Page 52 of Never Gonna Happen

‘We agreed no weekdays,’ said Emily, her breath catching as his fingers trailed down to her waist.

‘I know, but you’re here now. And you’re away this weekend, how long do you expect me to wait?’ His left hand cupped the back of her head as he kissed her, whilst his right hand deftly undid the top button of her jeans and disappeared inside.

‘I’m not sleeping here,’ said Emily, her eyes closing in ecstasy as his fingers slid inside her and began a slow and steady rhythm.

‘I certainly hope not,’ whispered Jamie, ‘sleeping was very much not on my agenda.’

‘Oh God,’ she gasped, fumbling with the zip on his jacket. ‘You have far too many clothes on.’

Jamie smiled and gently removed his hands, his eyes full of mischievous intent. ‘That’s easily fixed,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘Gin and tonic,’ said Emily’s dad, putting a drink down in front of her, ‘in a glass the size of a baby’s head.’

‘They’re all like that these days,’ said Carol. ‘There’s about fifteen ice cubes in there.’

‘Not like the old days,’ continued Martin. ‘Ten years ago this place would have given you a Gordon’s and Schweppes in a half-pint glass. You’d have to beg and plead for a slice of lemon.’

‘There’s too much choice now,’ muttered Carol. ‘Two whole shelves of gin, all those flavours. Rhubarb and ginger, for Christ’s sake. Tastes like a boozy crumble.’

‘Six different tonics,’ added Martin. ‘Bloody pink grapefruit slices. My car’s got a lower spec than that drink.’

Emily rolled her eyes at Kelly, who drained her pint and picked up the second one. Every visit to the White Lion now evoked nostalgia for the old days when you’d come for a cheap pint, a game of darts and the inevitable fight at closing time. Emily had drunk her first illicit cider in here, bought by Simon when she was fourteen. They’d celebrated decades of birthdays, anniversaries and graduations in this corner by the window, but Emily had no problem with a bit of gentrification if it decreased the odds of being stabbed.

‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ she said. ‘Sorry I can’t be here on the day.’

‘Ah, that’s OK,’ said Carol mistily. ‘It’s nice to see you so soon after Christmas.’

Emily glanced at Kelly, who gave her a nod of encouragement. She’d spent the afternoon with her best friend and offloaded the truth about Jamie’s parentage and the upcoming trip, although she didn’t bother mentioning the Christmas charade. What was the point? She and Jamie were together now, so all that was old news.

Emily cleared her throat. ‘So, I have something to tell you all.’

Carol’s mouth fell open in horror. ‘Oh my God, you’re pregnant. I told you, Martin. I told you this would happen if she moved to that place.’

‘What?’ howled Emily. ‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘What is it then? Are you getting married?’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Has Jamie dumped you? Your brothers will kill him.’

‘Jesus, Carol,’ hissed Martin. ‘Can you let the girl speak?’

Carol sat back in her seat and pressed her lips together as Kelly’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

‘I told you that Jamie worked in the stables at Bowford Manor,’ said Emily. ‘Which he does. But there’s something else you need to know.’

‘Is he part of a crime family?’ shrieked Carol. ‘Is that why his dad’s in prison? Oh my God, Moo, what have you got caught up in? Is it drugs, or people-smuggling? I read this book about a woman who swallowed all this cocaine in rubber johnnies and then . . .’

Emily held up her hands. ‘Mum, please. Just stop. Jamie is Mr Hunter’s son.’

Carol was silent for a moment while she processed this new information. ‘What, Mr Hunter who owns the house? The multi-millionaire? Jamie is his son?’

‘Yes. Well, actually Mr Hunter has two sons. Jamie is the younger one.’

‘Ooh, so close,’ said Martin, grinning at Kelly.