Page 60 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘And he’s a pretty big guy . . . to use violence.’

Ernie is nodding silently.

‘It’s disgusting.’

Spitting expletives, I sit back in my chair, watching Ernie eating his baked potato, trying to get my head round this new information. And to think I’ve been so civil to him. All the ladies on the tour think he’s so nice, but imagine what they’d think if they knew this!

‘Did Iris ever find out?’

‘No.’ Ernie shakes his head. ‘I didn’t tell her. I didn’t want her to think badly of her son, to be ashamed of him. I loved her too much for that.’

God, Ernie is such a nice man. This is heartbreaking.

‘I just made up some excuse that I was moving away, that I had a new job as a coach driver. Well, I couldn’t stay there, could I?’ Wiping clean his plate with a slice of bread, he looks up at me and sighs. ‘In fact, I haven’t told anyone this story until now – I didn’t want anyone to ever find out, in case it got back to Iris. But then, when I saw Spike again, well . . .’ he breaks off and shakes his head, I thought I should warn you, in case you were thinking of getting involved . . .’

‘Oh, no. God, no,’ I protest, shuddering.

‘If you don’t mind, could you keep all this to yourself? I’d hate for it to get back to Iris – she’d be devastated. And I don’t want any trouble from her son . . .’ he finishes, looking worried.

‘Of course I won’t say anything,’ I promise. Reaching across the table, I squeeze his sandpapery hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ernie.’

‘I know.’

I look at the little old man sitting opposite me. I’m shocked. Utterly shocked. I’ve never heard such a horrible story. I don’t know what to say. I’m dumbfounded.

‘Are you not eating that, dearie?’ All of a sudden the waitress makes a reappearance, her rosy-cheeked face looking at me inquisitively.

I glance at my lunch. The plate of cod and chips lies cold and practically untouched on the table. The mushy peas congealed. With everything that’s just happened I’d forgotten all about it.

‘Um, no . . . thank you,’ I manage to stammer. ‘I seem to have lost my appetite.’

Abruptly the café seems very stuffy and claustrophobic and I feel the urgent need to leave. My mind’s reeling. I don’t know what to think.

Mumbling my excuses to Ernie, I leave some money on the table and stumble outside. It’s bitterly cold and I take some deep breaths, trying to clear my head. But all I can think about is Spike. About how much I hate him. And how, at this moment, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever hated a person more.

Chapter Sixteen

After dinner our tour guide had planned an ‘evening of themed conversations on Jane Austen’, but I skipped it and went straight to bed. Partly due to the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to make the dessert, and partly because I am beginning to discover that whereas I might be a fan of Jane Austen – there are fans and then there are fans.

Propped up against my pillows, I’m reading instead. Or rather, I’m supposed to be reading, but in truth I’m staring at the pages of my book, my mind churning over what transpired this afternoon. I can’t stop thinking about it. Ernie’s revelation knocked me for six and I’m still trying to get to grips with it.

Spike, beating up Ernie?

I mean, I know he can be an asshole, but to hit a sweet little old man who can’t defend himself?

And yet, the more I think about it, the more it seems to make sense. The way Spike reacted to Ernie when he first saw him on the bus, Maeve’s odd behaviour after she’d spoken to Spike . . . and I know Spike’s got a temper because I saw him shouting at his girlfriend that first day in the parking lot. But to actually punch someone and break their nose? And just because they were in love with his mother?

God, it’s so dastardly. He’s like the villain in some book. It’s like some great big Shakespearean tragedy. Just think, Iris will believe Ernie deserted her, and all along he left because he loved her and was protecting her from the truth about her son.

My eyes prickle. Honestly, it’s just the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. It makes me want to burst into tears.

After I’ve punched Spike’s frigging lights out.

Hit by a hot burst of anger, I take a few deep breaths. Calm down, Emily, just calm down. So far I’ve managed to control my temper. I promised Ernie I wouldn’t tell Spike I knew. So all the way through dinner I was polite and cordial, smiling at his jokes, passing the gravy boat. But, God, it was hard. Trust me. I was this close to tipping the scalding-hot gravy all down his T-shirt. I resisted. But for how long?

Fighting back the temptation to jump out of bed, march down the corridor, bust into Spike’s room and pin him against the wall in a good cop, bad villian-type scenario, I turn back to my copy of Pride and Prejudice in an attempt to calm down. Which reminds me, I really must email Mr McKenzie tomorrow and tell him that we’ve got a faulty batch. After I got back from Winchester Cathedral I double-checked to make sure I hadn’t imagined the blank pages, but nope, they still remain blank. Obviously it’s some kind of printing error. Good job I discovered it, though.

Well, technically it was Mr Darcy, or rather the mystery man calling himself Mr Darcy – boom. There he is again. A snapshot of him in my head. Tall, dark and utterly gorgeous. Automatically my mind flicks back to yesterday afternoon, sitting on that bench outside the cathedral. I can hear his voice, smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his body right up close to me. And yet looking back now with a clear head and no racing hormones, the whole thing feels surreal, even if at the same time I can’t remember anything feeling more real.