The Impulse Purchase, page 32
But the time wasn’t right. Not yet. She was starting to build a world that she was at the centre of, that she was in control of, that had her future at the heart of it. A life that was the best it could be for her and Gertie. Being with Aaron might put that off kilter. And although she thought the world of him, being with him dazzled her a little. She had to get the balance right first.
But she didn’t want to lose him.
‘I don’t think I’m ready,’ she said. ‘Not yet. Can you wait?’
He squeezed her hand, not answering for a moment.
‘Of course,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘I need to sort my life out. I want to be the right person. For you,’ she said.
‘You’ve always been the right person for me,’ he smiled. ‘But I get it. You need to be the right person for you.’
Of course that’s what she meant. And of course he understood.
Behind Aaron, she saw Cherry’s car draw up.
‘I have to go. My grandmother’s here,’ she said, but she didn’t move. He ran his thumb over her wrist and she wondered if he could feel her pulse. It would be too easy to just fall into his arms and take everything he had to offer. She’d spent enough time relying on other people. She had to make sure her future was solid, and that she could stand on her own two feet.
‘That night in the garden, I wanted to kiss you so much,’ he said.
She laughed, remembering how much she had wanted to kiss him too, but had panicked. ‘It was Midsummer’s Eve,’ she told him. ‘Do you know the poem?’
‘No,’ he said. And she told him.
‘Rose leaves, rose leaves
Rose leaves I strew
He that will love me
Come after me now.’
He smiled. ‘Don’t make me wait too long,’ was all he said.
When they got home, Rose fetched Gertie from Dandelions and they went down to see how the chickens were getting on. They were so much bolder and braver than they had been when they first arrived, striding out confidently, basking in the sun. Their feathers were already starting to grow back, covering over the bald patches of pink on their poor little bodies. Rose helped Gertie scatter some chick crumbs for them, then went to see if there were any eggs.
She felt at peace here, in the sun, the soothing sound of the hens singing away to each other, Gertie chuntering away to them. As she sat there, watching her girls venture further from the coop, stretching themselves out, interacting with each other where once they had been wary, kicking up the dirt, she thought about what had happened that afternoon. It was thrilling, and overwhelming, but at the same time she reflected on how Aaron made her feel safe, for she trusted and respected him more than anyone, apart from her own family. He would be good for her.
As soon as she was ready. She had a lot to organise, a lot to arrange, but knowing Aaron might be part of her future gave her the courage to take the next step.
51
‘Oh. My. God.’ Maggie heard the bike before she saw it. She was standing in front of the pub, a trifle self-conscious, wondering if she had chosen the right outfit: old faded Levis, chunky suede boots and a baggy Rolling Stones sweatshirt, her hair tied in a plait at the side. Practical, certainly, for a motorbike ride and a picnic on the moors. Did she look like a rock chick, or did she look like mutton?
It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. This wasn’t a real date, just a charade, a bit of fun for two people who weren’t ready for anything more serious. Nevertheless, she felt a thrill go through her as Russell roared into the car park and came to a halt in front of her. The bike seemed huge: a sculptural tangle of silver, black and red metal. He swung his leg over the saddle and got off, removing his helmet and shaking out his shaggy hair, loping over in his leathers.
‘Hey,’ he grinned. ‘All set to jet?’
‘I think so,’ said Maggie, feeling a tiny bit of doubt creep in. This was real. She was going on the back of a motorbike. A big one.
He opened his pannier and handed her a helmet and a leather jacket. ‘Stick those on,’ he said. ‘And let’s go.’
She fumbled with all the fastenings, trying to put them on, her stomach churning, wondering if it was too late to back out. The bike looked much bigger than she had imagined, a huge silver exhaust to one side.
‘What is it?’ she asked politely.
‘Ducati 900SS,’ he told her, but he could have said anything, as it meant nothing.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said, not sure what the right adjective was to use, and thinking that liking its colour probably wasn’t a cool thing to mention.
He just nodded. ‘Ready? Hop on behind me and just hold on. Try and relax and go with me. When I bend, bend with me. It’s all about balance.’
Shit, thought Maggie. She was going to be like a sack of potatoes on the back. This was going to be totally humiliating.
‘OK,’ she managed to squeak, her mouth dry.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it. Just tap me on the shoulder if you want to stop.’ He gave her a grin. ‘Right, let’s give the village something to talk about.’
He climbed back on, and Maggie got on behind him, feeing rather inelegant. She found it disconcerting being so close to his leather-clad solidity, but she could hardly inch away. She rested her hands tentatively on his waist.
And then suddenly the bike roared into life and they were off, gliding across the car park and onto the main road through the village. It was faster than she could have imagined – or at least it felt like it; he wouldn’t be going over the speed limit, after all. She reminded herself he’d been a traffic cop. If she was going to go for her first motorbike ride with anyone, he was the best choice, but she was so terrified, so tense, she couldn’t see if anyone saw them as they roared through Rushbrook.
The tarmac beneath rushed past them. She wanted to shut her eyes, but that would be worse. They went over the bridge on the outside of the village, and she thought her stomach had been left behind. They reached a bend in the road and he leaned over to take it and she tried to go with him, hoping and praying she wasn’t going to upset the balance, even though it was counterintuitive to lean over.
There was a straight road in front of them and he went up a gear. She didn’t think she could take the stress of the acceleration, the speed, the horrible sense of being completely out of control. One false move and it would be all over. Just touch him on the shoulder, she told herself, and it will stop. You will be safe.
But she didn’t want to chicken out. They were heading out towards the moors now, following the river as it hugged the side of the road. She started to relax a tiny bit. Started to second guess when he was going to lean to one side or another. The tightness in her throat started to ease and the panic subsided. She actually started to breathe. Fields, trees and hedgerows flew past. Houses loomed up then disappeared behind them. They travelled on and she eased her grip, relaxed the tension in her legs. On and on they drove, eating up the miles, the sun in front of them, urging them onwards.
Eventually they passed over a cattle grid and the wilds of Exmoor lay in front of them, acres of undulating ground smothered in gorse and heather which seemed to spread out to infinity. There seemed to be no one else for miles, nothing but the swallows swooping overhead. For a moment, Maggie imagined she was the wild and passionate Lorna Doone, riding across her family’s ancient land to escape her arranged marriage. Her grandmother Catherine had given her the book when she was young, and she had read it over and over in the spare room at Wisteria House when she went to stay.
And now Russell was taking a tiny road off the main track, riding down towards a stone bridge stretched across a shallow river. He pulled into the side and stopped, taking off his helmet.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘The perfect picnic spot.’
Maggie jumped off the bike. Her legs felt a bit wobbly from the tension, but she felt giddy with relief, and exhilarated by the isolated beauty of the spot.
‘Is this still the Rushbrook?’
‘It is. We’ve just followed the river over the moors. You could walk back home along it, if you wanted. Come on.’
She followed him down to the grass by the edge of the river. The water was shallow, burbling happily over the flat stones. Dragonflies hovered and darted in front of their eyes. She breathed in the air, sharp with the scent of gorse and the earthy drift of pony. They sat down, and Russell pulled refreshments out of his pannier: a giant sausage roll each, and a bottle of apple juice which he poured into tin mugs. A simple picnic, but every bite and every sip was delicious, perhaps because she was grateful to have survived the journey.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been here, even though I spent most of every summer in Rushbrook with my grandparents,’ Maggie admitted. ‘It’s glorious.’
‘This is where I come when I want to be alone,’ Russell told her. ‘When I want to think. You know.’
‘I do know,’ said Maggie. ‘Though I actually hate being on my own. I crave people. Being on my own makes me panic.’
‘It’s people who make me panic. Most people,’ he added, looking at her, and she blushed, not sure what he meant. ‘I had enough of them in the police. It was part of the job, you know, to work out how people tick. And I saw a lot of things I didn’t like. I had to get out before I lost all faith in human nature. Divorce didn’t help, on top of it all. My daughter says I’ve become a miserable bugger.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I found the opposite. People were amazing to me after Frank died. I couldn’t believe how kind they were.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can help me restore my faith.’
They locked eyes, and she was hypnotised. She couldn’t deny how drawn to him she felt. He was strong, still, a slab of sturdy Yorkshire stone. But there was vulnerability there too, in his confession. He had been hurt.
Suddenly his eyes lit up and he nodded behind her.
‘We’ve got visitors,’ he laughed, and she turned to see a pair of Exmoor ponies staring at them from a few feet away. It broke the tension, eased her inability to know what to say.
When he’d finished eating, he folded his leather jacket up for a pillow and lay back with his arms behind his head. He had on a black t-shirt, and she could see the chiselled curve of his biceps. She was overwhelmed with an urge to lie down next to him, to rest her head on his chest so she could feel his heartbeat through the thinness of his t-shirt. But instead she lay down at a respectable distance, feeling the heat through the dry, springy grass underneath her.
They lay there for a while, staring up at the sky, the clouds drifting gently above, the sound of the river dancing past.
‘This is heaven,’ he said, making her jump. ‘It’s nice to get away from the pigs. Not that I don’t adore every single hair on their chinny chin chins.’
‘So why pigs, anyway?’ She was intrigued to know more about his story.
‘Pigs are great. I’ve always loved them. I lived near a pig farm when I was a kid and helped out in the holidays. So I already knew my stuff. And it was always my dream, to have a little smallholding when I left the police.’
‘So it’s a dream come true?’
‘I guess so. Life’s got a nice rhythm to it. Pigs let you be yourself. I love looking after them. It’s the selling bit I hate. But I have to make money, otherwise there’s no point. I find it hard, though. Being pushy.’
‘I can help you with that.’
‘What?’
‘It’s what I do. Well, what I did. Marketing. Sales targets. Distribution.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded pleasantly surprised. ‘Well, if you can give me some sort of kick up the arse. My daughter’s always going on at me to be more business-like.’
‘The big mistake is ticking over without any strategy.’
He laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing. I haven’t got a clue.’
‘I’ll lick you into shape.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
His voice sounded sleepy, and she wasn’t sure if the teasing note in his voice was innuendo. The sun was beating down on her, but it was a heat from inside that was making her bones melt. She turned her gaze to look sideways at him. His eyes were tight shut. She could see the rise and fall of his chest and felt a sudden, visceral longing.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ His voice made her jump.
‘Um, I don’t know.’ Probably not.
‘We ought to head back soon. Those pigs will be ravenous.’
She didn’t want to go. Ever.
‘I’m ready when you are.’
She sat up and grabbed a bottle of water, slaking her thirst, and he stood up and shrugged on his jacket, blocking the sun. She could see his bare stomach as he lifted his arms. She looked down at the ground, thinking she might have to throw herself in the river or she would spontaneously combust. She gathered up the remains of the food and tidied it away.
‘Well, it’s been lovely,’ she said, thinking how prim she sounded.
‘Aye,’ he said, putting everything back in the pannier.
The sun seemed to slip in the sky, turning it to a deeper petrol blue. A small pony standing nearby gave a dismissive toss of its head, as if in solidarity with her, as if to say, ‘You win some, you lose some.’ Maggie tried to swallow down a sense of disappointment, telling herself that there had been no expectations, that the deal had always been no strings, no benefits.
As she climbed on the bike behind Russell, the leather of his jacket scorched her, even though she tried to keep a sedate distance. She longed to lean right in and mould herself to his back. As the bike roared away, leaving a trail of dust on the moor, the audience of ponies scattered and Maggie clung on to his waist, concentrating on trying to stay alive.
Russell’s bike swooshed over the pale gravel in front of The Three Swans and came to a standstill. Maggie felt a little self-conscious as she slid off the seat behind him. It was nearly six and before long the bar would be coming to life as people dropped in for a riverside aperitif or an after-work sharpener, but luckily there was no one there yet to see her rather inelegant scramble. She shimmied out of the jacket and helmet Russell had lent her, conscious that she was looking less than her best as she shovelled them back into his pannier. When she went to thank him, he was holding his helmet under his arm, his legs astride the bike, his hair perfectly tousled, looking infuriatingly cool and collected.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for a lovely afternoon.’
He didn’t reply. He just looked at her. Then the side of his mouth lifted into a teasing smile. And she saw his eyes glimmer, as if someone had tipped a tube of sparkly glitter into them. She took in a sharp breath. She could feel electricity shoot along their eyeline, backwards and forwards, drawing her towards him.
For crying out loud, just kiss him, a voice in her head said. He wasn’t looking at her as if he was dying to get away. He’d be long gone if he wasn’t waiting for her to do something. She remembered that protective barrier that widowhood put around her. The one that even Mario respected. She had to make the first move.
Just as she found her nerve, and moved forwards to kiss him, Chloe came round the corner, ready to start her shift. Maggie stepped backwards, awkward, laughing nervously. She couldn’t be seen in flagrante in the pub car park by her youngest member of staff. It was totally inappropriate.
‘I’ll see you soon, then,’ she said instead.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Very soon, I hope.’
And he gave her a wry grin and a little shrug, as if acknowledging that if it wasn’t for Chloe, things might have taken a different direction. She smiled back as he slid on his helmet and started the engine. It roared through her. She watched him drive away, her heartbeat gradually lowering, slightly dazed, utterly bewitched and feeling more alive than she had done for a very long time.
Maggie headed back into the pub on trembling legs. Inside, she saw Cherry sitting at a table, her head in her hands. Her pace quickened as she walked towards her mother, filled with alarm.
‘Mum?’
Cherry looked up, her face drawn, her eyes filled with anguish.
‘I can’t do this any more,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
‘What?’ Maggie sat down next to her and took her hands. ‘What is it, Mum? What’s happened?’
‘It’s your dad,’ said Cherry. ‘I’ve been so selfish. I didn’t think about him at all in any of this, and . . . I think I’ve lost him, Maggie.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s Dad. He adores you.’ Maggie couldn’t imagine any scenario where Mike would turn his back on Cherry.
‘I’ve pushed him too far.’ Tears sprang into Cherry’s eyes. ‘He’s had enough.’
‘Have you had a row?’ Her parents never rowed, thought Maggie. And Cherry never cried.
‘Not a row exactly. But he’s thinking about putting Admiral House on the market. Doing his own thing. He’s gone to Berlin.’
‘For good?’ Maggie looked appalled.
‘To see someone about an exhibition. But maybe for good. I don’t know. But I need to do something.’ Cherry looked around the pub. ‘This has been amazing but it’s not worth losing Dad for. I belong with him. He’s right – I left him out in the cold. I got carried away with this . . . crazy impulse purchase and forgot what really matters. Us. Me and him.’
‘You can talk about it. You still love each other.’
‘Of course we do. But I don’t think there’s room for me and Dad and the pub in our lives. I’m going to have to sell. Not straight away – I want a few months’ profit first to get the best price—’
‘Wait,’ said Maggie. ‘You’re doing it again. You’re moving too fast.’
‘I’m terrified of losing him.’
‘You won’t. I know you won’t.’
‘But this is all-consuming. And I need to be with him. ’
‘So let me take over.’ Maggie was calm. ‘I was already thinking that you wouldn’t want to be here indefinitely. And that the logical thing would be for me to buy you out. So why don’t I do that sooner rather than later?’
