Sunday 17th December
In Home Brew Cottage at Daisy Hill Farm: Postcodes and dropping stomachs
‘Okay, Holly Postman …’
‘Rory …’ It’s a warning shot across his proverbial bows. He might have leaped up from his lowest base, what with his reindeer and his cooking, but one wrong move and he’ll be back down to the bottom faster than you can say ‘abseil’.
‘What?’ His voice is high with mock indignation. ‘If you don’t want new nicknames you should be more careful which books you choose.’
I grit my teeth, because his low laugh has sent a shiver down my spine. ‘This is me, testing out my assertiveness.’
‘Great. Well done on that one. Butt-kick noted and applauded, five stars on Trip Advisor. But really, Holly Postman’s too funny not to use it. So Holly Postman …’
I give in. ‘What?’
He clears his throat. ‘Immie popped in while you were in the bedroom settling Gracie down.’
That doesn’t really describe the raucous half hour we just had, although it did end up with her and Teddie sparked out. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear her come in.’
‘She’s really embracing the relaxation thing. She was on her way back from Serene Swimming by Candlelight, but she came to say she and Chas will run you back to town around nine. So you might as well sit down.’ His lips are twisting as he nods to the sofa beside him. ‘We heard you, even if you didn’t hear us.’
Quite apart from getting stuck here for longer than I’d intended, as I perch on the edge of the sofa next to him I’m wilting inside. ‘Let it go?’ Once we started singing, it was hard to give a damn.
His beam breaks out into a laugh. ‘It wasn’t like you were singing anything else.’ Then without even teasing me, he’s suddenly serious again. ‘So where had you and Little Richard got to on the kid question? You never actually said. Did someone mention a pregnancy scare?’
It might have come out of nowhere, but I can tell he’s not going to back down. Sometimes it’s easiest to tell him what he wants to know, and move on. ‘We hadn’t actually discussed it. But I’m pretty sure kids didn’t feature in his future life plans.’ The only time he ever mentioned kids was when he was midway into his rather long proposal speech. Before he got to the point where I scuttled across the room and bolted out of the back door and down the long drive out onto the road, his mum had squealed something about grandchildren. But Luc had closed her down with one of those glares of his, then said a family was not on his agenda. ‘Why are you asking that now?’ At the time I didn’t mind, because I’d never seen many kids. Whereas after two weeks of dealing with Gracie and Teddie, I’m starting to feel very differently.
He shrugs. ‘If he’s on his way back, it’s good to keep it real.’ His expression is perplexed. ‘Not talking to each other’s bad enough, but he was denying you kids too?’
There are times when this local right for involvement in people’s private business gets way too much. ‘And you care about this because?’
He lets out a sigh. ‘It seems a pity, that’s all. Given how good you are with Gracie and Teddie. You don’t want to leave it too late and end up like Immie and Erin.’
Who aren’t similar at all. ‘Seeing as you’re so concerned with fertility issues, what about yours?’ I have zero interest in the subject, but it might teach him that being grilled isn’t pleasant.
His wince is visible. ‘I told you, since the brain injury I don’t have relationships. So there definitely won’t be any kids for me.’
Shit, and shit again, because whatever he says, he didn’t tell me the half of it. ‘You hurt your brain? That’s why Marilyn covered you in lippy? What the hell happened?’
He gives a rueful grin. ‘All those wrecked cars when I was a teenager, and the one time I did bash my head, it wasn’t me driving.’
‘Was it really bad, then?’
He laughs. ‘I’m still here, aren’t I? Apparently, the coma lasted weeks and when I woke up I couldn’t move or remember anything. But the body has an amazing ability to recover.’ He gives a grimace. ‘After a couple of years of rehab, most things worked again.’
‘Crap, Rory. Why didn’t you say?’
His brow crinkles. ‘Why would I? That’s where the YouTube clips are from. The Fight for this love clip was the first thing I laughed at, when they were trying to get me to reconnect with my emotions. I keep it on my iPad for old time’s sake. It’s great it’s come in handy again.’
I’m biting my lip because the thought of the most vibrant guy I know cut down and hurting makes my chest ache. ‘But you’re better now?’ He has to be, sitting there like nothing happened.
As he folds his arms, it’s as if he’s explained this a thousand times before. ‘I’m great so long as I don’t read too much, or make my brain process too much information at once. I did try going back to my old job, but that wasn’t ever going to be a goer.’
‘But weren’t you a top lawyer?’ How awful is this? ‘And that’s why you can’t play sport any more?’
He nods. ‘Once I got better, hanging round watching my work friends in Bristol tearing ahead with their careers was the biggest headfuck of all. So I came back here instead and put all my energy into Huntley and Handsome, and then Roaring Waves. The world’s definitely a better place now I’m selecting wines and making beer.’ It’s typical of Rory to pull the best out of the worst.
I’m kicking myself for writing him off as an eternal teenager having a midlife crisis. ‘Without your accident, there’d be no Bad Ass Santa and Jess wouldn’t have her fabulous Prosecco deal.’ I chew on my nail as I puzzle to fit the pieces together. ‘But why stop seeing women? I thought all guys in rehab fell in love with their physiotherapists.’
This sigh is the longest. ‘Even though I recovered, the trauma meant my brain was extra vulnerable. They couldn’t guarantee I wasn’t going to have another brain bleed at any moment.’ As he turns to look at me, my stomach drops. ‘It wasn’t fair to lay that one on a partner.’
No wonder Marilyn was rubbing his head. I’m looking at the stubble on his cheeks and the soft brown eyes and the dimples. And his jaw, and the way, even when he isn’t smiling, he looks like he is. And thinking about how he might not have been here at all sends my chest into a peculiar kind of spasm. My heart’s breaking so much for the way his life’s been so screwed up, all I want to do is reach out. Put my hand on his cheek. Run my fingers through his hair, so I can feel the heat of his scalp and know he’s alive. I wedge my wrist under my knee, because touching him is the last thing I want to do.
‘So Holly Christmas …’
As he turns to me, I’m close enough to see the flecks in his irises, count the individual eyelashes. As he licks his lip and swallows, I’m watching the column of his neck so closely that somehow I ease the grip on my wrist. A second later, his stubble is rubbing against my palm and my fingertips are tingling as they scrape across his cheekbone. As my fingers entwine in his hair and he slowly leans towards me, his voice is low.
‘Good call, Berry …’
However much I was hyperventilating at weddings, this is different. The breath I’ve pulled in is so long, I’ve stopped breathing altogether and all I can hear is my heart banging against my chest wall. Then the tiniest, most tentative, knock on the door makes me lurch back so hard I almost yank Rory’s hair out.
‘Shit.’ I dive back to the end of the sofa.
‘Jeez.’ Rory’s hand finds mine and just for a second he squeezes, very hard. Then as the door swings open and Poppy tiptoes in he pulls away too.
She’s talking in a whisper, so she doesn’t disturb the kids. ‘Holly, great, you’re still here.’ She stops as she takes in the tree in the corner. ‘Wow, so pretty, cool reindeer.’
Rory hits the ground running. ‘All we need now are some snowmen. I thought I’d make some origami ones this evening.’
I’m frowning at him. ‘How do you know about origami?’ I think we’ve got away with that. However much he’s tugging at my heartstrings, rubbing the face of a guy who doesn’t want to date any more isn’t great judgement. When it feels that good and I’m actually supposed to be aching for my long-lost ex to turn up, it’s bonkers. Marilyn can afford to let her hands wander. But I can’t. I need to sit on them more successfully in future.
‘It was an obsession when I was nine. Around the same time I got my electric guitar and my first tractor. Leave the snowmen to me, they’ll be on the tree by morning.’
Poppy’s flapping her hands as she tries to break into the conversation. ‘Holly, we need to go to St Aidan.’ She stops, then her voice goes higher. ‘Like, really really fast, right now.’
I jump up and pull on my jacket. ‘Is there a problem?’ I let out a gasp. ‘Omigod, is the baby coming?’ From her agonised grimace, if it’s not labour, it has to be something cataclysmic.
She closes her eyes, takes a breath, flaps her fingers in front of her face, and when she looks at me again, her smile’s bright and she’s got her best customer service voice on. ‘At Brides by the Sea, we choose our phrases very carefully at the less-easy times. We have issues, not problems. And never disasters.’
‘So?’ I rack my brain to find some acceptable vocabulary. ‘What’s the calamity?’
Her face lapses back into the ‘holy crap’ expression. ‘Bloody Marilyn’s chopped the bottom off Katie’s wedding dress.’ The way she’s panting sounds horribly like something off One Born Every Minute.
‘Are you sure you’re not having contractions?’
‘Absolutely not.’ She breaks off to give a sniff of disgust, then clamps her hand to her bump and squints at me. ‘Did you know I was coming? It’s just you’ve already got your hat on.’
How do I explain that one without wasting half an hour? ‘Women’s intuition?’ When she seems to accept that I go on. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?’
She doesn’t have to stop to think. ‘Twenty four.’
Ew. ‘Twenty four, where bad is high?’ It’s so far off the scale, it’s worth clarifying.
‘Yeah.’ As she nods frantically, her eyes are popping. ‘The thing is, Lily’s still here working on the barn, Sera’s on the night train back from an appointment in London. So that only leaves you and me.’ She’s back to the mouse squeaks. ‘And we have thirteen tiny hours to make this okay.’
What is it about weddings? They just keep giving and giving.