Since You've Been Gone

by Anouska Knight

  This was exactly why I didn’t say anything. Because Martha was going to get carried away and then when it all came tumbling down I’d have to avoid dewy eyes and conversations with her.

  “Look, Martha. You know me.... You know that all this isn’t me. I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t belong in this world,” I said, waving at the paper.

  “Don’t belong in what world, Hol? Picnics with a drop-dead gorgeous millionaire who’s taken an interest in you?”

  “Not the picnics. Being photographed as a latest squeeze. And he’s not a millionaire, Martha, before you get carried away. He just works for his father.”

  “All right, Hol. If you say so. Does it matter anyway? Any of it? If you’re having a good time. Lord knows you’re about due for one.”

  “I enjoy myself,” I said, more defensively than was necessary.

  “Oh, you do? At work? Or Saturday nights watching movies at ours? Or do you mean enjoying your time here, with half a ton of dog slobber for company? Because as far as I’m aware, you don’t get out much, Hol.” Martha didn’t look like Mum then. She looked like my big sister, who’d always taken care of me.

  “But what can he possibly see in me, Martha? I’m nothing like all the other women he’s used to. He said as much!”

  Martha shook her head. “You’ve always been the same, Hol, even when we were kids, playing in the dirt while the rest of us braided each other’s hair, shirking pretty dresses for hideous hand-me-downs. Even then you couldn’t see the boys watching you. I’m just going to throw this one out there, but maybe it’s because you’re not like all the other women he’s used to.”

  “He doesn’t know what I’m like, Martha. I’m not what he thinks.” I wasn’t what anyone thought; I’d spent most of the last two years hiding it.

  “Who’s to say he’s what you think? Why are you holding back, Hol? If you like him?”

  “I don’t want to be another conquest! You’ve seen yourself how many women he’s had—I haven’t been kissed for two years!” Up until today, in the forest. My stomach flipped at the memory.

  “We’ve just ascertained that the papers are unreliable, Holly. You said yourself that they don’t know what’s going on with him! How much of your hang-ups about him are based on other people’s opinions? You can’t judge him fairly on that and you bloody know it. That article has done you a favour—now you know it’s all bullshit.” She smiled. Martha didn’t usually swear.

  “It can’t all be, Martha. I’ve seen how women react to him. They’re like sharks around—” It was Ciaran’s analogy that tripped off my tongue.

  “Sharks around what? Blood? Well, then no wonder, Hol,” she said, laying her hand over her swollen tummy.

  “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder he acts like an emotionally impenetrable playboy. He’s been burned by that Clara and now he’s hiding. Something the two of you have in common.”

  “I don’t hide,” I said, busying myself away from her.

  “I know you like him. You’re hiding from that. And you’re also hiding behind all this rubbish you don’t really believe about his character, it’s an excuse to avoid the real issue here.”

  “Okay, Martha, you know best.” I wasn’t going to fight with an emotionally volatile pregnant woman.

  “I know you, Hol, and I know that to let him get this far inside your city walls, he must mean something to you. And I also know that there’s only one reason you can’t admit it to yourself.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said, giving up altogether.

  “Yeah—Charlie.”

  chapter 25

  The rest of Sunday had been about trying to blot my sister’s voice from my head. We weren’t kids anymore. She didn’t always know best. Martha’s trouble was that she still bought in to the whole fairy-tale thing, but she’d never been burned by the dragon.

  Monday had mostly held a sense of relief that he hadn’t called. Tuesday brought with it niggling questions, understanding, then confirmation of the obvious. I’d said I was unsuited to him. I’d known it since first seeing him that night under the manor entrance with Penny, Queen of Ice. Then Wednesday had arrived, bringing with it resignation.

  “What’s eating you, Hol? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you...mope.” I was not moping.

  “I am not moping. Have you finished those cookie favours yet?”

  “Touchy touchy... Yeah, they’re nearly finished. All the outlines are piped. They’re just drying off and then we can flood-ice them. D’ya want a cuppa?”

  I shook my head. I was not moping.

  “I’m going over to the golden girls for a smoothie. I think I need a vitamin C boost or something. Do you want anything?” I asked.

  “You’re ending the boycott? You must need a boost.” He chuckled softly.

  “I haven’t ended it. I’m just taking an interval. Do you want anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good, ta.”

  I didn’t bother answering the phone on my way past it to the door.

  “Get that, Jess?” I yelled back over my shoulder. I didn’t wait to check he’d heard.

  * * *

  Standing in line listening to the golden girls flirt with each of the two men either side of me, I could see Jess through the shop window across the street, elbows on the counter, laughing into the phone.

  “Next?” I bet it was one of his girlfriends, calling him up for a chat. Aleta Delgado probably. “Next?” The suit behind me touched my elbow while golden girl A waited for my order. Her eyebrows reached over leathery brown skin to a perfectly set mousy bouffant.

  “Just a mango-and-pineapple smoothie, please.” I shouldn’t have bothered with the “please”—the guy in front had got an extra dollop of clotted cream on his scones, the guy behind a compliment on his tie. All I’d got was “next?”

  “Small or large?”

  “Small, please.” Damn it, please had fallen out again.

  “Eat in or out?”

  “Drink out.” Point for me. Golden girl B, almost the negative version of her co-worker with dark bouffant and pale skin, raised her eyebrows as she rang it through the till. I went back to watching Jess, still gassing.

  “You work over the road, don’t you, love? With that lovely brown fella?” The darker of the two threw her thumb over her shoulder towards the window.

  “Jesse?” I asked.

  “That’s it, Jesse. Would you give him this? We haven’t seen him all week.”

  I watched as she moved brightly painted talons over the Chelsea buns before slipping the largest into a paper bag.

  “Will do.” I sighed, trying to avoid touching the nails. Golden girl A passed me my smoothie, charging me a small fortune for it.

  “That’s all fresh fruit in there. Might cheer you up a bit.” She smiled with lips coloured to match her own talons. “Tell Jesse we miss him.”

  I waited until I was outside before taking my first slurp of fruity goodness.

  Damn, that tastes good, I thought, gulping my way across the street.

  Jess radiated with glee as I shambled back into Cake. Now I knew he was talking to a girl. I moved around the counter for the bakery. Jess’s arm shot out to the facing wall, blocking me.

  “Yes, mate, no problem at all. D’ya want to speak to her? She’s just walked in.”

  Rob? I mouthed. Jess shook his head.

  “Yeah, I’ll tell her. Nine a.m., her place, get Mrs H. to feed Dave. Got it. I’ll tell her now. Cheers, mate.... Yeah...see ya.”

  “Who was that?”

  Jess cocked an eyebrow. “The name’s Bond, Ciaran Bond. He’s picking you up in the morning.”

  “That was Ciaran?” My voice nearly caught on his name.

  “Yeah, man, and he’s got a surprise for you tomorrow.�
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  “But tomorrow’s Thursday.... I have work!”

  “Not anymore. It’s all sorted. I’m gonna cover you tomorrow and he’s going to let me use his box at the footy this Sunday.”

  A mixture of excitement and dread began rising through my chest. I gulped down more smoothie to wash the sensation away.

  “Well, what did he say, Jess? Where’s he taking me?”

  “I don’t know, but he said wear whatever you like, casual, and that you’ll be gone until late afternoon.” Jess lent over the counter, trying a look of innocence that had never suited his face. In a matter of seconds it had broken into a wide-reaching smile.

  “What smoothie did you get, Hol?” he asked coyly. “Whatever it is, it seems to have given you that boost.”

  * * *

  I didn’t like surprises. Even ones that involved casual clothing. It was easier when I’d had a picnic to prepare, but too much time waiting around had led to too many cups of coffee, and now I was jittery with nothing to keep my mind off the clock other than bothering at my stubby nails.

  I watched eight-forty-five become eight-forty-six. By eight-forty-seven I was calling over the back fence to Mrs Hedley. “Morning, Mrs Hedley.”

  “Good morning.”

  “What are you up to, feeding the chickens?”

  “I’m just having a potter. A few of these pots need attention.” In her arms she cradled some sort of plant, way past the point of attention.

  “Oh, that one looks destined for the compost heap,” I said empathetically.

  “Don’t you believe it.”

  I watched as she poured no more than an egg-cupful of water over the dead brown leaves, then shoved the shriveled plant into my arms. “Where there’s life, there’s hope. Some things just need a chance to grow. Put it on your windowsill.”

  Great. These crispy brown leaves were never going to be green again, and now I had to find space for it for enough weeks before justifying its journey to the bin.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m going out shortly. Dave’s shut up in the kitchen, but could you feed him for me? In case I’m late?”

  “Off anywhere nice, are we?” she asked.

  “I don’t know yet.” I shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”

  Dave’s barking saw Mrs Hedley break a smile.

  “Enjoy yourselves.”

  I’d watched Ciaran walk towards me enough times now that surely it shouldn’t affect the rhythm of my breathing, but then, this was my first time after being featured in a newspaper with him, after feeling his fingers through my hair, after tasting his mouth on mine.

  “Hello,” he said, stopping just short of the doorway.

  “Hi. Casual, then?” I nodded at his outfit, the same leather boots he’d worn trekking, heavy mustard trousers and chunky grey hoody zipped over a white tee.

  “Absolutely no posh restaurants today, I promise.” He grinned. The tapes over his eye had come free, and the bruising was little more than a tinge under his skin now. “Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, I just need to grab my keys.”

  “I’ll get them for you. Go and jump in the car. Is Dave in the kitchen?” Ciaran shuffled past me into the hallway and found my keys on the table there.

  “Yes, I’ve shut the doors, haven’t I?”

  “I’ve got it.” Ciaran checked the kitchen door was closed and then followed me out, locking the front. Next to us, Mrs Hedley peeped her head around her own front door.

  “Good morning, young man. How’s that eye of yours?” she called, stepping onto the path.

  “Fine, thank you, Cora. You’re looking ravishing this morning!”

  Mrs. Hedley cackled at that. “Go on with you, you cheeky boy.”

  Ciaran reminded me of Jesse in some ways.

  “I won’t be a minute,” he whispered into my ear, before nipping over to her. He whispered something to her, too, before joining me at the car.

  “So where are we going?” I asked, climbing in.

  “Today, I am taking you for the Argyll experience. How’s your aim?” he asked, starting the car.

  “My aim?”

  “Yes. Your aim.”

  * * *

  It was easy with him. Comfortable. Too comfortable, if anything. I was at ease by the time we were into the forest, Ciaran having me in near hysterics with a tale involving Fergal mistaking a boardroom water cooler for a urinal.

  I was relaxed enough that I hadn’t thought about the route past the visitor centre until Ciaran had taken the same turning at the fork. I was glad he had. I didn’t have another excuse for us not to go down there.

  I’d needled him for a rough outline of the day ahead. He’d convinced me on the fishing, but after a little bartering Ciaran agreed to substitute the partridges with clay pigeons instead.

  “Hello, dear! So nice to have you back.” Mary was the perfect welcome for any house.

  “Hi, Mary. Nice to see you, too.” I smiled.

  Mary seemed pleased that I’d remembered her name. “Can I get you both a pot of tea? Or some breakfast? You didn’t eat this morning, Ciaran.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that, Mary. I’m going to be taking care of Holly today. Just so she knows I can tie my own shoelaces.”

  “Oh, all right.” She smiled. “Your father’s in the kitchen.”

  “Keep him in there, would you, Mary? We’re taking the shotguns out later. I wouldn’t want Holly to mistake him for a wild boar. I might be getting my inheritance earlier than I’d hoped.” Mary was too polite to laugh, but it was nice to hear Ciaran loosening up. He always had a tension about him, a coiled spring that could ping off at any time. At Hawkeswood, he was at ease.

  The morning’s fishing was...interesting. Ciaran had to do the maggot thing, though, which was gross, and when he hauled an eel out of the water, I was ready to play with the guns.

  Fergal joined us, and sat back into one of the stone chairs overlooking the river, which swallowed every single clay disc Ciaran blew from the air.

  “My arms are aching. Would you like to take my spot?” I asked, sitting beside Fergal on the stone bench.

  He reached to take the gun from my hands, passing me the little wooden duck he’d been shaping with his penknife.

  “That’s pretty,” I said, turning it in my hands, admiring the symmetry he’d achieved with such a simple tool. “I wanted to do woodwork at school, but my mother said it wasn’t a pursuit for girls.”

  “And would your mother consider shooting a pursuit for her wee girl?” he asked.

  My mother would have considered any pursuit acceptable on an estate like this. Another reason I didn’t want them to know about Ciaran.

  “I guess that would depend on what I was shooting at.” I smiled.

  Fergal laughed to himself. “Oh, aye, there’re a few beggars I could line my barrels on, I can tell ye. James Sawyer bein’ ma fust choice.”

  “Careful, Fergie. You don’t want Holly appraising your craftsmanship. She’s quite the artist,” Ciaran said, nodding to the carving in my hands.

  “Aye, I could see tha’ when she served me ma balls on a plate, lad!” Fergal handed me his knife. “Have a go, lass. Just take a little off the top there.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll ruin it. Wood’s harder to shape than it looks, literally,” I said.

  “So you did try woodcarving in the end?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, not me. But I watched my husband make a pig’s ear out of a newel post once.”

  “Aye, Ciaran told me about your man—Charlie was his name? Aye, lass, that’s a terrible burden on anyone so young. I was sorry to hear of it.”

  “A burden at any age, Mr Argyll. But I was lucky to have him.” Maybe it was inappropriate, but for Charlie I had to speak his name here. />
  “Call me Fergal. Was your Charlie no much good with practical work?” Fergal asked, undeterred.

  “No, he was very handy, actually. He did most of the work converting our home.”

  “He did a good job, too. It would have been a lot of work for one man,” Ciaran added. I was glad he’d joined the conversation.

  “Well, he didn’t do all of it. We bought half a farmhouse on the understanding we divided it into two separate homes. To save money, Charlie did most of the work himself, but the boys at the timber yard helped with the stairway and things.”

  “Which timber yard is that? No’ Beckitts?” Fergal asked.

  “Yes, that’s right, Beckitts. A lot of the Beckitts lads worked up at the forestry commission with Charlie. Do you know them?”

  “We do a lot of work with Beckitts,” Ciaran said.

  “Aye, they’re a good bunch of lads,” Fergal agreed.

  “Yeah, they are.” I smiled. “I remember them all killing themselves with laughter when Charlie proudly unveiled his finishing statement on the stairs. He’d tried for an owl as the first thing people would see walking into our home, but ended up with a monkey nut.”

  “So you made him replace it?” Fergal asked, smiling back at me.

  “No, thank goodness. It’s still exactly as it was, and I’m glad. It reminds me of him every time I walk through the door.” It hadn’t felt that way at first. At first it was just one more thing I had to navigate myself around. I’d retrained my hands to resist grabbing on to it each time I passed by, because I could still make out the tiny pencil marks he’d made. Where he’d tried to work out how to pull a discernible shape from the wood. I was frightened to death of rubbing Charlie’s marks away.

  “Would you excuse me, Holly? I’ll be right back.” Ciaran started at a gentle jog back towards the house.

  Fergal moved to rise from his seat and then thought better of it.

  “Oh, I canny be bothered,” he rumbled, taking a hip-flask from his jacket. He unscrewed the cap and offered it to me. The whisky was sharp as it raced down my throat, but the warming effect was instant. Fergal took a nip, too.