Driving Me Mad, page 14
“But I’m free next weekend, if…”
The question dangled in the air, and I was just about to accept when I realised I would be in Wales the following weekend and wouldn’t be back until the Tuesday. I gritted my teeth and scrunched my nose.
“Not good for you, huh?”
I shook my head.
“The following week?”
I noted thankfully that her voice sounded hopeful. I mentally worked through my appointment schedule before nodding enthusiastically.
“I finish at lunchtime on Saturdays. Perks of being the boss.”
Instead of responding, I kissed her again. In my book, that was the same thing as saying “yes.” If I’d been a dog, I’d have wagged my tail and licked her face.
Chapter Ten
The week dragged on and on, followed by more of the same on the weekend. Fuck. The descriptor “interminable” sprang to mind. The highlight of each day was talking to Clare in the evening or reading the emails she sent, telling me about her day or sharing things she had worked out from the notebook. I’d never felt such a connection with another person. I admit I’d had my reservations in the earlier days, even considered not allowing Clare to become too special to me, but that was a thing of the past. All I could think about was her—her smile, the taste of her lips, the way she tilted her head to the side and squinted her eyes when she was reading me. Even if I had wanted to stay a Billy-No-Mates, it was too late for that. I was smitten, and I was hoping that she felt the same.
By the second week, I was wondering why we had only arranged to see each other at the weekend. I wanted to see her more often than that, wanted to see her all of the time. I got to the stage where I was fixating on my phone. No longer just a device to make business calls and set up appointments, it had become a channel of hope and expectation. I found myself constantly checking for emails and new text messages. More pitifully, I kept rereading Clare’s emails and previous text messages. I realised I was obsessed with the prospect of hearing from her, but I couldn’t help myself. Each time I received a new communication, I felt a jolt of joy, completely absorbed every word, and then felt emptier once I had read it and replied.
It was Wednesday of the second week. I had been home from Wales for a day, and I was distracted. Too damned right I was. I didn’t have to go in to the main office until the next day, and I was feeling antsy. I knew Clare would be at work, and I didn’t exactly know where that was, but I did know about a thing called the Yellow Pages, or, better still, Yell.com.
I couldn’t believe how many craft shops were in Wells: Little Prezzies, The Old Station Pottery and Bookshop, Ashley Studios. Then it hit me. Maybe her shop wasn’t even in Wells. She’d said she had a craft shop, and she finished at lunchtime on a Saturday. She was going to meet me at one, so maybe that was her usual lunchtime. It seemed reasonable that she would finish work just beforehand and then walk to meet me just a few minutes away. Or maybe she finished at twelve, and would get in her car and drive countless miles.
Bollocks.
As I looked out the window, I rubbed my hands together as if I was rubbing two sticks together to start a fire. The sky was blue; the day was clear and dry. I knew it would be cold, but I could always wear a jacket. A drive to Wells seemed like a marvellous idea. If I couldn’t find Clare’s shop, I would take a nice walk down to the sea. Fresh. Enriching. Exhilarating.
Who was I kidding? If I couldn’t find Clare, I would feel too gutted to go dancing up to the sea for a paddle.
I scooped up my phone and looked down at my new best friend. Its smooth black case beckoned me to open it and send a text message. I shook my head. If I was going to do this, I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn’t want to be all needy, even if I was.
Decision made, I put the phone in my pocket, grabbed my jacket, bag, and car keys, and followed my heart. First time in my life I had ever done anything so rash. I felt like I’d conquered the world.
* * *
Fucking Wells. Fucking wind. Fucking rain. Why hadn’t I checked the weather before I left, instead of depending on the blueness of the sky in Norwich? Maybe because I was a knob. A knob that was soaked through and wandering around Wells-next-the-Sea looking like a vagrant. I’d checked out all of the addresses that I’d found on Yell and came up empty, at least as far as finding Clare was concerned. I hated walking into shops and having sales assistants hover around, pestering me with a “May I help you?” even though my own job was for me to be the one doing the pestering. I’d hung around outside each shop for way too long, until it looked as if I was about to rob the place, then I had to walk in and be intercepted by overzealous Alan Sugar wannabes. Reason? Easy. Clare didn’t work alone. She had Sally and Dale. I didn’t know what Sally or Dale looked like, so I had to take my chances. Thankfully, I’d only bought one thing from each shop, so it wasn’t too expensive. Unfortunately, the things I did buy were heavy enough for me to have to go back to my car and put them in the boot.
As I slammed the lid, I felt a sensation running through me. It wasn’t like I was being watched, just that I should turn around and look about me. Predictably my focus landed on the public toilets I had been lured into the previous time I had visited Wells, but there was no figure lurking in the doorway, beckoning me inside with the potential to scare the shit out of me. There was only a woman with two young children and a third in a buggy blocking the doorway. The woman was deflecting questions of “Why can’t we have an ice cream?” by systematically giving each child a spit wash. It would’ve been easier to take them inside the loos and use the sinks in there, but who was I to put in my ha’penny’s worth? Maybe she felt it was more hygienic to use her own spit rather than deal with the smell of urine and myriad of germs collecting in the small necessary.
Next I spotted two elderly couples chatting. One couple had a dog with them who looked like he must’ve rolled in as much mud as he could. There was a sense of pride in the voices of the owners, as if somehow the condition of their dog was something to boast about. Even though these life scenes were gripping, the persistent feeling inside me indicated I was looking in the wrong direction. My gaze drifted to the right, and my heart seemed to pause before kicking hard inside my chest.
A figure moved just out of my view before I had the opportunity to fully digest who it was. Long dark hair drifted backwards, leaving an echo of her in its wake. I was sure it was Clare, absolutely sure. But then again, could it have been Annabel?
In the time between leaving Clare in her home and that moment, I hadn’t seen Annabel or Ellen. Hadn’t dreamt of them, felt them near me, had thoughts about what had happened, nothing. So why now? Why in Wells?
I had to follow the figure and see who it was, but my legs seemed to be rooted to the spot. Frustration clawed up my throat, and I growled. That seemed to break the statue spell, and I raced down the car park to the spot where I thought I had seen Clare.
The figure disappeared around the corner, just a glimpse of a wisp of long hair drawing me forward. I shouted Clare’s name, but the elusive person didn’t stop or turn back.
I was more annoyed than intrigued now. This was turning into a wild goose chase, and I was the pillock doing the chasing. I grabbed my phone from my bag and scrolled to Clare’s mobile number. Stuff surprising her; it would be more of a case of surprising myself if I ever found her.
My thumb had nearly made contact with the “call mobile” button when I heard my name. Lifting my head, I saw Clare walking towards me from the direction I had been heading.
“Becky?”
I flipped the cover shut and stuffed the phone in my pocket, summoning what I hoped was a charming smile. Considering I had just about dried off from the full wash and spin the Wells weather had given me, I hoped I still looked presentable.
“You look like a drowned rat.” Maybe not. “Come on. I was just nipping home for lunch.” She held out her hand and waited for me to slip my fingers into it. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
My head shot up, and I stared at her.
“No. NO! That’s not what I meant at all. You’re we…”
I could’ve given her one of those cheap, flirty retorts, but I just grinned and lifted an eyebrow suggestively. Her blush was instant.
“I meant wet, as in rain.”
By now I was feeling sorry for her, as I doubted her face could get any redder.
“I’ll get you warm in no time.” As soon as the words left her mouth, her lips peeled back as if she wanted to drag them back in again.
“I bet you will.” I grinned and winked at her. Then a thought struck me that turned the grin into a frown. “Did you just walk past the car park?” Considering we were in the process of having a bit of sexual banter, my question must have seemed off topic to Clare.
“Yes. Erm… Why?”
So it had been her. I didn’t know whether or not to be relieved to know it was a mere mortal that had lured me to this spot. Weird to think that the urge to follow the figure had felt so right, almost as if that was my path, my way forward.
“Just thought I saw you, that’s all.”
Clare pulled me against her, tilted her head down, and pinned me with those fabulous brown eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, Becky.” Her voice was a whisper, but the words reverberated around inside my head and chest.
I cupped her cheek and rubbed my thumb along the smooth skin. I fairly ached to kiss her, to taste the lips I had been yearning to taste again for ten days. Reason prevailed. Kissing her in the middle of the street in broad daylight didn’t seem the proper thing to do. Not because I felt it was wrong to kiss Clare, but because the people passing by might have other ideas about two women kissing in public.
“For God’s sake! Kiss her and get it over with!”
I turned and located the speaker, an elderly gentleman on the other side of the street.
“If I was younger, I’d do it for you. Bah! Kids today.”
Clare’s laugh bubbled up and burst into the air. Soon mine joined hers.
“Can’t disappoint him, now can we?”
Her voice was thick, enticing, but I didn’t get the chance to kiss her. She kissed me first, and everything in my world was right once again.
“About time,” came the comment from behind us.
We broke apart with a laugh. Seeing her like that, so open and vulnerable and beautiful, well, I was worried that my smitten heart wouldn’t be able to take the joy of it. It was at that very moment that I realised it was more than just attraction I was feeling for Clare Davies. Much more.
Did it bother me? Did I want to run away screaming into the hills? Yes and no. Yes, because I had never allowed anyone to get that close to me before. I had never let my guard down long enough for anyone to see the real me, quivering in fear. I was scared that when Clare could see who I actually was, she wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.
Happily, the “no” part of my thought process was so much stronger. I couldn’t help myself now. It was immaterial whether or not Clare loved me in return. I was lost, lost in her, lost and falling in love with her.
And yes. I thought the L word. And after only seeing her four times. God, what would I be like after seeing her five times?
* * *
Clare had been going home for lunch. What I hadn’t said was that she usually didn’t go home for lunch.
“You’re lucky to have caught me. I just had the urge to go home and grab a bite.” She leaned forward and picked up an egg and cress sandwich from the plate on the table. She paused as she lifted it to her mouth, and the bread flopped slightly, as if it was trying to avoid being consumed.
“Weirdly, I’d just gotten home and something made me feel as if I should go back to work.” Clare laughed, a single shake of her head making my heart skip a beat. “Then I saw you.” Her eyes glanced my way before turning back to her sandwich. “You being here seemed right.”
Clare took a bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. I just stared at her, my own sandwich forgotten in my hand. “What do you mean by me being there seeming right?”
Clare swallowed, blinked. A shake of her head accompanied the “I don’t know. Just…just like I was expecting you to be there.” She half-closed her eyes and tilted her head, her focus solely on me. “Do you know what I mean? It was like you should be there walking towards me.”
I nodded. I agreed that it was weird. But it seemed that so much weird shit had been happening around us of late, one more thing didn’t really register very high on the weird-o-meter. It was almost becoming run of the mill.
Clare was still looking at me. Under her scrutiny I felt a little exposed, almost as if she could read my mind, not that I had anything particularly embarrassing floating around in there. Maybe my unease stemmed from the knowledge that my head was devoid of anything; the vacuous space was huge and echoey.
I cleared my throat and tried a normal conversational gambit. “So, what’ve you been up to?”
Clare continued to stare at me and I stared back, unsure what I should do next. Even though it was probably only a moment before she sat backwards, her posture straightening significantly, it felt longer.
“Work!”
I started with surprise at the volume of her voice, and my eyes widened. Clare leaned forward and placed her hand on my arm. For a moment I honestly believed she would be able to feel the drum of my pulse thud against her fingertips.
“Sorry.” She laughed softly. “Work. I’ve been working most of the time.” She patted my arm, and when her hand moved away, it left a definite coolness behind. “You? What’ve you been up to?”
“Work. Well…erm. No, work it is.” I laughed, and she joined me.
“Talking of which, I need to get back.” Clare pulled an apologetic face for cutting our lunch short.
“Oh, right. I…” Flustered, I stood. “I should let you get back. Sorry. God! I didn’t mean to hog your time.” The heat of embarrassment started at my neck, and I fanned my face to keep it from appearing there.
“I was hoping you’d want to come and see my shop. You know, so you’ll know where to find me if you have the urge to visit again.”
I stopped fanning and met her eyes. “I’d love to see it. If you have time, that is.”
The smile she gave me indicated she wanted me there as much as I wanted to be with her. The blush won out, colouring my cheeks.
The shop Clare owned was magical. Local artists had works for sale, and the pieces were breathtakingly beautiful. Watercolours, pencilled sketches, charcoal drawings of views and sea birds adorned the walls. There were also some sculpted pieces, and art made from drift wood. It was the perfect coastal craft shop. Funnily enough, I hadn’t seen the name of this shop when I’d googled earlier. I would’ve been drawn to this name more than the others. It was called Howell’s. Even I might have made the connection.
“My mother, Bella, opened this shop with money given to her by Annabel.” Clare reached out and lovingly touched a framed picture of a pencil drawing of a shipwreck. “Art was kind of her thing. A bit like me I suppose.”
“Who do you mean, Annabel or your mum?”
Clare’s finger lifted away from the picture, a slight hesitation in the movement. “All of us, I suppose. Annabel was more into art work, and my mother more into the supplying of it.”
It seemed that Clare had more in common with her aunt than just physical appearance. I wanted to ask her why Bella would start a business so far from Kirk Langley and her father, when she could have worked with Annabel in a local art shop close to home, but I felt uncomfortable about it.
Annabel’s source of income could have surprised me, but it didn’t. As with Clare, I hadn’t really thought about how Annabel made her money. The house she had lived in was quite large, and even though her father had left her the house itself, she would still have had to keep up with maintenance, such as paying the bills. But I had only ever thought about her in connection with Ellen and the events surrounding her disappearance. Well, that and the fact that Annabel was haunting Clare and me.
One of the displays in Howell’s was an array of stationery, and I felt drawn to it. Fine drawing equipment was stored neatly in compartments, and I felt like a kid in a sweet shop. Different leaded pencils, kneadable rubbers, blending stumps, pastel crayons, and a wide range of artist sketch pads were on sale, and I had to stop myself buying things that I most certainly didn’t need. I was in the business, after all.
Dale and Sally were nice enough. Young, eager, and creative, they were perfect for the store. Sally was dressed like I imagined an art student would dress. Her blonde hair hung loosely across her face, intermittently hiding her pretty blue eyes, which were overly accentuated by the dark make up around them. Dale was as camp as a row of tents, if I may use that expression, although, weirdly, he gazed adoringly at Sally. Ah, the complexity of young love.
“Do you want to see my office?”
Clare’s voice seeped into my thoughts, and I couldn’t help the grin that appeared on my lips. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Her office was at the back of the store, and the corridors leading to it seemed endless, narrowing and expanding erratically. At one point it struck me that I should have brought a piece of chalk to mark the walls so I could find my way out. I could feel a shift in the atmosphere as I moved along, like the air was getting mustier, colder.
As soon as Clare closed the door behind us, she pinned me against the wood, her lips finding mine. Her hand was on my breast and kneading hungrily. A gasp left my mouth and sank inside hers. That spurred her on, and her kiss became harder, more insistent. Although we had kissed many times, neither of us had ventured to second base, although I had wanted to right from the very first kiss. I thought fleetingly, “Why now?”
But with arousal escalating, rational thought was pushed out. My nipple rose eagerly to her palm, and I pushed myself against her hand. It was not a time for questions. Clare’s mouth dipped to where my shoulder met my neck, her lips sucking, teeth nipping, tongue trailing. The real world was fading, and I didn’t care. All that mattered was this moment.
