But Cass was already moving again, grabbing a broom to clear the debris the water had brought in with it. Thom, Zenya, and Priya dutifully followed suit.
Realising they could be settled in here for hours, Rita slouched in one of the beanbags in the Nook, watching the rain hammer down outside. Thunder continued to roll around like a growling bear.
‘When is that wedding again?’ Imogen asked, making herself a coffee from the machine. ‘It’ll take a lot to clear that mess up.’ She gestured vaguely at the barn. ‘And I guess as you’re not that experienced, you can’t cut any corners… needs to be perfect for the bride’s big day.’
As if matching Rita’s wrath, a flash of lightning streaked through the window, and then another huge clap of thunder rolled overhead. She took a slow breath and replied sweetly, ‘Sennen is incredibly good at her job. I’m just providing the facilities. The bride is older, too, so hopefully not as pretentious as some she’s had to deal with.’
‘Ooh, tell me about the difficult ones.’ Imogen looked gleeful.
‘You’ll have to ask Sen,’ Rita said dismissively, causing Imogen to sit back down at a crafting table and check her weather app.
Davie joined Rita in the beanbag area with a hot chocolate and a large pack of Haribo. ‘My mum used to make me and my sister hide in the understairs cupboard whenever there was a storm. Hence me being such a baby at the first sniff of lightning. Bless her… she was a right worrier when we were little.’
Rita tilted her head. ‘She’s not around anymore then… your mum, I mean?’
Davie gave a soft huff. ‘Oh, very much so. Mum and Dad are like love’s young dream still. Proper hand-holding-in-Tesco types.’
Rita smiled. ‘That’s lovely.’
Davie shrugged, his fingers grazing the sweets. ‘They’ve always loved me. Both of us. Me and my brother, that is. Properly loved us.’ He paused. ‘But being gay… school was far from easy. I got good at performing. Being the funny one. The loud one. The extra one.’ He glanced up at her. ‘TV just felt like a bigger stage. And I do love it. The buzz. The attention. But…’ He swallowed. ‘They don’t see the real me. Just a caricature. Aversion that’s louder, camper, shinier. And I’m not sure I want to be that anymore.’ Rita listened intently. ‘The trolling doesn’t help either,’ he added lightly, though his eyes said otherwise. ‘It’s taken my sleep, my peace… some days I don’t even recognise myself.’
Rita’s brow lifted slightly. ‘You’re twenty-six, aren’t you, Davie? You still have time to be whoever you want to be.’
He nodded, staring at the sweets as if they might offer answers. ‘Sweets, cakes…’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Drugs. Drink. I’ve tried filling the void with whatever’s nearest. But the drugs really don’t work, do they?’
Rita shook her head, steady and certain. ‘No, Davie. They don’t.’
The young man then suddenly leaped up and declared, ‘Shit! I need the loo; must be the fear or all this sorbitol!’
As he ran off, Odette hovered with a huge over-the-top sigh. ‘This could be a plot for a book. The protagonist is locked in an old outhouse, with only a vending machine for food and a load of strangers for company, whilst her canvas home for the week is being blown off the side of a cliff. Ooh, I almost feel like writing that down!’ She drifted off and picked up a magazine from one of the tables.
Then Rita’s phone buzzed. A text from Jago:
Just checking you’re all ok over there? Stan was on his way but got stuck behind a fallen tree. The cows are going crazy over here x
She put a hand to her heart. Of course she wasn’t OK. She hovered over the reply button, unsure if she should answer. Thoughts of the goats and the chickens hit her. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, yanking her coat on.
‘What’s up?’ Davie asked, walking back through and catching her in mid-motion.
‘I need to check on the animals…’
‘Your son’s here, isn’t he; can’t he sort them?’
Rita raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re right. I’ll message him. He can help me.’
‘Rita… he can do it on his own, or if you tell me what to do…’
‘I’m quite capable,’ she said, brushing him off.
‘But you look tired and it’s still blowing a hoolie out there.’
Her hand went to her head as her mind raced. What was Jago doing? He clearly wasn’t stuck behind a tree. Cosied up by the fire with Miss effing France? she wondered. Sitting on the sofa where they had made love countless times? She had asked him to tell her as soon as Miss France had gone. But knowing Jago, he wouldn’t send her off in this weather.
How could someone betookind, she thought. It reminded her of Sennen once talking about a date of hers, saying,But, Mum, he wastoonice. Rita had replied,Men being too nice is the only time we ever say that. We never say, ‘Ooh, that dinner was too nice,’ or ‘That perfume is too nice,’ or ‘That velvet coat in the window is too nice!’
But sometimes Jago was too nice, and it made her chest ache with frustration. And sometimes… too weak. Her blood practically boiled at the thought.
Lightning sliced across the sky again, matching the sharp twist of panic in her chest. Thunder cracked overhead. She drew in a slow breath, letting the storm roar through her senses.
