I blushed. ‘It’s… dunno. Might be progressing.’
‘You and Stew sorted things out?’
‘We’re kind of just good friends at the moment. Still need time to think.’
‘Oh, get on with it, you daft cow,’ he said, straightening up again. ‘You haven’t had sex for, like, three years.’
My eyes widened. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
He grinned. ‘Lucky guess. But thanks for the confirmation.’
‘Look, you can’t rush these things.’
‘Rush it? For God’s sake, you’ve been dancing around each other for months,’ he said. ‘Go on, go for it. At least you’ll get a shag.’
‘There’s more to life than getting laid, Deano.’
‘Nah, I’d have heard,’ he said. ‘So what do you think you’ll do then?’
I sighed. ‘Take it slow, I guess. I’ve forgiven him, but… well, the whole thing’s left me a bit cautious.’
‘Really hurt you, didn’t he?’ Deano said in a softer voice.
‘It’s not something I can easily forget about, let’s put it that way,’ I admitted. ‘I’ll just see how it goes.’
Chapter 41
It was a funny old Christmas Day. Bittersweet. Gerry and Sue had invited us to the farm for dinner, but we’d decided we wanted to be alone with one another and our thoughts while we ate. Merriment wasn’t really on the cards, with an empty chair at the head of the table.
‘Thanks for the jumper, sis,’ Tom said when we’d had dinner. Dad had always made us wait until after we’d eaten to exchange presents. As kids it’d driven us mad, but we’d secretly enjoyed our toys more for the anticipation.
Tom pulled his new jumper, a novelty Fair Isle with a picture of Darth Vader and the legend ‘I find your lack of cheer disturbing’, over his head.
‘You’re welcome. Ta for the book,’ I said, flicking through it. It was called F**k: A History of the F-Word. Now everything with the viaduct was sorted, my little outburst at Sienna had become something of a family joke.
‘No worries,’ he said with a grin. ‘At least next time you start chucking obscenities about on telly you’ll be well-informed.’
‘Dad’d give you a right telling off for that.’ I sighed. ‘Weird just us, isn’t it?’
Tom smiled as Flash came bounding in from the kitchenette and nearly cannoned into one of K&M Garden Centre’s finest Norwegian spruces. ‘Not just us. This is Flash’s first Christmas, don’t forget.’
‘Wish it was a jollier one for him.’ I grimaced as he jumped up to lick my face. ‘Ew. Turkey breath.’
‘He still tries to get into Dad’s room. Funny how they remember people.’
‘I know.’ I gave Flash a hug. ‘He’s a good dog.’
‘Keeps trying to drag me off to the chip shop, too.’ Tom sighed. ‘Six weeks now, sis.’
‘Don’t give up yet,’ I said, patting his knee. ‘Let’s just get through Christmas, then… well, we’ll think of something.’ I pushed Flash off my knee and stood up. ‘Right. Dad wouldn’t want us moping. I’ll sort a couple of sherries and we’ll have a game of Scrabble, how does that sound?’
‘Perfect. You’re prepared for an arse-kicking though, yeah?’
‘Please. You’ve never, ever beaten me. Ever.’
‘Ah, but this is my year. Flash and me are going to form a boys’ superteam. No mere girl can beat us.’
I frowned when I heard the intercom buzz to tell us someone was outside the restaurant.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked Tom.
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Not expecting anyone.’
I went into the hall and pressed the intercom button.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Stew. Can I come up?’
‘Oh. Course, we’d love to see you.’ I pressed the button to unlock the door.
‘What?’ I said to Tom, who was standing in the living-room doorway grinning at me. ‘We would love to see him, wouldn’t we?’
‘One of us would.’
I opened the hallway door and Stew came in. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
‘Happy Christmas, love.’
‘You too,’ I said with a little blush.
He gave Tom a hug, too. ‘Liking the jumper, Tommy.’
‘Thanks. I do think the flashing light sabre brings out my eyes. Had a good day?’
‘Not bad. Just back from Christmas dinner at Mum and Dad’s. Lucky Harper’s abandoned that living foodist stuff or I think Mum might’ve had a nervous breakdown cooking for him.’
‘You want to stay for a sherry? We were just about to play Scrabble.’ Tom lowered his voice. ‘You have to watch Lana though, she cheats.’
Stew frowned. ‘Did you two not get the message?’
‘Eh?’ Tom said. ‘What message?’
I slapped my palm against my head. ‘Sorry, Tommy, totally forgot. Gerry and Sue invited us for afternoon drinks with some people from the village.’ I shot him an apologetic smile. ‘I did say we’d go. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Course not, sounds nice. I’ll just grab a fleece.’
He ducked into his bedroom, and Stew shot me a knowing grin.
‘All set?’ I asked him.
‘Yep. Everyone’s in place. You sure he – ’
But he was interrupted by Tom coming back out in his winter coat and beanie.
Stew cleared his throat. ‘Right. Let’s go.’
***
‘Happy Christmas, you three,’ Gerry said when we knocked at the farmhouse. It looked very festive, the roof salted with frost and a jolly wreath on the door in stark contrast to Gerry’s black ‘Bah Humbug’ Santa hat.
‘How long have you had that hat, Gerry?’ I said, presenting my cheek for a kiss. ‘I remember you wearing it when we were at primary.’
‘Brand new, this is. The missus treated me to another this year. Said the old one had fleas.’
He beckoned us inside. We followed him into the living room, where Sue had arranged a table of festive nibbles. There were various people milling around: Yolanda and Deano, thankfully managing to keep their hands off each other for five minutes; Roger Collingwood scoffing a mince pie; Billy from the pub; a load of Gerry’s morrismen mates…
‘Where is he?’ I muttered to Gerry.
‘Helping Sue in the kitchen.’ Gerry raised his voice. ‘Er, let me get the three of you a drink. Beer for you lads?’
‘Yeah, cheers,’ Tom said.
‘Can I not have a beer?’ I asked.
Stew grinned at me. ‘Nope. Your uncle says you have to drink wine with your little finger stuck out like a proper lady. He is from the olden days, to be fair.’
Gerry laughed. ‘Well, I can probably find a Guinness, since it’s Christmas. You’ll still have to stick your little finger out though, Lana.’
He disappeared off into the kitchen to get our drinks.
‘There’s Deano,’ Tom said. ‘Shall we – ’ He stopped as the kitchen door opened. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘Surprise,’ I said, smiling. ‘This is your real present, the jumper was just a sweetener.’
Cameron’s eyebrows shot up when he caught sight of Tom.
‘What’s he doing here?’ he demanded of Sue, dumping his tray of sherries down on the piano.
‘That’s what I just said,’ Tom said.
Cameron glared at him. ‘I didn’t ask you.’ He turned back to Sue. ‘You told me him and Lana couldn’t make it.’
‘Well, I lied,’ she said with a shrug.
‘What for?’
‘I’ll tell you what for, young Cameron. Because I’ve known Tom Donati since he thought the main purpose of his willy was playing fireman in the garden…’
Tom grimaced. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘… a
nd I know him too well not to know what he’s feeling,’ Sue went on, ignoring him. ‘Oh, he can be a right pillock. He stutters and stumbles and talks a load of old rubbish…’
Tom turned to me. ‘Is this a family intervention? Because no offence but so far it royally sucks.’
‘Give her a minute. She’s just getting into her stride,’ I whispered.
‘… but those are just words,’ Sue said. ‘He’s not good with words but he’s good with feelings. And he loves you.’
Cameron’s eyes went wide. ‘Bloody hell, does he?’
Gerry nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘Yep,’ I said.
‘Yep,’ Deano called from the buffet table.
Stew smiled. ‘Everyone knows but you, Cam.’
Tom glared at us. ‘Why’re you lot talking about me like I’m not here?’
I gave him a little push forward. ‘Go on then, bruv. We’ve said our bit. The floor’s all yours.’
He walked hesitantly towards Cameron.
‘Looks like they set us up,’ Tom said quietly.
‘I know. Soppy gits.’ Cameron looked him up and down. ‘Nice jumper.’
‘Thanks. Christmas present.’
‘So do you, Tommy?’
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Come here then.’ Tom bent to plant a kiss on Cameron’s lips and the two melted into a hug.
‘Missed you,’ I heard Cam whisper. ‘Sorry I wouldn’t talk to you. I thought you didn’t… you know.’
‘Missed you too,’ Tom said. ‘Sorry I was daft about your parents. I’d be proud to meet them. Just be prepared for them to hate me.’
‘Give over, they’ll love you.’
‘Well, I love you.’
‘Me too. Happy Christmas, Tommy.’
I elbowed Stew as we watched them embrace. ‘It’s a Christmas miracle, eh?’
‘They just needed a nudge. These shy people are a nightmare to get talking.’
I turned to face him. ‘Well, thanks for helping.’
‘Anything to see them happy. Oh.’ He handed me a small gift-wrapped parcel from his jacket pocket. ‘For you.’
I eyed it quizzically. ‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’
‘I wanted to though. Go on, open it.’
I tore off the paper. Inside was a box, which I opened to find a pretty silver bracelet with four tiny charms attached: a bat, a train, a trombone and a bike.
‘One for all the times you’ve done something amazing this year,’ Stew said. ‘Like bringing the Tour here, and getting the viaduct reopened – that’s the little train. Maybe by next Christmas it’ll be full.’
I blinked as my eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered. ‘What made you think of it?’
‘It’s what your dad said in his eulogy, isn’t it? I wanted you to have something to mark every time you make the world better.’
The eulogy… how did he know about that?
He smiled at the look on my face. ‘Tom told me. I knew it’d be a difficult Christmas for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I mumbled. ‘I feel awful for not getting you anything.’
‘There is one thing I’d like very much,’ he said softly. ‘Can I?’
My eyes were fixed on his, and the rest of the room seemed to have fuzzed into nothing.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Yes please.’
His face was moving towards mine, and if he’d kissed me then I’d gladly have melted into his arms forever, caution be damned. But before our lips could meet, Roger Collingwood came barging over with his stupid size 12 clown feet and the room came back into focus.
‘Hello, you two,’ he said, beaming. ‘Any news on the viaduct?’
Stew turned to glare at him. ‘No. It’s fallen down.’
Roger looked puzzled. ‘Was that a joke?’
He sighed. ‘Yes. Sorry, Rodge.’
‘I’m not interrupting, am I?’
‘Not at all.’ Stewart summoned a polite smile. ‘Go on, please. We can finish this later.’
Chapter 42
There was no time for snuggling under the duvet with a post-Christmas hangover on Boxing Day. Not while Roger Collingwood was still conductor of Egglethwaite Silver.
Rodge was a popular village leader because he combined tireless hard work with shrewd business sense. Which was why every 26th December, he booked us to play outside Bilby’s department store in town: catch the Boxing Day sales crowd.
I couldn’t argue there was a healthy chink as shoppers chucked coins into our bucket. But it was also bloody freezing. It only took until our third number, Carol of the Bells – the world’s creepiest Christmas tune – for my gloved fingers to lose all feeling.
‘I think my slide’s seized up,’ I muttered to the euphonium player, Nathan.
‘Tell me about it,’ Nathan whispered back. ‘My lips nearly froze to the mouthpiece for that one. He’s not really going to make us do the full three hours, is he?’
Of course he was. He was Roger Collingwood. By the time we finished our set – ironically, with Let It Snow – there was about three inches of white powder on the ground.
And things were about to get worse. When I got back to my car, I discovered the damn thing had thrown a tantrum at being left in the cold and was refusing to start. I pulled my phone out to ring Gerry, see if he could fetch me in the Land Rover.
No answer. Bollocks. I tried Tom instead.
‘Hiya, Lana,’ Cameron said when he answered.
‘Hi, Cam. Is our Tom there?’
‘Yeah, he’s helping my mum with the washing up. What’s up?’
‘I’m stuck at Bilby’s in this bloody snow. Can you ask him to pop round Gerry’s, see if he can fetch me? Sorry to be a pain when you’re with your family but I can’t get hold of him.’
‘No worries, we’ll both go. Could use a walk.’
‘Thanks, love.’
I stashed my trombone in the boot and headed back to the front of the shop, abandoning the car until I could get back next day with warm clothing and jump leads.
Fifteen minutes later I was still staring into the road, freezing my jollies off while the mufflered bargain-hunters bustled around me. My thin nylon band blazer was soaked through and there’d been no word from Tom. I only hoped the lack of contact meant Gerry was on his way.
But I blinked in surprise when instead of Gerry, Stewart hoved into view, riding a bike through the crusting of snow. And not just any bike either. This was a whole lot of bike. Two saddles, four pedals…
He braked beside me and rang the bell.
‘Evening, soldier. Need a ride?’
I laughed. ‘You daft bugger. What the hell are you doing on that?’
‘What does it look like?’ He jerked his head to the back of the tandem. ‘I’m picking you up. Your brother stopped by to say Gerry wasn’t in. Best snow-friendly transport I could manage at short notice.’
‘You seriously expect me to ride that thing?’
‘It’s only a few miles. Come on, it’ll be fun.’ He dismounted and rummaged in the pannier bag for an enormous fleece and a helmet. ‘Brought you these.’
I pulled the lovely warm fleece over my blazer and cuddled into it gratefully.
‘How does this work then?’ I asked, examining the tandem.
‘Like any bike. You get your own handlebars and pedals. We just need to find a rhythm that works for us both.’ He grinned. ‘Possibly a euphemism, I’ll leave it up to you.’
I didn’t like it at all when we got going. My handlebars were there to grip, but they couldn’t set direction or brake: all the control was at Stewart’s end. Every time we turned a corner, my stomach lurched.
But after ten minutes, I started to relax. It was actually quite pleasant once you got used
to it. I could look around me, enjoy the bonny snow-blanketed scenery, trusting Stew to keep us safe. I’d even feel secure letting him coast us down Cockcroft Hill – almost.
I frowned as we rounded a corner to Holyfield Farm. Gerry’s Land Rover was parked outside, and the light was on in the window.
‘I thought our Tom said he was out.’
Stewart blinked at the farmhouse. ‘He did.’
‘The sneaky git,’ I muttered.
‘Hey, let’s stop a minute,’ Stewart said. ‘Someone’s not doing her share of the pedalling and my knee needs a rest.’
‘So why would your brother say Gerry wasn’t in?’ he asked when we’d propped the bike against a drystone wall.
‘Subterfuge. I think it’s revenge for that intervention we pulled on him and Cameron.’
‘Revenge?’
‘Yeah. Tom’s got this theory. About… about me and you. You know.’
I turned my burning cheeks to the ground and peeked up at Stewart through my eyelashes. There was a little smile at the corner of his mouth.
‘You must be cold,’ he said at last. ‘Come here to me.’
I let him pull me into his arms and sighed against his chest. There didn’t seem any point fighting. I wanted to be in his arms so why not be in them? Suddenly it was all very simple.
‘Tell me about these stars then, skywatcher,’ he said softly.
‘You remember that?’
‘I remember. Couldn’t forget the sparkly look in your eyes when you told me.’ He ran a gentle finger along my cheek. ‘They are very pretty eyes.’
It was a sharp, clear evening now the snow had stopped, with a bleach-white gibbous moon. When a thin cloud passed over, it shone through to make a little halo of rainbow.
I pointed to a cluster of stars against the inky black, tracing them with my finger. ‘Well, that sort of w-shape, that’s Cassiopeia. The Romans believed she was a queen, cast into the night sky for being vain of her beauty.’
Stew laughed. ‘Someone should warn Harper.’
‘I bet he’d like it. Then he could be the biggest star of all.’ I pointed out another constellation. ‘And that stickman one’s Orion. See, you can just make out his swordbelt. Thirteen hundred light years away, can you believe it?’ I shook my head. ‘Always amazes me the Romans could look at that and see a man. They must’ve been smoking something pretty hardcore.’
A Bicycle Made For Two: Badly behaved, bawdy romance in the Yorkshire Dales (Love in the Dales Book 1) Page 31
