The Wish

by Alex Brown

  Jude sat on one of the sofas, wondering if this was the only room that had been furnished. She reckoned it must be. And maybe a bedroom or two, unless Myles was sleeping at Lawrence’s, the only B&B in Tindledale. But that was highly unlikely, given his celebrity status and Sylvia’s desire to keep groupies well away from him. No, he must be living here and making do until he could get the house properly furnished. And she felt excited at the prospect. Maybe that’s why Myles had called her, to help him fill the whole manor house with gorgeous antiques and special pieces to really make it a lovely, welcoming home once again.

  She smiled as her anger dissipated, and glanced around. The room was nice enough, with shards of spring sunshine streaming in through the four floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked what was once the lavender farm – named because in summer time it had been packed with an abundance of perfectly perfumed wild lavender as far as the eye could see. A purple field, Jude had thought when her mum had brought her to one of the open days as a child. She remembered it well, as Marigold and some of the Women’s Institute ladies had organised a teddy bears’ picnic afterwards. Jude had been sick on too much chocolate cake all over the tartan blanket laid out on the immaculate lawn, and her mum had been mortified.

  Tony had taken to retelling the story many times over, usually on Jude’s birthday, each time with extra embellishment, just to add to the amusement and poignancy of the moment. But, she also realised retrospectively it was a nice way of keeping Sarah’s memory alive. Her dad had always been very good at that, and they had enjoyed many phone calls while she was in LA, where Sarah’s cousin Maggie had come on the phone to reminisce with Tony too. She remembered how Maggie had laughed as well on hearing about the teddy bears’ picnic, and had said how she bet Sarah’s face had been a picture. And then lovely Maggie, after the call had ended, had especially made a chocolate cake, and they had lain in the LA sun together, on a blanket, eating big slices in tribute to Sarah …

  Suddenly, the door bounced open, breaking Jude’s reverie, and she leapt up.

  ‘Here she is! The Darling girl. What took you so long?’ A tall, rakish man, in his early forties perhaps, came bounding into the room like an overexcited Labrador. His sandy blond hair was pulled back into one of those silly man buns (she groaned inwardly) and he was wearing a Star Wars T-shirt teamed with designer jeans that were hanging halfway down his hips, flashing a pair of tight black boxer shorts with Superdry stamped on the waistband. And he smelled gorgeous, expensive too … Chanel if she wasn’t mistaken. An evocative scent for Jude – she’d kissed a guy wearing it at a beach party in the Maldives, and the glorious smell alone had been enough to make her nearly succumb to his suggestion of a one-night stand. They had been interrupted when a waiter came to bring them more cocktails and the moment had vanished, but still … Jude had always thought the power of scent an incredible thing.

  ‘Um, err … well, the bus,’ she stuttered, irritation rising inside her again as she pulled her mind away from the man on the beach in the Maldives and back to the moment. For a man she had only just met, Myles seemed to have a special ability to rub her up the wrong way. And that was really saying something after some of the egos she had encountered while living in LA, Jude concluded. Even if he did smell absolutely divine!

  ‘Bus! You came on a bus?’ Myles said the word ‘bus’ as if it was some kind of alien concept that had never occurred to him before now.

  Jude took a deep, steadying breath and tried not to let the Chanel scent sway her from feeling anything other than focused on putting him right. ‘Yes, that’s right. I haven’t sorted out a car yet. You see, I’ve not long been back here in Tindled—’

  ‘Where have you come from then?’ he cut in, folding his arms and then cupping his chin between the thumb and index finger of his left hand.

  ‘Los Angeles,’ she replied casually, playing him at his own game, as he clearly thought he was a really big deal. The global superstar he’d been all those years ago. But not now. Times and tastes had changed, and Jude had kept herself up to date with pop culture. She had to, in order to be taken seriously by her superstar clients, so she knew it was all androgynous boys with pale skin, messy hair and skinny black jeans who were on trend now, with no place for over-tanned has-beens with silly topknots. ‘And before that, I travelled all over the world, sourcing antiques for a portfolio of very discerning clients,’ she added airily, thinking, ha, see how you like that!

  ‘But I thought you were a local. I need a country girl. You know, someone who can sort out this crib.’ Did he really just say ‘crib’? And he waved a hand grandly around the room. ‘Make it a proper rural retreat. And I’m thinking chickens, pigs, and goats and sheep, the ones with the black faces and the curly horns …’ He paused to place cupped hands either side of his head, as if to demonstrate what horns were.

  ‘Blackface,’ Jude interjected. ‘They’re called Blackface sheep.’ She just about managed to mask her sigh of contempt.

  ‘Yeah, whatever. I want them. Loads of them.’ He paced around the room, clearly fired up with enthusiasm for his country living project.

  ‘OK,’ she said slowly.

  ‘But LA living isn’t what I’m after.’ Myles turned away and then muttered something about yoga and wheatgrass gunk. Jude tried not to smile.

  ‘Well, I’m not a fan of yoga either. Or wheatgrass gunk, come to think of it,’ Jude retorted, wandering over to one of the windows. She ran an index finger along the windowsill, and then made a point of pulling a face at the coating of black grime that now covered her finger. ‘But I do know about country homes. All kinds of homes, in fact. You see, I’ve worked with some of the biggest names in the world.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly breach a client’s confidentiality, but I can tell you that my last commission, to furnish a holiday retreat in Mauritius, was for a global superstar,’ she said, turning away and trying not to giggle as she kept her face firmly towards the window, enjoying playing with him. She wanted this job. She needed it to get her fledging business, back here in the UK, off to a flying start. Plus, she knew that she’d really enjoy restoring the Blackwood Farm Estate manor house back to its former glory. And she had met enough people like Myles to know that the best button to push with them was the celebrity status one. Insecurity and fierce ambition fuelled it, that fear of tumbling down the list and ending up at Z.

  ‘Hmm, well, can’t you give me a rough idea of who you did the gig for?’ Myles probed, and Jude knew he was hooked and most likely only wanted to know so that he could boast about having the same interior designer.

  ‘Not really,’ she teased some more, ‘but I could give you a clue …’

  ‘Yep. Go on.’ Myles nodded, stepping forward.

  ‘OK. Is that lemonade I spy in that drinks cabinet over there?’ Jude pointed and nearly choked with the effort of trying not to laugh on the word ‘lemonade’ as she gave him the clue – the name of Beyoncé’s world-famous album. She hadn’t really worked for Beyoncé, but was banking on Myles King, aka faded rock star from the Noughties, not actually having any real connection to the famous singer or anyone in her circle of trust. So he wouldn’t know that Jude was ‘massaging the truth’, might one say. Because she had actually helped source some antiques to go in the holiday home of a well-connected friend of a friend of Beyoncé’s, so it was quite possible that Beyoncé would go to the holiday home one day, perhaps.

  ‘Beyoncé! Well, if you’re good enough for her, then you’ll do all right for me.’ And for a split second Jude saw a glimmer of a much younger, cheekier man in Myles’s face. His sapphire-blue eyes lit up and the rakish façade from earlier had vanished, leaving him looking innocent and really enthusiastic. A bit like a devilishly cute puppy, as he nodded his head. If he’d had a tail, then Jude imagined that it would be wagging like mad right now. She treated him with a smile.

  ‘And country living is in my blood. You see, I grew up here. In Tindledale. In fact, I was
a regular visitor to the Blackwood Farm Estate as a child.’ Jude figured a little more ‘stretching’ of the truth wouldn’t be so bad. ‘So I could help you restore the manor house to its former glory. Imagine, a proper country estate … very fitting for a farmer.’

  ‘Hmm, well that’s good, I s’pose, and I’m not going to be any old farmer ploughing corn or whatever. My pigs are going to win prizes, so I’ll need a decent gaff for when MOJO and Q magazines rock up for photoshoots,’ Myles said in all seriousness, rather pleased with himself, and reverting back to the cockiness from earlier on. ‘But I don’t want you blabbing about the inside of my home. Or taking pictures to the press. If you’ve worked with big names then you’ll know all about that.’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Jude turned to face him.

  ‘Good. That’s settled then. I’ll get Sylvia to sort out the paperwork.’ Myles stuck out his hand awkwardly, and Jude stepped forward to shake it, wondering why he wasn’t more adept at dealing with people. Surely, he must have been interviewed all over the world on TV and in newspapers and magazines, and met thousands of fans in the past. Or maybe his mother was just very good at keeping everyone at arm’s length like she had with her.

  ‘Ahh, yes, about that. I know Sylvia is your mum, but really, would you mind asking her to back off a bit? She’s locked up my dog, you know. And she was very fierce when I first arrived here.’

  ‘My mum?’ Myles laughed, as if this was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard. ‘Sylvia isn’t my mum. She’s my manager, PA, sometimes cook – but not often, thankfully,’ and he rolled his eyes. Jude bristled, wondering what Sylvia would think about her cooking being criticised. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll have a word. She does get a bit carried away with that Rottweiler thing she has going on.’

  ‘Thanks. So, when would you like to go through some ideas?’ Jude fished in her pocket for her phone to check dates in the diary app. ‘I could put together some mood boards by the middle of next week … if you like?’ She stopped talking on seeing Myles frown and fold his arms again.

  ‘I have no idea what mood boards are … but they sound a bit, um well, moody to me, boom boom!’ he paused and laughed, ‘get it?’ Jude nodded. ‘So I’ll just leave the ideas for the house stuff up to you. Tell me what you think will look good and I’ll buy it. And then you can give me your bill.’

  ‘OK …’ Jude started slowly, figuring it was unconventional, but if that was how he wanted it, then it was fine by her. Free rein to design the interior of the Blackwood Farm Estate manor house. She felt as if her lucky stars had been aligned all at once. Even if it was going to involve working for an obnoxious and, quite frankly, overgrown schoolboy, whose sense of humour, if you could call it that, was playground. But there seemed more to Myles too. ‘If you’re sure?’ she checked, wondering why he behaved like this … or, more to the point, who had made him this way. He was watching out of the window now. His eyes scanning the grounds. On hyper-alert almost. Jude had seen this sort of behaviour before … celebrities in the public eye who put on a front. It came from being surrounded by people who weren’t always genuine, and years of experiencing it would make most people struggle to trust and act normally around others. Maybe after a while he’d start to let his guard down and she’d get to see the real Myles. She felt he was playing a part and in time she might find the real Myles King was quite different. She really hoped so, as the glimpse she saw earlier had been quite endearing.

  ‘Yep. Quite sure,’ Myles quickly turned away from the window. ‘Now, come on, I’ve already got the pigs. They’ve just arrived – that’s what Sam is sorting out right now. I’m going to be a pig farmer.’

  ‘Oh!’ Jude said, a little perplexed at how Myles intended to make such a transition … from rock star to farmer.

  ‘Yep. Large Blacks they are. Come and see them.’ And he hared off down the corridor, making Jude have to do a kind of running-walk just to keep up with him.

  Chapter Eight

  Holly glanced up from her mobile as she unclipped the buckle of her seat belt and smiled at her dad sitting next to her in the front of the Land Rover.

  ‘Mum’s going to be so pleased to see you,’ she said, faking happiness and hoping he wouldn’t notice that she was feeling a bit panicky about saying Mum would be home when she wasn’t. But Holly hadn’t reckoned on Dad actually bringing her home from Granny Dolly’s house and wanting to come inside and thank Mum in person for the chocolates … because she’d be found out right away. No, she had hoped that her intervention by way of gifts for each of them would help her parents calm down and start being nice to each other when they next saw one another. And earlier, when it had come to home time, she’d tried to get Dad and Grandma Dolly to let her catch the bus on her own, but they’d been having none of it. Grandma Dolly had said that it was too dark now. Even though the bus journey was only twenty minutes along the main Stoneley Road from Granny Dolly’s house back to Tindledale, and then the walk from the bus stop to home was, like, only one minute. Anyone would think she was still a little girl the way they monitored her. Granny Dolly had said it was important they keep an eye on her, what with the diabetes and all. And Holly got that, but still … family could be so annoying sometimes.

  Mum had said she was going to be out until nine o’clock and to make sure Dad dropped her home after that time, or waited with her until Mum got back so she wouldn’t be on her own. But realising that the ruse with the chocolates would be rumbled if Dad came in now, Holly hadn’t told him what Mum had said. But at least she had managed to get him to drop her home a bit earlier – before Mum got back. So that was something at least. If she could get Dad to leave now before Mum turned up, there was no way her Get Mum and Dad Back Together in Time for My Birthday plan could go wrong! When Mum got in she could tell her that Dad had only just that minute dropped her off and she hadn’t been on her own at all.

  Anyway, Holly reckoned Mum worried far too much. But at least she let her go on the bus all the way to Market Briar by herself … well, with Katie, but she was the same age as her so it didn’t really count, and that was miles further away. Plus Dad had sided with Gran, and two to one was just so unfair.

  And her left leg was killing her. She’d been too impatient with her last injection, just jamming it in quickly in the loo at Grandma Dolly’s house, and now her thigh was covered in a massive bruise. She gave it a rub, wishing her skinny jeans weren’t so tight as they were pressing on the bruise and making the throbbing feeling a million times worse.

  ‘Actually Dad, I’ve just remembered … Mum said she was going out and wouldn’t be back yet, so there’s no point you coming inside with me. I’ll go in and tell her you said thank you, later on, when she gets home.’ She grinned some more, pleased with her plan, but wishing she had thought it through more thoroughly. If she was really going to get them back together again in time for her birthday, then she’d have to up her game. Oh well, Dad was happy thinking the chocolates were from Mum and that was good, as he had looked so sad earlier when she’d walked into the kitchen at Granny Dolly’s house.

  ‘Oh, but it’s getting late, darling. Are you sure?’ Sam asked, and then added, ‘When will Mum be back?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure. She won’t be late. In about half an hour, I think she said.’ Holly surreptitiously crossed her fingers to guard herself against the consequences of telling a lie. But reckoned that it didn’t really count if it was for a good reason, like getting your mum and dad back together so they could be happy in time for your birthday – and for ever after. A proper family again. And Mum was bound to be happy with Dad now, as the flowers would have been delivered while she was out. They were her favourites too, big pink lilies that smelled lovely, even though they had cost Holly nearly all of her monthly allowance. But she had figured it would be worth it. In fact, it was just a matter of time now until everything would be back to normal. Mum would stop being cross all the time and that man, Gavin, from the village choir … the one who had started picking Mum
up on the way to choir practice, wouldn’t need to bother any more. Because Dad would be at home to drop Mum off wherever she wanted to go, and pick her up again. And that was definitely a good thing as Gavin from the choir was way too smiley and flirty with Mum. But Mum really likes Gavin. Fancies him. She must do, seeing now that she’s doing her hair and putting lipstick on and all that. She never used to make all that effort just to go to choir practice.

  ‘So you’ll be on your own for about half an hour?’ Sam quizzed, glancing at the clock on the dashboard.

  ‘Yes, but it’s no big deal.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe not to you, but—’

  ‘Oh Dad, it’s totally fine.’ She flicked her hair back. ‘I am thirteen, you know. I’m not a baby any more. Mum lets me be home alone all the time. She trusts me,’ Holly ventured, knowing this wasn’t actually true. But reckoned it should be. Mum made such a fuss, just because of the diabetes, saying, ‘Anything could happen if you are alone – you could have a hypo,’ which was so unfair as she knew how to look after herself. Katie Ferguson was allowed to babysit her little brother for a whole evening on her own, so it was totally ridiculous that she wasn’t allowed to be home alone for half an hour.