Page 14 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Six

You are in control of the car

Oz

I don’t see anything of Silas for the next few days.

I’m not sure whether it’s him or me, but we seem to be assiduously avoiding each other.

Whenever I’ve entered a room it’s to find that he’s just left it.

It’s like he’s an anti-homing pigeon. I tell myself that I’m happy with this.

I don’t get attached to many people. I’ve always thought of that as my superpower, because in my experience people invariably let you down.

Far better to avoid nasty words and bitterness by just not being bothered.

Anyway, if I shag another boss I’m sure I’ll be qualifying for a spot on The Jeremy Kyle Show . I try to imagine what the banner heading for my appearance would be, and I’ve just settled on ‘Can you believe what a fucking idiot this man is?’ when Milo coughs.

I start and look up. “What?”

“The fitters want to know where you want the counter and workspace and shelves?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, I was far away.” I step over to the waiting men and point out where I want everything situated.

As they unpack the boxes I look around at what will be the gift shop.

The small room near the tea rooms was once an office for the old stable master.

Now, freshly plastered and decorated and with the sun streaming through the new long windows and onto the flagstones, it looks lovely.

It also looks very empty. I pull my diary out and leaf through the pages looking for the date of the county show. “When is–?”

“Next Friday,” Milo replies, watching the men work.

I stare at him. “How do you know what I was going to say?”

He smiles. It’s a full smile, unlike the nervy ones he used to offer. “I’m starting to know your mind.” He gives a mock shudder. “Down there be monsters.”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “You’re too sassy, that’s your problem.” I turn to him and lean against the wall. “You sure this is the right way to go?”

He nods confidently. “The house is a local landmark. Lord Ashworth needs to showcase local products and this county fair is the best around for local craftsmen.”

“I suppose it’ll make him popular with the locals,” I muse.

He looks astonished. “He couldn’t get any more popular.

He’s always the first one to put his hand in his pocket to help someone.

And it’s not just money. He’s always the first to help.

When Mr Brown’s tree fell on his farmhouse, Lord Ashworth turned up in the middle of the storm to help and then he put him and his wife up in this house until the repairs were done.

When Bob Richardson, one of the tenant farmers, broke his leg, Lord Ashworth drove him to physiotherapy every week for months. ”

“That sounds like him,” I muse, and I don’t need Milo’s sudden stillness to know that I sounded too fond. Motherfucker. “I mean, good on him. He seems like a good bloke,” I say heartily, feeling a flush rise on my cheeks while Milo looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Who’s a good bloke?”

The deep voice comes from behind me and Silas tries to repress a smile as Milo and I jump like little old ladies.

“Lord Ashworth,” Milo stammers, but I put my hands on my hips. My heart is hammering, not just at the shock, but at seeing him up close. I drink in his appearance in faded jeans, navy Vans, and a white polo shirt, like he’s a bottle of cold beer on a hot day.

“What are you doing sneaking up on people?” I demand. “I could have a weak constitution.”

He bites his lips, his eyes brimming with humour. “That makes you sound like an extra from Wuthering Heights. Still, as long as you’re not wandering the moors in a nightie I think we’ll be safe.”

I shake my head. “That’s my Saturday night plans ruined, then. Feel bad, Silas. Feel really bad.”

He laughs loudly, then looks at Milo who is standing with his mouth slightly open. Silas coughs and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So … what’s happening here?”

We both stare at him. “Erm, the workmen are fitting the counter and shelves,” I say, looking round at the men who are being very obvious in what they’re doing.

I watch in fascination as colour floods over his high cheekbones. I don’t find this adorable, I say to myself. I definitely do not find this adorable .

I give in to my softer, more stupid inclinations and give him an out. “Did you need us, Lord–” I stutter slightly, and equilibrium regained, he smirks at me.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I probably should be able to call you by your title, but I just can’t.”

Milo looks both horrified and titillated and I shoot him a scowl.

Silas smiles. “Are there too many syllables, Oz?”

“How many are in fuck off?” I ask pertly, and he laughs. I sigh loudly. “Have you come to oversee the work?”

He looks startled and shakes his head. “No, of course not. I trust you to do it properly.”

I don’t feel happy because he approves of me, I tell myself sternly. I don’t need anyone’s approval. I pause . Except my mum’s, of course. I pause again . And Auntie Vera.

His voice breaks into my thoughts. “I need to borrow you, Oz, if you’re free for a couple of hours.”

“Borrow me?” I stop to clear the Mickey Mouse squeakiness from my voice. “I mean, why do you need me?”

He bites his lips. “Well, you’ll find out if you come with me.”

Our eyes meet and tangle and everything seems to be muffled around me.

The only thing I can see are the warm depths of his hazel eyes.

They’re clear and limpid today like a shallow stream where the water runs clear, but they darken as the other night seems to rise up in front of us like a hologram in Star Wars.

Only that film never had holograms of a man anally pleasuring himself with a dildo.

I think even Darth Vader would have been a bit startled by that.

I swallow hard and he licks his lips almost nervously. Milo coughs and shifts and we both start as if he’s woken us up.

Silas looks at me questioningly and I abruptly remember what he’s just said.

I don’t want to be alone with him. I’ll either say something really fucking stupid or crawl onto his lap and beg him to fuck me.

Or both. He looks at me expectantly, and for just a second, I think I see worry in the soft depths.

I immediately smile at him reassuringly, watching him relax almost instantly. I then compound my stupidity by turning to Milo and saying, “Are you okay with me pushing off?”

He takes the plans from me. “I’m fine. It’s self-explanatory.”

I turn back to Silas and gesture. “Well, lead on then.”

He smiles before turning to Chewwy who has sat up and is watching our movements.

“Stay,” Silas says to the huge dog. Chewwy gives him a face that implies Silas is torturing him and then collapses onto the floor next to Milo with a long and disgusted sigh.

I turn and follow Silas, trying hard not to look at his arse in the faded jeans he seems to favour.

They’re mostly worn to within an inch of their life with interesting holes, and they hold his lower body shape like a lover.

He looks back suddenly and missteps almost comically as he catches me looking at his arse.

I flush and instantly burst into talk. Hello stupidity . Here you are again, my old friend . “Don’t you own any new clothes?” I come to a dead stop. “Oh my God, that was really tactless. I’m so sorry. I know you don’t have much money and–”

He looks startled but then follows my glance to the holes in the knees of his jeans.

When he looks up his eyes are soft. “Oh no, I’m okay for money myself, Oz.

I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.

I earn a good living with my practice, but it’s the house and the estate.

The figures involved in that are way out of the park.

” He pauses. “And a few other parks too.” He shrugs, looking almost bashful.

“I just like being comfortable, and I like jeans best when they’re–”

“Almost on the verge of extinction?” I say sympathetically and smile as he laughs.

He shakes his head. “I like old things.”

“Please don’t ever say that if I take you to leather daddy night in Camden. They’d eat you alive.”

He grins. “You do make me laugh,” he says almost impulsively and then blushes again.

“Well, it’s nice I can do that. I think my humour is slightly lost on Milo. He hovers between a twitchy smile and horror.”

“He likes you. He doesn’t say boo to a goose normally.”

I shake my head. “What does that even mean? Why would anyone go around saying boo to a farmyard bird? It’s not like they’re going to turn around and engage you in conversation.”

“Swans are birds and they’ve been known to break people’s arms,” he says casually.

I stop dead. “ What?”

He turns back. “They are not good-tempered birds, especially if you get near them during spring nesting. They can hurt you if they’re defending their nest.”

“You’re joking.”

He grins. “Nope. There was a swan called Mr Asbo on the River Cam. He got the name because he kept attacking the rowers.”

“But you’ve got swans in the lake,” I splutter. “Shouldn’t they be behind bars?”

“They’re not Charles Bronson, Oz. Just don’t say boo to them.”

“You’re so funny,” I mutter, following him down past the tea rooms to the private car park. “Where are we going?” I finally ask.

He comes to the concreted area and stops by an old red Volkswagen Polo. “Voilà!”

I stare at him and then at the car. “Voilà, what?”

He smiles. “I’m going to give you your first driving lesson.”

I hold my hands up. “Oh no. No, thank you. It’s very kind of you but I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“I think it’s a really good idea,” he says firmly. “This isn’t London. The nicest thing you could say about the transport service around here is that it’s sporadic.” He looks at me. “We’re far from anything, Oz, and I don’t want you feeling trapped. If you can drive, you can go where you want.”