A Winter's Wish, page 18
‘I’ll give you the money.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ His smile became ponderous. ‘But you did take me by surprise. I mean, one minute you act like you hate me, the next you’re—’
‘Stop!’ She lifted her hand. It was bad enough she’d thrown herself at him, she didn’t need him reminding her.
His eyes softened. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I had no objections. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it.’ He didn’t? ‘But it was kind of confusing.’
Swallowing had suddenly become difficult. ‘How so?’
‘Well, you’ve been avoiding me. Which tells me you’re either embarrassed by what happened, or you’re worried I’ve got the wrong idea and think something’s going on between us.’ He expression turned questioning. ‘Am I right?’
Talk about blunt.
Did she really have to spell it out? It was a drunken mistake, a moment of madness. It wasn’t like she had feelings for him, she’d just got carried away and the moonlight and music had seduced her. The champagne had softened her inhibitions. The build-up of stress and anxiety had tipped her over the edge, making her crazy and reckless, and desperately needing an escape. But how could she explain that without offending him?
Somehow she needed to try. After all, it wasn’t his fault she was a drunken-lush. ‘The thing is… well… you see, it’s not that you’re not attractive, but—’
‘It’s okay.’ He nudged her arm. ‘I’m teasing you.’
She blinked in surprise. ‘You are?’
‘Sure. I thought it would be fun to make you squirm.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘It’s not?’ She felt herself frown. Why wasn’t it?
‘It was just a kiss. You’d had too much to drink. And I was up for a good time. Add in the music, moonlight and fireworks, and it was bound to spill over. It happens at parties. People get carried away. Don’t stress it, I’m not.’
A weight settled in her stomach. ‘You’re not?’
‘Course not. I’m not saying it wasn’t hot.’ A grin creased his cheeks. ‘But it didn’t mean anything. For either of us.’
‘Right.’
What he said made sense. It was a mistake. It wasn’t a disaster, no one had died. It was just a drunken fumble at a party. She was making too much of it.
‘So you don’t need to avoid me, or worry I’m hurt, or I’ve fallen for you. I haven’t, okay?’ He opened his arms. ‘See? No harm done.’
‘Well… good. I’m glad.’ Why didn’t she sound it?
‘So can we dispense with the awkwardness and just be mates.’
‘Mates?’
‘Yeah. I enjoyed Saturday, it was fun. And I like volunteering here. I’d like it if we could forget what happened and be like we were before. We were getting on okay, weren’t we?’ He sounded relaxed, and genuine, and completely unaffected by their encounter.
Which was good, right?
‘Err… yes, I suppose we were.’
‘Right. So… mates?’ He held out his hand.
She shook his hand. ‘Mates.’
‘Need a hand with these boxes?’ He turned away and began tidying up, as though they’d just been discussing the weather.
‘Err… thanks.’ She picked up a box, wondering what was wrong with her. It wasn’t like she was interested in Jamie Lawson. The kiss had been a mistake. She didn’t fancy him. He didn’t fancy her, he’d just said as much.
It was a drunken fumble. A tipsy ‘hook up’. It had meant nothing. He wasn’t looking for a romance. He was happy to forget it had ever happened and be… mates.
Mates. Right.
That was good… wasn’t it?
Chapter Sixteen
Jamie turned away so Sam wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face. For a brief moment, he’d allowed himself to believe she might be interested in him. Ever since last Saturday night, he’d been replaying the events in his mind, desperate to hold onto the way it had felt to kiss her, to touch her, and to get lost in the heady moment of ecstasy – until he’d fallen in the pool, obviously. That part he was happy to forget. But right up until that moment, he’d felt himself unravelling, letting go of the tight rein he had on his emotions and allowing himself to just… feel.
He shoved the box on top of the others, moving them into position and repairing the damage done by her attempts to hide from him, which hadn’t been great for his ego.
She’d been so desperate to avoid him she’d almost killed herself. That was not the action of a woman who was smitten. It was the action of a woman who was riddled with regret and mortification. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
He needed some space to regroup. He couldn’t be around her right now. ‘I could do with a drink,’ he said, shoving the last box into position. ‘Want anything?’
‘I’m good, thanks.’ She stepped down from the pile of boxes, her ponytail swaying with the movement. ‘You have one, though. Take a break. As long as you like. No rush to hurry back.’
Wow, she really wanted him gone. Something he should be grateful for, but wasn’t.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, exiting the shipping container and heading for the main building.
Despite ending up in the swimming pool and seeing the horrified look on her parents’ faces when they’d discovered their daughter skinny-dipping with him last Saturday night, he’d woken on Sunday morning overcome by an unexplained sense of hope.
He’d foolishly allowed himself to imagine what might happen if they got together. Like a proper couple. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought… which was confusing, as before last Saturday he’d have laughed at the idea of them even being friends, let alone anything more intimate.
But learning more about Sam’s upbringing and getting to understand how she’d come to be the person she was had softened his aversion to her.
He’d spent all of Sunday wishing his phone would ring, hoping she’d call with an offer to pick up where they’d left off Saturday night.
By the end of Monday, he’d given in to temptation and phoned her on the pretence of needing to talk about the donation drive. She’d ignored his call. She’d responded with a text saying whatever he had planned was fine. It was short, to the point, and didn’t invite a response.
He’d hoped her clipped response was due to embarrassment about what had happened, and that she just needed some space before seeing him again. So he’d stayed away, hoping when they did meet again she’d be open to them exploring their connection. Because whatever else had happened last Saturday night, they’d definitely clicked in the chemistry department.
But no. She hadn’t been pleased to see him. Quite the opposite. She’d bolted and taken the drastic action of climbing onto a pile of boxes.
He’d done the only thing he could and pretended the kiss hadn’t meant anything. That he wasn’t interested in her and that it was laughable to imagine them getting together.
What else could he do? If he told her how he really felt, she’d terminate his position at the shelter and ruin his chances of ever getting a story on her brother. So he’d swallowed his pride, faked disinterest, and pretended to be… mates. Had he really said that?
He pushed open the door to the shelter and headed for the main area.
What an idiot he was.
He must have audibly groaned, because when he reached the cafe, Alfie turned to him. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Are you working here today?’ The kid was wearing one of the red Crash Pad aprons.
‘I’m covering until Emily takes over. She wanted to do her stint outside first. I tried to persuade her to let me do the heavy stuff, but she insisted on doing it herself.’
Jamie smiled. ‘She’s tougher than she looks.’
Alfie looked disgruntled. ‘She’s not as tough as she makes out.’
Jamie could imagine. Most abandoned kids became street-wise and developed a thick skin, but it was a fragile barrier, a mask for the bruises lying beneath. He was the same. Alfie too.
He noticed the wistful look in the kid’s eye. He guessed it matched his own mournful expression. What a pair, eh?
‘So you’re running the cafe?’
‘Just serving drinks until it opens properly. Emily’ll take over then and I’ll help outside.’ He gestured to the coffee machine. ‘Drink?’
‘Just tap water, thanks.’ He watched Alfie fetch a jug from the fridge and pour him a glass of water. ‘Nice of you to volunteer.’
‘We all need to give something back, right? Society won’t work otherwise.’ He added a slice of lemon to the glass and handed Jamie his water.
The kid never failed to impress him. ‘Any luck finding a place to live?’
‘Nothing permanent.’ Alfie averted his eyes. ‘Although a mate has been letting me crash on their sofa for a few nights.’
It wasn’t hard to guess who the ‘mate’ was.
‘Kind of them.’
‘I know.’ His cheeks flushed and Jamie’s suspicions were confirmed.
‘What about the job hunting? Still no joy?’
Alfie wiped the countertop with a cloth. ‘I’ve applied for loads of positions, but mostly I don’t hear back. If I do, it’s a no thanks. I did get an interview yesterday, which was cool. As an auxiliary in a care home.’
Jamie took a sip of his water. ‘Is that a field of work you’re interested in?’
‘Kind of.’ He stopped wiping. ‘I mean, I like old people and I used to look after my granddad when he was alive. It sounded like a cool job. You know, helping people.’ He resumed cleaning.
‘So what happened? Didn’t the interview go well?’
‘It went fine. The lady was nice and she said I’d be a good fit for the team. She felt I had the right attitude and skills to be a carer. She was keen to have me.’
‘But?’
Alfie shook out the cloth over the bin. ‘Same old problem. No fixed abode. No references. No proper job history and no way for them to do a background check. The elderly residents are vulnerable, so the care home has a duty of care to protect them. I’m considered a risk.’
‘I’m sorry, mate. That sucks.’
Alfie returned to the counter. ‘She said I could contact them again if I get settled somewhere. She’d see if the owners would agree to a trial period. I guess that’s something.’
‘You must have impressed her.’
‘Maybe.’ He leant on the counter. ‘I got a call-back for an office cleaning job, so it’s not all bad.’
Jamie took another swig of water. ‘I admire your optimism.’
‘No point feeling sorry for yourself. One day things’ll turn around. I know they will.’
Jamie really hoped so. And then he was struck by an idea. ‘How would you feel about letting me make a documentary about you?’
Alfie tilted his head. ‘What, like a video?’
‘Yeah, a video diary. What it’s like to be a young homeless person on the streets and the challenges you face.’
Alfie looked intrigued. ‘Is that what you do for a job?’
‘No, but it’s what I want to do eventually. Be a documentary film-maker.’
‘Sounds cool. What would I have to do?’
‘Nothing too onerous. I could follow you as you apply for jobs and when you talk to the council about getting housed. You know, to show how hard it is. Maybe I could ask you questions about your life and how you came to be homeless.’
Alfie straightened. ‘I don’t want to bad mouth anyone. Especially my mum.’
‘Of course not. It’s entirely up to you what you say. I won’t push, or include any footage without your permission. You get final say in the edit. …Will you do it?’
Alfie ran his hand through his hair. ‘You think it’ll help others?’
‘I’d hope so. I have this mate who works for the South London Herald.’ He didn’t need to mention he also worked there. ‘I’m sure he’d be willing to run the story on their website. Other newspapers might be interested too.’
Now the idea was formulating in his mind, he realised he was excited to make it happen. It was the perfect subject matter. A great way to kick-start his transition into filmmaking.
‘And it would be good advertising for The Crash Pad,’ he added, warming to the idea further. ‘We could show what a difference this place makes. Hopefully it’ll turn around public opinion about why it’s needed.’
This seemed to sway Alfie. ‘You have yourself a deal,’ he said, extending his hand.
Jamie shook his hand.
And then his phone rang.
‘Excuse me. I should take this.’ He moved out of earshot, wondering why his boss was calling him on a Saturday. ‘Hi Gareth. Anything wrong?’
‘What’s happening with the Max Tipping case?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘You’ve been telling me that for nearly a month. What have you found out?’
Good question. He thought about it. ‘Well… the guy likes boozy lunches, playing golf and is dating a model called Xanthe.’
‘All of which I could’ve found out in this month’s GQ. What about his business dealings?’
‘I know he’s helped out a few friends when their companies got into trouble.’
‘Helped out how? Buying and selling shares? Pumping the stock market with false information? What?’
‘By paying off their debts.’
‘Is that it?’
Jamie looked around, hoping for divine intervention. It didn’t come. Even the sight of the beach mural on the wall failed to inspire him. ‘Maybe that’s all there is to find out.’
‘Or maybe you’re not digging deep enough. What’s happening with the sister?’
Jamie flinched.
But then he remembered his boss had no idea what had happened last Saturday night. He wasn’t about to enlighten him. ‘She’s not that close to her family. I’ve tried asking her questions, but she doesn’t divulge much.’
‘Then there’s no point wasting any more time on her. Quit with the volunteering. We need to find another way in.’
Jamie nearly choked on his water. Stop volunteering? He didn’t want to stop. He was enjoying the work. He was making a difference, contributing to society. He wasn’t ready to walk away. From the shelter. …Or from Sam. Especially Sam.
He realised Gareth was still talking, ‘… rumours are mounting in the financial world. It won’t be long before this story breaks. The name Hylton Sabell keeps coming up, why? What’s his connection to this? Find out. I don’t want another paper beating us to this story. You hear me? Not when I was given advance information. You need to expose this story first.’
‘I hear you.’
‘You’d better. Your job is on the line.’
Oh, crap. But what did he expect? He was failing in his first assignment.
And then something bizarre happened. Call it fate, or pure luck. But like a mirage emerging from the hot barren desert, Max Tipping walked into the shelter.
Jamie couldn’t believe it. ‘Err… boss? Max Tipping has just turned up at The Crash Pad.’
‘Are you shitting me?’
‘I’m serious, boss. He’s literally standing a few metres away.’
‘Then what are you doing still on the line. Get me that story!’
The line went dead.
Okay. It was time to prove himself a decent journalist.
He headed over. ‘Hi, Max. Looking for Sam?’
Max Tipping turned at the sound of his voice. He seemed distracted. His attire was the familiar city-boy suit, complete with waistcoat and silk handkerchief tucked into his top pocket, but he didn’t look his normal pristine self today. His hair wasn’t quite so neat, he had dark circles under his eyes and his suit looked a little creased – like he’d slept in it. Maybe he’d had a wild night celebrating a big win on the stock market? Or perhaps drowning his sorrows in booze following a huge loss. Who knew?
Whatever the reason, it was a moment before he spoke. Even then, all he said was, ‘What?’
‘I said, are you looking for Sam? I’m Jamie… remember?’ He was given a blank look. ‘We met at your parents’ party last Saturday?’ He held out his hand, but Max ignored it.
‘The bloke in the pool, right?’
Jamie inwardly cringed. ‘That’s me.’ He tried to make light of the situation. ‘Has your mother recovered?’
‘No idea. Where’s my sister?’
Okay, the man wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. ‘Outside.’
‘I didn’t see her.’
‘Did you check inside the shipping container?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘We’re having a donation drive today. People are dropping off bedding for us to give to the homeless. We needed more storage room, so Sam bought a shipping container. It’s parked around the back of the building.’
Max’s eyes grew wide. ‘The crazy things my sister comes up with.’ He turned and walked off.
Not crazy, Jamie thought. Eccentric, definitely. But also unselfish, compassionate and caring. He decided not to voice this. Max Tipping didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d appreciate being corrected.
He followed Max outside.
For the first time since starting his investigation, he was alone with Max Tipping. The man was within reach. It was the break he’d been waiting for and he needed to capitalise on the situation. But how? Think, he told himself.
‘So… did you enjoy the party on Saturday?’ he said, jogging to keep up. ‘It was quite the shindig.’
Things must be desperate if he was using words like ‘shindig’. Be more casual, he told himself. Like two blokes chatting down the pub.
‘Your mate looked like he was having a good time. Hylton, isn’t it? He can sure knock back the booze. Is he a friend from school?’
But Max Tipping clearly wasn’t interested in engaging in small talk and kept walking.
Jamie needed another way in. Something contentious. Something that would provoke a reaction. …And then it came to him. He could use his recent research into insider trading.
‘Shocking news about Stephen Richards, isn’t it?’ he said, struggling to keep pace with the man, and hoping he was up-to-date with the goings-on at Forsythe Banking Group. There’d been extensive coverage on all the news channels, so the man would have to be a hermit not to be aware of the latest scandal to hit the banking sector.
