Page 20 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets (Hartfell Village #2)

Erin’s weekend continued with two more call-outs, one to a cow that had gone down with mastitis and a very tricky breech calving on Saturday evening.

On Sunday morning, arms still aching after pulling the calf out with the aid of a calving jack and a very fit female farmer, she returned home from the practice after seeing the vomiting cat from yesterday in time to start preparing lunch.

Thoughts of hosting Christmas and having her mum over to celebrate kept her cheerful.

Much as she’d love her nan and grandad to be here too, they’d decided to stay at home as they found outings tiring now.

She and Gil were planning the Christmas rota this week and she was certain to be on call for some of the bank holidays.

She’d put a joint of beef in the oven earlier and the smell was very welcome once she’d let herself into the cottage.

She started on the vegetables, peeling potatoes to par boil ready for roasting, followed by carrots and swede for the steamer.

She had wondered about telling her mum she was busy this first Sunday after Oli’s arrival, but Heather was bound to find out about him eventually, and Erin had decided she might as well get it over with.

‘Morning.’ His voice was low when he came down the stairs and a tremor travelled through her, skin tingling as if he’d touched her.

‘Hi.’ Erin slid the carrots into the steamer with the swede, still thinking what her mum might have to say about Oli. She turned around and her mouth fell into a gape.

Barefoot and holding a towel, a pair of dark grey boxers hugged his hips, and her gaze hurriedly took in shoulders honed from years of rugby tapering to a narrow waist. His skin still held the trace of a Costa Rican suntan and dark hair covered his chest, running down to a firm stomach.

She spun around to the sink, trying to pretend she hadn’t observed every detail, and her elbow caught the chopping board.

It crashed to the floor, sending peelings flying.

She dropped down at the same moment as Oli, fumbling wildly at the mess to scoop it up, and their heads almost smacked together.

‘Shit, sorry. I wasn’t trying to splatter you in peelings on purpose,’ she muttered, trying to focus on bits of carrot and swede, and not Oli’s bare chest almost brushing her face.

Her senses were full of him and the warmth emanating from skin that smelled of vanilla.

They lunged for the same pile of peelings, and she yanked her arm back as though she’d been stung when her fingers brushed the back of his hand.

‘Let me. Thanks for helping, but there’s not enough room for both of us.

’ Not in the kitchen certainly, probably not even in the cottage now she’d seen him like this.

She wished her hair was loose and not held back in a ponytail so it might disguise her burning face and the desire glittering in her eyes.

She eased out a breath as he stood and picked up the towel he’d dropped.

‘Erin, I’ve been thinking, and I’m sorry what I said about Jason on Friday. You’re absolutely right, it is none of my business and as long as you’re happy, then…’

‘Thanks. I am.’ But neither of them could take back what had passed between them when they’d walked home in the dark and Oli had laid bare his unease.

He couldn’t hide the emotion in his gaze then and she’d recognised it, because she was battling not to feel the same way.

Part of her longed to return to those early days at Catz and maybe this time write a different ending for their story.

She busied herself with the meal as he disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. When Oli passed her a second time, the towel around his waist, there were no more words, only the scent of vanilla lingering as he ran upstairs.

Heather arrived at midday, and they shared a hug once she’d left the Christmas decorations in the sitting room and a marmalade bread and butter pudding in the kitchen.

She was slight, and the strawberry blonde hair Erin had inherited was now grey, though her mum still wore it in the curly bob she always had.

Erin had been ten before she’d realised that her mum cut it herself to save money.

Heather batted away Erin’s concern about the journey over on two buses, always insistent that Erin was too busy to drive over and fetch her.

And when Erin was on call, she couldn’t.

‘Mum, I’m fine,’ she replied to Heather’s own enquiry.

She still found it disconcerting that a glance seemed to be enough for her mum to understand how she was, as Heather’s eyes ran over her with motherly care.

‘I’m more interested in how you are. Have you had any more flare-ups since we spoke? Nan said…’

‘I’m all right.’ Heather brushed that off as well; dealing with her fibromyalgia was ongoing and something she had learned to cope with. ‘Your nan’s right, we manage and there’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘What about the pain, did the…’

‘I’m managing, and that’s all you need to know,’ Heather said firmly, hanging her coat and scarf behind the front door. Oli’s coat was half hidden by Erin’s, and she wondered how her mum had missed it.

‘I hope you’re not working too many hours, love.’ Heather patted Erin’s arm as she joined her in the kitchen. ‘Make sure you find time to rest and relax next weekend.’

‘I will, don’t worry about me. I’m on call and you know what it’s like.’

‘I can’t help it, it’s what mums do.’ Heather smoothed the tinfoil covering the pudding.

‘This needs a good forty minutes, don’t let me forget to stick it in the oven when we sit down.

’ She glanced upstairs, as though wondering where Erin might have hidden her house guest. ‘So how are you getting on with your new lodger? You were very vague in your messages.’

‘Fine. It’s been a busy week.’ Already the first one of Oli’s stay had passed and Erin was glad to land on the truth as the reason for keeping messages to her mum brief.

He hadn’t reappeared since his shower so her hopes that he’d be out before her mum arrived had fled.

She was dreading the awkward encounter on the way, but she couldn’t expect him to hide out in his small bedroom like a student whenever she had guests.

‘What’s she like?’

‘Nice.’ Erin cringed as she adjusted the timer on the steamer and put the lid over a layer of kale, a gift from Edmund’s garden.

‘Nice? That’s it?’

‘Yes, I expect you’ll meet them eventually. Please would you do the table, lunch isn’t far off being ready.’

‘Right.’ Heather opened a drawer, gathering place mats and cutlery. ‘How many are we, love? Three or four? I take it Edmund’s coming?’

‘Just two. Edmund’s nephew is taking him out and I said I’d save him a meal for tomorrow.’

It wasn’t unusual for her neighbour to join them for Sunday lunch.

When Erin was on call, Edmund accepted parcels for her and she often came home to find a note through her door and a meal in the little outhouse in the garden, so sharing Sunday lunch was one way she could thank him for his kindness.

As a local historian of considerable expertise and long retired from the security services in London, Edmund was brilliant company, and she loved listening to the stories he was able to share.

‘Has your lodger gone out, then?’ Heather called from the sitting room. ‘Remind me again, what’s her name? Melissa, wasn’t it?’

‘Melanie.’ Erin lifted a scalding tray of golden-brown roast potatoes from the oven and set it on the hob.

The Yorkshire puddings were perfect, gravy was simmering in a pan, and she went to the fridge, about to remove a jar of horseradish sauce.

‘About Melanie, Mum, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. ’

‘Go on then, spit it out.’ Heather was back and she removed two glasses from a cupboard. ‘You’re being very cagey all of a sudden, our Erin.’

‘There was a change of plan and I have a different lodger,’ Erin said hurriedly. ‘It was all very last minute, and I didn’t really have time to think it through. I just decided to go along with it and…’

‘You don’t need my permission to have someone staying in your own home, love.’

‘Mum, shush!’ Erin took a deep breath, the memories of that weekend when Oli had driven her back to Yorkshire still so fresh in her mind, as though it had been just a few months ago and not thirteen years.

But her mum was bound to have forgotten anyway, so worrying what Heather might have to say about him being here was pointless. ‘His name is Oli.’

‘Oli? How funny your lodger should have the same name as that lovely boy who drove you home when I was poorly that time. He had the nicest manners of anyone I’ve ever met, and he was so good with your nan and grandad too, they thought he was marvellous.

Do you remember him rushing off to Asda because we’d run out of…

Erin, love, you’ve gone pale. What’s the matter? ’

‘There aren’t two Olis,’ Erin muttered. ‘Just the one.’

‘You mean it’s him?’ Heather’s brows rose with her voice. ‘Your Oli, the one you were so keen on at university? The one that drove you home?’

‘I wasn’t that keen on him, Mum,’ Erin replied hastily, glancing at the ceiling lest he might overhear. Her face was scarlet, and she’d forgotten why she was at the fridge. ‘We were on the same course, that’s all. And he’s very definitely not my Oli.’

She turned her attention to the beef and began to carve, slowing down when she saw the thick slice she’d hacked off in her haste.

‘Melanie couldn’t come and Gil found Oli instead.

I had nothing to do with his decision, and it would be great if you would remember that we’re just colleagues staying in the same house and treat him accordingly. ’

‘Treat him accordingly,’ Heather said incredulously. ‘So you’ve forgotten, then, what he did for you?’