Page 4

Old Acquaintance

This was written for my Facebook readers’ group. It’s set after the events of Green Eyes (a short story you can find in the first Short Stack book).

Asa

I pull the car to a stop and switch off the engine. For a second, there’s silence. Then, my companion stirs and turns to me.

I look at him and can’t help the uptick of my lips. I love his face. It’s mischievous and merry and one of my favourite things in the whole world. At the moment, it happens to be covered with a cloth that I grabbed off the kitchen work surface this morning.

“Are we at our mystery destination?” he asks. “Can I take this thing off my eyes now?” His full mouth twitches into a wicked smile. “Unless tea towels are becoming some sort of sex aid to us. You can tell me, Asa. Has our sex life become boring?”

“So dramatic,” I bemoan, trying not to laugh.

“You say dramatic. I can’t imagine what people thought when we stopped for petrol this morning.”

“Probably the mundane thought that I was taking you away to a mystery destination,” I offer. “Rather than kidnapping you to set off over the wild seas in my pirate ship or whatever ideas your latest bodice ripper has given you.”

“ Bodice ripper ? ” He’s trying for indignation but failing badly. “I’ll have you know, Asa Jacobs, that the women in those books could teach you a thing or two about fortitude. Why, on any given day, they’d have to disguise their identity, clean the ship, and fight a duel. And they’d still manage all of this while making the hero fall in love with them and also keeping their hair shiny and tangle-free.”

“Alas,” I say mournfully. “Your hair will never be tangle-free.”

He chuckles, and I reach over and pull off the tea towel I covered his eyes with at the start of the trip. His warm brown eyes blink at the light, and he offers me a smile before looking around eagerly.

There’s a protracted pause. “Oh, Asa,” he says in a tone of delight. “You’ve brought me to a… to a car park.” He winks at me. “Can there be a luckier boy in the whole world than me?”

I can’t help my laugh. “Not just any car park, Jude Jacobs. This is a Fowey car park.”

He stares at me, and I see the moment it clicks. “Oh my god,” he says. “Fowey in Cornwall?”

I nod.

“You’ve brought me to the Fowey where Daphne du Maurier lived?” he exclaims.

I nod again and watch as he looks around eagerly as if he’s going to see the famous author at any minute. I sincerely hope not because she’s been dead for over thirty years.

He looks back at me, and his expression is impossibly soft. “Oh, Asa,” he says and then seems to run out of words. This should surely be a red-letter day in the Jacobs’ household because it’s a rare occasion, but I fail to mark it because he kisses me. When I come up for air, my dick is hard, and my thoughts have scattered.

“Wem,” I say intelligently.

He smirks at me. “Earth to Asa Jacobs. Come in, Asa Jacobs.”

I shove him, and he chuckles and opens the door to climb out. A gust of wind and rain immediately meets him. December this year has been wet and windy, and it’s wild here in the village of Fowey. I climb out of the car, and as if by unspoken agreement, we head over to the railings to look out over the river. It’s quieter than in the summer, but there are still a few boats moored and a couple of dinghies zipping busily across the water. In the distance, a ferry chugs towards land. The water is choppy, and the air is filled with the sounds of seagulls calling to each other, the jingling of boat rigging, and the slap of canvas sails.

The town rises steeply in a jumble of buildings, and I know Jude is going to love the narrow streets and pretty shops and pubs. It’s a busy place that never seems to go quiet, mainly because there’s a large yachting fraternity around here.

I eye my husband. For an ex-supermodel, he’s remarkably low-maintenance. His face is to the wind and rain, which are probably causing some kind of damage that’s outlawed in the supermodel handbook. Luckily, he seems to either ignore that book, or he’s never read it. He turns his face up, loving the wildness of the weather as I’d known he would.

I lean into him, throwing my arm over his shoulders and adoring the way he snuggles into me. “I thought we could have a few days here,” I say. “All on our own.”

“Why?”

“Because our house is busier than Clapham Junction,” I say, and he smiles.

The smile falls away slowly, and he suddenly looks anxious. “Won’t Billy mind?”

“Of course not. He’s going to stay with Dylan’s sister for a couple of nights. Her eldest has got the PlayStation game of the moment, and their horse had a new foal. Then he’s going to your mum and dad. The village is having a Christmas party for the local children, so they’re taking him to that.” I pause. “Plus, I promised to bring him a present back.”

He laughs and then looks at me quizzically. “But why the time away now? It’s always busy.”

I shrug. “I think we need to remember that the important base to everything is our marriage. We’ve got to look after it, and we need time on our own.” I look at his merry face. “ I need time with you,” I admit, watching his eyes sharpen. “I know the series is doing fantastically well, but it takes it out of me, and I miss you while I’m away.”

He hugs me. “I miss you too, but we’ll get through it. It won’t be forever.”

I kiss him, tasting the cold raindrops on his lips. “Exactly. So, I borrowed an old cottage. It’s right on the water with river views. We can snuggle up, watch some films, go for long walks, and explore the area.” I nudge him. “Try out the massive bed I saw in the photos.”

“And explore the setting of Rebecca ,” he says excitedly.

“Of course. How could we not do that? Especially as you’ve dedicated such a lot of hours to watching the Netflix programme.”

“ Many hours,” he says solemnly. “Obviously, that was mainly to see the costumes.”

“Oh, of course, and Armie Hammer was just wallpaper.”

“Yes,” he says with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Handsome but still wallpaper compared to you.”

“You sweet talker.”

He laughs and goes back to watching the water.

I head over to the car and pull the bags from the boot, and he reluctantly tears himself away from the view to join me, grabbing one of the bags and hefting it onto his shoulder.

“No food?” he asks, poking his long nose into the boot and looking around hopefully.

“No need. The housekeeper has apparently filled the cupboards and fridge with everything we need. We won’t have to cook because she’s prepared some meals that just need heating up.”

“Well, that’s brilliant, but I bet she hasn’t prepared fish and chips. The kind that’s wrapped in paper and that must be eaten on the seafront.”

I shake my head. “You and chips.”

He winks. “It’s a good job I’m not modelling anymore. I’d have a problem with those skimpy briefs.”

“ I have a problem with those skimpy briefs,” I say, feeling hot at the thought. “Anyway, you’re as skinny as the day I met you. I don’t know where you put all your food.”

“It goes straight to my perfectly rounded and very peachy buttocks.”

I roll my eyes and walk off, hearing his warm laughter float after me.

“The cottage is a short walk away,” I call back. “Do you need me to carry you, princess?”

He comes up next to me. “Will you have your hair down when you do it?”

“What on earth would happen if I cut my hair?” I say lightly, feeling pleased inside. I’m older than him, so the fact that he never seems to stop wanting me is very gratifying.

“Let’s not try it,” he says darkly.

We walk down the little street, and I consult my phone. “It’s just up here,” I say, pointing to a row of three-storey whitewashed cottages. “This one,” I say triumphantly, stopping outside the red door of the one on the end.

I produce the key and unlock the door. After we get inside, I stop to put the bags down, and Jude breezes past me, his eyes wide. “Blimey,” he says faintly, dropping his own bag on the floor.

“I know.” I look around. “Bloody hell. He made it sound like a tiny, little cottage.”

“This would be a tiny cottage if you were a family of ten. Not two people.”

The whole of the ground floor is open-plan, so you can see straight through to a set of French doors that give a view of the river. The lounge has huge, squashy sofas set around a stone fireplace in which fresh logs are set, and I eye the massive TV screen on the wall, already happily imagining me and Jude curled up naked on a sofa and watching something together.

“Who owns this? A letting company?” Jude asks.

“No, a mate of mine. Do you remember Seb? You met him at that party at Max’s house last year.”

His face clears. “Oh, I remember him. Wow, so this is his. Does he use it much?”

“I think it was his grandma’s house. He renovated it when she died, and now he uses it as a getaway.”

“I don’t think I’d ever leave,” he says and vanishes upstairs. “Bloody hell, come and look at this, Asa,” comes the immediate shout.

Smiling, I climb the stairs after him, but a lot more cautiously because cottages are not generally made with a man of my height in mind, and I don’t fancy a concussion this weekend.

When I clear the stairs, I find a big, light-filled room decorated in colours of sand and blue, with a huge bed piled high with pillows and an oversized, fluffy duvet. Jude is standing by the tall bay window, which overlooks the river. There’s a comfortable-looking window seat with lots of bright cushions, and I know I’ll find him sitting there a lot over the next few days.

I wander over and wrap my arms around him. “Do you like it?” I ask.

He nestles into me. “I love it,” he says softly. He turns to me. “And I love you, Asa Jacobs. We could be staying in a cow shed, though, and I’d still be happy.”

“I know.” And I do. It’s a precious knowledge that I hold close to my heart. He’s one of the select group of people in my life who see me for me and not the film star.

I kiss the side of his face, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and looking out on the view.

Jude stirs. “That’s a really awful fucking colour for railings,” he says contemplatively.

I look over and see the house he’s pointing at. It’s big and set by the side of the ferry stopping place, and it catches the eye with its garish blue railings.

“I’m not sure I can criticise someone’s colour choices,” I say idly. “What colour would you have chosen?”

He hums. “Probably shocking pink to match our house.”

“There’d be no need. Mrs Fawcett-Smythe doesn’t run the neighbourhood watch around here.”

“There is a Mrs Fawcett-Smythe on every neighbourhood watch committee,” he says darkly.

I smile. “You’re just pissed because she told you off for playing your music too loud in the car.”

“Yes, in my car,” he says indignantly. “Where I play what I want. She was just cross because it wasn’t Gregorian monks chanting about the benefits of organic carpets.” I laugh out loud, and he turns to me. “Let’s have sex,” he says with a gleam in his eyes.

“Just like that, eh?” I touch a curl of his hair and watch it twine around my finger.

He smiles wickedly. “I need to expunge the energy I’ve worked up by disliking Mrs Fawcett-Smythe.” He pauses as I move away. “Wait. Where are you going, Asa?”

“Putting a note in my diary to make sure you attend the next few committee meetings.”

“You’re very funny,” he says thoughtfully as he starts to strip off his clothes.

I’m struck dumb. I can’t help it. You try sleeping with Jude Jacobs and see if you have the same reaction. I’m pretty sure that I’m drooling as his jumper and jeans come off, leaving his golden-skinned body lithe and nude in the gathering shadows of the room. I come back to myself when his briefs hit me in the face.

“Get a move on, Asa,” he commands. “Or I’ll start without you.”

Jude

I come awake to the sound of my phone ringing. Putting one hand out of the duvet, I grope around for it and answer with my eyes still closed. “Hello,” I say sleepily.

“Jude,” comes the excited, high voice of Billy.

“Hello, you,” I say affectionately.

There’s a pause. “It’s Billy,” he says painstakingly.

I repress a smile. “Oh, is it? I thought it was King Charles.”

“Is he in Frozen ?”

I wrinkle my forehead. “No,” I say slowly. “He’s the king.”

“What king?”

“The King of England.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “Has Disney made any films about him, then?” He’s currently obsessed with Disney films because Gabe bought the Disney Channel for him. Dylan and I find it highly amusing to watch the worldly Gabe forced to sit with Billy while they discuss very seriously what animal they’d be in the films.

“Not likely. His ears would take over the screen,” I say and then immediately want to smack myself around the head.

“Oh.” He suddenly sounds excited. “Does he have elephant ears like Dumbo?”

“Not quite,” I say carefully. I’ve broken my rule of not being flippant with Billy, and now I must accept the consequence, which is going to be a very long and earnest discussion about King Charles and his ears. Luckily for me, this time, he changes the subject.

“You’ll never guess what.”

“You’ve started a new job with Father Christmas. You’re going to pull his sleigh.”

There’s a hearty little-boy chuckle. “No, silly,” he says. “Uncle Henry is here, and he’s going for a walk with me.”

I blink. “Well, that’s lovely,” I say slowly. I pause. “Hang on. Uncle Henry is going for a walk ?”

“Yes. He’s promised to take me. Why do you sound surprised?”

“Well, Uncle Henry isn’t known for enjoying walking.” Unless it’s to his tailors or the pub , I add silently.

“Who doesn’t like walking?” Billy says in a tone of utter incomprehension.

“I know ,” I say with feeling. I bite my lip as a wicked thought occurs to me. “You know, I think it would make him really happy if you took him for a very long walk on the farm.”

“Really?” Billy says.

I nod, unable to repress my evil smile. “Oh, yes. And he loves mud, so make sure you take him onto the west field where the cows normally are.”

“He might get cow poo on his shoes,” my darling little boy says doubtfully. “He didn’t like it when he got sand on his trainers last year.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I say airily. “Don’t forget to make it a nice long walk, Billy.”

“Okey-dokey,” he says cheerfully. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I say and smile as I click to end the call.

Then I throw the phone to one side and look around in search of the wild-haired, big man who shared my bed last night. There’s no sign of him unless you count the scent of his aftershave on the sheets. I stretch and climb out of bed. After throwing on my sweats, I pad down the stairs.

As I approach the kitchen, I hear voices and shake my head. Who on earth has he found to talk to now ? I swear that Asa would find someone to have a conversation with if he was stuck in the middle of the North Pole.

Then I hear a familiar dry chuckle and the rich voice of one of England’s foremost actors. Or Gideon, as we’ve come to know him. I round the door and find the man himself sitting at the big kitchen table with Asa. They both have cups of coffee in front of them and turn to face me as I come into the room.

“Ah, two titans of the world of stage and screen,” I say lightly. “I’m so in awe of your talents.”

“You should be,” Gideon observes, his haughty voice spoilt by the tug of a smile on his lips. “You don’t get this far in the entertainment industry without a lot of pain and suffering.”

I blink. “And what was yours?”

“Well, once I had to go without my blinis and caviar on set because the delivery driver got caught in traffic.”

“I feel your pain,” I say gravely.

Asa grins at me. He’s wearing a pair of old jeans that cling to his long legs and a navy jumper. “I thought you might sleep all day.”

“I thought that bed was the point of this weekend, or did I misunderstand your mission statement, Asa?”

He winks. “No misunderstanding here.”

I punch Gideon on the shoulder. “Alright?”

He grins lazily at me. He looks a far cry from the man we first knew. Then, he’d been wound tighter than a clockwork toy. Now, he looks relaxed, his grey-flecked hair a tangle around his sharp features.

“I’m fine. I just popped in to bring you Billy’s Christmas present.”

“That’s nice of you,” I say, touched. Gideon isn’t exactly child-friendly. Whenever Billy talks to him, he gets a panicked look on his face, rather like the one Gabe usually wears. However, due to the fact that Gideon rescued Billy’s hamster once and appeared in Oliver , Billy now adores him.

Gideon shrugs. “Don’t thank me. You know very well it was Eli’s idea.”

“Where is he? Not accompanying you on your home invasion today?”

“Hardly invading,” he says lazily. “I just pulled up my dinghy to your patio, and Asa invited me in for a coffee.”

“Is that a euphemism?” I pause. “Ooh, we have a patio?” I say excitedly. “Maybe we can have breakfast out there.”

“Not unless you fancy being wetter than a duck’s arse,” Gideon observes. “It’s wild out there today.”

I head over to the French windows. “Good grief, it is,” I say. Rain is pouring down, and gusts of wind buffet the boats and rattle the glass.

Asa chuckles. “And yet, I’m still sure that you’ve got something planned.”

I give him a sultry look. “I have a lot planned, Asa Jacobs.”

Gideon laughs and gets to his feet. “And on that note, I’m off. Eli’s on nights, so he should be home soon.”

“Shall we meet for dinner at some point?” I ask.

He nods. “Love to. Won’t it spoil your dirty weekend plans, though?”

I laugh. “Listen, we live in a house with a child. We’ve learnt never to make plans.”

Asa grins. “You’ll see if you ever have children yourself.”

Gideon screws his face up. “Not bloody likely,” he says promptly.

I smile at him. “I’m sure if Eli wanted them, you’d change your mind.”

“Not over kids ,” Gideon exclaims. “I’m off before we can have any more of this frankly quite disturbing discussion.”

I wave at him. “I’ll ring Eli,” I say as he opens the patio doors and steps out, the wind blowing his hair around.

“Looking forward to it,” he says, and with a wave, he’s gone.

“Were you just winding him up, or do you know something?” Asa says curiously.

I grin at him. “Just a feeling. Eli loves kids.”

Asa shrugs. “And Gideon loves Eli.”

I wander over to the kettle. “Well, there you go, then. Fancy some toast?”

Over French toast with loads of golden syrup, we chat and laugh about a book we’ve been reading and Dean’s visit last week. I eye him as we sit over cups of tea in the vast kitchen. I love our home, but I have to admit that Asa is right. It’s wonderful for it to be just us for a bit.

Eventually, he pushes his cup away. “So, what do you fancy doing?”

“Why me? What do you fancy doing?”

“I’m doing it,” he says, shoving his chair back. He smiles as I get up and settle in his lap. “I just wanted to spend time with you. I don’t particularly care what we do.”

“I know,” I say excitedly, feeling the strength of his arms around me. “Why don’t we take a boat trip and see Daphne du Maurier’s house? It’s along the river near here.”

“Oh, dear. I now feel the need to clarify my previous statement,” he says solemnly.

I laugh and tap his nose. “No take backs. You said anything, and that’s what I want.”

“But it’s rainy and windy as hell. Who in their right minds would get on a boat?”

“You and me,” I say, nodding for emphasis. I stand up and wander over to the windows. “Those railings really are awful,” I observe. “Such a pretty house too.” Having pronounced judgement, I wander off upstairs. “I’m getting changed,” I shout. “Do you think jeans are okay?”

“Only if you didn’t pack your wetsuit,” he says gloomily.

His gloom intensifies as we wait to board the small boat, which is moored off a busy square. “Do you notice something, Jude?” he says.

I look around. “The boats?” I offer. He shakes his head. “That nice fish restaurant over there?” He gives me the thumbs down. “That your expression is wetter than the rain, my love?”

“No,” he says patiently. “We’re the only ones waiting here. Do you know why?”

“Because everyone else has seen Daphne’s house,” I offer, biting my lip to contain my smile.

“No, because you are nuttier than a squirrel’s breakfast.”

I break into laughter, and he shakes his head, but he can’t hide the smile on his face, and within minutes of being on the boat, he’s on first-name terms with the captain and engrossed in a discussion on fishing and river life. I eye him affectionately. There aren’t many people who can resist Asa Jacobs. It’s not just his good looks. It’s the kindness in his face and the boundless interest he shows to everyone. No matter who you are or what you do, he displays the same interest. It’s infectious and completely irresistible.

A gust of wind shakes the boat, and the rain hits us full in the face.

“Reckon you’d have to be barmy to do this today,” the captain observes.

I grin at him. “Bet you say that to all the tourists, you sweet talker.”

“Only the nutters who insist on going out in a storm,” he says.

Asa breaks into laughter. “We’re on a mission to see Daphne du Maurier’s house,” he says. “Jude’s a big fan.”

“We’re coming up to it now,” he observes. “There it is.”

He points to the other side of the river. Straight at a big house with bright blue railings that’s located near the ferry crossing. Straight at the house we’d been looking at this morning. Straight at the house directly opposite our cottage.

There’s a very long, protracted silence, and then, slowly, Asa turns to face me. “How interesting ,” he says silkily and then spoils the effect by breaking into laughter.

I shove him, trying to fight my own smile. “Motherfucker,” I say slowly. “We could have stayed in bed and looked out of the bloody window.”

Fifteen minutes later, we disembark. Asa stops to discuss something else with the captain, and I stand to one side. I’m wet and cold, with water dripping off my hood and trickling down my neck. I scrub my hand down my face and eye Asa as he says goodbye and turns back to me.

“Got anything else you need to know about him?” I say archly.

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t talk that much.”

“Oh, really? When’s his birthday?”

He grimaces. “The third of January,” he says promptly, and I break into laughter. He shakes his head. “I can’t help it,” he says, a smile playing on his full lips.

I grab his hand. “It’s actually very hot,” I inform him. “I love a man of the people.”

“That makes me sound like an MP,” he observes. He eyes me. “How hot?” he asks, his eyes falling to my mouth.

I bite my lip. “ Exceedingly hot,” I say huskily. “As in, I’m thinking we should go back to the cottage and not come out again until we need to leave.”

“Good plan.”

“Well, that’s me,” I say modestly. “I’m a planner. Everyone says so.”

He laughs. “Literally no one has ever said that.”

I ignore him, and we walk quickly and with purpose out of the square, falling in amongst the tourists as we wander down the narrow street with shops set all along it. The rain eases up, and I look around with interest. Fowey is so pretty, and I’d love to come back in the summer.

The people around us start to move slower as we come to a small Christmas fair set along the street. Brightly coloured stalls display the usual street fair things—hot drinks, food, and craft stalls filled with artwork and Christmas decorations. It has a bustling air now that the rain has stopped, and people have started to shop again. We walk past one booth decorated in royal blue, and I eye it. It’s very striking, with an array of pretty, coloured glass bottles and a big banner advertising a local farm and its award-winning potato vodka.

I’ve just opened my mouth to suggest we buy a bottle to take home and to bed when a very familiar voice hails me.

“Well, Jude Bailey, as I live and breathe.”

I come to a standstill, my mouth falling open as I stare at the figure of my ex-hook-up. He appears to be operating the stall, which is rather startling as the last time I saw him, he was a supermodel. You don’t tend to find many of them working at Christmas markets. I blink and rub my eyes, but when I open them, it’s still Malachi Booth running a vodka stall.

He raises one of his eyebrows, the usual wicked expression on his face. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks.

“What?” I shake my head. “What are you doing here?” I finally manage.

He pouts playfully. “Oh, dear. Is that a trick question? You know how I am with things like that, Jude. I’m an alarmingly literal sort of person.”

“You’re an alarming person altogether,” I correct him.

He smiles, tossing his chocolate-coloured hair back. His eyes are very bright. “Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I mutter, but he’s not listening, as he’s noticed Asa standing beside me. A worrying look of delight immediately crosses his face.

“Oh, Jude, you’ve brought your daddy out for a bit of fresh air. How are you, sir?” he says, over-loudly and slowly enunciating his words. “It’s a lovely day today, sir.”

“Fuck off,” Asa says, clearly remembering their last encounter in Ireland when Malachi had been trying to pick me up.

Contrary person that he is, Malachi just laughs. “You older people and your lack of filter,” he says, playfully wagging his finger at Asa.

The man standing next to him finishes serving a couple and turns to face us. “Mal,” he says warningly. I blink. The man is very good-looking, but that isn’t the surprise. It’s the fact that he winds his arm around Mal’s waist. I wait for Mal to roast him. He’s always hated being petted and lectured. However, as if an alien has taken over his body, Mal just melts into the man, smiling up at him with a besotted look on his face.

“What’s going on?” the man asks.

“Oh, this is Jude Bailey,” Mal says carelessly. “And his older lover, Asa.”

“Jude Jacobs,” Asa corrects him.

The man looks past Mal at us. Then he offers a smile. It’s kind and warm. “I’ve heard of you,” he says to me. “Lovely to meet you.” He turns to Asa. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he says.

“Was that the stuff done in the war?” Mal offers.

“ Mal ,” the other man says. “Remember our conversation?”

Mal pouts prettily. “We have so many conversations, Cadan. It’s very hard to pinpoint which one you’re on about.”

“It was about regrets,” the man says steadily. “And a chance to make things right.”

Mal sighs. “Oh, okay then,” he says. “Rain on my parade, why don’t you?”

Cadan’s mouth twitches as Mal turns to us, striking a rather dramatic pose, much to the other customers’ fascination. “I’m very sorry,” he says, waving a careless hand.

“For what exactly?” I say curiously.

He taps his full lips with a finger. “Oh, for mentioning that Asa is your cuddly daddy.”

“ Cuddly ,” Asa says in a disgusted voice, and I try to fight my smile. Mal has always amused me.

Mal screws his face up in thought. “Also, for trying to get you into bed.” He eyes Asa. “But not very hard. That wasn’t even remotely my best work, I’ll have you know.”

“ Mal ,” Cadan says, a smile tugging at his lips.

Mal rolls his eyes and then turns back to me. “And for dumping you in Berlin and going off to Ibiza for the summer when you needed my help.”

I stare at him. He looks as unconcerned as ever, but although the words were flippant, I know Malachi Booth. He was once my friend, or as much of a friend as he could be at the time, given what was going on in his own life. The Mal I knew never offered apologies, being a founding member of the never-explain club. This one seems to be the real deal and therefore rarer than rocking-horse shit.

“Well, there was that music festival in Ibiza,” I finally say. “And the weather was shocking in Berlin at the time.”

He looks at me for a long second and suddenly smiles at me. His genuine smiles were rare back in the day when he was so closed off. When we were friends, they came more easily and were a reward for putting up with his sharp tongue. I remember how much he could make me laugh, and I smile back at him helplessly.

I shrug. “You never made me any promises, Mal.”

“Well, maybe I should have done.”

We grin at each other, and then Mal sighs dramatically. “Apologies always make me so thirsty, and do you know what cures thirst?” he asks the rapt group around the stall. There’s a chorus of interest, and Cadan rolls his eyes. “High Top Farm vodka,” Mal says triumphantly. “It’s a miracle cure for everything that ails you.”

Cadan signs. “You’re going to get us done by trading standards.”

“Not us. It’ll just be my silly little supermodel brain not grasping the facts,” Mal says airily. He looks over at Asa and me. “Come and have some vodka,” he says. “Come and have lots of vodka.”

“Oh dear,” Asa says faintly.

I smile at him. “I told you he wasn’t as bad as you thought,” I whisper.

“I didn’t believe you then,” he says, eyeing Malachi as if he’s a wild animal. “I’m not sure I do now.”

“Just get to know him. I guarantee you’ll like him.”

“That shouldn’t worry me as much as it does,” he says gloomily.

But I watch him melt as Mal gives him one of those big smiles that lights his pretty face and makes him seem warm and approachable. This smile seems almost shy, which might be down to the tall, handsome man next to him who is eyeing him with affection and pride.

Cadan mouths, “Well done,” at Malachi, and I hold my breath, waiting for Mal to eviscerate him verbally, but instead, he just flushes and gives him a wide smile before turning to Asa.

“Come on,” he says. “I need to get to know you.”

“Why?” Asa asks, as honest and straightforward as ever.

Malachi ponders the question. “Because you interest me,” he finally says. “And I think Jude and I are going to be friends again.” He looks over at me. “What do you think?”

I shrug and take a seat at the stand and the glass he offers me. “I can always use a friend.”

He pours for everyone else and raises his glass. “A toast,” he says. We all raise our glasses. “To old acquaintances.” He pauses and looks at Asa. “And new ones.”

Asa throws his shot back and then blinks. “Good grief, that’s lovely,” he says.

“Potato vodka,” Mal offers. “We distil it on our farm.”

“You live on a farm?” I say in disbelief. “ You ?”

“He passed out on the farm in his underpants.” Cadan slings his own drink back. “And then never left.”

I blink, but Asa looks intrigued. “That sounds like a story.”

“You have no idea,” Mal says, leaning on the counter and clinking his glass companionably against Asa’s. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

Two hours later, I’m shaking my head.

Cadan grins at me. “What?”

“Them,” I say, pointing at Asa and Mal, who are leaning on the stall talking and drinking and pausing only to laugh uproariously before they go back to talking. They’re surrounded by a load of people who are hanging on their words. “They couldn’t stand each other a couple of hours ago.”

He shrugs. “It’s Mal,” he says simply. “He’s got a way with him.” He grins at his boyfriend. “He’s very charming when he wants to be. I’m just glad he doesn’t use his power very often. It would cause widespread devastation.”

“He never wanted to be charming before.”

“Ah well, people change,” he says placidly. Mal laughs at something Asa says, and Cadan’s face softens. “Although I’m glad to say not too much. I’ve always loved that sharp tongue of his.”

I eye him. “I’m glad about that,” I say, meaning it. I like this lean, quiet man with the warm eyes and sardonic manner. He and Mal somehow go together, moving around each other with the same ease as Asa and I do, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing at shared jokes. “Does it bother you that we used to hook up?” I ask.

He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m just glad he’s made his peace. He regretted the way you parted.”

“He had no need. We never made any promises to each other.”

“Ah well, sometimes we don’t speak the most serious promises. He knew he’d done wrong, and now he’s gone some way to fixing it.”

“He didn’t need to fix it. He did me a favour in the end. We never suited, and I went on to find Asa.”

There’s a gale of laughter from the other end of the stall. The group that has gathered around Asa and Mal are all laughing at something they’ve just said. The pair of them are born performers and seem to spark off each other. I smile at Asa. His face is flushed by alcohol, and his hair is tumbling down his back. When I turn to Cadan, it’s to find him smiling in the same way at Mal. With lazy affection and pride.

“I think I’d like to be friends with you too,” I say.

He puts out his hand, and we shake. “Same.”

Asa comes over, walking rather unsteadily. “I like Mal,” he slurs. “Why did you never tell me how funny he was?”

“I did,” I say patiently. “You just wouldn’t listen.”

“Well, I like him,” he insists. “We’re going over to their farm tomorrow. He’s going to show me how to make potato vodka.”

“Well, that’s good, seeing as you’ve drunk a vat of it today.”

He waves his hand in a rather cavalier manner. “Pfft,” he says. “I’m fine.”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s see how fine and carefree you are when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I’m going to say goodbye,” he says in the painstaking way of people who are very drunk. “And then we’re going home, where I’m going to fuck you very hard.”

Cadan laughs and walks off to serve someone. I shake my head. “Asa, you old romantic.”

He kisses my head. “That’s me,” he says. “I’ll just say goodbye to Mal.”

I eye him with a smile as he wanders back to Mal, who promptly greets him as enthusiastically as if he’s a beloved friend who he hasn’t seen in years.

I’m still smiling when my phone rings, and I answer it. “Hello?”

“Jude, you unmitigated wanker ,” comes the response.

I blink. “Mother, is that you?”

“You know very well it’s Henry,” my friend says. “You know Henry. The one who’s always looked out for you. The one who sticks up for you when everyone else takes the piss.”

“Erm, that’s not you. You join in with the piss-taking.”

There’s a long pause. “Well, that’s another story,” he says quickly. “Why are you so obsessed with finicky details, Jude?”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“Yes, there is,” he replies darkly. “I’ve just seen your beloved son, and what a wonderful visit it was. One to go down in the annals of history as quite the best visit ever.”

“Do you think you’re wordy because you’re a lawyer, or became a lawyer because you’re wordy?” I ask.

“I’m a lot less wordy now that I’ve been on a twenty-mile route match,” he says testily.

I start to laugh. “There’s no way Billy would walk twenty miles. He asks for a piggyback after two minutes of walking.”

“Yes, well, he obviously knew I couldn’t oblige as I was rather busy avoiding getting cow shit on my Crockett and Jones boots while listening to a very detailed synopsis of Frozen .”

I snort. “Oh my god, tell me he taught you the song.”

There’s a long pause. “He taught me the song,” he finally says with resignation. I break into peals of laughter. “Don’t ever tell anyone that,” he whispers. “Particularly not Ivo.”

“I’m afraid honesty compels me to say I can’t promise anything.”

He sighs. “I need to get some of this cursed fresh air out of my lungs,” he says, making me laugh harder. My laughter stops when he says silkily, “But I digress from my point in ringing you. Let’s not forget the fact that you told Billy to take me to a cow field twenty miles away.”

“That little grass,” I say with resignation.

“You say grass. I say a small child with twenty pounds in his pocket.”

“You bribed Billy?”

“Such a harsh word,” he says sadly. “But probably not the harshest words you’ll be uttering by the time I’ve had my revenge.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Don’t think about it too much,” he advises me cheerfully. “Are you having a good time, anyway?”

I eye Asa as he comes towards me. His hair is messy, and his eyes are bleary, but the smile is wide on the face that’s so dear to me.

“The best ,” I say.

“Ah well, enjoy it now before the revenge of Henry.”

“Can’t wait,” I say cheerfully, smiling as I hang up and walk towards the love of my life. Of course, the love of my life is drunk and going to have a hefty hangover tomorrow, but that’s something to look forward to, I think evilly.

He throws his arm over my shoulder. “I love you,” he says loudly and very affectionately.

“I love you too,” I say.

We walk down the narrow streets towards our cottage. The wind is fierce now, and it’s raining hard again, making it difficult to see ahead. My hair is soaked and plastered to my head, and my jeans are clammy and cold, but I’m with Asa, so I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.