‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ he says, stroking his little media-type goatee. ‘The paperwork’s going to take several weeks, even if we push it along. Then Christmas will slow things down, no doubt. I’d like you to be out of here early in the New Year. Say, the end of January.’
‘Yes.’ My throat is suddenly dry. ‘I don’t see why not.’
Mr Gerner-Bernard shakes my hand, too firmly. She does the same. ‘I’m sure that the estate agent will be in touch with you this afternoon.’
They jump into their big flashy car and roar away. I stand and stare after them.
They’re cash buyers and they want to put an offer in. I run my hand through my hair. It looks like I’ve managed to offload this place, at long last. So, the question is, why isn’t my heart singing? Why aren’t my feet doing a happy dance?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
‘
I
don’t love you any more,’ Guy said. ‘At this moment, I don’t even like you.’
He lay on his back with his arms behind his head. Next to him in the bed, Laura still snored soundly.
Hamish put his head on Guy’s chest. ‘You’d better get off here soon before she wakes up, because then we’ll both be in the doghouse.You realise that you completely spoiled my evening?’
The dog slunk off the bed and skulked out towards the kitchen to see what further havoc he could wreak in there. Hamish was certainly a character, but it was no wonder that Amy was exhausted by him. He was the most full-on dog Guy had ever come across. Still, it made him smile to watch Hamish the penitent slink down the stairs, tail between his legs.
Guy propped himself up on his elbow and looked at his unexpected overnight companion. He hoped that the Helmshill bush telegraph didn’t get hold of this. For some reason he didn’t want Amy to know that Laura had spent the night here - even though nothing had happened. If he hadn’t inadvertently drugged his visitor, Guy wondered what the situation would be like now. Would things be strained between them, or would the hurt and the years between them have fallen away?
Perhaps it would be better if he was up and about by the time Laura woke. It would be even more embarrassing if they were still in bed together. Particularly as Laura was still fully clothed. Guy had never liked that morning-after-the-night-before moment.
Last night he’d carried her up the stairs and had lowered her into the bed, tugging the boots from her feet, then covering her gently with the duvet. He toyed with returning to the sofa, but figured that she wouldn’t actually know whether he was in the bed beside her or not.
She seemed like a stranger to him now, this woman who had shared so much of his life. How many nights had they lain naked in each other’s arms - and now he couldn’t even begin to think about slipping off her dress so that she’d be more comfortable. But then Laura had been so sparko that she probably could have slept on a washing line and still have had a good night’s sleep.
Guy slipped quietly out of the bed. He showered and pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to clean up all of Hamish’s feather mess before Laura surfaced either.
Downstairs in the living room Hamish was lying contentedly among the feathers, trying to swat them with his huge paws.
‘Today,’ Guy said, ‘you and I are going for one
long
walk to try to get rid of some of your energy.’
Hamish woofed happily, clearly liking the sound of the day’s activities. Guy fixed the dog some breakfast and then took the Hoover through to the lounge to tackle the Hamish Effect. Guy had just sucked up the last of the feathers when Laura appeared at the foot of the stairs wrapped in his dressing-gown.
‘Hi,’ she said sheepishly.‘You’ve made a great job of clearing up.’
‘Thanks. Hope the Hoover didn’t wake you.’
Laura shook her head, then looked as if she regretted such a vigorous movement.
‘Sleep well?’ Guy asked as innocently as he could manage.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ his ex-girlfriend said.‘Suddenly, I was just
sooo
tired.’ She yawned again, to emphasise the point. Laura still didn’t look like she was firing on all cylinders. ‘I remember seeing all those feathers and then . . . nothing else. I feel like I’ve got a major hangover and yet I didn’t even have a drink. Did I?’
‘No,’ Guy confirmed. They hadn’t got anywhere near that far on the socialising scale. ‘The country air can sometimes have a knockout effect.’ He should tell her the truth - he knew that - but somehow he just couldn’t quite face it.
‘Did we . . . ?’ Laura let the sentence trail away.
‘No,’ he said with a laugh. ‘We didn’t do that either.’
‘God,’ she said. ‘I feel such a fool.’
‘Don’t,’ Guy assured her. ‘It’s not a problem. You must have needed the rest.’
‘I have been working really hard.’
‘Have a shower while I fix you something to eat.’ Then he remembered he had no food in other than the stale fruitcake - which he didn’t dare offer in case it triggered Laura’s memory - and some equally dried-up bread. ‘Actually, Plan B might be better. I need to take the pooch for a long walk. Fancy having some breakfast at a greasy spoon and taking Hamish out?’
‘That sounds great.’
‘I’m assuming that you’re not planning to rush straight off.’ There was no way he wanted his ex driving her car for a good few hours yet.
‘I’d like nothing better than to hang around for the day,’ Laura said. ‘Are you happy for me to be here?’
‘Yes,’ Guy said. ‘Of course.’
She smiled at him and blew him a kiss before turning to skip back up the stairs. He watched her go, his own smile failing to reach his lips. But was he really happy to have Laura come crashing back into his life?
Chapter Fifty-Eight
I
hang up the phone and turn to my sister. ‘It’s sold,’ I say. ‘No way.’ Serena gapes at me. ‘Someone’s crazy enough to take on this place?’
I nod, unable to find my voice. My legs don’t feel all that steady.
‘Did you get a good price?’
‘Not bad.’We’ll be going back to live in a shoebox in London, but that’s what I want, isn’t it? ‘Twenty grand below asking price. But beggars can’t be choosers.’
‘How quickly can they move?’
‘They want me out by the end of January.’
‘That’ll take some doing.’
‘At least it means we can have Christmas here.’
Serena looks puzzled. ‘Why would you want to do that? You could rent somewhere straight away. I thought you’d have been out of here like a shot.’
So did I.
‘You can get all your stuff packed up, anyway,’ my sister advises. ‘We need to organise you a place in Town. As soon as that’s sorted, you can come back. It doesn’t matter if this place stays empty for a few weeks. I can help you out with the money side of things until you’ve got the dosh from the house. There’s nothing holding you here.’
‘No,’ I say, somewhat morosely. ‘I guess not.’
Going to the window, I stare out over the moors.What would Will think about my imminent departure? We’ll all be leaving behind the house, the life that he’d come to love so quickly. ‘Are you happy for me?’ I ask out loud.
‘Of course I am,’ my sister replies, not realising that I wasn’t really talking to her.
The clouds are low, sulking. I can’t hear anything but the faint rustle of the trees in the breeze. How different London is going to be. I’ll have to get used to the traffic noise, the fumes and the crowded places again. Out in the garden I see the children playing. There’s an old horse chestnut tree down at the bottom of the garden by the orchard and someone’s fixed a rope swing on there. Tom’s currently dangling upside down on it, swaying backwards and forwards while Jessica runs round him in circles, arms outstretched, hair streaming behind her. They’ve enjoyed their time here, I’m sure, despite the tragedy. They’re wrapped up against the cold and seeing them looking all pudgy and cute in their Puffa jackets makes me want to go and hug them. I know they’ve felt the loss of their dad keenly, but they’ve been so stoic about it all that it makes me so proud to be their mum.
‘I should tell the children,’ I say to Serena.
‘You do that and I’ll put the kettle on,’ she says. ‘We’ll have a celebratory cup of tea.’
Pulling on my welly boots and my coat, I go outside. The day’s fresh and dry and the chickens are out and scratching about even though they’re not that keen on the cold.They need a light put in the henhouse so that it extends their day and they don’t get the chicken version of SAD - or something like that. I’ll have to ask Guy for his advice and get my finger out to do it. Don’t want my girls going off the boil, so to speak, now that they’ve finally got the hang of laying. And then I think that I won’t need to worry about any of this any more as I’ll be out of here quicker than you can say ‘townie’ and the chickens will be left to face their fate.
Daphne, Doris and Delila baaa contentedly when they see me approach. Is it me or is Delila looking a little bit fatter? Perhaps she’s getting more of the hay than the others. She can be a bit of a bully when it comes to dinnertime. I can’t bear the thought that the Gerner-Bernards don’t want my old girls, but then it isn’t so very long ago that I didn’t want them either. If only they could meet them and find out their funny little ways then I’m sure the Gerner-Bernards would grow to love them too. Which stops me short. I didn’t know that
I’d
grown to love them. I thought I viewed them as a pain in the neck - much like Stephanie and Blob the goats, the scatty chickens, the homicidal cat and that bloody dog.
Speaking of which, it’s something of a miracle that Guy hasn’t brought Hamish back by now. Either he doesn’t mind having his house trashed or Hamish has already been buried under the patio. I check my watch. It’s about time I called Guy to tell him that the coast’s clear and that the hound from hell can come home. I also need to tell the lovely vet that we’ll soon be outta this place. It’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to - any more than I’m looking forward to telling the children that we’re upping sticks once more.
I stop to rub the sheep’s ears and when Jessica sees me she runs over to me, flinging her arms round my waist.
‘I love it here,’ she says breathlessly. ‘Tom and me have run all over the moors with the kite. We went everywhere!’
‘Tom and
I
,’ I correct automatically.
‘Tom and
I
,’ she mimics with a pout.
We stand together quietly watching the elderly sheep as they chew the grass. The winter sun is a low, milky disc in the sky, but I can still feel its warmth on my face. Slipping my arm around my daughter’s slender shoulders, I say, ‘How would you feel if we went back to London?’
Jessica drills the toe of her boot into the cold ground.‘I wanted to at first,’ she admits. ‘I thought it was funny here. But now I like it better. Can we get some rabbits? Christopher would like that.’
‘That might not be possible,’ I tell her. ‘Mummy has to get a job now that Daddy’s gone and we can’t really afford to stay here.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica doesn’t look too impressed by that.
Tom runs over to join us. He’s pink-cheeked with exertion and I can quite honestly say that he’s never looked so healthy. My son leans heavily against me, already way too cool for a full-on cuddle.
‘I was just asking Jessica how she’d feel if we went back to London.’ Tom squirms at my side. ‘What do you think?’
‘Dunno,’ Tom mumbles.
‘If we went back to London you could see all of your old friends again,’ I say brightly.
‘We like our new friends,’ Tom tells me.
‘Well, your new friends could come to see us anytime they like.’
‘But they wouldn’t,’ Tom points out. ‘Like none of our old friends came here. The only person we’ve seen from London is Aunty Serena.’
Don’t you just hate it when children come over all logical? ‘Daddy’s here too,’ my son says softly.‘We couldn’t leave Daddy behind.’
Tears spring to my eyes. ‘We’ll never leave Daddy behind,’ I tell him.‘Wherever we go Daddy will be with us because you’ll always remember the things he used to do for you, what he was like.’
‘Why can’t we remember him here rather than in London?’
‘Oh, darling. I wish we could do that. But I’ve tried to get some work here and I can’t find anything. This house and all of the animals cost a lot of money to look after and we just don’t have it.’ I hate having to put all this grown-up stuff on their shoulders, stuff that they shouldn’t be having to deal with at their tender ages. ‘You loved our old house too.’
‘Are we going back there?’
‘No. Someone else lives there now. But we’ll find somewhere nice.’>
‘Can we stay here for the summer and then go?’
‘The thing is,’ I say, ‘Mummy’s already sold the house. Some very nice people want to buy it so that we can go home.’
Jessica bursts into tears. ‘I thought this was our home.’
Not sure I’ve got an answer to that.
‘If we go to London,’ she sobs, ‘can we take the chickens and the sheep and the goats too?’
‘And Milly Molly Mandy,’ Tom reminds her.
‘And Milly Molly Mandy,’ she exhorts.
‘And Hamish,’ my son adds.‘We couldn’t leave Hamish behind. Who else would love him?’
Who else, indeed? One of the main reasons I want to go is to see the back of that bloody dog. That and the fact that we have no money, of course.
‘I’m not sure that we’ll have a garden,’ I admit. ‘We might have to move to a little flat.’
They both look aghast at that. Tom’s eyes stray in tell-tale manner to the vast expanse of the rolling moors.
Crouching down, I gather them both to me. I don’t care if Tom doesn’t like being cuddled, cuddled he will be. ‘You’ll love it back in London,’ I reassure them. ‘You can go to your ballet dancing classes again,’ I say to Jessica. ‘Remember how much you missed them?’