All those weeks of squirting them with antibiotics has finally paid off and they’ve grown into plump, fully feathered and now, it seems, fully functioning hens. Their sight is mercifully restored and they no longer bump into trees or fences or sit staring blindly at the walls in their Ritz-style henhouse. This could be the start of a fruitful production line of fresh eggs every morning. We could sell our surplus at the gate and perhaps add a few much-needed pounds to our meagre household income.
I must be emotionally over-wrought since I feel a lump come to my throat as I cradle the egg and carry it tenderly back to the kitchen. ‘We’ll hold a raffle,’ I say, ‘to see who has this for breakfast tomorrow.’
‘I don’t want to eat anything that comes out of a hen’s bottom,’ Jessica states, nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘I only like the eggs they have in Sainsbury’s.’
‘Where do you think they come from?’
‘Not out of a hen’s bottom!’
Oh dear. Our children have become very divorced from their food chain and, when we’re not in such a hurry, I’m going to have to sit Jessica down and tell her the facts of life about how her food gets to her plate.
‘Come on, come on. We’re going to be late for the dance.’ I herd my tribe together. ‘Let’s see what Helmshill village hall has to offer.’
The village hall is already full and bustling with activity when we arrive. Today it’s decked out in its Sunday best – even though it’s Saturday. It’s hard not to think about the last time I was here. Then it was a subdued affair after Will’s funeral and the atmosphere tonight is very different. I wish my husband was here to hold my hand. There’s a party mood in the air and the disco is playing the Scissor Sisters’ latest hit so that the village children can strut their stuff. Tom and Jessica eagerly go to join them.
Each of the little tables has been covered with a paper cloth and sports a bunch of rainbow-coloured helium balloons. My sister took my advice on the dress-down option, but still looks chic in her skinny jeans and black cashmere sweater. I’ve dragged out some black Ghost trousers that, miraculously, aren’t covered with snail-trails of Hamish slobber – possibly the only pair in my wardrobe that aren’t – and a silver-grey jersey wrap cardigan that only has a small hole chewed in it. Even the Jimmy Choos are back in service – having been abandoned since I realised that they’re unsuitable footwear for feeding animals. Serena has persuaded me to put on my full war-paint and, for the first time in months, I’m feeling good again.
‘This reminds me of a school disco,’ Serena whispers to me as she hands me one of the glasses of red wine she’s bought from the bar. ‘I feel as if I should be sneaking in a bottle of vodka in the depths of my handbag.’
I laugh. She’s right. There’s a quaint, homely feel to the dance and everyone has been so welcoming. People I barely know have come up to ask how I am. Serena, who has never spoken to her next-door neighbour in two years and never intends to, views this as very suspicious.
‘How can you bear it?’ she wants to know.
‘I think it’s nice,’ I tell her. ‘People look out for each other here.’ I know that I’ll definitely miss this about my country place.
I’m watching my children groove on the dance floor. Tom has, unfortunately for him, inherited his father’s appalling sense of rhythm and embarrassing-white-man style of dancing while Jessica would make any pole dancer proud. I’m smiling inanely at them when the door opens once more and Guy Barton is standing inside. A flush goes to my cheeks which has nothing to do with the red wine. He looks smarter than I’ve seen him before. His normally windswept hair is freshly washed and tousled. It may even be gelled. He’s wearing a Ted Baker shirt and black jeans.
‘Wow,’ Serena says. ‘I hope that’s not the vet.’
‘It is.’
‘Damn,’ she says. ‘I was going to bags that one as mine.’
‘You met him at the funeral.’
‘He didn’t look like that. Or if he did I didn’t notice.’
I touch Serena’s hand. ‘We both had other things on our mind that day.’
‘I must have loved my brother-in-law more than I realised,’ she teases, ‘if I was so consumed with grief to miss eying up the local beefcake.’
My sister is so outrageous. Still, she makes me giggle. ‘You’re terrible.’
She sips her wine as she studies him. ‘I can see why he’s sent your hormones into freefall. Mine are doing more than a gentle flutter.’
‘He’s done nothing of the sort.’ She looks at me as if I’m lying.
Guy is all smiles and works his way into the room, shaking hands, clapping backs, stopping to have a word with everyone. He’s clearly a popular man. At the bar, someone buys him a drink and then I realise that I’m holding my breath as Guy winds his way towards us.
Serena nudges me in the ribs as Guy comes and stands before us. ‘Lovely to see you here,’ he says. ‘I hoped that you’d come.’
‘I couldn’t keep my sister away,’ I tell him with a laugh.
He holds out his hand and Serena takes it. ‘Guy Barton.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ she says in time-honoured fashion.
‘All of it good, I hope,’ he says back – also in the standard way.
That’s enough flirting, I think. Serena’s supposed to be sizing him up to see whether he’s suitable friendship material for me. Guy turns away from her and surveys the dance floor. ‘The kids look like they’re having a ball.’
‘They’re very excited,’ I tell him. ‘Christopher’s laid her first egg.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Guy says. ‘A toast to Christopher.’
We all raise our glasses, clink them together and, in unison, proclaim, ‘To Christopher!’
‘How’s Hamish faring?’ I ask.
‘He’s great.’ Guy fails to meet my eyes.
Clearly up to more mischief, then. ‘Hmm?’
Guy sighs, knowing he’s been rumbled. ‘Your dog is currently trying to chew his way out of my utility room.’
‘He’ll do it,’ I assure him.
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’
‘Do you think that you could keep him tomorrow too? I have a viewing on the house at eleven. It would help my chances of a sale considerably if Hamish wasn’t around.’
I see his face fall. ‘Still determined to leave us?’
Nodding, I say, ‘I have no choice.’
‘I’m not sure that I should be doing anything to aid and abet your departure,’ he says, ‘but you know that I will.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I appreciate it. Come and have dinner with us tomorrow evening, before Serena heads back to the city.’
But, before Guy can answer, the village-hall door swings open and a whoosh of cold air blasts into the room. We turn to see who’s making an entrance. Standing there is an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She has a mass of black curls tumbling over her shoulders, pale skin and piercing blue eyes. The woman hasn’t gone for the dress-down option. She’s wearing a clinging black dress that’s the height of fashion – a look that won’t hit Helmshill for another five years – and black stiletto boots.
‘Oh hell,’ Guy says under his breath, and his mouth has fallen open as he stares at her. ‘It’s Laura.’
He turns to us, his attention still focused on the woman at the door. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, ladies.’
And before we get the chance to excuse him or not, he’s off across the room and taking the woman in his arms. For some stupid reason, my heart plummets to my Jimmy Choos.
‘That doesn’t look good,’ Serena remarks.
‘No,’ I agree. And I wonder exactly who the hell Laura might be.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Guy was shocked to see Laura standing right in front of him in Helmshill. ‘How did you find me?’ he asked.
‘You’re very well known in these parts,’ Laura said airily. ‘I stopped to ask at the local pub and they told me they thought you’d be over here. I
hope you don’t mind me coming up unannounced like this.’
‘No, no.’ Although he wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. Laura’s appearance had certainly changed his plans for the evening. This made him sound like a teenager, but he’d rather hoped that he’d spend the rest of the dance with Amy, possibly getting the chance to hold her in his arms when the DJ played the slowies. That would have certainly started tongues wagging. Looked like that scheme was out of the window now. But probably just as well as Amy was still so keen to get away from this place. She couldn’t feel the same way as he did, if she was so determined to move on. He’d had a broken heart once – courtesy of the woman now standing in front of him – and it wasn’t an experience he was in a tearing hurry to repeat.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Laura said.
His ex-girlfriend had said during their initial phone call that she’d have to come up to see Helmshill for herself one day. He just hadn’t expected that day to come so soon – or at all, if he was perfectly honest. Wasn’t that just the sort of thing that people said? She’d called him last night and had casually asked what his plans for the weekend were. He’d said he’d be at home, but hadn’t mentioned the highlight of the village dance or his plans to smooch with a certain Mrs Ashurst if she’d allow it. All Laura had said was that she hadn’t much planned. Should that have given him any indication that his ex would high-tail it up here in pursuit of their former relationship? He never knew quite what women meant.
‘You certainly did that,’ he said.
She laughed. Then her arm slipped into his as she took in the village hall. ‘So this is your idea of nightlife?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘My idea of nightlife is a bowl of pasta and some rubbish telly. This is my annual outing.’ He wondered if she could tell that he wasn’t joking.
‘You always hankered after the quiet life.’
‘And you always hated it.’
‘I’ve changed,’ Laura said softly.
‘You look even more beautiful,’ Guy told her honestly. The years had been very kind to Laura. Her natural beauty was now more glossy, groomed and her glamour was certainly turning heads in Helmshill and – he suspected – everywhere else that she went. What was she really doing here, traipsing to the outer reaches of the back of beyond to look him up after all this time?
‘Is your presence required here?’ she enquired.
He shrugged, but he couldn’t make lightness come to his shoulders. ‘Not especially.’
‘Can we go somewhere a little more private where we can talk? We’ve a lot to catch up on.’
‘That we have,’ Guy said. ‘I’ll take you back to my place.’ It was with a certain trepidation that the words left his mouth.
With one glance over his shoulder, he saw Amy standing with her sister staring his way. She didn’t look as happy as she had done earlier and he wondered if she was okay. Guy thought about waving to her and then changed his mind. He slipped his arm round Laura and steered her to the door and away from the village hall.
Chapter Fifty-Three
When they got back to Guy’s house, Hamish was in the living room and had ripped open the feather cushions from his sofa. The dog was woofing joyously around the room trying to catch the feathers in his mouth. The remains of the cat flap that had previously been fixed firmly in the utility-room door was draped around Hamish’s scruff like a necklace. Guy groaned. ‘How the hell did you get out of there?’ Headbutting would be his best guess. Though how Hamish had managed to fit his great bulk through that tiny hole was anyone’s guess.
Hamish barked happily, wagging his tail with delight. Showing off even more now that he had an audience, the dog pounced on a pillow and engaged it in a life or death struggle, snarling as he did so. ‘That’s enough of that, Hamish!’
The dog shook the pillow again. Guy grabbed him by the cat-flap collar and wrenched the pillow from his mouth. Hamish looked crestfallen for a second. Then he turned his attention to Laura instead, and his wet nose went straight to her groin.
‘Stop that,’ Guy said, trying to pull him back. It was like trying to hold onto a Hummer.
Laura pushed the dog away as delicately as she could. ‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’ She sounded as if she wished he hadn’t.
‘He’s not mine,’ Guy said, dragging Hamish towards the kitchen by his collar. ‘I’m looking after him for a friend for a few days.’
‘He seems very spirited.’ For that, read ‘really badly behaved’, Guy thought.
The lounge looked as if an avalanche had recently passed through it. ‘I’ll put him in the kitchen,’ Guy decided, hoping that Hamish would agree.
Laura had brought an overnight bag with her, so she’d clearly been intending to stay the night. ‘My spare room hasn’t been used in years,’ Guy confessed, hanging on to Hamish. ‘It needs a good airing.’ Not to mention a good clear-out of all the junk that had found its way in there. It harboured a rowing machine that hadn’t been used in anger for at least two years. ‘I was going to take the sofa and give you my bed.’
They both eyed the shredded cushions. ‘You can’t possibly do that,’ Laura said. She placed her hand on his chest and he felt his heartbeat accelerate beneath her fingers. The woman who had broken his heart reached up to stroke his face, and her lips found his. This definitely wasn’t how he had foreseen this evening progressing, yet despite this, Guy felt his body respond. His ex-girlfriend’s lips were warm and sweet on his and he pushed away any thoughts of how they might compare with Amy’s.
‘What about Craig?’ he said when they parted. ‘Where does he fit into this picture?’
‘We’re over,’ she told him with a bold jut of her chin. ‘History.’
Now wasn’t the time to go into the whys and wherefores. There was plenty of time to have that conversation. Besides, he had enough knowledge of his ex-best friend to imagine what might have happened.
‘I’m a single woman again.’
That certainly made things more simple.
Laura glanced at the wreckage in the living room, the sofa covered in feathers, then fixed her eyes on his. ‘We could share your bed.’
Would it be madness to sleep with Laura tonight? Didn’t they have a lot of talking to do first before they progressed to the next stage? But then it was that sensible streak of his that invariably led to him being left alone. Amy Ashurst was recently widowed. It was obvious that she wasn’t in a position to be thinking of another relationship so soon. How long was he prepared to wait around for a glimmer of hope, particularly when that hope would be dashed just as soon as she moved back to London? She hated the country. And he hated London. That was why he wondered if the situation with Laura really had changed – they’d been poles apart in what they wanted. Should that stop him, though, from enjoying her company over the weekend?
His ex-girlfriend made it clear that she wanted him and his lips still tingled from her kiss. It was a long time since he’d made love and in recent weeks it was something he’d sorely missed again. Laura was beautiful, intelligent and funny. It pained him to remember that she was also wildly sexy in bed. He didn’t have a long list of conquests to compare her to, but he’d had some of the best sex of his life with this woman. At that moment, with Hamish heaving to escape, Laura pressed her body against Guy’s and found his mouth again. Would it be madness to pass up on this opportunity, Guy wondered, clinging on for dear life. Or would it be madness to risk rekindling a flame that had long since died?
Chapter Fifty-Four
My sister and I sit in the kitchen nursing mugs of hot chocolate and hogging the Aga for some warmth. I still haven’t come to terms with using the damn thing for cooking, but I’ve kind of grown to like the atmosphere it creates.
The kids, overexcited and exhausted from dancing all night, have been packed off to bed. Milly Molly Mandy is curled up on my lap, purring gently. Considering I hate cats and she hates humans, this is a major breakthrough. I give her a tentative stroke and she lets me wit
hout trying to shred my arm or draw blood from my thighs. Milly Molly Mandy settles further into my lap and, surprisingly, her warm soft body gives me comfort. There are a million surveys that will tell you that owning animals can reduce your stress levels whereas, until now, I’ve found that owning animals seriously contributes to mine.
‘What did you think of him?’
‘The vet?’ Serena asks sleepily, her head resting on the chairback.
I nod.
‘To quote Elvis, he’s a hunk-a, hunk-a burning love.’
‘Isn’t he just.’
‘So who’s your love rival with the killer figure and expensive taste in clothes?’
‘I don’t know,’ I shrug. ‘It could be his sister or some long-lost relative. Isn’t that always what happens in this kind of story. There’s some terrible mix-up and she’s not really a single, hot chick who’s available and very willing. And, anyway, no matter who she is, she’s not my love rival. There’s nothing going on between Guy and me. We’re just friends, that’s all.’ Though I confess that I did think there was a special kind of connection between us. Yet I find now that I know so little about him. He didn’t even mention this woman to me. But why should he?
‘You said that you’d made it very clear that you weren’t interested. You can’t blame him for picking up with someone else more malleable. That woman looked very into him.’
‘Didn’t she?’
‘She didn’t look like she had two kids in tow either.’
‘No,’ I agree. She didn’t look like she was weighed down by any of the tons of baggage that I’m currently carrying. ‘Guy’s single and handsome. I don’t know why he’s on his own. Who can blame him for wanting to see an attractive woman?’
‘She wasn’t attractive. She was stunning.’
‘Is this supposed to be making me feel better?’
‘The sooner you sell this place and come home the better,’ is Serena’s verdict.