The Trouble with Great Aunt Milly Page 5

  ‘Bet you could do with a drink,’ said Eric. ‘Thirsty work walking up here in this heat.’

  James followed him into the kitchen where they found Mandy chopping a red pepper.

  ‘Hi, James,’ she chirped. ‘I’m making your favourite – Mediterranean pasta. Hope you’re hungry.’

  ‘Starving,’ replied James, accepting the cold bottle of beer Eric had just pulled out of the fridge. ‘I forgot to have lunch.’

  Mandy rolled her eyes. ‘You are hopeless, James Pinkerton. How could you forget to have lunch?’

  James pulled out a chair and sat down at the battered pine table. ‘Come to think of it, it does sound a bit pathetic but I was so absorbed in the papers that I … well … forgot.’

  ‘Need a good woman to look after you, mate,’ said Eric, shaking a packet of kettle crisps into a bowl. ‘That’d sort you out.’

  ‘Think I’m a bit beyond that,’ chuckled James, helping himself to a crisp. ‘Anyway, how’s the wheeling and dealing going, Eric?’

  ‘Not bad,’ informed his host, plopping down in the chair opposite and stretching out his long legs. ‘Made a bit of a killing on a small company in South-East Asia this week. Just as well, given how much this wedding is costing us.’

  ‘Huh!’ protested Mandy. ‘You don’t know you’re born, Eric Mathews. Fifty guests in this day and age is a very small affair. You should think yourself lucky you’re marrying a simple country girl, not some wannabe WAG who spends ten-grand on a dress and wants whisking off to some exotic Indian Ocean island for her honeymoon.’

  ‘Phew!’ puffed Eric, winking at James. ‘Just as well you told me that now, Mand. I was about to book the honeymoon on an exotic Indian Ocean island. But if you’d rather stay here and muck-out the pigs ...’

  Mandy whipped up the tea-towel and was about to hurl it at her soon-to-be-husband, when there was a knock at the door. The two exchanged a conspiratorial look.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ announced Mandy, hastily wiping her hands on the tea-towel. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  As she scuttled off a seed of apprehension took root in James’ stomach. ‘Expecting someone else?’ he asked.

  ‘I, er, think Mandy might’ve mentioned something about inviting a new mate of hers,’ mumbled Eric, a smile tugging at his lips.

  All at once female chatter and laughter drifted into the room. As recognition struck him, James’ heart plummeted. Before he could say a word though, Mandy was back in the room, accompanied by Alex Corr.

  ‘Alex, this is my fiancé, Eric. Eric, this is Alex.’

  ‘Welcome to our humble abode,’ said Eric, thrusting to his feet and walking around the table to greet their guest.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Alex. ‘And thank you for inviting me.’

  ‘Our pleasure,’ said Eric, shaking her outstretched hand.

  ‘And you already know James,’ said Mandy, shooting him a meaningful look.

  ‘Of course.’ A smiling Alex turned to him. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Er, fine thanks,’ he mumbled, trying desperately to quell his rising panic. How could Mandy do this to him? He’d have serious words with her later; seriously serious words. In the meantime, how the hell was he going to get through the rest of the evening?

  ‘Take a seat, Alex,’ instructed Eric, pulling out the chair next to James. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘A glass of white wine, please.’

  As she sat down next to him, James couldn’t help but notice that her denim skirt rode up several inches, revealing an expanse of smooth brown thigh. He averted his eyes to the bowl of crisps.

  ‘Gosh, what a gorgeous cottage,’ she gushed, her sapphire-blue eyes roaming around the pale-yellow kitchen with its oak units, cast-iron range and Belfast sink. ‘It’s totally perfect.’

  ‘I wish,’ countered Mandy, now back at the bench resuming her chopping. ‘Believe me, it’s nowhere near perfect. Particularly when the resident cockerel wakes you up at four every morning and the wind’s whistling through the windows in the middle of February.’

  ‘Mandy tells me you’re staying at the Palmers’ cottage,’ said Eric, handing her a large glass of Chablis.

  She nodded, smiling her thanks as she accepted the drink. ‘I’m house-sitting for them. They’re friends of my dad and needed someone to look after the cottage while they’re in the States for a year. I have to admit I jumped at the chance of twelve months’ free accommodation, especially as I have no idea how my freelancing is going to go.’

  ‘Well, from what I’ve seen of your work, I don’t think you’ll have any problems there,’ assured Mandy. ‘Did I tell you we’ve asked Alex to take our wedding photos, James?’

  All eyes turned to James. ‘Wh-what?’

  ‘Alex is going to take the wedding photos for us.’

  ‘Oh, right. That’s, er, good.’

  ‘It’s more than good,’ said Alex. ‘I can’t tell you how chuffed I am. You really didn’t have to give me the job, though.’

  ‘Yes we did,’ countered Mandy. ‘Yours was the best portfolio we’ve seen. You should have a look at her pictures some time, James. You’ll be well impressed.’

  James cringed inwardly. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

  ‘Now don’t you go encouraging poor Alex here to show her etchings to all and sundry,’ chuckled Eric.

  While they all broke into giggles, a deep flush crept over James’ face.

  ‘You all right, mate?’ asked Eric. ‘You look like you’re about to pass out.’

  ‘Just a bit hot,’ he mumbled, running a finger around the neck of his T-shirt.

  ‘What you need is a big glass of wine,’ announced Eric, jumping to his feet and striding to the fridge.

  A glass won’t even touch the sides, concluded James dismally. If I’m going to get through the next few hours it’ll take a couple of bottles at least.

  The evening seemed interminable to James. While the others chatted, laughed and joked, something inside steadfastly reined him back. Every time he tried to speak no words came out; every time a witty comment popped into his head it promptly evaporated; and every time he attempted to join in the laughter his lips froze. Even his appetite had given up. All he seemed capable of was knocking back the wine - glass after glass of wine.

  ‘You’re not eating your pasta, James,’ Mandy remarked, as he toyed with his food. ‘It’s your favourite.’

  ‘Not hungry,’ he retorted, immediately chiding himself for sounding like a sulky six-year-old.

  ‘But you said you were starv-’

  ‘Another glass of wine, mate?’ chipped in Eric.

  James nodded gratefully. How much longer did he have to endure this torture? He proceeded to think of ways to extricate himself from the situation without looking a total arse and, more importantly, without Mandy seeing right through him. But it was Alex who eventually drew the evening to a close, setting down her empty glass and announcing:

  ‘Well, I guess it’s time I was going.’

  A rush of ice-cold dread coursed through his veins. Damn! He hadn’t planned for this scenario. And he had a horrible feeling of what might follow.

  ‘Goodness, it’s nearly half-past-one,’ remarked Mandy. ‘I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ said Alex, rising to her feet. ‘I’ve had a really lovely evening. Thank you so much for asking me.’

  ‘Not at all. We’ve enjoyed your company. You’ll have to come again.’

  ‘Next time you can all come to me,’ she offered. ‘I can’t promise my cooking will match your standards, Mandy, but I do knock up a mean spag bol.’

  ‘Spag bol, eh?’ chuckled Mandy knowingly. ‘That’s another of James’ favourites. Isn’t it, James?’

  He nodded dolefully.

  ‘Well, thanks again,’ said Alex. ‘I hope I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Oh, but you can’t walk back on your own,’ protested Mandy.

  James steeled himself.

>   ‘James will walk you back.’

  ‘Oh, there’s really no need. I’ll be fine, honestly.’

  ‘But he’s leaving now. You might as well go together. That’s okay with you, isn’t it, James?’

  No it bloody well isn’t. ‘Fine,’ he mumbled.

  Chapter 6

  Exasperated, frustrated, humiliated but, above all, pissed off, accurately summed up Matt’s feelings over the last few days should anyone have cared to ask. Not that anyone had cared to ask, least of all Francesca who was still barely speaking to him. His perfectly planned surprise to Raffaellas had been a complete failure.

  After announcing her sacking, Francesca had burst into tears and flown out of the restaurant leaving a bewildered Matt to face the accusing glare of onlookers. Just as he’d made to follow her, the smarmy waiter had appeared at the table and presented him with a bill.

  ‘But we haven’t even seen our order, never mind eaten it,’ Matt protested. ‘And you didn’t bring us any wine. We’ve been here less than five minutes.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Company policy. If you order it, you have to pay for it.’

  The ensuing heated debate culminated in Matt grabbing the man by the scruff of the neck and pinning him up against the wall. His unceremonious police escort from the premises had been accompanied by a rapturous round of applause. Never, in his entire life, had he been so humiliated. His only consolation was that Francesca hadn’t been around to witness the episode.

  Following a patronising lecture from the sour-faced policeman, Matt had headed home where he’d found Francesca in bed, eye-mask and ear-plugs making a blatant statement she wanted to be left alone. Devoid of any better ideas, he’d slipped back out and partaken of a few much-needed beverages in the local boozer. Returning a couple of hours later, several glasses of whisky sloshing about his system, he’d changed his mind. Eye-mask and ear-plugs did not mean she wished to be left alone. They meant she wanted Matt to wake her up and seduce her. Nothing, if not obliging, he’d sidled into the bedroom wearing only a grin, and was about to slip into bed when something bit him. Hard. On his big toe.

  ‘Ouch!’ he yelled. ‘That fucking dog! It has got to go.’

  At which point Francesca had woken up, burst into another torrent of tears, and relegated him to the spare room.

  All in all, it had not been one of his better days.

  *

  Since the supper evening at Mandy and Eric’s, James had been swamped with mortification. Of course in hindsight, he realised he’d had far too much to drink. The walk home with Alex had been nothing short of agonizing. While she’d babbled on about this and that, it had been all he could do to remain upright and affect the odd grunt. His crowning moment, though, had been when they’d reached her cottage.

  ‘Thanks for walking me back,’ she’d said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll probably see you around.’

  ‘Probably,’ he mumbled, before turning on his heel and running – as fast as he could in his inebriated state - down the street. What a prat! God only knows what she must think of him.

  Not that he really cared what she thought of him. Why would he? It wasn’t as if he had the remotest interest in her. Or any other woman. And he never would. Because what was the point when nobody would ever measure up to Olivia?

  James had met Olivia on his first day at Bristol University. As soon as he’d set eyes on her, with her flowing auburn hair, the cutest turned-up nose and her freckled face, he’d been besotted. And every day he’d spent in her company had served only to intensify his feelings; feelings which were, he discovered, very much reciprocated. They became an item, spending every minute they could together, which soon turned into days, weeks and months, given they were on the same course and sharing a house. Olivia became his best friend, his soul mate. She knew him better than he knew himself, knew what he was about to say just before he said it, and could read his mind so accurately that it had, on occasion, freaked him out. After finishing uni, they’d embarked on their foreign travels – sharing many ups and a few downs – the latter of which were all the more bearable because of her indefatigable calmness and sense of humour. She was the eternal optimist, always seeing the positive in everything. Even when they’d had their passports stolen in Rio, and an ostrich had taken a vicious peck at James in Kenya. Even when she’d first discovered the lump in her breast she’d smiled and joked her way through the plethora of tests, needles and hospital appointments. When the final diagnosis had been made and she’d been given weeks to live, she’d remained resolute. James had wanted to marry her there and then, to make her his. But she’d refused.

  ‘You have to get on with your life,’ she instructed him the day before she died. ‘But promise you won’t ever forget me.’

  And so James doggedly carried out his promise. He was getting on with his life. By moving to Little Crumpton he’d even created a new one. But, above all, he’d kept his vow never to forget her. Even five years on, there hadn’t been a single waking hour when an image of her beautiful freckled face hadn’t flashed across his mind, immediately followed by the familiar crash of grief. For some, time might be a great healer, but not for him. He knew he’d never heal, would never recover from losing the love of his life. When she’d died, just weeks before her twenty-ninth birthday, a large part of him had died too. A part he had no wish to resurrect. Ever.

  Until recently, Great Aunt Milly had been the only person in whom he’d confided his feelings. But last year, as a result of some rather potent mojitos he’d shared with Mandy and Eric, he’d found himself recounting the whole sorry tale. That they were now fully aware of his circumstances did, in his mind, make their behaviour all the more inexcusable. However determinedly Mandy indulged her passion for matchmaking, she should know that she was wasting her time. James had no intention of falling in love ever again because with love came pain. And James Pinkerton had had quite enough of that.

  Consequently, he’d severely reprimanded Mandy when she’d phoned the day after their supper evening.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that to me,’ he chided.

  ‘Did what? We simply invited another friend to supper; a newcomer to the village who doesn’t know anybody. Didn’t we do the same for you when you first arrived here? I really think you’re making too much of it.’

  Maybe he pondered as he hung up. But then again ...

  *

  Credit where it was due, Matt had to hand it to Mimi: she was one wise mutt. Not once since she’d bitten his toe, had she left Francesca’s side when he was around. She knew he was waiting for the moment when they were alone and he could exact his revenge. Although it had to be said, the desire for revenge was gradually waning. As it turned out, Mimi had done him a favour: Francesca had actually uttered a few words to him since the incident – not all of them pleasant, but it was a start. Still though, two days on, there’d been no sex, no physical contact of any nature. Anything remotely resembling affection had been stealthily wiped from the household agenda. At least her mumbling the odd word to him now and then was a step in the right direction. And if things continued to improve and went back to normal soon, it was worth a sore throbbing toe.

  Naturally, as any bloke being denied his conjugals would do, Matt had exploited the situation. He’d even dragged himself to the doctors for a tetanus jab – an idea of which he’d been particularly proud given his aversion to needles and having to pop two of Francesca’s Prozac beforehand. The manoeuvre had impressed her greatly. Well, perhaps not greatly, but at least enough for her to offer to drive him to the surgery.

  ‘Poor little baby,’ she clucked as Matt lay on the sofa, the affected foot resting on a pile of cushions.

  His heart leaped. A show of affection at last. If he played this right, he might be onto a winner tonight.

  He turned to her, a winsome smile playing about his lips.

  But she wasn’t looking at him. Her comment had been directed to Mimi, sitting in her basket, looking like butter-wouldn’t-melt. ‘Poor l
ittle baby must’ve been frightened half to death.’

  Matt opened his mouth to protest. He was the victim not the sodding dog. Just as quickly, he closed it again. It would only make matters worse and frankly what was the point? They had much more important things to discuss. Like their lack of cash and what they were going to do if he lost his job – particularly as she’d exhibited no signs of doing anything to turn around her income-less situation.

  He popped another painkiller before venturing, ‘Look, Fran. Do you think we could have that serious chat now?’

  She picked up Mimi and plopped down on the opposite sofa. ‘What chat?’ she asked disinterestedly, fiddling with the dog’s pink ribbon.

  Matt propped himself up on his elbows. ‘About our future … our finances.’

  She heaved an enormous sigh and flopped back against the cushions. ‘Oh, do we have to, Matt? Don’t you think I’ve enough on my mind trying to find another agent and sort out the wedding without you whingeing on about money all the time?’

  Matt hesitated. The timing wasn’t great. She did have a lot on her plate. But she had to know. She needed to know. And he needed her to know. ‘Look, I appreciate it’s not the best time, babe, but I think you should know that my job isn’t looking all that secure either. Things haven’t gone well over the last year and now they’ve issued me with an ultimatum. One month to pull in a major new account or I’m out.’

  A wave of horror swept over her face. ‘But if they sack you, we won’t have any money.’