An Autumn Crush (23 page)

Secondly: she was turning into Coco, checking her phone regularly to see if there were any texts from Steve and when there weren’t, testing that her phone was working properly. When he did
text or ring, she perked up like a stick of celery placed in a tumbler of water. Steve Feast was now her number one on speed-dial as well. She felt ever so slightly vulnerable. Her heart was
opening up
for Steve Feast
of all people – and when that happened, there was always the danger of getting hurt.

And thirdly: where the hell was her bloody period? She couldn’t possibly be pregnant because they’d used condoms. Except for the very first time, when they’d got carried away
and started having sex bareback, before Steve had stopped, pulled out, been sensible and put a Durex on. She knew it was highly unlikely that her period hadn’t come because she was pregnant,
but she still wanted to see some physical evidence of that so she could ‘eliminate it from her enquiries’.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Piers Winstanley-Black stick his head into the office and wait for her to do her customary swoon. When she didn’t, he
felt most aggrieved and – as is the contrary nature of men – his interest in this buxom creature who had suddenly become indifferent to him cranked up by several degrees.

The car squealed to a stop at the side of the house. Seconds after Guy had got the phone call from Steve he was up and dressed, and trying not to drive too fast to
Hallow’s Cottage, which was set well back from the road between Maltstone and Higher Hoppleton. He was almost shaking as he pulled up sharp by the
For Sale
notice. It was being sold by
Stanby’s Estate Agency, apparently. He was just keying their number into the phone when he noticed the cottage doorway open and a rather round man with a bald head and thick glasses bring out
a black binliner.

Guy sprang out of the car and called over to him, ‘Excuse me, do you live here? Can you give me a few details about the house? If it’s no bother.’

The man jumped, recovered and then said, ‘I’ll show you round if you like whilst I’m here. You’d best pull into the drive though.’

‘Thank you, that’s brilliant,’ Guy called over his shoulder as he hurried back into the car. He parked and got out again. ‘Sorry to land on you like this, but I’ve
just found out this morning that the cottage is for sale.’

‘It’s not been on the market long,’ said the man, holding out his hand and making his introductions. ‘Grant Taylor. I’m the owner’s nephew. Well, the late
owner. My aunt died in July, and we live in Norfolk now so it’s a bit of a trek up here and everything has got a bit overgrown, as you can see.’ He gestured towards the wild garden.
‘Anyway, come in. Sorry, I can’t offer you a cup of tea because I’ve had the electricity cut off until it’s been sold.’

‘Oh, no worries,’ said Guy, following him into the cottage. ‘I’m just glad I caught you. I was about to make an appointment with the estate agent to do a viewing when I
spotted you. I came here with my granny once when I was a little boy. I thought it was beautiful.’

He told himself off for sounding too keen, but he couldn’t help himself.

‘Not so lovely now,’ said Grant. ‘She hadn’t decorated for at least thirty years. It’s like being in a bloody time-warp. And it’s a rotten financial climate
to sell a house in, never mind one like this. Feel free to have a look around.’

‘Don’t you want to accompany me?’

‘No, you’re fine. There’s nowt to nick, lad,’ laughed Grant.

Guy started with the room he was in. It had surprisingly high ceilings for such an old, heavily beamed cottage. It was a huge square room: Guy pictured it with new windows and a big fire blazing
in the wide inglenook fireplace. Then he went into the kitchen area and saw it in his mind’s eye with gleaming worksurfaces and a centre island – and Floz, heavily pregnant, sitting at
a wooden dining-table tapping away at her laptop. He thought of leaning over her, kissing her on the lips as he had done at his parents’ house – but intentionally. He could imagine her
strawberry scent in the air.

There was a cloakroom which he saw full of children’s boots and dainty ladies’ stilettos. And another room off, a second sitting room that would have served as an office or a games
room where he and his children would try and outdo each other on Wii Tennis.

Up the stairs was a generous bathroom with two windows, but he didn’t see the horrible green suite, he saw Floz and himself soaping each other in a shower. And in the largest of the three
bedrooms, he visualized rolling around on a large four-poster, tangling Floz up in the sheets. He had to severely adjust his trousers before he went back downstairs.

There was plenty of land around to extend if needs be, a rickety old garage that needed pulling down and rebuilding, and what looked like a stable big enough for two horses. In short, there was
a lot of work to be done to make Hallow’s Cottage half-decent. It would cost quite a bit – but boy, would it be worth it. Visions were dancing loudly and colourfully in Guy’s
head.

‘How much are you selling it for?’ he asked.

‘The estate agent said it’s worth
£
200,000,’ said Grant. Guy’s heart sank. ‘But what with this climate and all that needs doing to it, I’ve put
it on for
£
160,000 – or thereabouts. I want a quick sale. Are you interested?’

Guy’s breathing was shallow and fast. ‘Yes, I’m very interested,’ he said. Commonsense told him to shut up. He didn’t have the funds if he was buying the
restaurant, or the time to do all the work required. But Guy Miller’s heart was thumping with excitement and he wasn’t going to acknowledge any voice talking sense. He had been too
quiet and played it safe for too long. And faint hearts didn’t win fair ladies.

In the staff toilet Juliet weed on the pregnancy test wand and waited. She couldn’t be pregnant. Steve’s unsheathed willy was only in her for a few seconds.
But
what if you are?
In her waiting time she thought what it would mean if the test came up positive. It felt as if she were back in Orchards opposite that anti-abortion creep.
What would you
do? I don’t honestly know! You don’t know? You don’t
know
if you’d murder your own flesh and blood or not?
Well, now she was facing the very real possibility that
she
was
in that situation, she knew that NO WAY would she have an abortion. It was mad though. Her – Juliet Miller – pregnant? She hadn’t ever seriously entertained the
idea of having children. Roger had been about as paternal as Herod and Juliet enjoyed her independence and freedom far too much to be hampered by rugrats.

She had the sneaking suspicion that if she told Steve she was pregnant, he would be pathetically happy about it. He was like a big kid himself. She could easily visualize him zooming around the
room with a son playing Superman and teaching him wrestling moves.

For the first time, Juliet let herself think about being married again, having a husband and watching her mum and dad coo over a baby. Carrying a little boy around on her hip or holding the hand
of a little girl. And then projecting herself forward to bash the spotty teenager who broke her daughter’s heart.

Juliet’s watch beeped: the allotted waiting time was over. She looked down at the stick. It was negative. She had thought she would have felt more relieved than she did.

Floz received the email after thirteen days of no contact and her joy level rose like the puck on a Strong Man Striker machine after Andre the Giant had
hammered the lever.

She had tried so hard not to look glum around Juliet, especially after Juliet had asked her outright if she was upset about Steve staying over so much.

‘You’ve been so down recently, we wondered if that was the reason,’ she had said.

‘Oh no, please don’t think that,’ said Floz, horrified that she’d been seen as a mope. The last thing she wanted to do was put a dampener on Juliet and Steve’s
lovely romance.

‘What about your old flame, Floz?’ Juliet dared. ‘Are you still in touch?’

‘Yes, we are,’ Floz replied quietly with a fond smile but she pushed the subject firmly back onto Juliet. She was obviously not open to questions about
him
. ‘It’s
great that you’re a couple. Steve is so nice.’

‘We aren’t a couple.’ Juliet made the point clear. ‘It is just sex. That’s all.’

‘Okay, I believe you,’ smiled Floz. ‘But whatever it is, you both seem happy and I am happy for you. Of course I don’t mind that he stays over.’

And she didn’t, that was true. She wished she could have what they had. Writing to Nick again had opened up a portal in her heart that made her ache for a man’s arms around her
– the way Steve’s wrapped around Juliet. Steve looked at her with such big wide eyes, she was surprised his pupils didn’t dilate to bursting point. And he had a permanent sloppy
grin on his face. And however much they protested otherwise, it was quite obvious that neither of them were in their ‘non-relationship’ for the ‘just sex’.

As Floz re-read her mail from Nick, that initial flare of joy crashed to earth. Nothing had changed, he was still dying. She felt that a massive sore inside her had been picked open and was
bleeding. She didn’t want him to suffer, she wanted him to be at peace, but she didn’t want him to die. It made no sense. Nor did the fact that the biggest love of her life was a man
she had never met. She had always been a sensible, practical woman and yet this had happened to her. And when the disease finally crushed the last breath from him, would she feel she was being
disloyal if she grew close to another man in the future? Would Nick then be watching her from heaven and hurting that her heart had moved on? She ached so much for someone real and
there
to
touch her, kiss her, love her. She felt scooped out inside, as hollow as a Hallowe’en pumpkin head.

In the wee small hours of the following Sunday, after a hellish shift at Burgerov, Guy was sitting at the tiny table in his flat with a pad and pen and a calculator. Whatever
way he did his sums, he would never be able to afford Hallow’s Cottage. It was either the restaurant or the cottage: he
needed
the restaurant and
wanted
the cottage. It was
really no contest, but his head and heart were at war with each other.

Floz Cherrydale had awoken a dragon in him that made him want to brush off the dust that had fallen over him in the past years, take on the world, impress her, woo her, win her from the
‘old flame’ who Juliet said had come back into her life. He felt full of fire and lust for life. There were just a few obstacles to overcome – like finding nearly a couple of
hundred thousand pounds and convincing the woman of his dreams that she didn’t hate him, after all – and that she should abandon any plans to get back with whoever this mystery man
was.

Floz awoke in the middle of the night after dreaming that Nick was stretched beside her. It was such a potent and vivid dream that in it she could feel his hand on her thigh,
smell his skin which was like an autumn walk after the rain. It was Guy’s scent. She had no idea what Nick would smell like: she thought salt and pine, but she would never know, never brush
her fingers against his face. Tears began to gush down her cheeks when she realized she was alone in her bed and the only scent on the pillows was her own.

She got up to get some tissues. She was so tired, but she had lost the ability to find deep refreshing sleep. Padding softly into the kitchen, she made herself a decaff coffee and put an
enormous slug of brandy in it as well. Then, when that was finished, she made herself another.

‘How’s the just sex going?’ asked Coco, ringing Juliet first thing the next morning.

‘Fine,’ said Juliet with a diffident sniff. ‘We’re having a laugh, that’s all.’ She didn’t mention that sometimes when Steve stayed over, they
didn’t actually have any sex at all, just cuddled up in bed and snogged and talked. ‘How’s Gideon? He’s keeping you away from me. I’ve forgotten what you look like.
Are you that fat, blond bloke with the pierced lip?’

‘Oh, give over. Anyway, you’re always with Steve these days, lady, so three words: pot, kettle and black. Now, back to Gideon – he’s fabulous.’ Coco sighed like
Judy Garland about to sing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. ‘I really like him, Ju. And I think he really likes me. At least he said so. But we all know that words are
cheap.’

‘Don’t tar all men with the same brush,’ warned Juliet. ‘Gideon just might be the one who doesn’t let you down.’

‘I hope so,’ said Coco, with a smile in his voice. ‘The sex is perfect.’

‘Spare me the lurid details,’ said Juliet hurriedly.

‘I will if you will.’ Coco shuddered at the thought of a man and woman having sex together. ‘And how’s lovely Floz?’

‘Hmm, lovely Floz. There’s a mystery.’

‘Ooh,’ said Coco, who loved a gossip. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s awfully quiet at the moment and I know she hasn’t been sleeping well because I’ve heard her getting up at stupid hours to make a drink. Quite honestly, Coco, she
looks ill.’

‘Have you asked her what’s the matter?’

‘Of course I have, and she says nothing is.’

‘What about the mysterious old flame?’

‘Well,’ Juliet checked that she wasn’t being overheard, ‘when I asked her about him, she changed the subject.’

Through the window Juliet saw Piers pulling up outside in his big black BMW. The least posh car in his mini-fleet. ‘Know what I think? That he’s not an old flame but she’s
talking to someone on the internet. That would explain why she goes to bed so early. Well, goes into her room early anyway. Then I think she types to this mystery man for so many hours that
she’s knackered in the morning.’ It was the only viable answer. Juliet was incredibly proud of herself for having worked it all out.