She pushed open the door of the pub and was hit by a wall of warmth and subdued chatter. Raffle raced ahead, his extendable lead stretching ahead of her, and Abby followed him inside.
The pub was fuller than she had seen it for a while, with familiar faces from the village enjoying food or a lunchtime drink. Obviously, the sun had inspired more than just her into coming out of hibernation. But something was different, the atmosphere heightened as if there was a special event on, rather than it being just a normal Saturday lunchtime.
A couple of people caught her eye and pointed in the direction of the snug. Abby nodded bemused thanks – she could find her dog by following his lead – and frowned at the raised eyebrows and smirks that accompanied their help. She stepped through a low archway into the pub’s smallest room, and found Raffle, along with the object of everyone’s interest.
Jack was sitting on a stool at the bar. He was wearing jeans and a grey woollen jumper, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His navy padded jacket was folded on the stool next to him, and he was staring into a glass of what looked to Abby like neat whisky, his shoulders hunched. He didn’t look up or acknowledge her when she walked in, and she hovered just inside the doorway, wondering what to do.
All the other seats in the snug, save a couple of stools at the bar, were taken, people clustered onto the benches that lined the wall in a way that couldn’t be comfortable. Two older women Abby vaguely recognized from the village, with glossy red nails and carefully styled hair, had their phones out, and Abby wondered how far the gossip was spreading.
Abby wound Raffle’s lead round the leg of the stool next to Jack’s, and then slid on to it, resting her elbows on the bar. Still, he didn’t look up, just drained his glass and continued to stare at the sticky counter, the crinkled mat advertising a local brand of ale. Abby remained quiet. Even a simple ‘hello’ seemed too intrusive, somehow.
Then Ryan bustled round from the other side of the bar, raising his eyebrows and nodding in an entirely unsubtle way at Jack. ‘Abby,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A pint of lager, a portion of fish and chips, and an extra bowl of chips on the side, please. Plus, whatever Jack’s having.’
Jack looked up slowly, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw her.
‘Hi.’ She smiled at him.
‘Hello,’ he said warily. ‘Look, you don’t need to—’
‘It’s fine. Top him up, Ryan.’ She turned briefly to the barman.
He obliged, selecting one of the single malts and giving Jack a double measure. He placed their drinks in front of them, and then disappeared to take Abby’s food order to the kitchen.
‘Cheers.’ Abby held up her glass, and Jack clinked his against it.
‘Thank you for the drink,’ he said. ‘Have you come to join my pity party?’
‘I didn’t know there was one, but it’s not how I’d planned on spending my Saturday afternoon. I came for fish and chips – the chips here are hand cut, delicious, you’ll find out soon enough.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I didn’t realize they were for me, I thought they were for Raffle.’
‘From my limited experience, getting solidly stuck into a bottle of whisky at lunchtime never ended well for anyone, and chips will help.’
‘Abby …’ He sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. ‘I don’t need you here.’
The words stung, but she could see that he wasn’t his usual self. ‘I don’t need you either,’ she said. ‘We just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and I owe you for two cups of coffee and some great biscuits.’ She swivelled on the stool, reached into her pocket and pulled out a treat. Raffle came forward, his tail wagging, and took it, then looked expectantly up at Jack.
Jack eyed the husky for a moment, then, turning fully round, held his hand out. Raffle sniffed it, then licked it, and then jumped up, putting his front paws on Jack’s knees. Jack stroked Raffle’s ears and the fur beneath his chin, a smile breaking through the scowl.
‘He remembers you,’ Abby said. ‘He knows he can trust you.’
Jack’s smile faded. ‘He’s not a great judge of character, then.’ He gently lifted Raffle’s paws off his knees and turned back to his whisky.
Abby gave her dog a conspiratorial eyeroll and stroked him until he’d settled on the carpet next to the stools, before swivelling back round. ‘What are you doing, propping up the bar on a Saturday lunchtime? It’s a free country and everything, but I thought you wanted to keep a low profile in Meadowgreen.’
Jack sipped his drink. ‘Don’t concern yourself with me, Abby. I’m fine.’
‘Bollocks you are,’ she said quietly, aware how many eavesdroppers there were in the vicinity. She wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan had hidden a microphone somewhere and was beaming everything Jack said to every area of the pub as if it was a Champions League semi-final. ‘You’re wallowing in self-pity; definitely in self-destruct mode.’
‘Have you been reading Psychology for Dummies?’
‘Only as much as you’ve been taking lessons in melodrama.’ She placed a hand gently on his wrist, her breath faltering at the feel of his skin against hers. ‘I thought, after our coffee the other week, we’d gone past bickering. I thought we were starting to be friends.’
‘Abby,’ he said again, his sigh weary. ‘It isn’t anything you’ve done, but I’m not going to be the best company today. Leave me to it and go and have your lunch.’
‘What, and let you stumble back to Peacock Cottage through the cold dark woods tonight, pissed as a parrot?’
‘This is only my second drink, which you bought me, I should add.’
‘Even so, I’m sure you’re not planning on it being your last.’
Jack rubbed his forehead. ‘I was going stir crazy in that cottage. It’s not that I don’t like it, but it’s become a bit of a prison the last few days. I thought a walk, a drink, would help to clear my head. I didn’t bargain on …’ He waved his hand.
‘Me?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But isn’t that what I’m here for, to get you away from the cottage when it’s driving you mad? We could have gone to the Queen’s Head again, instead of here, where the villagers are lapping up your presence so they can go and tell their friends. There are probably dozens of photos of your back online by now, from various different angles. It’s a good thing you’ve got a nice arse.’
Jack’s frown deepened and a moment later his glass was empty. ‘Just let me be, Abby.’
‘Nope,’ she said, her pulse ramping up. Was she really being this obstinate? How would she feel if Jack shouted at her, if she severed their already fragile bond? But he had been warm and relaxed the last time they’d been together – nothing like this, and she sensed this was what he needed, that she had to match his stubbornness. ‘You’re miserable, and alone, and what you need is friendship and chips.’
His laugh was hollow. ‘This cannot be solved with chips.’
‘But friendship?’ She nudged his shoulder and he turned towards her. She felt her chest constrict beneath his gaze, and wondered if she could actually be friends with him when every time she had his undivided attention her body went into overdrive.
‘I made mistakes,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing, but – I got so much wrong, and now it’s coming back to haunt me.’
‘And you can’t make it right again?’
Jack held her gaze, his hand inches from hers on the bar top. ‘Abby, what you told me in the car, about the memories you wanted to erase, what someone else had done—’
‘Excuse me, my love,’ a voice said, cutting through Jack’s words. ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming over to say hello?’ Abby turned to find one of the older, coiffed women hovering behind them.
‘Hello,’ Abby said warily. Jack twisted his upper body, flicked Abby a questioning look, and then smiled at the woman.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘I know you’re enjoying your afte
rnoon, and I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could have my photo taken with you? I love your books, see, and I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were staying in the village. Delphi’s got the camera ready, it won’t take a moment.’
Abby chewed her lip, waiting for Jack’s outburst or a cold, swift dismissal. She could see the muscles working in his jaw, and as he turned fully to face his admirer, she caught a whiff of his expensive, delicious scent.
‘I’d rather it didn’t appear online,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to keep a low profile at the moment, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’
‘Oh, of course my love. You poor dear. Oh, thank you so much! I really do love your books, and that last one you wrote, The Fractured Path – so chilling. My fragile heart when it was getting close to the end!’ She shuffled across until she was standing next to Jack, and Abby had to slide sideways on her stool, out of the way. Delphi made a palaver of taking the photo, and then Jack spoke for a few more moments with the woman before she thanked him and returned, beaming, to her friend.
‘That was very sweet of you,’ Abby said. ‘All things considered.’
He shrugged. ‘She was perfectly pleasant, and I’m rather over confrontation for the time being.’
Abby thought of her early conversations with him. ‘You didn’t seem to mind it the first few times we met.’
‘That was different.’
‘How so?’ She tried to hide her smile as she watched him working out what to say.
‘I was frustrated, obviously, and then when you turned up with your—’
‘My …?’
‘You were so forthright, so indignant about my opinions and I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I wanted you to stay.’
‘So, you wound me up on purpose, to keep me there? You enjoyed it?’
‘Couldn’t you tell?’ He gave her a quick, shamefaced glance, and then laughed at her appalled face. ‘Why do you think I asked you for coffee? I like your company. Come on, you enjoyed our sparring matches too. Admit it.’
Abby didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course, but she wouldn’t dare acknowledge it, because that was a dangerous path she didn’t want to head down. Before she could construct an answer, Ryan appeared with their food and Jack ordered another whisky and another pint for Abby. He moved the bowl of chips to the side, and Abby plonked it firmly back in front of him.
‘Eat chips,’ she ordered.
Jack sighed and picked up a chip, chewing it slowly. Then he ate another, and another. When Ryan gave them their drinks, he asked for some ketchup.
Abby grinned. ‘See, friendship and chips. And getting out in the fresh air, I mustn’t forget that.’
‘Of course not. Your precious nature.’ Abby couldn’t detect any sarcasm in his tone. ‘How did your first hangover walk go?’
‘It was freezing but dry, and the visitors seemed to enjoy themselves. Perhaps I should have planned one for tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jack said dismissively. ‘And I’m glad it went well. Tell me more about Penelope’s estate. How is Meadowsweet connected to the rest of the village?’
‘That is the least subtle subject swerve I’ve ever heard,’ Abby said, laughing.
Jack smiled. ‘I’m curious about how it’s all linked. Peacock Cottage is fit for purpose, but I could tell it had been empty for a while before I moved in. Some of the appliances are outdated, and there was a slightly musty smell, though expertly covered with plug-in room scent. My agent, Leo, who found me the cottage, said that Penelope inherited the estate from her late husband. I’ve got to know her a little since I’ve been here, but she’s never been forthcoming about that side of things.’
‘She’s not forthcoming about anything much,’ Abby said. ‘The mood you’re in, a night out with the two of you would be an absolute riot!’
It was Jack’s turn to look outraged. ‘I’ve got a fun side.’
‘I know,’ Abby said more gently. ‘I just … you were beginning to let me see it, and then this. The whisky, the cold shoulder.’
Jack rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Abby. I’m an idiot. And instead of fixing it, I seem to have piled more idiotic behaviour on top and made everything ten times worse.’
‘That’s called digging a hole,’ she said, smiling. ‘But you haven’t offended me, and I’m not leaving you alone, no matter how hard you try and get rid of me. So, I’ll tell you. The big country house is called Swallowtail House, and Penelope owns that too. When her husband, Al, died of a heart attack, Penelope moved out immediately. She kept running the reserve, which was Al’s passion to begin with, but the house is just this big empty shadow looming over the village.’
‘Now who’s being melodramatic?’ Jack asked lightly. ‘Hasn’t she got someone to keep it in good condition? Why doesn’t she sell it, if she doesn’t want to live there anymore?’
‘I don’t know,’ Abby said. ‘I’ve been here nearly two years, and I’ve never even seen the gates open. It’s as if she can’t bear to go near it but can’t face getting rid of it either – despite the problems with Meadowsweet.’
Jack pinched a chip off her plate, his own long gone. His cheeks were slightly flushed, she noticed, his eyes bright. ‘You’re intrigued,’ he said.
‘About Swallowtail? Sure I am. It’s this huge, grand old home that’s falling apart. I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t be fascinated by it. I wondered enough about Peacock Cottage before you turned up – who used to live in the house in the woods? It’s just nestled there, looking snug and inviting and, while it was empty, mysterious too.’
‘And now I’m there it’s lost its mystery?’
‘As if! You’re the most perplexing thing about Peacock Cottage, with your mood swings, your celebrity status and your badass history.’
Jack’s brows lowered. ‘Badass history? You mean I lost my temper and hit someone.’
‘Despite writing letters of complaint to a nature reserve – which, by the way, is almost akin to drowning a kitten – it doesn’t seem your style, somehow. I can imagine you inviting Eddie Markham to a joust or a fencing duel, but not actually, straight up punching him.’ She stared at his hand, thought that maybe she could see faint lines on his knuckles, traces of scars where he’d opened his skin connecting with Eddie’s jaw. Before she realized what she was doing, she was running her index finger gently along his knuckle line, stroking the ridges, the dips.
‘Don’t mention Eddie Markham,’ Jack said, but it was almost a whisper.
Abby glanced up. He was very still, watching her. She placed her hand over his, then patted it awkwardly as if that’s what she’d been meaning to do all along, and tried to stop the pounding in her ears.
‘It was stupid of me, I’m sorry.’ She felt her skin flush, her confidence draining out of her. She had stroked him. Caressed him, almost. ‘I should never—’
‘It’s fine,’ Jack said quickly. ‘He’s my problem, not yours. I just don’t want him encroaching on this afternoon. Not when you’ve turned it around.’ He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
‘I have?’ she croaked.
‘You were right,’ he said softly. ‘I was on my way to the bottom of that bottle, and you’ve forced me out of it. God knows what I would have done after another three or four of those.’ He pointed at his empty glass. ‘You’ve forced me to look on the bright side, to seek out mystery instead of misery.’ He slid deftly off the stool and grabbed his coat.
‘What mystery? What are you talking about?’
‘Come on.’ He held out his hand.
Abby scrabbled off her stool, popped her final chip in her mouth and finished her beer. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as she unwound Raffle’s lead and took Jack’s hand, trying to ignore the thrill that ran up her arm at his solid, warm grasp.
‘We’re going on an adventure.’
‘We cannot go in there.’ She glanced around her to check nobody from the pub had followed. She had a disconcerting im
age of a Beauty and the Beast type procession, everyone with angry faces and flaming lanterns stomping up to the big house to wreak havoc on the intruder in their midst.
Jack rattled the double gates of Swallowtail House. ‘Shit, they’re locked.’
‘Of course they are! It would be overrun with squatters if they weren’t.’
He glanced up at the wall, which Abby guessed was at least ten feet tall. Raffle sat and looked at him, waiting for his next move.
‘There must be another way in,’ he said, turning to her. His face was more open, more alive than she’d ever seen it. His eyes were bluer in the bright sunshine, as if they were charged by sun power, and his jaw seemed less rigid, no longer a fortress that kept any expression outside of a scowl in check.
‘There’s a smaller gate in the woods,’ Abby said, ‘but it’s as locked as that one.’
‘How can it be as locked?’ he asked. ‘Either it is, or it isn’t. Come on then, we’ll try there.’
‘Jack!’ Her protest was half-hearted, and she let him take her hand again, let him pull her in the direction she had pointed in, Raffle darting ahead, loving the game. They stepped under the woodland canopy where the sun was muted, where birds chorused and leaves danced gently in the breeze. Abby felt the adrenalin thrill of being with Jack thrumming through her, like a second pulse.
‘I don’t even know why you want to get in,’ she said.
‘Because you do.’
‘But I’d never break in,’ Abby protested.
‘Nobody will know. And besides, who’s to say the house isn’t desperate for a little TLC?’
‘It’s a house. It’s not alive.’
‘But it is, partly.’ He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Think of all the plants that will have found gaps and worked their way in, the spiders weaving webs in the corners of the rooms. There’ll be birds roosting in the roof, bats possibly. It may not have people living in it anymore, but I guarantee it won’t be empty.’
Abby stared at him, wishing that he wasn’t so handsome, or that he’d kept pushing her away in the pub. She wished he hadn’t shown this sudden giddiness – whisky-driven or not – and interest in Swallowtail House, that he hadn’t given her this image of a place teeming with wildlife, beautiful and unkempt and alive. That was how she’d always seen it, but to know that he felt the same, that he’d thought about it too, wasn’t helping her control her feelings.
The Lovebirds Page 5
