“Hey, Tara, nipped out for a bit of fresh air?”
“Er, yeah, I just needed a quick breather. You know how it is. I’m fine now, though. Ready to start working the room again.”
Layla had laughed. “Before you do, though,” she had tentatively started, “can I have a quick word?”
“Yeah, sure, what about?” Tara had replied amenably.
“I wondered what you were doing tomorrow. Whether we could meet for lunch?”
“Lunch?” She had seemed startled by such an invitation.
Layla had rushed to reassure her. “Don’t worry. It’s not because I want to have a go at you or anything, I promise. I’ve been unfriendly, I know. I’m sorry. Perhaps we could get to know each other a bit. We do have quite a bit in common, after all.”
“Joseph, you mean?”
“Exactly. It would be good to talk.”
Tara had grinned back at her then. “That would be lovely. Yes, thanks, I’d love to. Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll borrow Joseph’s car and come to Port Levine, if that’s okay. Does the pub there serve lunch?”
“Yes, yes, they do.”
After committing to memory Tara’s parents’ address and setting a meeting time for half past noon, Layla had disappeared back into the crowd, feeling quite proud of being so grown up about the situation. When she had told Joseph about it later in bed, she had hoped he’d feel the same way. He had, drawing her closer to him in the darkness. She hadn’t resisted him this time. She couldn’t resist him, in truth. With Penny in the front room, though, and Hannah and Jim close by, she knew they had to be quiet. Sadly, a fit of giggles got the better of her, causing not just her body but also the bed to shake violently. God knows what the other occupants must have thought. Eventually the giggling had subsided, and in the stillness of the night, they had found their rhythm, moving together silently and faultlessly, his eyes holding hers as they reached their climax together. In the morning, when she had woken, his arms were still round her, as though he’d never let her go. Hopefully, he wouldn’t. He and Tara might have been the perfect couple once, but now she and Joseph were.
Later that morning, Joseph and Jim announced plans to check out a music venue in Exeter that 96 Tears was playing a gig at soon. A bit of a lengthy drive, they’d use Hannah’s car, as Layla was commandeering the Defender and would be gone for most of the afternoon. When Penny had eventually surfaced, her hair very bed-head, her eyes still rimmed with kohl, she and Hannah had quickly decided to go shopping in Bude. There weren’t many good shops around these parts. You had to go into Exeter if you seriously wanted to add to your wardrobe, but Bude had a better selection than most Cornish towns. A little farther up the coast, the drive was a treat in itself too, past the beaches of Crackington Haven and Widemouth Bay, huge expanses of sand and ocean, viewed majestically from the road that ran beside them.
Layla almost wished she could join them, but she’d made plans with Tara, and she couldn’t break them. Watching Hannah and Penny get ready for their outing—the boys had already left—she felt a little wistful, however. She didn’t have long to spend in their company, and she wanted to make the most of every minute. But it might be nice for them to spend some time together too, Hannah and Penny. Although her best friends were so different—Penny was feisty, Hannah was dreamy—they actually got on very well. They were laughing now about something to do with surf wear and diamond jewelry. Another chalk and cheese match. Smiling at the pair of them chatting away, Layla glanced at her watch. It was a few minutes after noon. She’d better leave now if she was going to make it to Port Levine by twelve thirty.
“Okay, girls, I’m off. Wish me luck, won’t you?”
“You won’t need it,” declared Hannah.
Penny, Layla noticed, didn’t look so sure.
“Penny, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Er, yeah.” Penny smiled back at her. “Just be careful, though, huh?”
Layla laughed. “On the road, you mean? Don’t worry. I can handle the Defender.”
Penny’s eyes clouded over. “No, I’m not talking about the bloody car. I’m talking about Tara. Just be careful of her, okay? Stay on your guard. Remember why you’re going to see her—to gauge her, to see what she’s all about. To find out what she’s up to.”
Layla was taken aback. Penny didn’t like Tara, she could tell.
“She does actually seem very nice,” Layla started.
“I thought so too,” Hannah chimed in. “Really friendly.”
Penny looked exasperated. “I’m just saying, that’s all. Just…take care, Layla.”
Layla held her gaze. Did Penny know something she didn’t? She’d been a bit funny last night too, on the walk home. Not funny toward her, but a little off with Joseph, ignoring him almost. Perhaps she was being over-protective, motherhood bringing that streak in her to the fore. Layla decided that was it. It made sense. Penny couldn’t possibly know anything she didn’t.
“I will,” she reassured her. “You go off and have a good time. I’ll see you all later.”
The drive to Port Levine took twenty minutes, the Defender’s clunky handling indeed proving something of a challenge to Layla. She fondly remembered her red Mazda, the car she had first driven down here in. It was a much easier car to drive, much smaller. She’d had to sell it when she and Joseph moved to Florence, though. Not that it was worth much, but every penny counted at the time. Joseph hadn’t bothered to sell the Defender. He had given it to Jim instead to look after, along with the trail bike he used to whizz along country lanes in. Good job Hannah and Jim’s flat had plenty of parking at the back, not just a carport but roadside parking too.
Before long, she had pulled up outside Tara’s parents’ house. Turning off the engine, she sat in the car for a few moments, admiring the chocolate-box scene before her. Port Levine was small but perfectly formed, with a charming selection of dwellings, most of them detached or semi-detached, a post office that doubled as the village shop, and one pub, a communal meeting place. There was a Methodist church too—another communal meeting place, no doubt. Tara’s house, the one she grew up in, was gorgeous, white with a thatched roof and a purple door. Someone in the family had a quirky sense of humor. The garden in front was pristine, a garden path dividing two perfectly manicured lawns with plenty of plants in sharp-edged borders promising a riot of color to come.
Taking a deep breath, she also checked her face, smoothing down her hair and applying a fresh layer of lipstick, a plum shade, perfect for daylight hours. Satisfied she looked okay, she made her way up the paved path to knock on the purple door. It opened so quickly, she wondered if Tara had been hovering behind it—either that or she’d been looking out the window at Layla preening herself in the vanity mirror.
“Hi, Layla. It’s good to see you. Come in.”
Layla stepped tentatively inside. The interior was just as lovely as the exterior, with low ceilings and oak beams. It was homey, traditional-looking, a lovely place to grow up in.
An older woman in a faded pink apron came toward them. “Hello,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Lily, Tara’s mother. Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too.” Layla smiled, noting the warmth of her grip.
From the direction of what must be the living room came her father. “Hello, dear. Layla, isn’t it? I hear you girls are off to lunch.”
“Yes, yes, we are. The Admiral, isn’t it, Tara?” Layla asked.
Tara nodded. “Is that okay? They do a mean lasagna in there.”
“Sounds fabulous.” Layla smiled at her.
“Off you go, then, girls. Have a lovely time.” Lily’s mother walked with them to the door, waving as they walked down the path.
“They seem lovely, your parents,” Layla remarked. They also hadn’t made any comment regarding her status as Joseph’s current girlfriend. They knew Joseph, had known him well. She had expected some comment to be made.
“They’re
the best. Me and my sister, we’re fortunate to have them.”
“And the door. Who chose such a fun color?”
“My mum. Purple is her favorite color.”
“It’s one of mine too,” Layla replied.
The walk to the pub took a few minutes. A coaching inn dating back to seventeen sixty, it was an imposing building built of granite and slate. Inside were more beams, painted black, not natural and gnarled as they had been left in Tara’s house. In the fireplace stood a huge cast-iron grate, bereft of a fire as the day was far from cold. It was beautiful, more like May or June than early April. Tara was greeted like a long-lost friend.
“Tara! How lovely to see you again,” said the man standing behind the bar. “Grace, look who’s come to see us,” he called behind him.
Grace emerged from a small doorway just behind the bar. “Tara!” she said upon sight of her. “Your mother said you were back when I met her in the village store a couple of days ago. What a wonderful surprise it was for them, and not only them, but for us too. We’re thrilled to see you.”
As the three hugged and caught up, Layla took a step back. A few moments later, Tara was introducing her to them. Sweetly, they fussed over her too.
After choosing their drinks and what they’d like to eat, the two girls took a seat beside the fireplace, Layla thinking how romantic it would be to be here on a winter’s night. She stopped short. Was this the exact place Tara and Joseph had sat on those aforementioned winter nights, thinking just the same, how romantic it all was, basking in the glow of the fire? How pretty Tara would look in such demure lighting. Was she having a laugh at Layla’s expense by sitting with her in the same place? A dig of sorts? Layla shook such thoughts from her head. This jealous streak, where had it come from? She’d never been particularly jealous before, but then, she’d never been in love before, not real love. It seemed to be a double-edged sword.
The bartender brought over their drinks—a healthy tomato juice for Tara, a not-so-healthy Coke for her.
Taking a sip of her drink, Layla decided to dispense with any more small talk.
“Look, Tara. I’m sorry I’ve been a bit off with you—”
Tara cut in. “Please don’t apologize. There’s no need. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. I’ve burst into your life, disrupted it. But I promise it’s only temporary. And I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t premeditated or anything. I swear.”
Layla was taken aback. It was as though such words had been eager to escape Tara for ages, and she was now seizing the opportunity to let them. Quickly, she studied Tara’s face—was she protesting too much or being genuine? According to Joseph, they had met purely by accident in Florence. Maybe it was true.
“It’s fine,” she tried to reassure her. “Joseph’s told me everything.” She immediately corrected herself. “Not everything. I mean, as much as he can tell me. And I hope whatever it is that’s drawn you back here is sorted very soon.”
Tara looked away, her big blue eyes shiny.
Tentatively, Layla laid a hand on her arm. “And if I can help, in any way, I will.”
Tara looked back at her. Yes, she was definitely holding back tears.
“I can see why Joseph adores you.”
Layla blushed. “Can you?”
“Yeah.” Tara smiled. “We…we were great together for the years we were together, but I think we both knew we weren’t each other’s ‘forever’ partners. You two, you can see you’re in it for the long haul.”
Layla smiled too. Regarding the long haul, she knew she certainly was. They might have only been together for just over a year as opposed to the “years” he’d been with Tara, but her “forever” partner was exactly how she thought of him. Her mind returning to Tara, she asked if there had been anyone special for her in Oz—a question she had asked her the first time they had met, at the apartment in Florence.
Tara took a moment to answer. “I met guys, a few of them. But, no, there was no one special.”
Although Tara had hesitated, Layla saw no reason not to believe her this time. Finding that special someone, it was hard. To that, the members of a thousand dating sites would testify.
“And what about the future?” she pressed on. “Are you home for good? Or do you plan to travel again sometime soon?”
“I haven’t made any plans for the future. I’m just taking each day as it comes. There’s plenty of time to decide what I’m going to do.”
“Yes, of course. Maybe you might even go back to London?”
“Maybe…” Tara was noncommittal.
“Oh, look, here’s the food,” Layla said, looking up.
Both of them, on Tara’s recommendation, had ordered the lasagna. Layla was starving, and immediately she started digging into it. The grilled cheese on top was delightfully gooey.
“This is so good,” she said in between mouthfuls. Then, noticing Tara playing with her food rather than eating it, she asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Oh, yeah, I am,” Tara replied, quickly lifting her fork. “Mum cooked a big breakfast, that’s all. You know what mums are like, insist on cooking the full works.”
She didn’t, actually. Growing up, Layla had mainly had to get her own breakfast. Her mum, Angelica, hated cooking with a passion. Cocoa Pops or some such delight had been her breakfast staple. But still, it was a valid excuse. Tara was tiny; she didn’t look as if she ate much at the best of times.
Conversation turned to more mundane matters as they ate. Layla was unable to concentrate on too much but the food in front of her. It really was delicious.
Finishing, she sat back in her chair and wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“Fancy some dessert?” Tara said, amused.
“Ooh, yeah,” Layla began and then burst out laughing. “Sorry, I troughed that, didn’t I?”
“You did a bit.” Tara was laughing too. “But it’s good to see my recommendation passed muster.”
“It certainly did.” Eyeing Tara’s plate again, she said, “Your mum’s breakfast must have been mega.”
“It was—egg, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, the works. That as well as French toast.”
“Sounds lovely,” Layla said. If she had to guess, she’d say only two or three forkfuls of lasagna had passed Tara’s lips. In contrast, her own plate was scraped clean.
“Oh, do you want it?” Tara said, starting to push her plate toward her.
“No, no,” Layla replied, making a show of clutching at her stomach. “I’m bulging as it is. I think I’ll leave dessert too. Another time, maybe.”
If there was going to be another time, thought Layla wryly. As much as she was enjoying Tara’s company, she couldn’t deny wanting the mystery surrounding her resolved. Until it was, she was stuck in a limbo of sorts, unable to move on.
After a second round of drinks, they talked more, Layla about life in Florence, Tara about her travels in Australia, each of them genuinely enjoying hearing about the other’s experiences. Another hour quickly passed. Layla noticed Tara looked tired; she had also started wincing slightly. Layla wondered why.
“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned.
“Yeah.” Tara seemed to attempt to smile in reply but instead screwed her face up slightly. “Actually, I’ve got a headache coming on. I have had since this morning.”
“Poor you,” commented Layla. Tara actually did look like she was in pain.
“Sorry. Do you mind if I go home? I think I need to lie down in a darkened room.”
“No, not at all. Come on, let’s go. I’ll walk with you.”
Tara was quiet on the walk back, one hand spread wide, massaging her temples. As they passed the Methodist church, she stopped suddenly.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth, she turned to the grass verge and bent double. Layla watched in horror as she retched violently.
“Tara, are you okay?” Immediately, she berated herself. Why did people ask such stupid q
uestions in situations like this? “Here, let me help you.” Layla started rubbing her back. Whether that was helping or just irritating her, she didn’t know.
Promptly, Tara was sick again.
“I’ll run and get your parents,” Layla said, mentally calculating the distance between the church and Tara’s house. It wasn’t far, just a few meters. She’d be minutes.
“No.” Tara’s raised voice startled her. “I’ll be fine. Please…have you got any tissues on you?”
Layla scrabbled about in her pockets. She found one that was thankfully still pristine. She quickly offered it to Tara, who took it gratefully, wiping at her mouth with it as best she could.
“I’m sorry, Layla. I’m so sorry.”
“Not at all. You’re unwell. You can’t help it.”
“Can you please help me home?”
“Of course.”
When they reached the pathway to the cottage, Tara stopped. “I’m feeling much better now,” she insisted, although to Layla she looked worse than ever, her face whiter than fresh snowfall.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Rushing on, she added, “Don’t tell my parents, will you? They’ll only worry.”
“But surely they’d want to know if you’re unwell?”
“Layla,” Tara persisted. “Please. I just need to lie down, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, no, I won’t tell them. Not if you don’t want me to.”
“And don’t tell Joseph either?”
Layla started. Why ever not? What a strange thing to ask.
“Erm…okay, I won’t say a word.”
Tara looked at her then, held her gaze.
“Thanks for looking after me, for sticking with me. Vomit—it’s never pleasant to be around.”
Layla smiled. “I won’t say it’s my pleasure,” she joked, “but I’d never leave you in such a state.”
Tara looked at her front door, as though trying to measure the distance between it and the garden gate. “Actually, I think I can make it from here, thanks.”
“Okay.” Layla knew there was no point in arguing. Tara was nothing if not determined. “I’ll get your number off Joe and text you later, maybe tomorrow when you’re more rested. Make sure you’re feeling better. Is that okay?”
The Runaway Ex Page 14
