by Kathy Jay
He peered over the edge of the bridge through the railings and his head swam. He felt fearful and nauseated at the thought of how the sides dropped away into the deeply carved gully. He’d pay good money for a head for heights like Layla’s. As he grabbed onto the railing to steady himself he caught sight of something hurtling through the air in his peripheral vision. He groaned sensing that a form of distinctly undesirable goo had landed in his hair. He touched his head and a wet, chalky sensation confirmed his suspicion.
‘Yuck!’ Looking up he spotted a magpie watching him beadily. ‘Thanks a lot! Dammit!’
Regretting that he’d pitched in with his offer to help he got out the pliers that he’d bought from the DIY section at the village store and set to work. They snapped easily through the metal, so he quickly dropped the tiny lovelock in to his environment friendly bag and set off up the hill.
Striding up the lane his heart sank at the sight of the police officer from earlier approaching on his bike. He didn’t look any more pleased to see Nick than he had the first time, making him feel like he actually had slipped into a life-on-a-loop time warp. Mervin braked to a halt eyes glued on Nick like he was the prime suspect in a crime drama.
‘What have we here then?’
‘Provisions. Champagne and dog shampoo – and a few other things.’
‘Ophelia up to her old tricks?’
‘She got quite muddy. After it rained.’
The policeman coughed. ‘Is that … er?’
‘Bird crap on my head. Yep.’
‘Lucky you got that shampoo!’
The policeman chuckled at his own joke and Nick couldn’t help but warm to him ever so slightly. ‘So if you’ll excuse me?’ he said, smiling.
Wait.’ Mervin evidently had something important on his mind. ‘So. Layla. She’s had a setback.’
‘I know that.’
Mervin shot him a steely look. ‘It’s nobody’s business but hers.’
Nick nodded solemnly. ‘I totally agree.’
‘Keep it in mind,’ he warned. ‘There are only so many let-downs that girl can take. She hides it well and things might look fine on the surface, but underneath Layla’s been hurt.’ He stopped, then added. ‘Look I don’t want to be rude but I’m going to come right out and say it. It’s well known that you’re not a reliable type.’
‘Okay. Right.’ He straightened his shoulders in an effort to look less dodgy than he felt. He felt like an idiot schoolboy caught red-handed about to prank the teacher. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Make sure you do.’ He eyed the shopping bag suspiciously. Nick shouldn’t have mentioned the champagne. He’d bought it to leave in the fridge as a thank you for putting him up, but it probably sounded to Mervin like he planned to take advantage of her. ‘She’s well-liked. People round here are gutted seeing her upset. And I don’t want some fly-by-night making things worse.’
‘You don’t trust me. I get that, but …’
‘No offence. You seem nice enough. But you don’t need to be a psychic to work out why I’m sceptical.’ With that he pedalled off down the lane on his bicycle.
Nick attempted a friendly wave and called after him. ‘There’s no need to worry. I promise. I’m not here to cause trouble.’
Chapter Six
Nick knocked on Layla’s door, hoping she’d open up quickly before he met any more knights-in-shining-armour types.
‘I picked up some shampoo for your canine friend,’ he said as the door swung open. He ducked so as not to bang his head on the lintel, and stepped straight into the cottage’s living room. A soaking wet Ophelia ran in from the kitchen and shook herself, showering his legs with cold water. ‘I guess you’ve got it covered.’
‘I gave her a hose down outside. Thanks, anyway.’ Layla’s smiling eyes were a sparkling contrast to the dog’s unceremonious welcome. She was wearing a promotional top with Kandy Shack emblazoned on it. Its bright, psychedelic colours had a distinctly retro vibe, and, heaven help him, thanks to having bathed Ophelia it looked like she’d entered a wet tee shirt competition. From this angle, and if he was the judge, she’d definitely take first prize. No contest.
‘On what planet did I think keeping my head down in Porthkara would be a great plan?’
‘On that holding planet you mentioned?’ Layla smirked. He put his hand to his head and pulled a face. ‘Crikey! What happened?’
‘I’ve practically been run out of town by that over-protective policeman. He told me in no uncertain terms that he thinks I’m bad news.’
Settling in her basket in the corner, Ophelia hid her muzzle under both paws.
‘Don’t pay any attention to Mervin. He means well. He’s dedicated. And quite friendly really.’
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed.’
‘He’s not had an easy time of it. He transferred here after his wife passed away. Made a new start.’
Nick winced. ‘I think it’s safe to say he’s not my biggest fan. As if being told I’m an undesirable isn’t bad enough, I’ve also been crapped on by a stupid bird.’
She giggled. ‘Do you think it was in cahoots with Mervin?’
‘The way that magpie was watching me I wouldn’t be surprised. I bet he’s trained it to target undesirables.’
‘You’re many things Nick but undesirable isn’t one of them.’ She flashed a flirtatious glance his way. ‘A magpie? That’s bad luck.’
‘You’re telling me.’
Feeling oddly self-conscious, he touched his head and felt a twig tangled in his hair. Layla reached up and untangled it.
‘No. I mean that’s really bad luck!’ She sounded pessimistic. She rummaged under the sink and pulled out a yellow pack of lemon scented kitchen wipes. ‘Was there only one?’
‘I think so. Why?’
‘One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.’
‘I have no clue what you’re talking about, but I think I wish I’d seen seven.’
‘Then again, maybe not,’ Layla couldn’t control her giggles. Again. ‘Imagine the mess seven would have made.’ She dabbed at his hair. He lowered his head so she could reach. ‘Two would have been better, though. Think, Nick. Are you sure it was only one?’
He wanted to tell her two because clearly it mattered to her, a lot. He shook his head. ‘I can’t lie. There was only one magpie.’
She gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Hold still, I think I’ve got most of it out. But you might want to take another shower just in case.’ She put her foot on the pedal bin and the lid popped open so she could chuck the wipe in. Turning her back to him she walked to the sink and turned on the tap to wash her hands.
Nick opened the bag and set a bright orange flower in a little black plastic pot on the kitchen counter. He opened the fridge and stowed the champagne and the rest of his shopping.
‘There’s something we – you – need to do.’ He set the lovelock on the draining board.
Layla turned off the tap and glared at it, poker-faced, as if he’d brought something unbelievably unpleasant into her kitchen. ‘Magpies like shiny things.’ She pointed at the lock. ‘Maybe it liked that. Well, it’s welcome to it. I don’t want it.’ She glanced away as if it was hurting her eyes and spotted the plant. ‘Why did you buy a marigold?’
‘It’s a moving-on flower.’
‘There’s no such thing.’ There was something about her that sparked off him. Her eyes flashed.
‘There is now. I invented it.’
‘What the heck use is a moving-on flower?’ she scoffed. ‘What am I supposed to do with it? Make the petals into tea and drink it for my wounded heart?’
‘Just plant it is all.’
Ophelia pottered into the kitchen, lapped at her water bowl, and returned to settle herself in her basket in the living room.
Nick was a breath of fresh air. He’d blown into the village on the wind, like he’d been sent to rescue them. And he was fun
ny.
From Layla’s kitchen, French doors led onto a small back yard. A tree and a low wall separated her yard from next door’s. She’d whitewashed the walls and filled the yard with flowers in pots and a bistro table with a couple of chairs.
Avoiding the issue of what to do about the padlock now she had it, Layla wandered outside into the warm evening sun. Nick followed her holding the marigold in one hand and the embarrassing lovelock in the other.
‘I was counting on a flower bed.’
‘I haven’t got one of those.’ She made a sad face.
‘Have you by any chance got an empty flowerpot?’
Nick’s eagerness to plant flowers seemed bizarre but sort of sweet. The best bit about him right now was that he didn’t belong in Porthkara. She pointed to a cluster of unused terracotta pots in a corner next to a half-empty bag of compost.
‘Perfect.’ He selected one. ‘There you go.’ He set his chosen pot on the ground and gave her the lock and the marigold.
‘I don’t think I know this game.’
‘It’s called “plant a flower and move on.”’
‘Really? Or I could just pop it in the bin.’
He shrugged. ‘Work with me. It’s the best solution I could think of. I figured that since you didn’t like looking at the padlock, I’d get you something you will like looking at.’
‘Oh … kay.’
‘This marigold. So.’ He picked up the compost bag. ‘You put the lock in the bottom of the pot, you add compost, and you plant the flower. Go!’ When she pouted and didn’t do it, he dropped the padlock into the flowerpot. ‘By next summer this flower will have made seeds and new flowers and that thing will be a rusty-but-useful piece of scrap. It’s going to stop the water running straight out the bottom when you water it.’
‘You know a lot about these things?’
‘I spent a lot of time kicking about with gardeners and housekeepers when I was a kid. I have tips. Believe me. This big orange marigold will make you feel better.’
She wondered if all the associations she felt for the lovelock would ever go. ‘It’s alright for you to say. You don’t have half of Porthkara giving you pitying glances, and the other half refusing to look you in the eye. Joe’s gone but he’s not forgotten.’
‘Funnily enough, I do know how it feels to be in the spotlight when you’d really like not to be.’
‘It’s different. You get loads of strangers staring at you like they think they know you. The difference with me is – they do know me. And they know Joe. And everything about us, going way back.’
‘Think of this as the beginning of new things.’
‘That’s easier said than done.’
‘Trust me. Out of sight, out of mind. Burying the lock and putting something cheerful in its place is the first step to new horizons.’
She couldn’t help rolling her eyes at him. ‘Trust an actor to come up with something so dramatic.’ She batted away her doubts like she would an annoying fly, realizing that he was right, she needed to feel like she was doing something. And hiding the lovelock in a plant pot was better than anything she could think of, so she set to work.
When she’d finished Nick hid it in amongst some other pots of flowers where Layla had to admit she’d hardly notice it. She brushed the dark crumbs of soil off her hands and sat down, closed her eyes and turned her face into the sunshine. After a few seconds of luxuriating in the sunrays she turned to Nick and opened her eyes.
‘Dad swung by Maggie’s earlier. The water heater’s kaput. He reckons the whole thing’ll need replacing.’
Nick sat down opposite her and she looked away, picking nervously at the compost under her nails, but not before a whisper of awareness hit her. She couldn’t help taking in the sexy shadow of fresh stubble on his jaw and chin. She desperately didn’t want to go and wash dishes at the restaurant, but they were in a bind and she didn’t want to let them down. At least she wouldn’t be waiting tables. She could hide in the kitchen.
Like they were on a see-saw, Layla bobbed up, though she was reluctant to drag herself away.
‘He also had a bit of news. Quite the surprise really. He and his partner are expecting. They’ve decided to get married.’
‘That’s good news.’ Nick hesitated. ‘Right?’
‘I can’t quite believe it.’ She snapped her lips into a jolly smile. ‘Yes. Of course. Lovely. I’m going to have a sibling. Imagine that. After all these years.’ She felt like she had two left feet and was trying to remember the steps to an elaborate dance. ‘It’s a bonanza day for wedding news. Listen. Thanks, for this. I love my moving-on flower. And you’re absolutely right. By this time next year things around here are going to be all kinds of different.’ She backed away from him towards the doors into the kitchen her gaze riveted to his gorgeous, curious face. ‘I have to go. I’ve got a job to go to.’
‘Another one? How many jobs have you got?’
‘Too many.’
‘I was going to ask you to dinner at the Lobster Pot.’
‘That’s sweet. But I work there, actually.’ She laughed awkwardly. ‘That’s where I’m going now. I’m doing the washing-up shift tonight.’ She wrinkled her nose apologetically. Crikey! He wanted to ask her to dinner? She wished Porthkara wasn’t so complicated. She placed her palms together. ‘Make yourself at home.’ He already had. Still, it was only polite to say so. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need. We can make the bed in the spare room up for you when I get back.’
‘Cool.’ His wicked grin put her in a spin and her heart did an uncalled-for somersault.
Practically falling over her feet she hurried off to change, only turning to call back to him through the French windows. ‘Would you mind feeding Ophelia? Her food’s in the cupboard next to the washing machine. There’s a scoop in the bag. She gets one. Don’t let her con you into more.’
* * *
At a loose end Nick fed the dog, filled an empty wine bottle at the sink and watered the marigold before spending a while working out how to use Layla’s channel changer and spending another while flicking through channels. Nothing held his attention. He watched the beginning of a movie, but quit when his mother appeared on screen in a cameo appearance he hadn’t known she’d made.
Leaving Ophelia snoozing contentedly in her basket he set off to explore the path that ran up a hill behind the cottages. Having followed the path through a field carpeted with purple heather and clumps of spiny yellow gorse he climbed over a stile and found himself within feet of a wall of sheer cliffs that stretched around the bay and off into the distance. His fear of heights kicked in big time. The thought of walking any further made him ill. A weathered wooden bench sat well back from the edge so he perched on it and felt better, safely anchored.
The sun, which had been high over the sea, was slipping towards the horizon. He sat and absorbed the magnificent sundown colours, awed by the mysterious beauty of the cliffs and the sea. Across a couple of fields there was a quaint old farmhouse, and way in the distance on the far-off headland he could just see the ghostly shape of a long abandoned tin mine. It was hard to imagine anywhere more special and so far removed from his ordinary life. All he’d ever cared about was making Mercy of the Vampires. He’d spent large portions of the last ten years hanging out in nightclubs, often with eyebrows tweezed at a jaunty angle to suit the part of Jarvis. He’d like to blame his disastrous personal life on all that stuff, but it ran much deeper than strange-looking eyebrows and scandalous headlines.
He looked at his phone. The signal on the cliff bench was a hundred percent better than at the cottages. He took a photo of the view and texted it to Alex. Then he called him.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Apart from the lack of sleep I’m good. Did you speak to a lawyer? I can get you a name.’
He bristled. ‘I don’t want to go down that route.’
‘This is hot water Nick. At least tell me you’ve done a paternity test.’
‘It’s pret
ty clear she’s my kid.’
‘So what next?’
‘I talked to Fran. It’s a bad situation. I’m taking it one step at a time. I don’t want to go into it just at the minute. I’ll let you know when I have more information.’
‘How’s the black eye?’
‘Horrible.’
‘Toni?’
‘Over.’
‘Porthkara?’
‘Beautiful. Like an out of body experience.’
The sound of Alex’s laughter on the phone lifted his mood.
‘Give Layla our love. And hug Ophelia for us.’
‘Sure. Are you guys coming down here anytime soon?’
‘We’d love to. But we’re tied up.’
The line distorted Alex’s voice into a jumble of noise and cut out before Nick had time to mention that the cottage was so far off being ready that apart from the super comfy sofa it wasn’t habitable.
Brimming with restless energy and sick of haranguing himself he wondered how Layla was doing. With her he’d almost forgotten that his life was falling apart. Why was someone with so much artistic talent wasting so many hours doing other things? Her schedule was as crazy as an actor’s.
He checked the restaurant closing time on his phone, and set off to find her.
Outside the Lobster Pot he sat on a low wall to wait, watching the customers straggle out. Darkness had fallen, but a line of old-fashioned lamp posts dotted the seafront with pools of light. Behind him he heard the steady shushing break of waves, advancing and retreating. The tide was turning. He checked his watch hoping he hadn’t missed her.
A group of chattering girls emerged. High heels. Pretty dresses. Their high style reminded him of his mother, the way she flicked through piles of fashion magazines, excited about her next new look. That was during the ups. Other times, being with her had been a chaotic nightmare. The current Cassandra Wells was unrecognizable compared to the fragile, broken woman he’d grown up with. He put it down to having a man in her life she could trust.
