‘Give me a couple of the tartlets too and some of Dee’s fried chicken,’ Ellie said.
Maddy finished packing the picnic basket then rang up the sales. ‘Shall I stick this on the shop’s expense account?’
‘Don’t be daft, I’m a paying customer.’ Ellie counted out the bills.
‘Who’s the picnic for?’ Annie leaned over from her spot at the espresso machine while she frothed the milk for a family of four who had ordered baby-chinos for their toddlers. ‘I thought Josh and Toto were in Salisbury today with Dee?’
‘I thought I’d take a book down to the millpond and stuff myself during my day off.’
Annie’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You’re kidding – you’re planning to eat all that on your own?’
‘Maybe I’ll rope in Art,’ she said, pretending she’d only just thought of that idea. ‘I think he’s almost finished the caravan, he might be in the mood to celebrate,’ she added, using the strategy she’d worked out over the last few days: hide in plain sight.
Annie and Maddy shared a look. ‘You and Art, eh?’ Annie said, her look speaking volumes, most of them pornographic. ‘I hope your toenail polish is still intact.’
‘Hardly,’ Ellie said jauntily, taking the teasing in stride. If Annie knew what she and Art had been getting up to in the last fortnight, she’d know hot toenail polish was entirely unnecessary. But this picnic wasn’t about seducing Art, it was about fulfilling her promise to Toto, on Toto’s timetable. ‘But it doesn’t matter,’ she added. ‘Because Art’s not going to be seeing my toes.’ Or any other part of my anatomy currently covered.
One thing she definitely could not do was let this picnic get out of hand. Because that would only confuse the issue further. As if it wasn’t confused enough already.
‘Pity that,’ Annie said with a cheeky grin.
Ellie picked up the basket, and sent Maddy and Annie a wave as she left the shop. ‘See you tomorrow, ladies. I’ve got an important date with Tess of the D’Urbervilles and my mum’s amuse-bouche.’
Not to mention my friend with benefits. Even though there will be no benefits.
She left the shop, before either of them could question her further. She headed to the farmhouse and grabbed some beer from her mother’s pantry. She had a feeling she was going to need some liquid courage for what she had to say to Art – she had no idea how he was going to take the news that Toto was growing up, but she planned to deliver it as painlessly as possible.
Walking through the back orchard, she arrived at Art’s workshop.
He stood on a footstool, his T-shirt sprinkled with paint as he dabbed at the intricate ivy motif he was painting on the caravan’s front arch. Bruce Springsteen blared out from the radio perched on the front step.
He’d told her last night, after they’d exhausted each other, he only had a few more days to finish off the paintwork before the buyers arrived to get the caravan on Friday. The vehicle looked magnificent, the intricate artwork on the side shining from the fresh coat of varnish – the designs as detailed and exquisite as the rest of it. He wasn’t just a master craftsman. He was a talented artist.
She thought back to the first time she’d come into the workshop, ready to confront him about his objections to the shop, and seen the bare bones of the caravan’s shell laid out on the floor. It was hard to believe how long ago that felt now. And how much had changed between them.
Her ribs felt as if they were crushing her heart, the rhythmic pounding becoming deep and uneven.
Don’t get carried away.
The summer had been a success, that was all, positive and productive. And Art was a part of that. She had repaired her relationship with her mother, rediscovered the joys of project planning with the shop and now the wedding – which was going to be an amazing event to reflect Maddy and Jacob’s devotion to one another – and she had reawakened her long-dead libido. She’d recharged her batteries and there was still four weeks to go before she had to say goodbye to everyone.
By which time she would be more than ready to reboot her life and her business in the US.
Art and she had just been enjoying each other, and would continue to enjoy each other for the time they had left together.
No need to overreact.
She tapped on the workshop door. Art swung round. A slow smile spread across his face, softening his features and making the deep pounding in her chest almost painful.
He dropped the brush in a jar of turpentine and switched off The Boss.
‘Hi,’ she said, choking a little on the simple word of greeting.
‘Hey, what are you doing here in the daylight?’ he said, but the smile didn’t falter. He strode towards her, the graceful, predatory stride making awareness prickle over her skin.
God, she was going to miss him. Miss sex with him, she corrected herself swiftly. Because that’s all this was – a physical addiction to a man who had always fascinated her.
‘I figured you might want to take a break.’ She held up the picnic basket. ‘I thought we could have lunch down by the millpond.’
She noticed the flecks of paint on the bronzed hair of his forearms, the spots in his hair as he brushed it off his brow.
He tipped the lid of the basket up, peered inside. ‘Dee’s fried chicken and Badger beer.’ His gaze met hers. ‘Yum.’
The rough tone and that searing look made her fairly sure he wasn’t talking about the picnic menu.
‘You sure we should risk it?’ he added.
‘Risk what? People seeing us eating a picnic together? I think we can risk that, yes,’ she said, just in case he thought ‘picnic’ was a euphemism for something else.
After scooping the basket out of her hands, he tucked it under his arm and cupped her elbow, to direct her through the workshop door into the sunlight. ‘Come on then, I’m ravenous.’
He pressed a palm to her lower back, to guide her through the gate then took her hand as they walked through the woods. She should have objected – it would make them look like a couple, if anyone saw them. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tug her hand out of that possessive grasp.
The scent of flowers and tree resin and the buzz of insects filled the late summer air.
She spotted the millpond ahead through the trees. The clear water sparkled like a green jewel, the cool depths beckoning. Rambling roses, wild poppies, dandelions and a patchwork of other flowers and plants she couldn’t name edged the path in bursts of colour and pockets of perfume. A Cabbage White butterfly flitted ahead of them as if leading the way through the ancient oaks shading their journey. The pond finally appeared like an oasis, the man ahead of her like a dark knight leading her back into temptation.
He led her towards the water’s edge – a man on a mission – without saying a single word. Funny to think how much she had come to appreciate Art’s silences in the last few weeks as well as his conversation. What she had once considered a weakness had become one of his biggest turn-ons.
Dan had always been a man who could spin virtually anything and was never short of conversation. There was a lot to be said for a man who believed doing was more important than talking about it.
Art stopped beside the weeping willow where she had once sheltered to spy on him in the moonlight. Placing the basket on the bank where the grass gave way to gnarled tree roots, he let go of her hand. She immediately felt the loss of the firm pressure. But then he reached back to take a fistful of his T-shirt and drag it over his head.
Her mouth dried to parchment at the sight of the smooth planes of muscle gilded by sweat.
He crouched to untie his work boots and kick them off, then unbutton the fly on his jeans, knocking her out of her trance.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, her voice tight and raspy round the ball of lust forming in her throat.
‘Swimming.’ He peeled off his jeans and his boxers with them. ‘After four hours of slapping on paint, in two hundred degree heat, I stink.’
‘Are you mad?’ She swung her head round, frantically scanning the woods while trying to ignore the rush of adrenaline. ‘Anyone could see you?’
Good grief, why did the man have to look so mouth-watering naked.
He placed his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to face him, unashamed about his nakedness. He brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, the hunger in his eyes accompanied by that wicked smile making her pulse batter her collarbone.
‘No one’s gonna see us. Rob and Mike are working on the other side of the farm harvesting carrots and marrows. Maddy and Annie are tied up in the shop. Tess is taking Melly to a Princess Party in Gillingham and Dee and the kids are watching five plus hours of Harry and co. finally beating the crap out of Voldemort in Salisbury.’
She captured a lungful of his scent with her indrawn breath. He didn’t stink, he smelled delicious, the salty, seductive aroma making the pheromones fire through her bloodstream.
‘We’ve got a three-hour window of opportunity.’ His thumbs slid down her throat to toy with the thin straps of her summer dress. He eased a strap off one shoulder blade. ‘Let’s use it.’
Her stomach started fluttering like the wings of their butterfly guide. ‘I didn’t come here to have sex.’
His lips quirked in a challenging smile, before he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Your loss.’
Then he turned and ran towards the lake, yelling as if he were trying to wake the dead. He cannonballed into the water, his naked buttocks bunching as he tucked his legs to his chest, before he shattered the glass-like surface with a resounding splash.
Ellie gasped, as chilly beads flickered across the burning skin of her collarbone. The surge of heat powered through her body.
Oh sod it. She toed off her pumps, then shucked off her dress and dumped it by the picnic basket.
This was madness, but it was divine madness. And it was only for one afternoon. She would have lots of time to be a grown-up later.
Her bra and knickers followed, before she raced towards the water’s edge, the butterfly flutters sinking deep into her abdomen when he splashed her.
‘Come on in, Princess Drama,’ he yelled. ‘The water’s perfect.’
Pinching her nose, she jumped. She hit the frigid water and sucked in a startled gasp. As she plummeted beneath the freezing surface, her stomach plummeted with her.
*
‘Don’t get ideas, Dalton.’ Ellie batted away the lazy touch of Art’s fingertip as he teased the edge of her belly button. ‘I’m stuffed and shattered, you’re not getting an encore.’
She heard him laugh, that deep lazy chuckle, before his shoulder nudged her as he lay down beside her.
‘Killjoy,’ he said.
She opened her eyes to stare at the waterfall branches of the willow tree shading them from the afternoon sun.
She was stuffed – stuffed full of the array of salads and mini quiches and filo pastries and chicken she’d bought from the shop. And completely shattered.
They’d made love in the open air, the lake water drying on chilled skin, after mucking about in the water like a couple of kids for what felt like hours.
So shattered, she was finding it a little hard to breathe. Her chest felt tight at the thought they were unlikely to get another day like today before she left.
She eased over onto her side, and propped her head on her elbow, to study the man who had always been such an enigma. He lay with his eyes closed, relaxed and approachable. His thick lashes fanned across his cheeks. As her gaze drifted down to the strong column of his throat, and the pulse punching his clavicle, she noticed his workman’s tan wasn’t as visible as it had been earlier in the summer. He must have been working outdoors with his shirt off. Dark curls of chest hair defined the flat discs of his nipples.
Her heart battered her ribs in a haphazard tattoo. Why not admit it, it wasn’t only the sex she was going to miss.
He let his hand drop to rest on his belly, drawing her gaze to the jagged scar.
She touched the raised flesh with a fingertip. He tensed, his belly muscles quivering. But his eyes remained closed, and his hand remained still on his stomach, making no move to push her away as she traced the wound over his hipbone – her belly clutching at the thought of how badly he’d once been hurt.
‘How did you get this scar?’ she asked
His eyes opened, and his mouth curved in a wry smile. ‘Why does it matter?’
The words echoed in her consciousness, reminding her of something he had once said to her mother, and she realised the disturbing truth that she’d never had the guts to acknowledge.
‘Because you matter to me,’ she said.
Apparently she had the guts to acknowledge it now.
*
Art lifted his arms and put his hands behind his head, buying time, trying to look nonchalant, the quietly spoken words making his chest hurt.
He struggled to remember the lies he’d told for years whenever anyone asked about the scar. But, as Ellie refused to relinquish eye contact, those expressive green eyes so full of empathy, he couldn’t find the energy to lie about it to her.
If she was expecting some romantic tale of woe, though, she wasn’t going to get it. Because there was no way of romanticising the squalor of his childhood.
‘I can’t tell you exactly, because I blanked most of the details.’ And the ones he couldn’t blank still gave him nightmares, and turned him into a bowl of jelly whenever he got within a mile of a hospital.
‘Was it your arsehole of a father?’ she asked.
He stared at her. How did she know about his old man? Oh yeah, the sloe gin chronicles.
‘Sort of.’ He sat up, and gazed out at the pond, not wanting her eyes on him. Sunlight sparkled on the water. His skin had been clean and fresh from the swim, his muscles loose and languid after their lovemaking. And his belly pleasantly full from the tasty treats she’d piled into the picnic basket, and the bottle of Badger beer they’d shared. But now he felt unclean, the pastry he’d wolfed down with the ale threatening to reappear.
‘I caught him slapping Laura and I had some stupid kid’s notion that I could stop him. I couldn’t. He was strung out on something and he went berserk, kicked me so hard they had to slice me open to stop the bleeding.’
He heard the sharp intake of breath. Then felt her hand on his back. ‘How old were you?’
‘Six, maybe seven.’ He found it hard to remember, because he’d never had much in the way of birthday celebrations in the succession of squats and communes they’d lived in before ending up at the Rainbow. The revolving door of faces and broken furniture, the smell of stale weed and dirty feet, the sound of boozy arguments and the pounding base beat of music played at top volume all blurred into one now, with no specific time or location attached to the memories.
But he could still remember Laura’s frantic whispers as they wheeled him into surgery that day, making the gut-wrenching agony that much worse.
You mustn’t tell, Arty. They’ll take you away from me if you tell.
‘Please tell me they had him arrested?’
He glanced over his shoulder, to find Ellie’s face so full of fury on his behalf, it made his chest hurt more.
‘They didn’t know. Laura told me not to say anything. So I didn’t.’
Funny to think there had once been a time when he had been terrified of being taken him away from his mother. But then, young children always trusted their parents, until they grew up enough to know not to. Just like Toto had always trusted him.
He picked up a broken branch, flicked it into the water, watched it splash and sink.
‘That heartless bitch.’ Ellie’s voice was tight with anger. ‘How could she make you keep it a secret? She should have been protecting you, not him.’
‘He’d run off by the time I got let out of the hospital and we never saw him again, so it didn’t matter anyway.’
‘Of course it did and it still does. You have a phobia of hospitals now. And I bet that’s where it comes from.’
‘I don’t have a phobia. I just don’t like them much. But who does?’ Maybe they freaked him out more than they should, but who in their right mind enjoyed going to a hospital? ‘And Laura wasn’t that bad. We kind of deserved each other.’
‘How can you say that, Art? No one deserves to be treated the way she treated you.’
He twisted round, enjoying her outrage maybe a bit too much. ‘Have you forgotten what a shit I was back then, to you and everyone else?’
‘You weren’t that bad,’ she said. ‘I was pretty high maintenance and chronically self-absorbed.’
‘Maybe.’ He smiled, not sure how to process the fact that they seemed to have become friends as well as bonk buddies in the last few weeks. ‘But I’m still sorry for the way I treated you that summer.’
Warm fingers touched his arm. ‘Apology accepted. And I’m sorry, too.’
‘What for?’
‘For making you talk about your father… And your mother.’ She looked sincere, her face grave. ‘It’s obviously a difficult subject.’
‘It’s not difficult,’ he corrected her, because it didn’t feel difficult talking about them to her. ‘Just boring.’
She nodded, but she was looking at him in a way that made him feel more naked than when they’d been skinny-dipping in the pond.
He started packing their debris back into the basket. He needed something to do with his hands, because the urge to kiss her felt like more than just the urge to start something they didn’t have time to finish.
‘I didn’t mean to ruin the afternoon, this has been…’ She hesitated, then smiled, that sweet, straightforward smile that her son had inherited. His heart started beating in a jungle rhythm – deep and erratic and difficult to ignore. ‘It’s been really nice to talk to you properly.’
‘Nice wasn’t what I was aiming for,’ he said, letting his gaze drift over the bodice of her dress dampened by her bra. ‘How about I make up for it tonight?’ he suggested. They were just bonk buddies, that was the deal, he needed to remember that.
‘I’d like that,’ she said, but her smile had disappeared. ‘But, before we go, I have something I need to tell you. It’s…’ She tugged on her bottom lip, unsure. And his heartbeat became even more erratic.
What was this now? And how did he feel about it? When she’d shown up at the workshop a couple of hours ago in the middle of the day, he’d been so stupidly pleased to see her. Not just because she’d looked so hot and happy in the short summer dress, but because it felt important that she’d come to him in the daylight. And he had to wonder why. Because he’d been trying to convince himself for days now that he was perfectly happy keeping their affair on the down-low, the way she’d originally insisted. Trying to persuade himself that he wasn’t dissatisfied every time she slipped out of his arms after they’d made love, and got dressed in a rush so she could sneak back to the farmhouse ahead of him.
They couldn’t afford to complicate things. Neither one of them wanted to get caught, because it would confuse everyone. Toto and Josh most of all.
But each night, when he’d lie on the caravan bed, his body still humming from afterglow, and wait for her to finish getting dressed in the lamplight, his chest had begun to feel as if a heavy weight was lying on it. And each night he’d found it harder and harder not to give in to the urge to ask her not to go. To ask her to stay with him for the rest of the night. Not because he wanted to jump her again. But because he wanted her with him when he woke up in the morning.
And now, after everything he’d just told her, stuff he’d never told anyone, not even Dee, and the patient way she’d listened, and the compassion and fury shining in her eyes when she had, he was finding it even harder to ignore the boulder on his chest. He didn’t want to hope, because that made him feel pathetic. But surely she wouldn’t have asked him about all that shit from his past unless she felt the same way – that there might be more going on here than just recreational sex and small talk.
‘It’s about Toto,’ she said.
‘Toto?’ he said, as his heartbeat downgraded. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting her to say, but why was he so disappointed? What exactly had he been hoping to hear? ‘What’s up with Toto?’
*
‘Your daughter started her periods on Friday.’
Ellie watched Art’s face, for any adverse reaction, and saw the crease form between his brows.
‘She wanted me to tell you,’ she added.
One quizzical eyebrow lifted. ‘Why did she tell you about it?’
He didn’t sound upset, so much as surprised, but there was a wariness there that made the nerves jump and jive in her stomach.
Why did his reaction feel like a slap? Maybe it was just that shocking revelation about his injury, making her feel overemotional? That Art had opened up about his past had felt significant, even though he hadn’t seemed to need her outrage or her support – giving the horrific details in a monotone, as if he’d come to terms with those events years ago.
He was a remarkably self-sufficient man, which was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘She was busy raiding my bathroom for sanitary products.’
He swore, the frown remaining in place. ‘I’ll take her into Gratesbury tomorrow and get her what she needs.’
‘I already did that,’ she said, trying not to take the curt tone personally.
The frown deepened. ‘You didn’t need to. I could have handled it.’
OK, that was definitely a slap. She’d worried about overstepping the mark, that Art might resent her involvement, but she hadn’t expected his response to be this negative. Especially after the conversation they’d just shared.
He began to pack the rest of the leftovers into the picnic basket, his movements tense.
‘Art, I’m sensing a certain amount of animosity here and I’m not sure where it’s coming from,’ she said, determined to calm the situation for Toto’s sake as much as her own. The little girl had been worried her father would freak out about this. Apparently she’d been right. It was her job now to make sure he didn’t freak out with his daughter.
He didn’t respond, turning his back to tug his T-shirt over his head.
‘If you’ve got a problem with me buying your daughter sanitary products that she needed, when she needed them, I’d like to know why?’
‘Let’s just drop it,’ he said, standing up to stamp on his boots.
I don’t think so.
She grabbed her pumps, slipped them on.
He tucked the basket under his arm. ‘I’ll head back,’ he said. ‘And drop the basket off for you.’
‘Art, wait,’ she said, still frantically tying her laces as he stalked off.
She caught up with him on the path, breathless now and battling to keep her own emotions in check. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
He shrugged off her hand. ‘Nothing, I’ll talk to Toto when she gets back from Salisbury, tell her not to involve you again.’
‘Don’t you dare do that,’ she said, starting to lose the grip on her temper.
‘I’ll dare what I goddamn like, she’s my daughter.’ And there it was again, the slap, but she couldn’t let herself care about that. This wasn’t about her, or him, it was about Toto and her feelings. ‘She should have come to me.’
‘She was scared, Art, scared that you’d freak out about her becoming a woman.’
‘Why the hell would I freak out about that?’
‘Maybe because that’s exactly what you’re doing.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. You’re even freaking out about me talking to her about it.’
‘Because she should have come to me,’ he said again, as if this were a parental pissing contest.
‘Why would she come to you? She needed sanitary products, you weren’t likely to have any, now were you? I bet you’ve never even spoken to her about menstruation either, have you?’
She could tell she had him there from the stubborn look on his face.
‘I didn’t need to, they handled it at school,’ he said, finally. ‘She told me all about it. The tampon in the water glass totally freaked her out.’
Ellie had to bite back a smile, the disgruntled tone making her temper fade. ‘Yes, she mentioned that to me too. We decided she didn’t need any tampons yet.’
‘I can get her what she needs,’ he said, his face not softening one iota. ‘That’s my job.’
‘She’s a practical kid,’ Ellie said, grasping for reason and practicality in the face of his intransigence. ‘She figured you wouldn’t have any. That’s all.’
‘I suppose…’ He hesitated. ‘She still seems like a little kid.’
She saw it then, the flicker of dismay and vulnerability, that he was trying so hard not to show her.
Why had she never figured it out before? Even if Art had been a single parent for a lot longer than she had, he had insecurities too. This wasn’t about her, about them, it was just about Art’s relationship with his daughter.
She placed a hand on his arm, touched by his concern, and felt the muscles tense beneath her fingers. ‘And she’s still a little kid in every way that counts.’
He dragged his hand through his hair, sending the still damp strands into furrows. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. ‘Thanks for handling it. I’m not great with this stuff.’
‘You’re better than you think.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not. I try my best, but I can’t be her mother.’
She heard the regret in his voice. ‘From what you told me about Alicia, Toto’s better off without her.’
‘Maybe. But I sometimes wonder whether…’
‘Don’t. You’re doing a good job. Toto’s a wonderful child, confident and secure and well adjusted. She’s been wonderful to Josh this summer. Her friendship has meant so much to him, and to me.’
He nodded, his gaze thoughtful, but he looked away before he said, ‘Kind of ironic, when you think how we used to fight when we were kids.’
‘I know,’ she said. But, as he shouldered the basket, and walked beside her through the woods, it occurred to her that in some ways they had become kindred spirits too.
She pushed the feeling back, of companionship, of friendship. She didn’t take his hand, wasn’t surprised when he didn’t offer her his. Something had changed between them today, something profound, that neither one of them could afford to examine too closely – was that why he’d jumped off the handle when she’d mentioned Toto starting her periods?
As they approached the edge of the orchard, she touched his arm again. ‘I’ll take the basket. I should clear it out and put it away again before Mum and the kids get back.’
He kept it on his shoulder. ‘It’s OK. We’ve got time before we have to cover our tracks.’ She thought she heard a slight edge to his voice, but convinced herself she must have been imagining it.
She’d gone into this wanting it to be just about sex, and so had he. If it didn’t feel like just sex any more that was only because they’d become friends while bonking each other’s brains out. The desire to ask for more was a mistake. The desire to reach out to that little boy who had been broken so badly by a mother and eventually a lover who had never been good enough for him was a fool’s errand. A fool’s errand that she’d been on once before, nineteen years ago. Art had always found it impossible to trust people and just because she now knew why he couldn’t, didn’t mean she could somehow magically fix that about him.
But, as they walked through the back orchard together, she found herself finding it harder and harder to ignore the stupid, romantic voice inside her that wanted to at least try.
As they approached the door of the farmhouse, she opened her mouth to say something, anything to bridge the gap that seemed to have opened up between them, when she heard a car coming down the track.
‘Who’s that?’ Art said, dumping the basket on the farmhouse’s front step.
That wasn’t Dee’s car. ‘It must be a customer,’ she said, grateful for the interruption that had stopped her saying something she would no doubt regret.
Instead of taking the fork in the track that led to the shop car park, the gleaming convertible travelled towards them, stopping a few feet away.
Art stepped in front of her, as a man got out of the car.
Her heart shuddered to a stop, the wave of shock swiftly followed by a wave of panic.
Was that…? No, surely not, it couldn’t be. What the bloody hell was Dan doing here?
With his chestnut brown hair carefully styled and a pair of Ray-Bans perched on his nose, her soon-to-be-ex-husband looked debonair and dashing – and nothing like an optical illusion.
Even so, the moment felt surreal, suspended in time as Dan strolled towards them, lifting off his sunglasses. But then his gaze landed on Art, taking in their damp hair, the discarded picnic basket. And the welcoming smile turned into a suspicious frown.
‘What’s going on?’ Dan said.
Art touched her waist to push her behind him. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said, annoyance snapping in his voice.
‘I’m Ellie’s husband,’ Dan shot back. ‘Who the fuck are you?’