The following morning, Eleanor realised how much lighter she felt. She didn’t need to lie any more. She’d hated that job. And for now, she wanted a clean break from London and all the bad memories. She wanted to stay with her family and friends and enjoy their company, be herself again.
The only slight problem was if anyone back in London worked out that she was the girl in the photograph. Because she was beginning to realise that she didn’t want anything to jeopardise her friendship with Tom.
She tried to concentrate on the idea of infused oils instead. She had been wanting to experiment with different oils for a while. So she decided to try out a couple to mix into her basic cream mixture. Perhaps she could try them on her friends at the spa evening they had planned.
The previous evening she had been drawn to the rose petals that had fallen onto the ground, and that had given her an idea. So when she was back at Willow Tree Hall, she gathered up some more loose rose petals on her way to the stable block.
She felt someone watching her and turned around to find Bert the gardener looking on with much amusement.
Deciding that he might be in rare good humour, Eleanor decided to chance her luck. ‘Is it okay for me to pick a small bit of lavender as well?’ she asked, giving him her most hopeful, sweetest smile.
‘As long as you leave some for the bees,’ he grunted at her before turning away.
Back in her workshop, she chopped up the rose petals into fine pieces and filled an empty jam jar until it was almost full. Then she covered the petals with some cheap sunflower oil that she had swiped from her mum’s larder and filled it to the brim. Finally she screwed on the lid and left it on the windowsill in the sunshine.
She repeated the same process with the lavender as well. Except she ran out of sunflower oil for the last two jars. Deciding to modify her own recipe, and thinking what the hell, she covered the lavender with water instead.
For the next couple of days, she would pick up each jam jar and shake it vigorously before placing it back in the warm sunshine.
The day before the spa evening, she took a couple of the oil infusions with her to her new workshop. Using one of Annie’s old colanders, she strained the petals from the oil and then used the leftover oil to mix into her face cream recipe. She made a couple of pots with the rose oil and another few with the lavender.
She looked at the leftover oil. She didn’t think that would be good for anything but the lavender water smelled lovely so she poured that into a container to ponder over what to do with it.
Feeling smug with her efforts, she wandered out of the stable to tell someone but Tom wasn’t working nearby. In fact, they hadn’t seen each other for the past few days. Apparently, he had been holed up in the recording studio and their paths had never seemed to cross, despite her looking out for him at every opportunity. She found she missed having him working nearby. Missed his calming presence and their easy conversations.
With a sigh, she decided to let Annie know what she had been up to instead.
It was a glorious afternoon. The birds were tweeting all around her in the trees high above. White cotton balls of clouds were drifting lazily around in an otherwise cobalt blue sky. In a leafy glade on her way back to the main house, she stopped walking and turned her face up to the sun, warming her cheeks in its rays. Although her hair was scraped back into a ponytail, a loose strand gently battered her cheek. For a moment all she felt was blissful peace. Then she heard her name called out from nearby.
In shock, she turned to see if the face matched the voice. Surely she must be imagining things? It couldn’t be him. Not here. Not now.
But the voice was true. It was her dad.
‘Hello,’ he said, walking through the woods with a wide grin, as if they had seen each other only yesterday. When, in fact, it had been at least a year.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, automatically scratching at her neck even though it wasn’t itchy
He looked ridiculous. Who wore a leather jacket in this heat? And those jeans were way too tight for a man of his age. He had dyed his hair, but the black was much too harsh against his skin. It was slicked back, but she still noticed that it had thinned a little more since last she had seen him.
‘Well, that’s a fine welcome,’ he told her, stepping forward to put his arms around her for a hug.
For a second, she let herself relax against him. The smell of his aftershave so familiar even after all of these years. Then she remembered all the pain and stepped away from him.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
She was about to tell him when Dylan charged up to them. Looking around, she saw Tom appearing through the trees. She tried to tell him telepathically to turn around, but it was too late. Her dad had seen him. She closed her eyes briefly in despair.
Not at all surprised, she watched as her dad immediately turned his back on her and headed over to hold out his hand to Tom.
‘Hi there, Tommy,’ he said. ‘I’m Ken McCartney. Eleanor’s father.’
Tom took his hand and shook it, glancing at Eleanor as he did so. She felt almost certain that he could sense her discomfort.
‘I’ve gotta say, I’m a huge fan,’ her dad continued. ‘And you were brilliant at Glastonbury. I was there, of course. I go every year.’
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
‘Thanks,’ said Tom, looking as if he was going to step around him.
But her dad blocked Tom’s way. ‘I couldn’t get a selfie, could I?’ he asked. ‘My mates are never going to believe me when I tell them that you’re dating my daughter.’
‘What?’ said Eleanor, aghast.
Her dad turned to look at her. ‘Well, when I saw your mum just now, she told me that you were spending a lot of time up here. And obviously the papers are full of the news that Tom’s staying at the hall. It doesn’t take an idiot to put two and two together.’
‘Well, your answer is five because you’re completely wrong,’ said Eleanor, putting her hands on her hips.
‘Come off it, Ellie,’ said her dad. ‘That photo from Glastonbury? Well, it looks just like you.’
Eleanor groaned and looked at Tom. ‘I’m sorry but could you just give me and my dad a minute?’
‘Of course,’ he told her.
He walked away with Dylan at his heels, leaving Eleanor alone with her dad.
She waited until Tom was out of view before spinning around to face her father, snatching her hair out of its ponytail and letting it loose in the hope that it might help the stress headache that had suddenly appeared.
‘Why did you go and see Mum?’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want you upsetting her.’
‘I wanted to find out the latest gossip,’ he said, smiling. ‘Who’d have thought little old Cranley would get into the newspapers, eh?’
She scowled at him. ‘You weren’t that interested in it when you left in such a hurry all those years ago.’
He studied her. ‘My little Ellie, all grown up,’ he said, seemingly oblivious to her remark.
‘Don’t call me Ellie,’ she told him. ‘You don’t get to call me that anymore.’
‘You’ve changed your hair,’ he said. ‘It’s not straight.’
‘No, this is its natural state,’ she replied, running her hand through it. ‘You would know that if you knew anything about me.’
‘Its natural state?’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘So what, you’re letting yourself go now? Becoming a hippy like your mother?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not letting myself go, Dad. I’m being me. I can’t do the whole perfect appearance thing anymore. It’s too exhausting. Anyway, I kept myself perfect because that’s what I believed would bring you back to us. Because you’re all about the looks, aren’t you?’
‘I like to look nice,’ he said, becoming defensive. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘But you didn’t come back, Dad. It turned out you were never that bothered about me in the first place.’ Her voice broke.
He didn’t reply, just looked confused.
‘You’re dressed thirty years too young and you look ridiculous,’ she told him, becoming irritated at his lack of reply. ‘People get older. They mature. But not you. You want to know something? I have freckles. My hair is wavy. I’m not perfect and nor are you!’ She grew weary suddenly. ‘Why are you here, Dad? I mean, it’s not my birthday so you don’t need to send me a two-line text. It’s not Christmas so you don’t have to sit through an excruciatingly painful lunch with me, which, by the way, I always make up an excuse so I can leave early. So what gives?’
He tried to look self-important. ‘I just wanted to show my support for my daughter. I read the papers. I know what it’s like to be hounded by the press.’
‘No, you don’t!’ She found she was shouting now. ‘You loved it! Giving all those interviews. Talking about the wonderful Susanna and how she was the love of your life. Was that the third or fourth love of your life, by the way. I lose count when you get through so many Z-list celebrities.’
‘Now listen, young lady,’ he started.
‘No, Dad,’ she told him, shaking her head. ‘You don’t get to give me advice or tell me anything! Not anymore.’
He drew up his chin. ‘It’s my duty as your father to protect you.’
‘That’s rubbish and you know it,’ she told him. ‘What did you care all those years ago when you left us for her. Did you even remember us back then when you were busy trying to get famous off the back of that actress?’
‘Well, aren’t you doing just the same with Tommy King?’ he said, sneering.
She took a deep breath. ‘No, Dad. I’m not. Funnily enough, that was a real kiss. Just one moment which somebody took advantage of. I’m not using him for publicity. You know why? Because I’ve never wanted to be famous like you. I don’t know what type of person you think I am, but never think for even one second that I’m anything like you.’
The silence stretched out as she continued to glare at him. Then the fight went out of her as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Tom and I are friends. Just friends,’ she told him, with a heavy sigh. ‘That’s all. So just leave, Dad. Please. Just go away...’
She stared at him for a long time until he finally turned away.
‘And don’t you dare go near the Harris family either,’ she called after him. ‘Get in your mid-life-crisis sports car and get away from here, okay? You don’t belong here anymore.’
Eleanor waited until he was out of earshot and out of view. And then she turned and ran through the woods, finally letting the tears stream down her face.
*
Tom had overheard the argument between Eleanor and her father. He hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop but she was shouting so loudly that it was hard for him not to hear her what she was saying.
Once the woods fell silent, he waited and wondered what to do. He had seen her rush by towards the river and through a gap in the trees he could see her sitting on a rock, her knees hugged to her chest.
He wanted to leave her alone, to let her grieve for her relationship with her father, but Dylan had other ideas. He had spotted Eleanor and bounced up to see her.
Tom watched as she gave a start and then smiled before glancing around. He noted the cheeks shiny with tears and that her smile faded when she saw him.
‘Sorry,’ he told her. ‘The idea wasn’t to intrude, but Dylan was too happy to see you.’
‘Glad someone is,’ she muttered, keeping her head down while she stroked Dylan’s face.
Tom went and sat next to her on the rock while Dylan headed into the shallow clear water for a paddle and a nose around.
It was a beautiful setting which he would have enjoyed if only he could take Eleanor’s sadness away.
‘Did you clear the air with your dad?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘Well, I threw him out, so I guess so.’ She stared at the water glistening under the sun. ‘I can’t believe he thought I was like him. That I could ever be like him.’
‘You’re not, you know.’
‘Thanks.’
He wondered whether he could trust her and knew deep down that he could. ‘If it makes you feel better, my own dad is spectacularly rubbish as well.’
She brushed away a tear. ‘Is he?’
‘He never wanted me. And my mum was too busy partying as well to bother with a child. So I was given away at the age of four and went through various foster homes growing up.’
She looked horrified. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’
He looked out to where Dylan was grappling with a stick he had found in the water. ‘My gran was the only one in the family who cared. The only normal one.’
‘At least you had somebody,’ she said, sounding pleased. ‘Does she live near here?’
The pain of grief struck him hard again. But he had to get the words out. ‘She died last November.’
To his surprise, Eleanor put her arm around him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she told him, hesitating before leaning her head on his shoulder in support.
‘You know, I’m the one who was supposed to be giving you support,’ he said, gently.
She turned her head and smiled up at him. ‘It could be a joint thing, I suppose.’
He stared into her green eyes, her face so close to his. ‘Yeah. It could.’
‘So do you think we should start the Bad Dads club?’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to break that mould,’ he told her. ‘When I have kids, they’re going to be supported. Loved. Cherished.’
She looked surprised at his words but nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. And my dad’s not going to change me either.’ Then she frowned. ‘Maybe he did for a while. He’s all about the perfect looks, you see.’
He began to understand where the fancy clothes and thick make-up had their beginnings. She took a deep breath. ‘About Glastonbury…’ she began.
He shook his head. ‘It was just one of those things. An accident. But with our lips.’ He grinned at her. ‘Honestly, it’s no big deal. The papers will soon die down about it.’
‘Okay.’
For a moment longer, they stared into each other’s eyes. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his neck.
Then she nodded, before leaping off the rock to go and see Dylan.
He wondered to himself whether she believed him. And why on earth he had lied to her when all he wanted to do was kiss her over and over again?