‘Who?’ I asked nonchalantly.
He nodded towards Aidan, his eyes twinkling at me. Had I been staring gormlessly? Had everyone seen? I flicked a glance left and right, but no one seemed to be paying me any attention.
‘Very talented,’ he whispered in my ear and I caught a whiff of pear drops. ‘I’ve spent some time chatting to him this summer. This is his first stint with Green Fingers. He works on wildlife documentaries normally. He’s won awards.’
‘Really?’ I raised an eyebrow at Alf. I wondered if we were better to work with than animals or worse.
‘And now we are going to draw the raffle,’ announced Nigel. ‘Suzanna, would you do the honours please?’ He picked up a large plastic tub and gave it a shake.
People perked up, rooting through bags and pockets for their tickets and edging towards the trestle table displaying all the prizes.
‘Suzanna reckons he’s the best director she has ever worked with,’ continued Alf.
I smoothed out the pink strip of tickets I had tucked into my dress pocket earlier. I had my eye on either the Jamie Oliver cookbook or the set of three hand creams; gardening had played havoc with my nails this summer.
The first ticket drawn out of the tub was Gemma’s. She squealed, kissed Nigel and Suzanna effusively and returned somewhat subdued with a bottle of red wine. She caught my amused expression and raised her eyebrows heavenwards.
‘Although he’s a bit of a firebrand, according to Jeff. Always at war with his bosses. Apparently, he can’t stand all the politics and backstabbing.’
I stared at Alf, seeing him in a different light. I’d always had Christine pegged as the font of all knowledge around here. I had clearly underestimated him.
‘What did he call them now?’ Alf scratched his head and stared up at the sky. ‘Oh yes. Bureaucratic desk-wallahs with inflated egos,’ he recited. ‘Brave talk, I thought.’
Humans and their inflated bloody egos. . . Politics and one-upmanship.
So Aidan hadn’t been talking about us at all. My heart sang and it was all I could do not to jump up and down on the spot. It hadn’t all been an act. Aidan genuinely did like us. I was so relieved.
‘I’m off home, I think,’ Alf said with a sniff. ‘My knee is giving me gyp and I never win at bloomin’ raffles.’
I tucked my arm through his. ‘Talking of brave, do you fancy coming back to my house to try my gooseberry fool?’
His eyes lit up so I scrunched up my raffle tickets and with one last look at Aidan Whitby, I led Alf out of Ivy Lane.
Two hours later, after Alf had eaten nearly every scrap of food in the house and departed for home, I was weighing up the merits of the Game of Thrones box set versus a candle-lit bath and an early night when there was a frantic knocking at the door.
I ran to open it and found Aidan staggering under the weight of a very heavy-looking sundial.
His transit van with its distinct Green Fingers logo was parked on the street and already several neighbours had come out of their houses to stare.
‘You won this in the raffle,’ he panted.
‘Oh.’ Where was my perfectly adequate vocabulary when I needed it?
‘Christine gave me your address. She said you didn’t have a car and would I mind dropping it round.’
Numerous things went whizzing through my brain, like thank goodness I wasn’t in the bath and who won the Jamie Oliver cookery book and was Christine doing a bit of unsubtle match-making . . .
‘Kind of you.’ Was what I managed to mutter.
I couldn’t say I’d ever wanted a sundial but it did look quite attractive. The top dial bit was made of cast-iron and set into a concrete plinth – or maybe cement, I always got those two muddled up.
‘It is very heavy,’ he gasped.
‘Oops, sorry!’
The poor man was breaking his back here while I contemplated the difference between building materials.
Now what? Should I tell him to put it down there on the step to save his spine? In which case it could well be stolen by the morning and I would have zero chance of moving it myself. Or should I ask him to carry it through to the back yard?
He answered my dilemma himself. ‘Do you want it in the back garden?’
I nodded and waved him into the house. He had gone an uncomfortable-looking shade of aubergine. I ran ahead of him opening the back door and scooped the cat up into my arms just as he was about to weave through Aidan’s legs.
‘Anywhere will do,’ I said, hugging Cally to my chest while I watched Aidan stagger down the two steps into the back yard.
He groaned as he finally set the sundial down and grinned at me while he caught his breath, leaning his hands against his thighs.
‘Water?’
He nodded.
I handed him a glass and ushered him towards my plastic patio furniture. Aidan sat, took a long drink and looked at his surroundings. Cally immediately jumped onto his lap. I took that to be a sign of feline approval.
Aidan and me. Me and Aidan. In my garden. Just the two of us.
My back yard was a bit grim really, I thought, looking at it with fresh eyes: paving slabs, plastic furniture and now a sundial. At least I didn’t have my washing hanging up.
‘So,’ I said, twiddling the ends of my hair between my fingers. ‘You’re off to Peru?’
He nodded. ‘For eight weeks, once I’ve done the editing for this Green Fingers episode. Back to nature. Can’t wait.’
There you go. Not interested in you, Tilly. He can’t wait to get away.
I smiled with relief and shook my head when Aidan looked at me quizzically. It was one thing to have a silly crush on him, it would have been quite another to act on it, i.e. a huge mistake.
James had felt very close by today. Not in an ominous way. But there. And now I realized why. They were very similar in some ways, Aidan and James: their love of the natural world, although Aidan was more into wildlife than landscape; their resistance to authority – James had once resigned from a job after a difference of opinion with management.
But in other ways they were very different: James had been the joker, happiest in the middle of the action, whereas Aidan seemed to prefer to put others in the limelight. In the looks department they were a million miles apart too. Aidan could pass for Mediterranean with his dark features, dark shiny hair and tanned skin. The only nationality James could pass for other than English was Scottish; he had the stereotypical complexion of a redhead and in sunny weather turned from blue to pink and back again with alarming speed.
‘What are you filming this time?’
‘Bears. There’s a type of bear found most commonly in Peru.’
I nodded.
He looked impressed. ‘You’re up on your bear species?’ He smiled and set his glass on the ground.
I went bright red, realizing that I’d been thinking of Paddington Bear with his duffel coat and marmalade sandwiches. Occupational hazard of being a primary school teacher.
‘Not really,’ I said, scrunching up my face, trying to look intelligent. I crossed my fingers and hoped he didn’t test me.
‘Look, I’d better go.’ He sighed and pushed himself up, the chair legs grated horribly on the slabs and he grimaced apologetically. ‘I’ve got to drive back to London tonight.’ He lifted Cally down and gave him a last stroke.
‘Is that where you live, London? That’s a trek after a long day,’ I said, walking ahead of him through the kitchen and back into the hall. I was aware that my voice dipped a bit with disappointment as I spoke. How uncool. How unsubtle.
‘Early meeting in the morning, unfortunately.’
He lived in London. Another reason not to get involved. Get involved? Who mentioned anything about getting involved? I just liked him, that was all. Honestly, all the man did was say I looked nice this morning, and I’ve practically got our future all mapped out. He drops off my raffle prize as a favour to Christine and I’m working out when his eight weeks abroad will be up. Just before
October half-term. In case I was bothered. Which I wasn’t.
I was starting to panic and I wasn’t listening to a word Aidan was saying. He could live in the Outer Hebrides now for all I knew.
I put my hand on the front-door handle and paused. This was it then. This was definitely, actually goodbye.
We looked at each other and he laughed softly. I hoped this was because he felt as awkward as me and not because I’d ignored a question or something.
He was within touching distance. In all the weeks and months that we had been near each other, we had never been alone and never this close.
My entire body was tingling. Did he feel it too or was my imagination simply playing silly buggers? And was it allowed? Was I entitled to be getting all flustered about another man? This was such unknown territory for me. I felt terrified all of a sudden. And completely out of breath.
He seemed huge. A huge presence in my tiny hall. He lifted a hand and for a split second I thought he was going to touch my face, but he ran it through his hair and then twisted his fingers through the belt loops of his trousers. ‘Tilly . . .?’
What should I say if he asked for my number? He was going to Peru. He lived miles away. But he smelt really nice and I was dying to touch his hair. And I was really, really going to miss him. Besides, I was supposed to moving on, wasn’t I? What was the harm in giving him my number?
‘Yes!’ I gasped, all proud of myself.
‘Can I kiss you?’ he continued.
And then my hands were in his hair and his hands were cupping my face and we inched so close to each other that I could feel his heart thumping against my chest, although I suppose it could have been my heart beating against his chest.
I, Tilly Parker, was kissing a man.
I closed my eyes and I let my whole body melt against him. My legs and arms ceased to feel like part of me and I gave myself up to the exquisite surprise of his mouth on mine.
And I didn’t stop to think about whether it was right or not, whether this was somehow being unfaithful to James, or what was going to happen tomorrow when Aidan was in London or next month when he was on his way to deepest, darkest Peru. And as our kiss deepened and he wove his fingers into my hair and down to my ticklish spot at the nape of my neck, I felt my body waking up after a very, very long sleep and I was acutely aware of the pinging sound of my erogenous zones.
It didn’t last, of course. Moments later I felt bloody awful.
‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Aidan, his thumbs caressing my cheeks. ‘I appear to have made you cry.’ He lowered his head and gently kissed the tears away.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, arranging my mouth into a smile. ‘Tears of joy.’
Well done, Tilly. Hardly the most complimentary way to acknowledge someone’s kissing technique.
He shifted his weight awkwardly. Now he was going to ask for my number. Or maybe he felt as mortified as me and was dying for the next thirty seconds to be over. Like me.
Poor man. He only came to deliver a sundial.
I wrestled with the door, which had decided to stick for the first time ever, dammit.
The door finally gave up its struggle and I and stood back to let him through.
‘Aidan . . .’
‘Tilly . . .’
‘Go on,’ I said.
He blotted a rogue tear that had made it all the way to my chin and blinked at me. ‘I know that with me going away the timing of . . . this . . .’ he waved a finger from me to him and back again, ‘. . . isn’t ideal. But I would really like to see you again. Can I call you?’ He looked at me questioningly and waited.
Was timing the problem? If he hadn’t been going away would I have felt better, more inclined to see him again?
I wasn’t sure.
It had all happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that my brain hadn’t quite caught up with my heart and kissing Aidan – kissing anyone – suddenly felt like a massive deal. And whilst I couldn’t deny that what I had done was the most magical, intoxicating and enlivening thing that I had done for a long time, I wasn’t sure I was ready for anything else. Not yet.
I shook my head.
‘I don’t think so,’ I whispered. ‘I’m sorry. Good luck with the editing of our episode of Green Fingers and good luck in Peru.’
He looked at me for a long moment and I held my breath. He looked so disappointed that I almost changed my mind. I wasn’t used to this. He took his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a card. ‘Here’s my number. If you change your mind, give me a ring.’
I tried to take the business card from him but his fingers covered mine and he held my gaze for five heartbeats. ‘I hope you do change your mind,’ he said, letting his hand fall away.
I let my breath out slowly. Of course. It wasn’t now or never. I could keep his card and think about it. See how I felt in a few weeks. What a relief.
Finally, he planted a soft kiss on my lips and stepped past me only to stop on the front step and turn back.
‘Thank you, Aidan.’ He looked as if he didn’t quite believe me. ‘Really,’ I added.
At the last second, I lunged forward and hugged him tightly, imprinting the feel of his stubble on my cheek, the metal of his belt buckle digging into my stomach.
And then I let him go.
Chapter 10
I had kissed a man.
The smile on my face when I woke up the next morning assured me that this was actually a good thing. Yesterday’s doubts seemed to have faded in the night and I was left with an overwhelming feeling of happiness.
I had kissed Aidan.
I stretched my arms above my head, yawned and patted the covers to find Cally. He rolled over obligingly and purred while I stroked his dappled silver tummy.
Aidan Whitby. I chuckled, remembering Christine’s words months ago. Doesn’t the very name of him make you want to swoon?
Mmm, it did rather.
Last night’s event had opened up a world of possibilities, showed me that maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life with microwave meals for one and a half of the bed permanently cold and unwrinkled. Maybe I would see Aidan again and maybe not. But I was coming alive, and my ability to give love was slowly returning.
He had scratched an itch I hadn’t realized needed scratching. No, that sounded too much like fleas. He had awakened urges in me that I had forgotten I had. Too Mills & Boon.
For goodness’ sake, Tilly. You snogged the face off him and you enjoyed every minute. Just admit it.
I squealed and waggled my legs furiously under the duvet.
I had kissed Aidan Whitby and my man-abstinence was officially over. OK, so afterwards I cried and sent him off without a glimmer of encouragement for the future, but that was fine. I had his number, he knew my address. If it was meant to be, it would be.
No need to stress or dissect it endlessly. The important thing was – the absolutely incredibly mind-blowing thing was – that parts of my body that had gone into an extended hibernation were awake and raring to go and rather than feeling that this was a betrayal of everything that James and I had shared, it felt fantastic.
I tugged open my bedside drawer and took out the latest letter I had received from James’s mum.
You will always be part of this family, Tilly, remember that. There’s a bed here for you any time you fancy a visit. You can even bring a friend if you like.
Maybe I would go and stay before the end of the school holidays, let them see how well I was doing, let them know that I still loved them.
I tucked the letter back in its envelope and sighed happily.
Time to get up.
Ivy Lane allotments was still recovering from the annual show and the committee had asked for volunteers to take down the gazebos, the bunting and the trestle tables and to have a general tidy-up after having so many visitors on site yesterday.
Work had already started by the time I got there. Christine had marshalled her family into action, Nigel and Liz were dismantling tabl
es ready to take them back to the church hall and Brenda was bagging up unclaimed raffle prizes.
‘Here she is. Our sundial winner. Did you have a good evening, Tilly?’ said Christine, poking her head out from under the canvas as she, Roy and Mia grappled with a gazebo. Gemma was wandering round picking up the various poles and pegs and stuffing them in a box.
Was it me or was everyone grinning at me? Why was everyone grinning at me?
And looking over my shoulder as if they were expecting someone.
Oh . . . did they think . . .?
I picked up a show programme from yesterday and fanned my face. ‘Aidan very kindly left it in the garden and then drove back home to London.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Roy, grunting as he pulled the pegs from the ground. Was I too young for a hot flush? And would they all please stop looking at me.
‘He doesn’t live in London,’ said Christine, rolling her eyes. I hoped my face wasn’t as pink as hers. ‘He’s a local lad. That’s why Green Fingers chose Ivy Lane. His suggestion.’
Mia appeared next from under the gazebo. She was wielding a long metal pole and I hurried over to help before she maimed anyone.
She instantly dropped the pole and threw her arms round me. ‘What do you think of our news? I’m going to be a sister.’
‘It’s fantastic,’ I said, hugging her back. So Gemma had been right, Mia was delighted; I’d never seen her so animated.
She pressed her lips to my ear and whispered so softly that it tickled. ‘I thought Mum had sent Mike gay as well and they were just putting a brave face on it.’
I snorted at that.
‘I’m going to help Mum with the business when I’m not at school,’ she continued loudly, earning herself proud smiles from her grandparents. ‘Set up the massage table, carry all the heavy bags, fill bowls with water and stuff.’
Gemma set the box down and wandered over to a stack of cake tins. ‘Only because I’ve offered to pay her,’ she said, popping a piece of left-over cake into her mouth.
‘And I’m going to help decorate the spare room for the baby.’
‘By spare room, she means treatment room, where I usually do my beauty. But needs must, and all that,’ said Gemma with a sigh, but I could see she was secretly happy. She was blooming already. And suddenly very obviously pregnant.
Ivy Lane: Summer: Part 2 Page 8
