I can’t cure him. I could never give him his life back. But Beatrice is right: there must besomethingI can do.
Chapter 19
Beatrice
Aknock at the front door stirs me from my nap and as soon as my eyes open, my body aches with the realisation that I’ve been asleep on the old sofa for at least the last hour. I don’t bother to jump up to answer it; it’s likely someone coming to ask Nan about the village bake sale, or one of Grandad’s mates come to have a look at his greenhouse to scout out their competition for the village fete. He’ll never tell them he buys his prized marrows from a fella he knows in Yorkshire, so he always keeps a few decoys planted.
In the last few days I have essentially become nocturnal. Working like a thief in the night to finish work without the threat of being seen by anyone else, and then sleeping my way through the day alongside my grandad who snores throughCountdownin his armchair.
I think I’ve finally lost the plot. At least that’s the onlyexplanation for kissing Arthur Cavendish like I’m some horny groupie. I don’t even like the guy, let alone have any desire to put my body on his in any way, so I’m pleading temporary insanity. My dad always said the women in his family were crazy, or eventually went crazy, so at least I can blame my severe lack of judgement on whatever faulty genes he’s passed on to me.
The reminder of that night rips through me and I bury my burning face into one of the ten scatter cushions my nan has stacked on this two-seater. I’m hoping that groaning into its feathers will relieve my prolonged embarrassment in some way.
‘You all right, duck?’ My nan enters the room and I sit up, white spots floating in my vision from the thick cotton cushion cover pressing into my eyes for so long.
‘Yeah, who was at the door?’ Blinking through the blurry splodges, I finally see her, her white hair with the odd strand of black twisting through it, but it’s not her that my attention settles on.
She doesn’t need to answer my question, the answer is beside her peering around the doorway. Arthur clutches the doorframe with a wide palm and I rush to draw my dressing gown tighter around my body, though every inch of my skin feels as though it’s on fire.
‘It’s your friend from up at the farm.’ My grandmother winks not very subtly on the word ‘friend’. Unless Tracy has told her, she has no idea aboutthatnight, she just believes that any man under the age of thirty-five who steps foot in this village is an eligible bachelor. She does the same thing every time the postman comes to the door and he’s got three kids and B.O.
Trying to scrape all of the hair back into my ponytail, it all just springs back to its crazy state and I dread to think how I look from Arthur’s perspective in this moment. He only grins, tucked away behind my nan as though using her as protection, knowing I can’t shout or swear at him in her presence.
‘Hi.’ He waves, and I roll my eyes instinctively, trying not to let my guard slip despite the knot of anxiety tugging at my stomach.
‘Do you fancy a cuppa, duck?’ Nan places a hand on Arthur’s arm and he smiles sweetly at her and I’m almost concerned that his uncommon good looks around these parts are going to be enough to turn even my grandmother into a blushing teen.
‘I’d love one, please.’
‘Milk, sugar?’ She flushes as she starts for the kitchen, and fans her face with the tea towel she must have had in her hands when she answered the door.
‘Just milk for me, please,’ Arthur says, taking her place in the living room and inching closer to me.
‘Of course, you’re far sweet enough as you are.’
That’s it, I’m telling my grandad as soon as he’s home. She practically skips to the kitchen and, without being invited, Arthur squeezes in beside me on the sofa, then looks around the room with wide-eyed curiosity.
Clutching my dressing gown ever tighter, I am suddenly very aware of the fact that I have yet to brush my teeth today, so as I speak, I try to open my mouth as little as possible. ‘Why are you here, Arthur?’ My words are slurredfrom the awkward positioning of my mouth and that only makes him lean in closer to try his best to hear.
‘What’s wrong with your mouth?’ He leans closer still, and I press my lips tightly together and try and murmur ‘nothing’ without moving them. ‘What are you doing?’ He leans closer still until I have no other option than to spring to my feet and show him the full length of my Christmas pyjamas.
‘What are you here for?’ I grunt, suitably humiliated.
‘I’ve been thinking about, you know … the other day.’ It’s his turn for his cheeks to redden.
‘Kissing you was a mistake, shouldn’t have happened, will never happen again,’ I rush before he can say anything of the sort. And, of course, Nan chooses this moment to come and place two mugs of tea on the coffee table. She bends down as slow as she possibly can without getting stuck and casts me a sparkling sidelong glance.
‘I’ll leave you kids to it. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’ She winks again and I can imagine she’s resisting the urge to clap her hands together with a little celebratory jump.
‘Okay, now that’s been said, are we done here?’ I fake a cough. ‘I’m poorly.’
‘Wow, you’re a worse actor than I am.’ Arthur leans back against the sofa and slings one arm over the cushions, making himself comfortable. ‘I actually wasn’t going to mention you kissing me but since we’re on the topic—’
I cut him off abruptly. ‘Nope. Just hurry up and say what you actually came for so I can go and tell my nan tocancel the fascinator she has definitely just ordered for the wedding she’s planning for us.’
‘I like her.’ A smug grin tugs at his lips. Oh, he’s enjoying this. Too much.
‘Arthur.’ I huff, resisting the urge to stamp my feet like a child.
