Another Summer (2 page)

Joe woke on the sofa with a crick in his neck and a four star hangover, thanks to the bottle of Jack that had seemed like a good idea at the time.  He’d stumbled outside needing air and hadn’t noticed Norman lurking in the garden next door.  Nosy old git.

Evie baked pies for Norman with his parcels of rhubarb and let him believe he was the one doing favours.  She said she felt sorry for him because nobody visited.  Not surprising if he glowered at everyone over the garden fence.

“That lass didn’t look well.”

“There’s a cold doing the rounds,” Joe snapped.  He felt rough and bleary-eyed and enough of a numpty without Norman rubbing it in. 

“Shouldn’t be in a rush like that if she’s got a cold.  Or driving herself to Cornwall so soon after her bit of trouble.”

“Maybe she just fancied some time on her own.”

“Didn’t look like that to me.  She’d been crying.  You want to get after her, if you ask me.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Norman.  But if she rings, I’ll be sure to let her know you were concerned.”

Norman stood there looking daggers until Joe stormed back inside, taking out his temper on the glass door of the new extension.  He was tempted to put his foot through it, but didn’t.  There was enough of a mess to clean up already.

The kitchen hurt his eyes, all gleaming white in the sunlight.  Apart from the gloopy remains of last night’s curry, splashed all over the tiles.  He cleaned it half-heartedly and tossed the dirty cloth at the sink.  What was the point of a fancy new kitchen with nobody in it?  Or chairs that had never been designed for sitting on?  He’d bought them because they looked so good, but now they just looked painful.

The lounge was no more welcoming.  He almost retched at the stink of bourbon as he retrieved the empty bottle from the carpet.  Christ!  His head was exploding.  What had possessed him to try and drown his sorrows like that? And now he had Norman’s words praying on his mind.

If he wasn’t careful, Joe realised he could easily end up like Norman.  Old, lonely and miserable as sin.  It didn’t bear thinking about.  He knew he’d been a first class prick but surely if he could just talk to Evie, things could be sorted out?  But Evie had run off to the cottage without even a hint of anything being wrong.

Then he remembered yesterday’s phone call that he hadn’t bothered to return.  Maybe she’d been wanting to tell him then?  It had to be something out of the ordinary for her to ring him in the first place.

He checked his mobile to see if she’d rung again when he’d still been drunk and out of it.  Nothing.  No messages flashing on the landline either.  Then some sixth sense made him check the outgoing calls and it was then he realised with a sickening thud what must have happened.

Yesterday, Evie had called his mobile and then his former office.  It would likely have been Louise who’d answered and she’d have fallen over herself to drop him in it, anything to get back at him for dumping her.  Not one of his better moves, getting tangled up with her.  But it was too late now.  The cat was surely out of the bag.  He should have seen it coming.

Joe usually avoided thinking about the past because he never came out of it well.  He knew he’d always behaved as if Evie had got pregnant on her own and he’d never tried that hard to resist girls like Louise with their propositioning smiles.  But he was so over all that.  Hadn’t he proved it by walking out on that randy blonde last night?  But what was the point of doing the right thing if Evie wasn’t around to see it?

So, now he suspected that Evie had found him out, did he sit it out and wait for her to make her token stand?  Or did he go after her and grovel?  He’d always been able to talk her round but this time felt a bit different.  He could hardly blame her for being put out that he’d let her carry on as normal for the best part of a month.

A bit of him was thinking, good for her for giving him a kick up the backside.  But she didn’t mean it to be for good, did she?  She’d put too much effort into renovating the house to leave it forever.  And Claire would be back in just over a week.  Surely she’d want it all sorted and back to normal by then?  

But he was much too hungover to even begin to figure things out.  He tried to sleep it off but the bedroom was too hot and quiet.  He’d never been great at being on his own.  And why had he hung Kat’s nude portrait of him, in its full-on graphic glory, directly opposite the bed?  It seemed to be mocking him.  No wonder Evie had always hated it.

Tired and sorry for himself, he pulled the duvet over his head.  He didn’t even know why he’d kept the picture.  Kat had been his tutor and the love of his life.  But it wasn’t as if she’d ever be back, after the disastrous way it had ended.  Had he just wanted the comfort of somebody to blame for the disappointing way things had turned out?  Or was it a reminder that one day, he’d have to stop farting around and do something useful with his life?

He slept fitfully and woke up with a mouth like filthy sandpaper.  But he’d made a decision.  He had to man up and go after Evie.  Whatever happened, he could hardly be making things worse.

He showered, packed a bag and grabbed some snacks from the corner shop, along with Norman’s daily paper and pint of milk.  Not that he handed over any money, the tight old git.  But Evie wouldn’t like the old man being left stranded.  Was that a tick in the hopeful column that she intended to come back?

Calculating he’d now be relatively safe if he was stopped and breathalysed, he picked up a hire car and headed south over the Tyne.  He put his foot down on the A1, making good time until he was diverted onto the A19 by a major pile-up at Dishforth.

The sign at the junction for Scarborough took him by surprise.  He hadn’t been back there for years, not since the skint old days when Claire had been about three.  It had been wet and miserable that week, he remembered.  But Claire had loved the ramshackle old caravan and the windswept beach.  So much it had almost turned out to be fun.

It had started to dawn on him that if he arrived at the cottage in the middle of the night, he’d scare Evie half to death.  And anyway, he was still too hungover to risk the whole drive to Cornwall in one go.  Maybe he should have tried to get a bit further before stopping for the night.  But as he was already heading in that direction, Scarborough seemed as good a place as any to find a room.

He was lounging in the doorway like he owned it, his face in shadow with the evening sun behind him.  His black hair was still damp, the odd curl flopping into his eyes.  He’d brought bottles in a supermarket bag and Evie couldn’t think what to say to him.  Was it normal just to turn up on somebody’s doorstep?

“I got you a present.  I thought you could do with cheering up.”

Did he think she had a broken fingernail, rather than a broken marriage?  But his gaze lingered on her face, half hopeful, half challenge.  She’d always hated old denim yet just for a moment, the soapy scent of his jacket seemed to be taking her breath away.  It wasn’t the evening breeze that made her shiver.

“I’m liking the dress.  Great colour on you.”  He frowned suddenly.  “Sorry, is this a bit creepy?”

“It is, a bit.  Haven’t you got better things to do on a Saturday night?”

He shrugged, more appealing than cocky and she found herself taking the bag, wondering how surprised she actually was to see him.  What had made her put on make-up after her bath?  And the blue Ghost dress instead of her comfy towelling robe?  And gold flip-flops, for goodness sake!  Wasn’t she meant to be heartbroken?

He threw himself onto the sofa.  Surrounded by old-lady clutter, he looked conspicuous and more than a little bit dangerous.  He couldn’t be any more than twenty five, what could he possibly want with her?  Yet it was Saturday night and he’d brought her two bottles of wine.

Out of her depth, she escaped to the kitchen for glasses, telling herself it was nothing but a friendly drink and a chat.  She could manage that, couldn’t she?  

He stood up as she handed him a glass of wine.  She stepped back as she realised again how tall he was.  He’d be strong, too.  Maybe she should’ve been more careful about letting him in.

He was glancing around.  “No TV?”

“This was my grandmother’s cottage.  She always preferred the radio.”

“What about you?”

“I like a bit of background music but I’m usually fine with a book.”

He laughed and sat down again, patting the sofa beside him.  She perched on the edge, as far from relaxed as it was possible to be.  She hadn’t done this for a lifetime.  But she’d wasted too many years crying over Joe.  Did she have to be so uptight about a glass of wine and some friendly conversation?

He chinked his glass against hers.  “Cheers, Mrs Marsh.  Here’s to being rich and famous.”

“It’s Evie.  Famous for what, exactly?”

“I quit the garage today.  My band scored a gig for the summer in Ibiza.  We fly out next weekend for sizzling sunshine and sex on a plate.”

She closed her gaping mouth.  “Should I have heard of you?”

“You will.  We’re Morgan Run, look out for us.  I’m Jake Morgan.  I play tenor sax and sing.  Blues and jazz.  A bit retro with an indie twist.  We’re awesome.”

Clearly his ego wasn’t in much need of stroking, so what was he after?  A cheap way to pass the time before he went off on his travels?  But she still felt a flutter of something.  She took a gulp of wine, lukewarm but preferable to a dry mouth that made it hard to speak.

He knocked back his glass and topped it up, wiping the table with the cuff of his denim jacket.  She slid into the corner and drew up her feet.  It would be safer not to drink too much.  Her heart was racing.

“So, you walked out on your husband and ended up here, in the back of beyond?” 

“It’s always so peaceful.  No phone, no distractions.”

She felt herself blush.  She didn’t know what she was doing, exactly.  But he was a definite distraction.

His fingers brushed the back of her hand.  “You’re still wearing a ring?”

“It didn’t occur to me to take it off.  I’m not ready to make that sort of decision.  That’s why I’m here.  To think things over.”

“I’ve never seen anyone cry like that.  You seemed so destroyed.  I thought about you all afternoon.”

She looked at him.  Almost fell into the deep pools of his eyes.  She took a breath and a gulp of wine, aware of how close to the surface her tears still lurked.  She wondered if Joe had even noticed she was gone.

“Want to tell me what happened?”

“He got fired a month ago and didn’t bother telling me.  It was the last straw in a long line of issues.”  She blinked back the tears.  “I wanted to wake up to the sound of the sea.”

“That’s all you want?”

“It’s enough for now.”

As she drank more wine, she relaxed a little in Jake’s easy company.  She was so weary.  She spent her life worrying about holding things together and now she had a whole week to herself.  A stolen week before she had to be home for Claire.

Another glass later, he’d taken off his jacket and she was struggling to keep her eyes off him.  His taut arms were stretched along the back of the sofa, his long fingers scrubbed meticulously clean.  His white T-shirt was tight across his chest, riding up in a blatant invitation.  The subtle D&G logo was something Joe would like.  She didn’t want to think about Joe.

Jake wore a leather bracelet, a plait with a silver ball.  She could imagine how cool it would be if it touched her skin and wondered when she’d turned into a different person.

“Should we fuck?”

“I’m sorry, should we what?”  She almost dropped her glass.

“I seriously fancy you.  It might be great.”

“But I’m only on my second glass of wine!”

“But you fancy me, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!  I’ve only just met you.”

He ran a finger down her arm.  Her skin tingled, part fear and a huge shot of anticipation.  She tried to look outraged but knew she was blushing.

“Are you always this blatant?”

“Is it working?”

He topped up her glass, his hand brushing hers as he emptied the bottle.  She shivered.  But he was smiling, teasing.

“I could get you drunk?”

“Why?  I’m way out of practice and I can’t believe you’re short of offers.”

“None for tonight.”

“Thanks a lot!”  But she couldn’t help laughing at herself.

He probably knew he had her all hot and bothered like a star-struck teenager.  But sex with him was out of the question and if that was what he’d come for, she decided he’d soon get bored and leave.

But not in any obvious hurry, he fetched the second bottle of wine from the fridge.  “So, what will you do with yourself all day, while you’re thinking things over?”

“Reading, swimming.  There’s a path down the cliff from the garden.  It’s almost a private beach.”

“Give me the gym any day,” he shuddered.  “I hate water.  Can’t even swim.”

“I thought all Cornish boys were born surfers?”

“What, like all Newcastle girls love to party and never wear coats?  We played a gig there once.  The women were something else.”

Not sure how to take that, she drank more wine and tried not to look at the hard ridges of his stomach, clearly outlined by his T-shirt.  She knew she was almost drooling as she imagined him stripped to the waist in the gym, glistening with sweat as he hefted big weights above his head.

“I promise the sex would be good,” he grinned, as if he could tell what she’d been thinking.

“Absolutely not!  I have a thirteen year old daughter.  I warn her about being dazzled by men like you.”

“You’re dazzled?  I’m flattered.”

He was clearly used to women falling at his feet.  But he really was gorgeous and the wine was going to her head.  What was it about him, that she wasn’t making him leave?

“You’re too hot to have a thirteen year old kid.  How old were you when you had her?”

“Only seventeen.  I wouldn’t be here if my mother hadn’t whisked her off to Italy for her birthday.  She’s trying in vain to make her a fashionista.  Claire would rather be a vet.”

She felt herself blush.  Why was she babbling?  He wouldn’t care about any of that.  And should she be quite so thrilled that he’d said she was hot?

“So, you’re thirty?  An old lady with a teenage kid?  Doesn’t bother me, though.   I still fancy you.”

“Thanks.  I think.  How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough!  And no, I don’t have any kids that I know of.”

She could imagine he knew a lot of things.  It was disturbing and far too dangerous to think about.  It didn’t help when he squished further down on the sofa, legs sprawled in front of him, creasing his black jeans at the thigh.

“Just as well you don’t want to fuck.  I’m a lager man.  Wine makes me sleepy.”

She didn’t know what she was going to do if he fell asleep on the sofa.  She couldn’t let him stay there all night.  But she didn’t want him to go, not yet.

“Shall I find us something to eat?”

She arranged some nibbles on a tray, an assortment she’d bought on a whim from a new deli in the village that afternoon.  As he tucked in, licking olive oil from his fingers, she couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.  She’d have to get a grip.

When he’d eaten enough, he fished in his pocket for his mobile.  “I’ll give you my number.”

“No point, I’m afraid.  I managed to leave mine on the charger at home.  I usually keep it in my bag and I left in such a state, I forgot to check.”

“So, if we’re not swapping numbers, what’s it to be?  Jump my bones now or throw me out?”

“Well, if you put it like that, I’ll have to throw you out.”

He shrugged as if he didn’t care either way and thrust his arms into his jacket.  His T-shirt rode up, drawing her eyes again to the taut planes of his stomach.  She knew he’d done it on purpose yet she still felt a ripple of temptation and imagined how he would taste if she licked along one of those ridges.

She was losing the plot.  He needed to go right now, before she forgot herself entirely.  She let out a breath of relief when he followed her into the kitchen.  She opened the door and he brushed her shoulder as he went to lean on the doorpost.  The scent of him filled her head.  If she turned, even slightly, her lips would touch the denim.

“Still want to throw me out?”

His eyes were intense, disconcerting.  She was fuzzy from too much wine.  And ridiculously tempted.

“Absolutely!”  But she knew she was blushing.  And glad of the dusky shadows to hide behind.

“Want to meet up again?”

“You could come back here?” she suggested before she knew she was going to.

“So you do fancy me?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’re up for a bit of gardening?”

“Was that a chat-up line back in the day?”

“I’m serious!  Granny Barbara would have hated her garden being so overgrown.  I’ll pay you?”

“What if your husband turns up?”

“Joe won’t come here.  He’ll be expecting me back to kiss and make up.”

Her heart was hammering so much she was breathless as he stepped closer, almost touching.  His breath was warm on her cheek.  What would she do if he tried to kiss her?  What if he didn’t?

“You can pay me.  But not with money.  You look like a woman with skills.”

Oh God!  What was she doing?

“Skills in the kitchen,” he teased.  “I’ll see you tomorrow for Sunday lunch.

Then he brushed his lips across her cheek and long after he’d vanished into the darkness, she stood in the garden touching her face where it burned.