скачать книгу бесплатно
Georgie shook her head slowly at Ella. She was winding her up, challenging her because she knew Georgie didn’t like to fail. Ever.
Ella raised an eyebrow, sensing victory. “It’s your call.”
And yeah, he was the real deal. “I’ll try and find him, ask him.” He’d say no. What was it he’d said? Don’t let having it all fuck you up? Something told her that Jake didn’t want it all, he never had. He’d always shunned the rich kids at school, kept his distance and kept his pride. And she had a horrible feeling that even flashing her posh frocks and posy job made him angry. He thought she was a rich, spoiled brat who just used people. He hadn’t had to say it, it was in his eyes, in that slightly judgemental tone he’d tried not to let creep into his voice. He’d taken her out on his bike because she’d asked, and because he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he didn’t want anything else to do with her.
Which could make this tricky. But she wanted to know why. Which made it even trickier. What did she care? He was a thug with a chip on his shoulder. Except he wasn’t a thug. Bugger.
She tried not to grin, look like she didn’t care either way. “If he says no, then it’s your turn to think of someone, Ella.”
“If he says no, then you’re losing your touch, wild child.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome. So where do we start?”
“We?” Georgie raised an eyebrow.
“We.” Ella folded her arms. “What does he do?”
“Do?”
“Can we cut the monosyllabic responses George, I know you’re smarter than that. What does he do, you know, for a job?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“So what did you two talk about then?”
“Talk?” She raised the eyebrows as high as they could go and looked at her friend as though she’d sprouted an extra head. “This wasn’t supposed to be the start of a beautiful relationship, Ella.”
“Sorry, I forgot for a moment there who I was talking to.”
Georgie stared at the ceiling. One thing she’d liked about this place when she was growing up was that everyone knew everybody else. And their business. Which she hated now, but… “I know somebody who is good at talking. Mrs Bea. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
“Walk?”
Georgie grinned at the way Ella was staring at her feet. Beautifully encased in her new, totally impractical, designer shoes. “Now who can’t string a sentence together?” She still wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but the damned man seemed to have taken residence in her head, and the only way to evict him was to see him in broad daylight when she was sober. Then he wouldn’t be the bad boy super stud she’d imagined. He’d be normal, boring and not in the slightest bit interesting at all. He probably had a weak chin, and spots. And a bad haircut. And he was probably so rough at the edges he wouldn’t even do for the shoot. “Let’s go hunt us down a biker boy.”
***
The sweet shop wasn’t quite how she remembered it. The bell still pinged when you opened the door, but that was about it. Obviously, just selling plain old sweets didn’t cut the mustard these days, you needed to sell them labelled as sugared candy or ‘Olde Worlde’ and replace the pocket money prices with wage packet ones.
And cuddly Mrs Bea had been replaced by a sullen girl with long, straight, blonde hair and a scowl. If she’d been in earlier she’d have known, but somehow since returning to the town sweets hadn’t been high on her priority list. Men kept the pounds off the hips, well at least the type she’d been after did, sugar put them on. So she’d concentrated on the boys.
“Wow, look at these George, I’ve not seen candy necklaces since I was a kid.” Ella was dangling a string of sweets from one finger, a wide grin on her face. “Hey, and sherbet dips, and have you seen this they’ve got gobstoppers.”
“Now I know what the expression like a kid in a candy shop really means.” Georgie rolled her eyes in what she hoped was a theatrical, and not a sarcastic, fashion. But Ella didn’t care, she was too busy skipping from one new delight to the next. Literally.
“Well my, if it isn’t little Georgina Hampton. And haven’t you grown up?”
Georgie spun round at the sound of the familiar kind but firm tone of Mrs Bea. Her hair was shorter, slightly more curled and the grey that had been creeping in last time they’d met had taken over. But the round face was instantly recognisable, the twinkling eyes surrounded now by a few more wrinkles. And the broad grin was the one she remembered. If Father Christmas had been a woman, he’d have been Mrs Bea.
Beatrice Stone and her sweet shop had been a childhood treat that no amount of hard knocks could make her forget.
“I’d heard you were back in town, dear.”
See, she’d been right. That was just typical of this place, everyone over the age of thirty probably knew where she was working, how long she was staying (even though she didn’t herself) and who she’d been talking to. And what she’d been doing on a motorbike last night. She felt the colour rise to a glow in her cheeks and felt like some naïve kid who’d been caught out kissing behind the bike sheds. Not that she’d ever actually done that when she was at school.
Mrs Bea chuckled and the temperature went up another notch, if that was possible. She was not, was definitely not, going to let coming back here send her back to her teens. She was stronger than that, she’d changed. She was who she wanted to be.
“So, you’re back at the old place then?”
“No, in the apartment.” She picked up a lollipop, turned it slowly in her fingers. “I didn’t want to stay in the house, it’s too big.” Not that it was hers to stay in any more. Bea would know, but Bea probably just wanted to know more. She glanced up and the older woman was watching her closely. “And they—” she wasn’t going to say the witches name again, “--had rented it out anyway.” She shrugged. Carol had been thrilled, almost orgasmic in her ecstasy, if that was possible for a woman her age and mass, when she’d told them she was going back home for the summer. And Alfie had looked totally relieved. He’d passed a half-hearted ‘are you sure that’s what you want’ then hadn’t waited for a response. Oh yeah, they couldn’t wait to get rid of her and the only fly in the ointment has been the fact that they’d put the house, her home, out on long term rent. But then he’d remembered it had an annexe, and he’d moved heaven and earth to get it cleaned up, decorated and aired for her. Amazing how fast people could move when they really wanted to get rid of somebody. Not that they knew why she was really going back. She’d wondered who the germ of an idea that had been growing in her head would frighten more, if she ever mentioned it, her or Alfie. He’d probably clam up, head her off if he knew. Like he always did when she mentioned anything to do with the past.
“And how are your father and Carol?”
“Fine.” She put the lollipop back, and ignored the question on Bea’s face. She wasn’t going to talk about them. It had been a long overdue parting of the ways, and she would have moved earlier if she’d had the money to do it. But she’d flunked school, so he made her stay on until she had at least some qualifications to her name. And, after that, the first year of her art course had been great, but then Carol had kicked up such a fuss that he’d forced her into some stupid college where she was supposed to learn some ‘life skills’, yeah how to woo and wed it should have been called, before finally giving up and letting her choose how she wanted to live her own life.
She could almost feel the scowl forming on her face. She hated him for giving in to her step mum and not letting her finish the art course. She’d actually liked that one, but after the incident with the teacher… She sighed inwardly, it wasn’t her fault he was hot and wanted a muse, well was it? Artists were like that.
Being stuck in the sticks with boring old Alfie, Carol and their brood of boring kids hadn’t been her idea of fun. Working for them in their crap company wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life either. Being back here for the summer was marginally better. They didn’t want her in their hair, any more than she had the urge to be there. But the stupid old fart had to get the last word in, if she hadn’t got a job sorted and a plan for the future by the end of the summer then she had to go back – to ‘discuss things’. Well, to hell with them. She’d walked into The Veneto just as the front of house was walking out. It had been perfect timing, fate. And with her upmarket, boarding school background, the polished finish that the stupid college course had given her, and clothes to match the clients, she’d slid into place like she’d been there forever.
And on the second day at work she’d bumped into Ella and her mates doing a shoot at the restaurant. She’d watched them for a while, then tentatively suggested a different, much better spot to take photographs and before she knew it she was unofficial location scout.
So ancient Alfie and catty Carol could take a hike. She’d got two jobs. And that was just the start.
“Fine?” Bea was studying her carefully.
Fine, as long as she could keep the fifty mile gap between her and them. She nodded.
“Well, it’s lovely to see you back, dear. I’ve missed you. Oh my, your friend has got a sweet tooth.” She chuckled, and Georgie turned to see Ella depositing an armful of sweets on the counter with a sheepish grin. The sullen blonde had miraculously transformed into the epitome of customer service when Bea had appeared. All smiles and ‘how can I help you?’
“They aren’t all for me.” Ella had realised they were watching her unloading her sugared bounty.
“Sure, I believe you.”
“They’re for the crew as well. Honest. They will love them.”
The crew. She was here for a reason, here because Bea knew everyone and everything that happened in this place.
“Mrs Bea, Bea, I was wondering, you don’t know where…”
“Rowena.”
“Sorry?”
“He’s out at Rowena’s place.”
Fuck it was worse than she’d thought. Bea probably did know about the bike. And everything that had happened. Oh Christ, she resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands.
“I wondered when you’d get round to asking.”
They had to be a coven of witches. They just had to be. All these respectable looking old women must get together around their modern day cauldron, or crystal ball, or whatever and watch what everybody was up to.
“On Marsh Lane.”
It took a moment to register. “Marsh Lane?” She stared blankly at the older woman. He couldn’t be there. He just couldn’t.
Bea opened the door for them. “Yes, dear.” She patted Georgie on the back. “I’m sure that place brings back memories, doesn’t it? I remember you going down there every spare moment you had.” Her voice was soft. Georgie stared, incapable of speaking, her throat tight, and her stomach hollow. She just stood there not sure what was supposed to come next, Ella nudging with her elbow, her hands full of enough sugar to put every kid in the village school on a high until Christmas.
“Sarah Dixon saw him dropping you off last night. Now you take care, won’t you? And pop in again soon. And you watch yourself with that Jake Harcourt, although he’s not the hell raiser he used to be.”
Georgie tried to push the shock of where he was aside. Concentrate on what was really important. Okay, maybe they weren’t witches, maybe just curtain twitching nosy neighbours. Thank Christ she hadn’t kissed him, or, she gulped. She’d asked him in. Heaven help her if he’d said yes. They’d have made the front page of the local newspaper and given the town enough ammunition for the reverberations to get all the way back to Alfie.
Except she was an adult. She was allowed to ask who she wanted in. And if she wanted a wild ride on his motorbike then she was perfectly entitled to do that too.
Bugger.
“Georgie, Georgie.” The sharp elbow in her ribs brought her back down to earth with an ouch. “What was all that about then? And can you grab some of these sweets off me please, pretty please?”
“You do realise you’ll explode if you eat this lot?” Georgie put a handful of the sweets in her pocket and stared at Ella, determined to focus on her, and not an image of Jake on his motorbike, on Marsh Lane.
“Have you seen these—?”
“I don’t want to see. I put on pounds just looking. I’ll walk back with you, then I need to get the car.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Nope.” She shook her head slowly to make sure Ella got the message. This was a trip down memory lane she had to take on her own. Firstly, because it was Rowena’s place which could stir up feelings she was sure she didn’t want to acknowledge, second because she had a horrible feeling the only plan she had for the future was about to be cocked up in a terminal way, and thirdly … well, thirdly she didn’t quite know what to make of the bad biker boy any more.
“Spoilsport.”
“You got it.” Next time she laid eyed on Jake Harcourt she wanted to be on her own, because every time the thought of that bike entered her head, which was pretty often, she felt an indescribable urge to be bad. Very bad.
***
Georgie had ditched the high heels in favour of a pair of old wellingtons she’d found in the outhouse and she’d pulled on an old sweater, jeans and a beret to keep her warm. The thick long scarf was because she hadn’t got a baggy enough jacket to go over the rest. So not front-of-house.
She sauntered slowly up the lane feeling liberated in the flat boots. When was the last time she’d walked anywhere? When was the last time she’d pulled on scruffy old clothes and just relaxed? She couldn’t remember. Life wasn’t like that anymore.
One kick of the crisp brown mottled leaves in the air and she was thrown, instantly, painfully, back to being a child again. A laughing, joking Georgie being chased by her father down this lane. Thrown up in the air until she squealed.
Swallowing the pang of sadness down, she blinked hard to clear the mist from her eyes. It was too long ago, she shouldn’t let an autumn day and walking down this oh so familiar lane affect her like that. It was just a road. It could be anywhere. But when she glanced up, the white puff balls of cloud scudding across a clear blue sky made her ache inside. A lump that hadn’t been there for a long time clutched at her chest, tightened her throat until it was hard to swallow.
One day it had been normal. The next it was screaming and tears. She’d never heard her parents swear before, or even argue, but now they’d used up a lifetime’s quota over the explosive week that it lasted. Then nothing. One last door banging and the war was over. A ghostly quiet and a father who systematically, scarily, smashed every plate in the house.
She’d wanted to yell at him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she ran away. Hid at the bottom of the garden under the safe canopy of trees until he came to find her. The next day he packaged her up like some unwanted gift that needed returning to the store. Took her away from her home, from her school, from her friends. Installed her somewhere bright, shiny and new. With the man who overnight had changed from the laughing dad into the alien Alfie and, too soon after, she’d been introduced to his dotty wife-to-be Carol.
She’d never even said goodbye to anyone or anything. That day he’d walked down the steps and put their suitcases in the boot of the car, rattled the gate to check it was secure then driven away without a backwards glance. The house that was her home had been locked up, locked out. Forgotten.
Her mother had never meant to get pregnant again, if she hadn’t she probably would have never said she was leaving with her toy boy. The man who made her feel wanted. The man she bought a plane ticket with and never looked back.
But shit happens, and sometimes it keeps happening.
Georgie opened the eyes she hadn’t realised she’d shut and looked down at the leaves round her feet. She stooped, picked up one of the shiny brown conkers from the road and rolled it round, the still waxy surface tacky against her fingertips, then closed her hand tight around it and shoved both her fists in her pockets. Slowing down to think about things was bad, ploughing on into the unknown, every day a different challenge was good. Kicking her way out of the crap that had closed in around her. She gave a last kick at the leaves, but this time it was an angry jab, that sent a pain though her toe. Great, just what she needed, a broken toe. She hobbled a couple of steps, at least this was a proper pain. Kicked her boot off and wiggled the toes experimentally, they moved so they couldn’t be broken, could they? She pulled her wellie back on with a sigh. Dawdling was just putting off the moment when she’d get there. Have to face him again and work out how to get what she wanted. It was time to kick ass, if her foot was up to it.
“Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? Twice in one week after not seeing you for years.”
“How could I stay away?” Keep her tone light was one thing, keeping her eyes off him was something altogether different. No-one should be allowed to look like that, Georgie decided. But at least the dread in her stomach when she’d turned into the place had been replaced with little fingers of anticipation that were reaching down a bit lower.
From the shadow on his chin he couldn’t have shaved since she last saw him, and the curls on his forehead were damp with perspiration. So was the T-black T-shirt that was clinging to his torso, just like she wanted to. He was gazing at her through dark lashes and the quirk to the corner of his mouth could have been amusement or something her dirty mind had made up.
Bugger.
“Did you forget something?” He’d ignored her comment, obviously used to being lusted after. But she was more than happy to up her game if she needed to.
“Call me nosy. I wondered what you got up to these days, when you weren’t handing out rides.”
This time he half grinned. What she was after, she supposed, except those little fingers in her stomach were firming up into more and tugging at something deep down in her stomach. Promising.
“I don’t tend to hand out seconds.”
“Arrogant bugger.” She laughed and the other side of his mouth joined in with the grin.
“If you’ve got it, why deny it?” He held out his hands wide, as though in submission and chuckled. Lord that chuckle was dangerous, it was practically making her toes curl, and causing all kinds of other havoc on its way down there.
“So, what do you do?” She glanced around, so that she had an excuse not to carry on staring at him. Being lured in, she needed to control this. Not just jump the man. There were neat fields either side, a barn at the end of the track and not much else from what she could see. The same old place that she remembered from all those years ago, but tidier. The same post and rail fence, still with the teeth marks.
Exactly the same teeth marks. She stared. This was worse than she’d thought. Her fingers curled, tight in her pockets until her nails bit into the palms of her hands. He shouldn’t be here, in this field. He should be in the next one along, nearer to Rowena’s, further from her memories. This wasn’t his place, it was hers. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to stop looking at the stupid fence.
Looked at something new. A neat white line of electric tape around the gateway to stop it becoming a muddy morass. Not that mud had bothered her last time she was here.
“I fix horses.”
“Fix? Come on, you’re not a vet.” He didn’t even like horses, he’d never liked horses or she’d have noticed when they were kids. They’d been her whole life back then.
“Wow, as sharp as ever I see, Sherlock.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood square. Damn, she was back to staring at him. “I fix their heads not their bodies, it’s all in the mind as they say.”
“What is?”
“The bogeyman, the monster hiding in dark places. That irresistible urge to run hard and fast.”
There was a trace of something darker in his voice, maybe something bitter, maybe just plain old irony. It wasn’t there long enough to pin down, but she sensed it. He shrugged, dispersed the tension she was sure she hadn’t imagined.
“Sometimes it can be a good idea to run.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but his face didn’t lift.
“Messes with your head if you don’t know why you’re running.” His eyes narrowed, sending out a fan of fine wrinkles towards his temples.
And she knew if she came out with it straight, why she was there, he’d be the one running hard and fast. She hadn’t quite worked out how to get round him yet, but the longer she looked at him the more she wanted him in the shoot. And she wanted it here too. It was part of him, and she didn’t want to separate the two. And it was part of her, a part that the ache inside her might want back. A sticking plaster for the soul as her gran would have said.
