Page 8

chapter

eight

I come awake slowly the next morning. I’m warm amongst the sheets. The room is cool, a breeze blowing through the curtains. I stretch, and memory returns all of a sudden as my foot encounters a hairy leg.

I twist around before I can stop myself. Con is lying there amongst the rumpled sheets, the white of the cotton showing off the tanned length of his body and the wideness of his chest. His chin is roughened by brown-blond stubble, and his eyes are bleary. He’s never looked better.

He’s also awake, watching me with eyes that betray nothing.

We stare at each other for a long few seconds, and then I can’t help it. I smile at him and watch as his eyes close as if in relief.

“Con,” I whisper.

He opens his eyes, and I gasp as he grabs me close in the tightest hug.

“Can’t breathe,” I gasp. He lets up a little and presses a warm kiss to my temple, lingering there and inhaling as if taking in my scent. I feel tears pressing against my eyes. “Con?”

He pulls back. “Frankie,” he says softly, his eyes smiling.

“Con, I—” I come to a stop as my phone rings. “What the fuck?” I say instead. I check my watch. “It’s six in the bloody morning.”

He reaches over and grabs my phone, seeming to take every chance at rubbing his body along me. By the time he’s finished, I’m pretty sure my cheeks are cherry red, and it takes two tries before my eyes clear enough to see the name on display.

“George,” I mouth at Con, who frowns.

“Hello,” I say. “Everything okay, George?”

“Not really, Frankie. Joan had a little accident last night.”

“What?” I say shrilly, struggling up and losing the phone. Con retrieves it and puts it on speaker.

“George, you’ve got Con too,” he says. “What’s up?”

There’s a brief startled silence, and I know George is wondering why we’re together this early in the morning. I feel a blush on my cheeks, and Con reaches out and caresses the hot skin with his thumb.

“Joan fell last night. She’s in hospital.”

“Oh my god, is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” he says immediately. “She’s broken her wrist, but they kept her in because she banged her head.”

I slump. “Thank god,” I breathe.

“We’re coming back today anyway,” Con says.

“Can it be as soon as possible, Con? We’ve got the Palmers coming in to pick up their order, and I’ve got to be at the hospital to pick up Joan.”

“No problem.”

I stand up and slide off the bed. Con gives me an impossibly hot look as I stand naked for a second and then focuses back on the phone.

“What time are they coming in?” he asks.

“Nine.”

He checks his watch. “We should be able to make it.”

I throw my clothes on. “I’ll go and pay the bill,” I whisper and leave him talking to George about the last-minute arrangements for the order.

When I get back to the room, he’s in the shower.

“I’ll pack for you,” I say into the bathroom, trying to ignore the way the water flows in rivulets down that marvellous body.

He removes his toothbrush from his mouth, where he’s currently multitasking. “We need to talk,” he says through a mouthful of foam.

I pause, feeling my stomach dip. “Yes?” I say nervously.

He puts up a hand and rests it on the glass enclosure. “Yes, but nothing bad. Promise, Frankie.”

“Okay then.” I nod nervously. “I’ll pack your stuff.”

However, we’re obviously doomed not to talk because my phone rings just as we get into his truck. I look down and groan. “It’s Mr Simpson.”

“No,” he says crossly. “We need to talk.”

“Will we be paying several thousand pounds for the privilege?”

He slumps. “No.”

“I’m sure he won’t be long. He’s a windbag, but even he can’t talk for the entire journey.”

A couple of hours later, we pull up outside work. I finally say goodbye and massage my ear.

“Okay,” I say, seeing Con’s wry look. “I was wrong. He can talk for the entire journey. If I’m honest, I think he could go all day.” I smile nervously at him. “Sorry,” I say.

He reaches over and kisses me, and my predominant emotion is surprise because it’s as easy and natural as if he’s been doing it for years.

“It’ll keep,” he says. A car pulls into the car park, and he looks at his watch and curses. “They’re here early. I’ve got to go.”

I give him a push. “Go. I’m off to see Joan and check how she is. George can come and help you then.”

He nods and opens the door and then reaches back and grabs my wrist. “It’s the summer hop today,” he says. “I’m playing, and I can’t get out of it.”

“It’s fine,” I say, and he smiles almost nervously.

“Will you come?”

“Where? To the dance?”

He nods. “Please. I’m playing, but you know everyone.” He pauses. “I’d like to see you there,” he says in an almost formal fashion that shouldn’t make my fingers tremble as much as they do.

“Okay,” I say breathlessly, and he smiles, dropping a kiss on my fingers.

“Con,” a voice says from behind him, and he salutes me with two fingers and a whimsical expression before turning to face the customer as his genial self.

I watch them walk into the building, laughing together, and then stir myself. I grab my bag from the back of the truck, and fumbling for my keys, I chuck it into my car. I lock Con’s truck and head into the building. Mandy is on the phone, probably doing her first gossip update of the day, so avoiding her curious look, I leave the keys with her with a note to give them to Con. Then I flee the building.

Joan’s cottage is a few minutes’ walk away, but I take in the air and the peace gratefully. I can’t quite work out what is happening with Con and me. I know we came on each other in the most erotic encounter I’ve ever had, and I know he’s looking at me with a new look in his eyes today, but what does it mean? Are we together? Would he even like that? And what about Tim?

My heart sinks. I’m ashamed to admit I forgot all about him last night. I’ve never been a cheater because it’s been done to me, and I’m horrified that I’ve now done it to someone else. I wouldn’t have put it at Con’s door either. At first, I’d believed David when he told me what a player Con was, but instead, it was my husband who turned out to be the player. Con is very different. He’s steadfast and loyal, and it’s somewhat ironic that it was my husband who introduced me to someone who has become my whole world since I met him.

I shake my head of my thoughts when I come to Joan’s home. It’s a small cottage with casement windows that gleam in the sunlight. I put my hand up to knock on the door, but George opens it before I can complete the gesture.

“How is she?” I ask immediately.

He smiles, and I relax. “She’s fine, Frankie. A bit sore, but you know how hard-headed she is.”

“I heard that,” comes Joan’s irate voice from the lounge, and I grin.

I look at him, carrying his jacket. “You going straight into work?”

He nods. “Con will need me there, so I’ll go in if you’re here to watch her.”

“I don’t need watching,” she calls, and I shake my head.

“I see it’s my misfortune to have drawn the short straw of watching her while she’s conscious.”

George breaks into loud laughter that nearly but not entirely covers up Joan’s indignant squark.

He claps me gently on the back and sets off down the street. I watch him go for a second before closing the door and heading into the lounge.

I find Joan lying on her sofa, a blanket over her feet. She’s pale with a bandage over her forehead and a cast on her wrist, but her eyes are as sharp as ever, and I smile at her in relief.

I throw my pinstripe jacket on the chair. “Can I sign your plaster?”

“Only if you write down the full story of what happened with you and Con.”

I inhale and choke on my spit. “What?” I croak.

She leans back against her pillows. “Get talking,” she commands me. “We’ve just got time before David Dickinson’s Real Deal starts.”

“It’s nice to know I come before him. Is that because if he visited you, his spray tan might camouflage him against the mahogany furniture?”

“Such a handsome man,” she says dreamily. “That mane of hair.”

I shudder. “And those teeth.”

I settle down in the chair and take a look at her. She has a small table drawn next to the sofa that has a carafe of iced water on it along with some chocolates and a packet of expensive biscuits, both from the deli down the road.

“Someone’s looking after you,” I observe and stare at her as she blushes. “Joan?” I say questioningly.

She waves a hand at me. “Oh hush,” she says. “It was just George looking after me.”

Hank Marvin flutters into the room and greets me with a chirp. “Oh, George,” he intones in a falsetto voice. “You’re so handsome.”

“Hank Marvin,” Joan gasps, going bright red.

I look between her and the bird and then start to laugh. “Oh my god,” I snort. “Busted by a parrot.” I straighten up and fold my arms. “And how long has this been going on between you two, young lady?” I say in a stern voice. “I think it’s time I had a little chat with young George about his intentions.”

She gives me a distinctly unimpressed look, and I start laughing again.

When I’ve sobered, I look up at her. “When did that start?” I hold up a hand. “And don’t even try to deny it.”

“This weekend,” she finally says. “He took me for a walk and kissed me behind the church.”

“Is that a euphemism?” I dodge the pillow she chucks at me and smile at her. “I’m really pleased. I’ve been saying for ages that he’s sweet on you, and now look at me. I hope you listen a lot more to me, Joan. I am obviously a dating sage.”

“You’re about as much of a dating sage as Peter Stringfellow.”

“Ouch.”

“How can you be?” she continues. “When you’ve been in love with your best friend for years and never realised it.”

That stops me dead. “That’s so silly,” I say heartily. I look around for a diversion. “Oh, look,” I cry. “David Dickinson is on. Wait. Joan, what are you doing?” I stare at her as she clicks the TV off.

“Desperate times call for no David Dickinson,” she says solemnly. “Now, tell me what’s going on because I know something’s happened. George says he was with you this morning.”

“You’re a couple of gossips.” She raises one eyebrow, and I bite my lip. “Okay, something did happen.” I pause. “And I have no idea why I’m whispering.”

“Because it’s important.” I look at her, and she shrugs. “Of course it’s important. It’s Con. He’s the most important person in your life.”

I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “He is. Why didn’t I see it?”

“Because you weren’t ready,” she says steadily.

“Do you think it’s wrong?” I whisper.

Her look of incredulity reassures me immediately. “No. What a silly thing to say. Why would it be wrong?”

“Because he’s with Tim.”

She snorts. “He’s as much with Tim as I am with Robert Redford.”

I jerk. “What?”

“I admit it’s not for want of Tim trying, but Con has his sights fully set on someone else.” She shakes her head. “Frankie, I sometimes wonder if you have eyes in your head.”

“I have,” I say huffily. “All the better to see Lucy Scrimshaw coming.”

“What’s really bothering you?”

“He’s my dead husband’s best friend. It’s not loyal.”

She smiles sadly at me. “Frankie, the only person who wasn’t loyal was David.” She leans forward. “I loved him. We all did. We always will. But I believe in being honest, and David wasn’t built for long-lasting relationships. He was wild and the best fun you could ask for.”

“He certainly was that,” I say, and she shakes her head.

“But he wasn’t a loyal man or someone you could rely on. Having fun was everything to him, and he’d do anything to get it. So, people fell by the wayside because there was always someone else around the corner who’d be more fun.” She looks softly at me. “I’ll never know what possessed him that month he met and married you, but I would kiss him every day for it if I could, Frankie, because he brought us you, and you’re absolutely wonderful.”

I blink my hot eyes, and she smiles. “But you need to listen to me now, darling. Some people pass through our lives and make an impact, but the best type of people are the ones who stick, and Con is that for you. David was a stop along the way, and the best thing he ever did in his life was to give you to Con. He had a wonderful wild impact on your life like a comet falling, but Con will be the one to share that life. He’s the one for you, and everyone can see it except you.” She smiles. “Well, up until now anyway. Better late than never.”

“What about Con? Does he know it?”

She reaches over and pats my hand. “That’s a lover’s secret and not for me to tell. Con’s got a voice, and it’s his place to tell you those things.”

“He wants me to go to the summer hop.”

She sits back. “Well then, you need to make a move, young man. It’s your time to do that. Con’s been dancing around you for far too long. Now it’s time for you to take some of the steps yourself.”

I stare at her, biting my lip. “What if we’re wrong?”

She smiles. “But what if we’re right ? What happens then?”

I stare at her for a second and then nod, feeling surety running through me like a visible pulse for the first time since I met a wild man at a concert and embarked on an adventure that brought me to the shores of the one man who’s meant for me.

“You’re right,” I say.

She nods serenely, and Hank Marvin sidles along the back of the sofa. “Garrotted with a clothes line,” he says sadly.

“Shut up, Hank Marvin,” we say in unison.

Later that afternoon, I step outside my cottage and reach back to lock the door. I gaze up at the sky. The bright cornflower blue from the last few months has gone, and it’s full of yellowish clouds. It looks like the promised storm is arriving sooner than expected. I hope it keeps off for the party.

The party is being held in a field on the outskirts of the village, and I wander down the narrow lane towards it. Trees hang over my head, making a green canopy over me, and the high hedgerows are full of hawthorn that wafts its sweet scent to me. It’s the scent of summer and new adventures, and my heart skips and flutters.

I can hear the music before I see the marquee. It’s a wild beat that makes your pulse skip and your feet tap. It’s the recognisable sound of Con’s old band. I only got to see them a handful of times when I was first with David. After the band finished, they concentrated on the business. They were amazing together. David was a charismatic frontman, but Con, who was the still centre on the stage, had always held my attention. Wrapped in music and oblivious to the audience, he was nevertheless a compelling figure. I shake my head and laugh. How the hell did I miss my feelings for him all these years?

I pick up speed, feeling excitement running under my skin like I’ve caught hold of a downed power cable. I haven’t felt this way in a long time—this combination of excitement and nerves makes me feel alive.

I step into the field and immediately see Mandy. She’s standing outside the marquee, talking to a thin young man.

“Frankie,” she calls. She looks me up and down. “Ooh, you look terrific,” she says, not quite managing to hide her astonishment. I look down at my outfit. She didn’t know me before David died, so she’s never seen my old clothes. I suppose she’s so used to seeing me in dull outfits that this must still come as a surprise. I’m wearing a sky-blue shirt, skinny black-and-blue checked ankle-length trousers with red braces, and my patent black leather brogues. My hair is down and wavy, and I’m about as good as I get.

“You too,” I say. I gesture to the tent. “I’m just going to get a drink and see the band.”

“They’re amazing,” she says excitedly. “Con’s so good. I always forget what a brilliant musician he is.”

I smile and make my way into the tent, pausing as I’m hit with a wave of noise and heat. Everyone from the village appears to be here, and over half of them seem to be three sheets to the wind. I look over at Lucy Scrimshaw. Wearing a red dress, she’s bright-eyed with excitement. This event usually provides her with enough fodder for six months of gossip. It’s free booze and food and goes on until the early hours, so someone’s marriage will invariably break up, affairs will be started, and there’s usually a punch-up at some point.

She looks up, and I hastily duck behind a local farmer. Then I edge along to the bar and grab a cider from the counter. Taking a sip, I look over at the stage at the end of the room. It’s set next to a large wooden dance floor that’s packed with people whirling and laughing, but Con immediately draws my attention.

He’s sitting on the right of the singer, beating a bodhran, the beat mesmerising. Wearing jeans and one of his band’s old concert T-shirts, his booted feet are tapping out the beat, and he looks bloody fantastic. I watch him, enjoying the freedom to observe him without any of the worries of the last few months. I’ve come to a realisation between leaving Joan and coming here that whatever happens between us, we will always be in each other’s life. We’re too important to each other. So, to me, it’s worth stepping out on the ledge and taking that final step. I watch his blond-brown hair falling over his forehead and his dreamy eyes.

As if sensing my regard, he looks up, and his eyes find me immediately. They’re suddenly fierce with some feeling, and for a long second, we stare at each other as his fingers move on the drum. Then he smiles. It’s wide and warm and intimate, and there’s so much joy in that brown gaze at seeing me that it makes a lump appear in my throat. I smile back at him, and he nods as if saluting me before going back to his playing.

I see a few people look over at me and offer them a genial smile and a wave before edging to the side where I can watch. It’s rare to see Con on a stage anymore, so I want to savour it. It’s doubly hot now I know what he looks like when he comes and how his naked skin feels against my own.

My pleasant thoughts are interrupted when someone moves to stand next to me. I look up with a smile that dies as soon as I see Tim watching me.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says in a snide voice.

I gape at him and then recover. “I am, thank you.”

My pulse is thrumming. He’s here watching Con. For some reason, I thought he’d have gone. To see him here is a huge shock.

He looks up at Con and smiles fondly. “He’s good, isn’t he?” he says in a much friendlier voice than he’s used towards me so far.

I open my mouth but can’t think of a single thing to say apart from an insane desire to shout, “I had this man’s boyfriend’s penis in my hand last night. I’m a homewrecker .”

He looks sideways at me. “I know about you two,” he says, and I jerk.

“ What ?”

He leans closer, talking into my ear because it’s so loud. “I know you got off with each other.” He shrugs. “And that you’re in love with him.” I swallow hard, and he gives me a coaxing smile. “It doesn’t matter to me. You can shag each other as much as you like. Con and I are open. But a word of warning. We will still be together at the end, so you might want to get rid of your feelings as they won’t do you any good.” He gives me a sympathetic look that doesn’t quite manage to conceal his glee.

I stare at him. The thing is, I’m pretty sure he’s lying or embellishing, but I’m blindsided because this whole conversation has an awful echo of the one I’d had at another concert. It was how I found out about David being unfaithful when the bloke appeared and told me all about them.

And for a second, I waver. After all, David warned me about Con. He said he was a huge player. I remember him laughing about it. “Don’t fall for that good old village boy act,” he’d said one night in the pub when Con and I had sat talking all evening. “He’s a player through and through. You wouldn’t believe how much arse he gets. The boys love a brown-eyed charmer, but that’s all they’ll ever get.”

I look up, and the crowd clears, and Con looks straight over at us. There’s a frozen pause as he sees Tim standing close to me, and then he stands up, putting the bodhran down with a thud. There’s a brief startled pause before the singer laughs. “I think Con’s ready for a break, folks,” he says. “We’ll take five.”

But Con isn’t listening to him. He comes to the edge of the stage and vaults down. He strides towards us, but he’s held back by the crowd patting him on the back. I look around to find a couple of people’s eyes on me and flush. When I look back, Con is closer now with a worried look on his face. One of the village lads grabs his arm to tell him something, and I seize the opportunity and slip out of the marquee.

I don’t get three steps before I hear Con say, “Frankie,” and his hand grabs me and pulls me into the shadows to the side of the entrance. The folds of the tent conceal us but provide enough light for me to see his face. He looks frantic.

“You left,” he says breathlessly.

“Yes.” I falter. “I wanted to get out of there,” I finally say, wanting to explain how much I hate having people stare at me with such avaricious eyes as they store up gossip. I had enough of that with David.

“What did he say to you?” he says fiercely. “I saw your face.”

“It was nothing,” I say, staring at the strong muscles of his throat. “Just shit about how he didn’t mind if we shagged, but he’s got a relationship with you, and I need to be aware of it.”

I look up, startled as Con groans. “He’s lying. He means nothing to me.” He shakes my arm. “Fucking nothing .”

“Why is he here?” I say, staring up at his impassioned face.

“I got home and told him it was time he left.”

“Oh shit,” I whisper. “I’ve become David.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says sharply. “Tim and I weren’t ever together. We flirted with each other on tour, and when I said I was coming home, he asked to come too. He said he wanted to see the Cotswolds and could he stay for a few days. We’d kissed a few times on tour because I thought at the time that I needed to move on. I couldn’t see a reason to say no when he asked to stay, but he’s never been my boyfriend, and he never will be.”

“Move on from what?” I ask, but he’s still talking.

“I realised I couldn’t move on as soon as I saw you again. There was nothing for you to break up. Nothing . We never slept together. I slept on the airbed in the lounge while he had my bed.” He looks at me. “Tell me you believe me,” he says in a low voice. “I can’t bear it if I’ve stuffed this up just when I’ve finally got you.”

“Why did he say all that stuff to me tonight, then?”

“God knows. Although Gene warned me that he was a bitch and causes trouble wherever he goes. Tim wasn’t happy that I wouldn’t fuck him, and he could see the way I am with you. Maybe he just wanted to stir the shit.” He sighs. “I know you think I’m a player. David said it often enough. He thought it was funny.”

“I don’t think that,” I say, and my voice is clear and firm. “I don’t ,” I say again as he looks dubious. “Yes, David said that, and I sort of believed it at the time, but I know you now, Con.”

“You believed Tim tonight.”

“Only for a second. It just sent me reeling being accosted at a concert again.”

He groans and hangs his head. “Shit, I never thought of that. I thought we’d parted on good terms in the end. He packed his bags and was all smiles. He said he thought he’d meander along to see the party, and I didn’t see any harm in it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, grabbing his hands. “Con, I?—”

“Con, we’re going back on.” Bill, the lead singer’s voice, breaks into our conversation. Con spins around, and Bill smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Frankie. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Con shakes his head. “I’m not going back on.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say over Bill’s incredulous “ What ?”

Con turns to me. “I need to speak to you.”

“And you can,” I say. “Afterwards. I think I’m going to head home. I don’t feel like becoming the lead item on the village gossip sheet. I felt like Carrie at her prom, but luckily for them, I’m not on my period.”

He stares at me as Bill wanders back into the tent. “Okay, go home,” he says. “I’ll finish up as quick as I can. But wait for me. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?”

He shrugs. “Who knows, and I’m not taking any chances. Go home and wait for me.”

He grabs me and gives me a hard kiss, and then he’s gone.

I stay still for a second, gaping after him. Then, above me, thunder rumbles and a breeze picks up from nowhere, bringing with it the first scattering of raindrops.

I take the cue and walk quickly back down the lane. The sky has that peculiar yellow light that it gets before a storm where everything seems cast into monochrome. More raindrops come down, bringing with it the sweet scent of petrichor from rain on dry earth, and the trees move and rustle in the increasing wind.

Two couples dart past me, the women’s laughter shrill on the air as they hold their jackets over their heads.

I pick up speed and make my way home to wait for Con.