would have found out he was about to be unfaithful to her, and blurting out the excuse that he'd thought she was dead wouldn't have gone down well with Rose.
Jack took deep breaths, mentally steadying himself. She hadn't come back. Only her car had come back. Following Rose's death, he hadn't known what to do with her beloved red Audi. When her parents' rusting old Fiesta had failed its MOT in spectacular fashion, he'd been only too glad to hand it over to them. It had undoubtedly been lovingly washed, polished, and valeted on a weekly basis and driven well within the speed limit ever since.
Jesus, though. They'd given him a heart attack. And for them to turn up today of all days, tonight of all nights. It was almost as if Rose had sent them here on purpose.
On the driveway below, the Audi's doors opened. Bryn emerged first, followed by Dilys. They looked older, slower, tireder, worn out with grief. Jack, who hadn't seen them for two years, felt his stomach plummet at the sight of them now.
Maybe they wouldn't stay long.
He was meant to be picking up Tilly in an hour.
Bryn Symonds was now almost seventy, with thin grey hair and a defeated face. Once the life and soul of the village, for thirty years he had owned and run a small hardware shop. With the rise of the megastores, Bryn's business had fallen into difficulties. He had managed to keep it afloat with the help of loyal local customers, but it had been a struggle. Then Rose had died and Bryn had stopped being the life and soul. He gave up the shop and retired.
Dilys had never gone out to work. A proud Welsh housewife, she kept busy polishing windows, cleaning paintwork, scrubbing doorsteps, and baking bread. Their little house was immaculate.
And Rose, their beloved only child, had been their whole world.
The doorbell rang as Jack was halfway down the staircase. He crossed the hall and opened the door, dreading what lay ahead and awash with guilt at dreading it.
'Oh Jack.' Dilys took one look at him and dissolved into tears, as she'd taken to doing every time they'd seen each other since the day her daughter had died. He knew why, of course. Because he reminded her of the happy life Rose was supposed to have, the one she should be leading now.
And who could blame her for that? If the accident hadn't hap pened, Bryn and Dilys would have been proud grandparents, turning up at the house today to visit their daughter and son-in-law, and to shower gifts and affection on their adored three-year-old grandchild. Who knew, maybe he and Rose would have had another baby by now, and Dilys would be in knitting overdrive. Bryn would be build ing complicated structures out of Lego and painstakingly mending anything that got broken… OK, don't think about it, just blank it out, and don't start trying to imagine what the children might have looked like.
He hugged Dilys, shook hands with Bryn, and invited them into the house.
'Oh, thank you, love.' Dilys dabbed at her eyes with an ironed handkerchief as Jack put the cup of tea down in front of her. 'Sorry to land ourselves on you like this. I hope we're not being a nuisance.'
What could he say? 'Of course not. It's great to see you again.'
Another lie, another wave of shame.
'Well, it's been quite a while.' Bryn quietly stirred sugar into his tea.
'I know. I'm sorry.'
'Twenty-three months.'
'I've been pretty busy here.' Jack felt worse and worse.
'It's all right, love. We know. We understand,' said Dilys. 'You've got your work to take care of.'
'And how have things been for you?' He hated even asking the question, already knowing the way the conversation would go.
'Oh well. Not great.' Sorrowfully, Dilys shook her neatly permed head. 'We do our best to keep busy, but nothing really seems to help.'
Bryn said, 'Vandals broke into the cemetery and sprayed graffiti all over the gravestones.'
'What?'
'Oh Bryn, don't tell him.' Dilys clutched Jack's hand. 'Sorry, love, we weren't going to tell you.'
'But he should know. It's his fiancée's gravestone. Filthy words, they wrote.' Bryn shook his head sorrowfully. 'Broke our hearts, it did.'
'When did this happen? Can it be cleaned off?' Appalled, Jack said, 'Who did it?'
'No one knows. Stupid kids, I imagine. It's all right; we managed to scrub the stone clea
n.'
'Took him three weeks,' said Dilys. 'All day, every day. But Bryn managed it in the end. Scrubbed his own hands raw too, didn't you, love?'
'I wasn't going to stop until my daughter's headstone was perfect again. And the flowers we planted around it are looking good too.'
Jack nodded, picturing the scene, unable to speak.
'Here, love, you can see for yourself. We've taken some photo graphs to show you. Although hopefully it won't be long before you can come and see it for yourself, eh?' Dilys took a mini photo album out of her cream leather handbag and passed it over. 'We'd really like that, wouldn't we, Bryn? And you could stay for as long as you l-like… oh dear, what did I do with my hanky?'
