by Rachel Dove
‘Sorry, buddy,’ Sam chuckled, straightening up. ‘I might be able to arrange you turning on the siren though, we’ll see. Don’t freak your mother out like that, okay?’
Xander’s little head shook frantically. ‘I won’t, I promise.’
‘Good job, look after your mother.’ He straightened up to his full height, leaning to ruffle his hair as the boy passed him. Xander laughed, running through to the back garden.
‘Bye, I will. I’m going to check for butterflies!’
Marlene and Dot were both clasping their hands, hearty eyes in full flow and aimed at Sam.
‘You’re so good with him,’ Marlene simpered.
‘You really are,’ Dot agreed. ‘Have you ever thought of having kids yourself?’
The easy smile died on his lips, and Lucy wished she was a bit closer to the women. Just so she could slap them around the chops.
‘Err … ladies!’ she chided.
‘I have thought about it, a lot actually, especially lately. One day.’
Both ladies looked triumphant, eyeing each other with a twinkle in their peepers.
‘A child needs siblings though, so don’t forget that! My mother always said big men were good solid stock, and babies are born bald anyway really, aren’t they!’
Lucy could feel herself getting cross. Sam, to his credit, just stood there, watching them all with his usual relaxed expression.
‘Yes, of course! Heaven forbid there should be a follicly challenged only child somewhere, that would be terrible, eh?’ She looked pointedly at the ladies, and they blatantly ignored her, still grinning like loons at Sam and his apparently fertile physique.
‘On that bombshell,’ Sam winked at Lucy, ‘I’m off to work, have a good day.’
He had almost reached the gate when he turned.
‘I have my phone on me, if you need anything. I’ll be home by eleven.’
He blushed as he left. It all sounded very domestic, very normal, couply. She must have realised it too. She cleared her throat, and discreetly took her key out and opened the front door.
‘Tea, ladies?’
A familiar voice shouted from up the road. Grace was there, a large shopping bag in her hand along with her usual knitting bag.
‘Two for me, duck. Am parched!’
The four women were all sat in the living room, tea tray laid out on the coffee table. They could see Xander outside from the back window. He was laid out under the tree, chatting away to himself. Talking to nature, probably.
‘So, how did your night go? Sam said that Iain had been, did you resolve anything?’
‘Did Sam punch him?’ Grace asked, pushing herself forward in her chair to get involved in the conversation more. ‘I bet he could bop him into the ground with one—’ She banged her closed fist sideways on, onto the coffee table, making the contents dance. ‘You should get on that you know, before the singletons in this village cotton on to the fact that a hot single fella is living and working here.’
Lucy stirred her tea, sitting back in her chair and shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Get on that? He’s not an exercise bike.’
‘Oooo,’ Dot chimed in. ‘If he was, I might reconsider going to the gym.’
‘I know.’ Grace threw a Bourbon biscuit at Dot, who caught it and bit it in half with a hard chomp, pulling a funny face at her friend. ‘Me too. What did you end up doing?’
Lucy’s brows shot up as she thought of the night she had spent under the covers with the local public servant. ‘Er, nothing really, just had a good night’s sleep. Iain left, but I do need to call him, try and sort things out. I think I might need a solicitor.’
Marlene reached into her handbag, pulling out a card almost instantly. Given the fact that most women’s handbags have an average of twenty things in them, and are like mini Tardises/Mary Poppins’ carpet bags, it was obvious that this innocuous-looking business card had been waiting in the wings, for just a moment as this.
‘He works from Harrogate.’ Lucy took the card and looked at the name. It sounded familiar. ‘He helped me when your mother … you know. He helped with the estate planning. He knows about your situation with your inheritance. Talk to him, protect your money, darling. Get some advice, if nothing else.’
Lucy placed the card next to the tea tray. ‘I will, it’s come to the stage where things do need sorting.’
The women all hmm-mmmed in unison, before taking a drink of their tea.
‘So, fire station tomorrow with Sam eh? That’ll be fun.’
There they go again. Lucy might be a little distracted this morning, with everything going on, but she still had her senses. And right now, she could smell a rat. A little grey-haired one.
‘Yes, well Xander will love it, I’m sure.’
‘And you!’ Marlene exclaimed. ‘It’ll be lovely, spending time together there. What are you going to wear? Do you have something nice?’
Lucy looked down at herself. Fair enough, she was still in yesterday’s jogging gear, and not quite looking her best, but she had managed to wash her face and brush her teeth this morning.
‘Er, I hadn’t thought about it to be honest. I’m sure I have something.’
Grace held up a finger aloft, reaching by her side and pulling things out of her shopping bag.
‘Amanda’s been making these, new stock for the shop. I said you’d try it out, see what you think. She’s been stitching up a storm lately. I bet her and Ben will be making another little announcement soon.’ She pretended to rub a pregnant belly in front of her, and the other two gasped.
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ Dot said, clapping her hands together. ‘Be lovely to have another baby around here.’
Baby mad, this lot! Trying to impregnate people all over the shop!
‘Here, love.’ She handed Lucy two bundles and pointed upstairs. ‘Nip up and try it on, eh?’
They were both wrapped in tissue paper, one looking like a muddy brown, the other a bright sunshine yellow. ‘Why is there two?’
‘One’s for Sam. The dark one. Take it to him, would you?’ She didn’t wait for an answer before changing the subject. Looks like I am playing delivery girl tomorrow as well. ‘I wanted to bring you a red one, but your auntie,’ she jabbed her thumb at Marlene, an Elvis-like curl in her top lip, ‘thought it might clash with the decor there. You know, too red. You’d look like a piece of equipment!’ Lucy stood there open-mouthed. This was an utter stitch up. She felt like a bloody mannequin. She’d better not nap around these broads; they’d have her in the window with a metal rod up her jacksy sooner than you could say ‘swipe left’.
‘She’d look like a bloody pillar box too,’ Lucy could hear someone say as she headed upstairs.
‘Look after Xander,’ she called to them, knowing that there would probably be no better babysitters than the women setting up camp in her living room. Placing the parcels on her bed, she opened the yellow one. Out spilled a gorgeous dress. It really was stunning. The label said ‘design by Chic Boutique, Westfield’ and the dress had a flared, full skirt and a bodice design. It was classy, perfect for a daytime event, and the yellow was a tasteful sun-kissed shade. The skirt fanned out with a swish as she lifted it up, and she saw that the material was printed to look like a sunflower, the petals fanning out from the centre of the waistline.
‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘Gorgeous.’
She hung it on a hanger, suddenly feeling far too dirty and dishevelled to try it on in her current state of dress. She took off her bum bag, thrown back round her waist that morning at Sam’s, and opened the zip. The letter that Sam had given her to read was in there, along with her phone. She put the phone on charge, and turned the bath on in the house bathroom, sitting on the side of the bath and closing the door. On opening the letter, she saw a newspaper clipping, and two letters in different handwriting. She began to read, and the more she read, the more she wanted Sam to be there. It was heartbreaking, and all she wanted to do was give him a hug. His adopted mother had done a brill
iant job of raising him, and from reading her letter, loved him as much, if not more, than any mother could love her child. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she loved Xander to distraction. She loved his nature, his smile, the way he took on the world and tried to find a place in it, carving a new Xander-shaped one along the way. She would die for him, kill for him, and endure anything just so he could avoid a moment’s pain. Sondra and her would get on, if they ever met. Reading these, she knew just what she had to do this summer. Why she was here. How to proceed. She wasn’t lost any more, but Sam still was. For once, he needed to be helped, to be rescued, and she wanted to be the one to do it. Folding the letters away, she slipped out of the bathroom, hiding the envelope and its contents in the pocket of her suitcase, and headed for the bath. She would play along with the little coven downstairs. The Witches of Westfield were preparing their brooms for battle, and she was right there with them, hopefully zapping some secrets loose along the way.
Chapter 12
Sunday morning, and Lucy was up before Xander even stirred. Which was unusual, since he hardly slept past six usually and was up and jiggling about like the Duracell bunny by ten past.
The previous evening, she had pushed the envelope back through Sam’s door after Xander was in bed, and stuck a note into it.
See you tomorrow. I may hug you, so be warned. Ten okay? Let me know.
Lucy and Xander
P.S. I might have a plan.
She did have a plan, but whether he would go along with it was a different matter. He had morals, which wasn’t a bad thing, but the lines were already blurring between them and she didn’t know if he would be open to what she had to suggest.
Just after eleven, as she was dozing in bed with a book from a stack that Marlene had brought for her, her phone buzzed and vibrated on the nightstand.
Opening it, she saw a text from Sam.
Just got home. Ten is fine, and hugs are always acceptable. Meet you at the fire house.
Sam x
P.S. Am intrigued about the plan.
He seemed upbeat, and open to ideas. Of course, anyone could be open to an idea when they had no clue what it was about. She could have signed him up for Mexican mud wrestling for all he knew.
The morning passed by in a blur, and before she knew it, she was walking to Honeysuckle Street with Xander, both of them dressed up and feeling excited. For different reasons, of course.
They chatted all the way up, about school, and home. Xander wasn’t keen on either, and she couldn’t say that she was looking forward to facing them either. Even her job at the deli, which she did like, seemed like it belonged to another person; another version of Lucy when she was still in her little London cocoon. Now, they were here, and butterflies were everywhere. Did they really want to go backwards? She’d made an appointment at the law practice in Harrogate, but had made it for the last week of summer. She didn’t want to think about it till then. It sat in her diary like a deadline, a turning point should she need it. She needed to plan everything, and make sure she was doing the right thing. If it were just her then her path forward would be easy. But it wasn’t. She at least had another fortnight of denial time, and she was going to use that to help Sam, and give Xander a great summer. Those things she could do.
They neared the fire house, and Xander gasped. ‘Wow, look at the trucks!’
Both trucks, Donald and Teresa, were all gleaming and ready for action, visible through the large shutter doors of the fire house. It really did look a bit like a house, all brick walls and welcoming flowers covering the grass on the side verges, the little curtains at the upper windows, where the sleeping and living quarters were. They were almost at the main doors when Sam appeared, a fireman’s helmet in his hands.
‘Good morning!’ He plonked the hat onto Xander’s head, laughing when he tried to walk around blindly. ‘Hey, mate, wait just a minute.’ He pulled the visor up and Xander’s grinning face beamed out at him. Alan followed Sam outside, and was soon barraged with a flood of questions from Xander. Alan ushered him inside, chatting away.
‘Hi,’ Sam said, holding his arms out wide. He was dressed in his uniform, looking trim, fit and rather delectable. Where did this man come from? That, Lucy, is the million-pound question. ‘I think I’ll take that hug now.’
She thought about being coy for about half a second before she half ran into his arms. He didn’t even flinch as she barrelled into him, holding her tight to him, his arm muscles flexing around her body. They both sighed in relief.
‘Now that was worth waiting for.’ He squeezed her again, and she hugged him tighter. ‘Are you both okay?’
She laid her head against his chest, not answering, listening intently to his heart beating. ‘We’re fine. I made an appointment with a solicitor, and I told Iain by text never to come up here again like that, and that he has to call to arrange to see Xander.’
She could feel him nod in agreement. ‘You didn’t tell him about the solicitor though, eh? Best not to tip him off, till you know what’s what.’
She pulled away a little, to look into his eyes. ‘I didn’t. We don’t have joint money, and the house is covered, and in joint names. He can’t really make a move without me knowing about it.’
He pulled her back to him, cradling her head in his hand.
‘Okay, so that’s the plan?’
She giggled. ‘Nope, that’s a bit more complicated, believe it or not, and for you, not me.’
He groaned, a low tremor spreading from his chest, and she absorbed it into her body. She could smell his aftershave, and feel him all around her. She could have stayed there forever.
‘I have a feeling that this is going to be messy.’
She took a step back, and reached for his hand. ‘Sure is, Fireman Sam. Shall we go in?’
The women were buzzing when they barrelled around the corner in Taylor’s car. Agatha had summoned them to the manor born for a strategy meeting, and they had a few snippets of news to share themselves. As they headed through the gates and up the long drive, before pulling up alongside the front doors, near the fountain, the noise in the car was a constant stream of chatter. Sebastian Taylor was used to them all by now, after years of ferrying Agatha about as her driver. Now, he still ran her errands and played designated driver, but he was no longer on the payroll. Now, he did it for love alone, and he enjoyed every minute. Agatha was the love of his life, and he wasn’t about to complain about her free-spirited and rather bossy nature. She was as big a part of Westfield as the schoolhouse that they used to learn in as children, as important in the history of the place as the fountain on the Mayweather Estate, as the big old oak that grew in the north field. She was home, to him and many others. Including the cacophony of tweeting old birds in the back.
‘Thanks, Taylor, my love.’ Grace patted him on the shoulder as they all got out. She hesitated a bit, looking back at him. ‘The children out, are they?’
Taylor chuckled. ‘They’re in the kitchen, I think, with the back doors open. You’re fine to go in.’
The ‘children’ she was referring to were two Afghan hounds, Maisie and Buster. Great big, hairy, lolloping things they were, and Agatha adored them. With her and her husband Charlie never being blessed with children of their own, Agatha had showered her love on her village instead, and on the two dogs that shared their home. The postman was terrified of them, given that they sounded like apocalyptic hellhounds whenever he deigned to touch the door knocker, but they were just like affectionate and goofy toddlers. They were perfect vessels, happy recipients of all the love that Agatha had stored up for the children she wanted but never had.
‘Good,’ Grace said with a sigh of relief. She pulled a leg of lamb out of her bag, wrapped in cling film, and brandished it in front of her like a knife. ‘I came prepared, just in case.’ Taylor guffawed, and she shook the leg at him. ‘Hey, no laughing, boyo. Those things have fleas bigger than you!’
‘Fleas?’ A horrified prim voice came from behin
d them. ‘My babies don’t have fleas, thank you very much. Do come in, they’re having their exercise time in the gardens. They’re playing with Archibald.’
Archibald was one of the gardeners on the estate, although now his family did most of the work, with him being retired. Well, he was officially retired, but it would be the end of his days before he put the trowel down and actually enjoyed any retirement activities. They all walked into the house, and Archie could be heard yelling, ‘Sod off, ya great big dishcloth!’ out of the windows at the back of her house. Agatha’s face curled up as though someone had thrust a freshly peeled lemon into her chops, but she said nothing.
They all sat down in the large living area, and Agatha stood before them, flip chart primed and ready behind her. She pulled the top off one of her coloured markers theatrically and wrote Sam in the middle of the paper, circling it with a blue wavy line, in an oval shape.
‘Right,’ she boomed, her eyes flashing with mischief and possibly the effects of the smelly marker pen. ‘What do we know?’
‘Nehhhhh–nawwww! Nehhhhhh-nawwww!’ The siren blared out, deafening in the small space, but it was no match for Xander. He made siren noises right along with it, perfectly in tune, at the top of highly excited lungs. Sam was laughing his head off, and Lucy felt the pain of something deep down in the pit of her stomach. Sam pressed a button, and the fire house went quiet.
‘That was awesome! Mum, can we get a siren?’
Lucy looked at Sam like any parent does when a relative buys their kid a drum kit, or teaches them to cuss in Mandarin. (Marlene did this last year over Skype, after having Mandarin classes at the community centre.) ‘Thanks,’ she mouthed at him, and he rolled his eyes back at her.
‘Nope, houses don’t have sirens, remember? They don’t need them, because they don’t move.’
Xander thought for a moment. ‘If we lived on a houseboat, could we then? They move!’
Lucy pressed her palm to her forehead in a pretend slapping motion. ‘Of course, why didn’t I think of that! We have a house though, honey.’
