As she had confided in Penny, she now confided in Hannah, the wine in the bottle before them reducing drastically while she did so. Hannah was just about to pour out the last dregs when Jim walked in.
“Just in time,” he said, eyeing the wine as he walked up to Hannah. Snaking an arm around her shoulder, he bent to kiss her lightly on the lips.
There was a knock on the door. Jim went to answer it.
“I’ll have to dig out that spare key whilst you’re here,” Layla heard Jim saying to Joseph. He had returned, then, an hour later, she noted. Not unreasonable at all.
“Hey, babe.” Joseph came over to her and bent down to kiss her as Jim had kissed Hannah. As he stood back up, he touched one hand to her mouth, as though wanting to keep the impression his lips had made on hers intact.
Hannah quickly found a second bottle of red and another two glasses, filling them alongside her own and Layla’s. Handing one to everybody, she lifted her glass and said, “To no-longer-absent friends. It’s great to have you both back.”
“It’s good to be back,” Joseph returned. “And, Jim, congratulations on the new CD. We play it all the time, don’t we, Layla?”
Clinking glasses, Layla had to admit she was feeling happier. It was great to see Hannah and Jim and hopefully the rest of the crowd—Mick, Curtis, and Ryan—as well as other familiar faces from the village at the pub a bit later on. She was home.
After they’d drained their glasses and Layla had freshened up—travel always made her feel grubby—all four made their way to the Trecastle Inn, the pub where Layla had worked with Hannah during her year here. Hannah still worked at the inn, but not so much nowadays, thanks to her art taking off, and not tonight, either, or for the next few days. She had taken time off while Layla and Joseph were visiting.
“I see May’s is still going strong,” Layla remarked to Hannah as they walked down the high street arm in arm, the boys trailing behind them, deep in conversation.
“Yep, and Harvest Moon too. Martha’s weird and wonderful bath concoctions fly off the shelves. She does mail order now too.”
“I’ll have to pop in,” replied Layla. “Get something divine to wallow in. I’m on holiday, after all.”
The Trecastle Inn looked as resplendent as ever—if resplendent was a word that could ever be applied to the slightly run-down red brick building that stood in front of her. Probably not, but beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and resplendent was how she would describe it. She had loved working there, with its laid-back atmosphere and the people who frequented it, had enjoyed the sociability of bar work—such a contrast to working in an office. There were other pubs in the village, but this was the one the slightly younger crowd favored, a crowd she had bonded with straightaway, had become a part of. The other two—Pilgrim’s Rest and The Cornish Man—were more restaurants than pubs. They didn’t have the rustic charm, unintentional rather than stylized, that the Trecastle Inn had.
Inside, tables were scattered liberally across the wooden floor, some round, others rectangle. Around them was an eclectic assortment of chairs and benches. On the left-hand wall, a big chalkboard artfully detailed the local beers on offer—Doom Bar and Tribute the most popular—while the jukebox, standing against a central pillar, was thankfully silent. Layla remembered that the sound that came out of it was less musical than whiney. The bar itself was set toward the back of the pub, and Tom, a casual worker when she had worked there, was manning it.
“Joe, Layla!” It was Mick, coming toward them, his ruddy, open countenance a welcome sight. A local fisherman, he was also a very popular village resident, the life and soul of any party. Layla returned his beaming smile. With or without Martha’s potions, she could feel herself relaxing.
As Jim had embraced Joe in a bear hug at the airport, Mick did too, patting him heartily on the back upon release.
“My main man,” he declared. “It’s good to see you.”
Turning swiftly to Layla, he held her first at arm’s length.
“You lovely little minx, you,” he said fondly before bear-hugging her too, depriving her of oxygen in the process.
Layla couldn’t help it; she giggled as he let her go. She noticed Joseph smiling at her reaction to Mick, clearly glad that her mood had lightened.
Mick had made no secret upon first meeting Layla that he found her attractive. But when he realized his feelings weren’t reciprocated, he had backed off, turning his attentions elsewhere. There had been many times Layla had thought it a shame she couldn’t reciprocate. Mick was a simple and straightforward bloke; life with him might have been simple and straightforward too. But you couldn’t help who you had feelings for or the depth of those feelings either. When they hit, they hit hard.
Curtis and Ryan came forward next. Jim’s band mates—Curtis played guitar, Ryan played drums—they occupied another planet most of the time, Layla often thought, a planet where they were both permanently lost in the rhythm of life. She was fond of them, though. Slightly younger than the rest of the crowd, just past their mid-twenties as opposed to thirty onward, they, like Jim, looked every inch the musicians they were, despite or because of the rather dubious hoodies they were currently sporting.
As drinks were passed round and banter exchanged, Layla could feel her tension dissolving. If she tried very hard, she might even be able to expunge Tara from her mind completely. Maybe the girl wouldn’t impact much on their stay here. Maybe Joseph really had fulfilled his role. Maybe she wouldn’t want him for anything more.
“But if she does,” she remembered Joseph saying, “I’d like to think I can be supportive without you losing your cool about it.”
Cool was exactly what she’d been. Perhaps it was time to warm up. Moving closer to Joseph, she smiled as his arm wrapped round her shoulders, despite the fact he was deep in conversation with Mick. As her arm went around his waist and she snuggled up to him, relishing his closeness, she looked over at Hannah, laughing with Jim, Curtis, and Ryan. She felt part of one big, happy family here—a family she’d never really had growing up as an only child, estranged from her mother most of the time—although happily, they were closer now—and her father lost to her at seven. Hannah, like Penny, was a sister to her. Although with Hannah, she never fell out like sisters sometimes do. With Penny, however, there had been one or two arguments in the past. But always they made up, their bond strengthened further, if anything.
They stayed in the pub much longer than they’d intended. Eventually, though, Hannah managed to tempt them away.
“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go home, get dinner on the go.”
Saying their good-byes, various promises exchanged between them all to meet again the next day, same place, same time, all four left the pub behind them.
“Hang on,” said Joseph, holding Layla back. “We’ll catch up with you guys in a minute. I want to take a trip down memory lane.” Winking at her, he added, “Literally.”
Layla knew where he wanted to go—to his workshop, a little farther down the high street. Coming to a standstill outside it, she thought he seemed a bit misty-eyed. Having ended his rental contract on the building shortly before they moved, the building had subsequently been brought and transformed into a quaint little shop with living quarters upstairs. The shop, called Honey Bee, specialized in local honey, all types and flavors, and a wealth of honey-related products: honeycomb, honey fudge, salad dressings, even face, body and hand creams. Looking at the products neatly displayed in the window, Layla made a mental note to pop in there the next day, as well as Harvest Moon. The honeycomb looked delicious.
Immediately she felt guilty for loving the new shop. This had been Joseph’s premises once, where he had forged his career as a carpenter, built a reputation for himself—and a good reputation, too. He had never been short of work. A mental image of him leaning over his workbench, engrossed in his latest project, came to mind. How anyone could look so good with so much sawdust on them she didn’t know.
“There’
s no turning back, is there?” He sounded almost regretful.
“I don’t suppose so,” she replied, a wistfulness in her voice too.
He turned to look at her then. In the silver glow of the moonlight, he was mesmerizing—the magic of Trecastle at work?
“Do you like it in Florence?”
Like it? Yes, she liked it and said so. “Don’t you?” she asked.
“Of course I do.” He didn’t sound convinced.
Had Tara returning home made the idea of following suit more attractive? She promptly chased away the frown that accompanied such a cynical thought.
“I don’t think our time’s come to an end in Florence quite yet,” she ventured.
“Maybe,” Joseph complied. “It just feels so right being here, though, doesn’t it? As though we’re part of a jigsaw. We fit.”
She couldn’t help it. She had to ask. “Does Tara intend staying put?”
Joseph looked genuinely nonplussed. “I don’t know what Tara intends to do.” Then he seemed to realize her suspicions. “Whether she does or not has nothing to do with what I’ve just said.”
“I know,” she replied, perhaps a little too quickly to be entirely convincing. After a moment, she added, “And your services, has Tara dispensed with them?”
“My services?”
“Your help,” she corrected begrudgingly.
“I don’t know that either.” Was there a slight warning in his voice, or was she imagining it? Still on the defensive, he added, “I said I’d be here for her if she needs me, just like you would be for one of your friends. All I’m trying to be is supportive.”
“I’m not saying anything to the contrary.”
“You’re implying it.”
“No, I’m not,” Layla lied.
Turning on her heel, she started walking up the high street, back past the pub, the village store, more gift shops, this time selling New Age and Celtic memorabilia. Shops cashing in on the region’s Dark Age history, when the castle on the cliff had been a formidable stronghold, full of life and courtly goings-on. A time when soldiers had been forced to defend their homes, their ladies, and their families. Right now, she felt a surprising affinity with those soldiers. She too had to find some way to fight off the enemy that had suddenly invaded. Striking from nowhere and so effectively too.
Joseph quickly fell into step beside her.
“Before you say it—” she couldn’t keep her voice from sounding waspish “—yes, I do trust you. You’re the one that’s paranoid, not me.”
“I’m not paranoid,” Joseph immediately retaliated. “I just get the feeling you’re not being honest with me, that’s all. You say you trust me, but I’m not sure you do.”
Oh, and you blame me for that, do you? she thought, but she refrained from saying it. Acting the harridan every time Tara’s name was mentioned wasn’t going to endear her to anyone. Still, there was no way she was not going to stand up for herself.
“Joseph,” she said, coming to a standstill outside Uncle Davy’s Cabin, fine purveyors of fish and chips, or so the sign above the black-painted door would have you believe. “Just cut me a bit of slack, okay? Tara turns up out of the blue, the one place in the world where you happen to be, and you just happen to bump into her.”
Briefly, she paused. It reminded her of a line from that film—what was it? Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. He’d mused about how, of all the bars around the world, she’d wandered into his. The fact it was a romantic film, a romantic sentiment, irked her even more, but she bit down on that for now.
“You then tell me you want her to accompany us back to Trecastle,” she continued, “because she’s in trouble, because she has a secret, and not just any secret, but a big secret. Because of it, she can’t face coming home alone; she needs a chaperone. I accept all this. And that you can’t tell me what this so-called secret is until the time is right. I also accept that you want me to trust you, and I’m willing to trust you because I love you. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, and I never will. But every now and then, I get a bit antsy about it. Don’t worry, though, because I remind myself who I’m doing this for—you, not her.” She cocked her head to one side. “And you know what? In some ways, I admire you. What you’re prepared to do for a…friend. But, whatever way you want to look at it, it’s a strange situation. The kind you find in books and think, yeah, right, as if. So, forgive me if my enthusiasm wanes every now and then. Like I said, cut me some slack. Because you know what? That’s exactly what I’m doing for you.”
Layla would bet a pound to a penny the look of surprise on his face reflected her own. The pent-up feelings in her since finding out about Tara had obviously needed release—more so than even she had realized. Holding his gaze, she refused to look away. Nonetheless, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his reaction.
Incredibly, he laughed.
“Joseph!” she admonished.
“I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”
“What then?” She was absolutely flummoxed.
“It’s your eyes. I swear they fire sparks when you’re all riled up…”
Just as she was about to stomp off, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back, straight into his arms.
“I love you too, you know.”
She could believe it, the way he was looking at her.
Repeating the words she had used earlier, he added, “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I never will.”
Swept away in the moment, she could only nod in reply.
“You are the only woman I want.”
“Oh, Joseph…” she murmured.
“Despite the fact you’re a complete pain in the arse at times.”
With a thud, she came crashing back to earth. “Hey, you are too, you know,” she protested.
“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, laughing again.
Swiping at him, she pretended offense.
A couple of moments later, she was laughing too.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back. Hannah and Jim will be sending out a search party at this rate.”
She threaded her arm through his, and they walked the rest of the distance in comfortable silence, a gentle breeze blowing in off the Atlantic and wrapping them in its embrace.
At Hannah’s front door, Joseph fished around in his jeans pocket for the key, first one and then the other. Finding it eventually, he let them into the flat.
Inside, Layla could hear voices from the kitchen. Hannah’s and Jim’s and…someone else’s.
The warm glow she had felt from the look on his face when Joseph had told her he loved her, a look she hoped he’d very much emulate when they were alone together later, grew cold. Yes, there was definitely a third voice—a female third voice—tones concerned rather than jovial. What was going on? Was that Tara in there with them? In need of more support?
Layla looked at Joseph. Even he looked confused. If Tara was in the kitchen with Hannah and Jim, he clearly hadn’t known beforehand she would be. Bracing herself, Layla picked up her pace. If Tara was in need of more support, fair enough. But she couldn’t expect Joseph to give up his holiday entirely for her, nor could she expect Layla to remain in un-blissful ignorance for much longer. Neither of them could. Not when it affected her too. They’d have to come clean, the pair of them. They’d have to.
Steaming into the kitchen, she stopped short.
“Penny,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Eleven
WHEN JOSEPH HAD DRIVEN AWAY, Tara had stood at her parents’ front door for what seemed like an eternity, doing her best to breathe evenly, to remain calm and collected. In reality, however, it could only have been minutes. But not just one or two minutes, she was sure. A fair few of them had stacked up.
She was back. She was home, in Port Levine, the small Cornish village where she had been born, where she had spent her childhood and the majority of her teenage years, among green hi
lls and whitewashed cottages, a place of simple beauty. A place unparalleled because of its simplicity, she hadn’t found its match, no matter how far she traveled. And perhaps she never would. It seemed unlikely now.
At last she found the courage to announce her arrival, rapping on the cast iron doorknocker. She knew the doorbell didn’t work; it hadn’t in years. Her parents were cool about it, though. They didn’t sweat the small stuff. The big stuff, she couldn’t vouch for.
It took another couple of minutes before the door opened, retreating slowly inward, revealing inch by inch the hazy interior and then the shape of her mother, a small woman too, smaller than Tara, a little over five feet.
“My goodness…What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Mum.” Tara smiled at her, for a few moments savoring the emotions running riot across her mother’s face—surprise, confusion, and then utter delight.
“Tara, darling,” Lily breathed, and then, not so much calling but shrieking, “Roger, Roger, come and see who’s at the door.”
Immediately she started fussing. “Oh my, what am I doing, leaving you standing on the doorstep? How very remiss of me. Come in. Come in, darling girl. Oh, it’s so good to see you.”
Tara didn’t need asking twice. She flew into the circle of her mother’s arms, loving the perfumed smell of her, a mixture of roses and baking, such a familiar scent, so clean, so…so pure somehow. Behind her, another voice.
“Good heavens above, I don’t believe it. Tara.”
Tara flew to him too, to her dad. His smell was different than her mum’s; it was more musk and tobacco but just as comforting. She adored her mum, had grown closer to her as an adolescent, but when she was small, she had been a daddy’s girl through and through, the bond between them incredible. It was good to be back, so bloody good. She should never have left for so long. It was unforgivable. Unforgivable. The word brought her up short. They looked different than the picture of them she carried around in her head. They looked older. Of course, she had kept in regular touch via phone and e-mail, but she hadn’t actually seen them, not in the flesh, for three years. Both of them refused to use Skype. “Bah, I’m not getting into all that,” her father would say whenever she had asked him to consider it. Perhaps if he had, her surprise today at least wouldn’t have been so bad. Time had marked them. Her father’s once broad shoulders now had a slight sag to them, and her mother’s hair was more gray than black. The opposite had been true when she had left.
The Runaway Ex Page 9
