Page 38 of The Only Way Is Up

‘Ouch,’ said Daisy. There was a story there – perhaps they hadn’t approved of Gerald, or perhaps they were just the kind of people who didn’t think girls were worth very much.

‘What about you?’ asked Melanie. ‘Is your dad still alive?’

Daisy hesitated. The story of her father wasn’t in the public domain – she and Stella never talked about him to the press, mostly because they didn’t know much, but also because neither of them wanted him to be tracked down. He’d been a whirlwind romance who wandered into the Waste Not, Want Not café where Stella lived and worked in the spring of 1978, then wandered out again a few days later and was never seen again. All Stella knew was that his name was Karl and he was a German Erasmus student. By the time she realised she was pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it. So Stella went it alone with the help of friends and extended family, and Daisy learnt early on never to mention him. Three glasses of wine down was definitely not the time to start.

‘I have no idea,’ she said vaguely. ‘We’re not in touch. But what about you? What made you leave Suffolk?’

Melanie took the hint and moved on. ‘I moved out as soon as I finished my A levels, couldn’t wait to escape. I lived in a shared house in Battersea with four other girls while I trained as a secretary.’

‘That sounds kind of fun.’

‘It was, actually,’ said Melanie wistfully. ‘Five penniless girls sharing a house full of wet laundry, empty vodka bottles and a trail of worthless boyfriends.’

‘I’m actually jealous.’

Melanie laughed. ‘It was fun. I moved out after a year and lived with my boyfriend for a while.’

‘Then what?’ Daisy topped up Melanie’s glass.

‘Then I met Gerald.’

Daisy’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. ‘You can tell me about that later,’ she said, standing up to fetch it only to realise she wasn’t entirely stable on her feet.

‘We really should think about some food.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In the headmaster’s house in Shipton Combe, Tom sat in front of the wood burner and gently scratched between Henry’s ears. He’d been unable to get Daisy out of his head all day, wondering how she felt about what had happened in his kitchen last night. Did she regret the kissing and plan to head straight back to London after her holiday in a flurry of embarrassment, or was she also imagining a time in the future when they might do it again, but naked? Tom was definitely focusing on the naked stuff, even though he was well aware that any relationship between them was a no-no. Daisy was TV Presenter of the Year and queen of London’s red carpet, despite the wardrobe debacle at the NTAs. She was also engaged to an extremely handsome sporting hero, whereas Tom was a messed-up headmaster of a struggling independent school in the arse end of nowhere. Very much not a match made in heaven. But those kisses had definitely meant something. He knew they did.

My God, thought Tom grinning. I kissed Daisy Crawford. No, not Daisy Crawford. He’d kissed Daisy. She wasn’t the glamorous TV personality; she was the funny, gorgeous woman who was happy being in his kitchen in no makeup and a red bobble hat and mittens. They felt like two very different people, somehow.

He picked up his phone and tapped out a WhatsApp.

Hope you had a good trip. Been thinking about you today.

He stared at it for a while, then deleted it, then typed it again.

Hope your trip was good. Kitchen feels empty today.

The second version felt less needy, more like a secret joke between them that nobody else would understand. He took a deep breath and pressed send, then stared at the two grey ticks for a full minute until they turned blue. Dots appeared, indicating that Daisy was replying.

Here safely. Melanie and I have accidentally got drunk. Kitchen here entirely open plan, no good at all

Tom smiled and felt a liquid warmth in the pit of his stomach. It was enough to keep him going for now, and he didn’t want to be the kind of person who messaged incessantly and made her feel under pressure to reply. He typed another message.

Have a good week, see you when you get back

Will do. Can you maybe check in on Gerald at some point? Reassure him that his wife and son are in safe hands?

I’m having dinner with Justin and Marcus later, I’ll pop over first

You are lovely, thanks x

‘Hot’, ‘irresistible’, ‘my idea of a perfect man’ – all of those would have been preferable. But in the absence of those, ‘lovely’ would definitely do.

Tom found Gerald in the freezing cold rectory, halfway through a shepherd’s pie that Melanie had left in the fridge. She’d left cooking instructions sellotaped to the door, along with details for all the other meals she’d made that were currently in the freezer. How long to defrost, which oven of the AGA to put it in, how long to leave it for. He offered Tom a glass of wine, then waved at him to sit down at the kitchen table.

‘Melanie’s made sure I won’t starve,’ he said with a grim laugh.