Chapter Two

“My God! I’m so sorry!”

I still couldn’t see the man’s face, but I’d know Tom’s rich voice anywhere.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, my hand going to my heart as I breathed deeply to try and overcome the adrenaline that had flooded my system.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. Mum said you might need a hand carrying things, so I came over. When I didn’t get an answer at the front, I thought I’d try around back.”

“It’s not your fault. I just spook really easily.” I tried to reassure him, although my heart was still going a mile a minute. “I must have been in the shower when you knocked. I’m sorry.”

“My fault, honestly.”

“I’m sorry I swore at you.”

I felt so flustered that I had to open a few cupboards before I could find my dustpan and brush.

As I swept the salad and bowl shards up, I wondered how I could replace the salad. I had a big bowl of regular salad in my fridge. I could add some avocado, open a jar of palm hearts to decorate and posh it up. If I worked lightning fast, I might still make it on time.

Tom touched my shoulder unexpectedly. I jumped and leaped back again.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed in surprise at my overreaction.

“Oh God, Tom! I’m so sorry!”

I’d been panicking. In my panic, I had totally forgotten Tom’s presence.

“Let me clean up. I feel responsible. Please?”

I took a few deep, calming breaths, telling myself it was okay if I was late, it was okay if I couldn’t provide two salads, it was okay to disappoint people.

If Tom cleaned up, that would give me time to work on a replacement salad. Just because I was allowed to let people down didn’t mean I wanted to.

“Actually, that would be great.” I smiled tremulously at Tom as I handed the pan and brush over, hoping he didn’t think I was too weird. Then I got what I needed from the fridge, plus a beefsteak tomato so I could decorate the top with slices of it.

“You must think I’m a total scaredy-cat,” I said as I worked, making sure to take deep and even breaths and work slowly so I didn’t cut my finger off or something. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s perfectly normal when you find a stranger in your home,” he reassured me.

“Well, thank you.”

Once he’d swept up he offered to wash the floor, so I suggested he just wet a tea towel and use that. I’d wash it properly later. Then I directed him to the other items I needed to take and asked him to put them in the bag.

I finished in about five minutes and I had a salad I could feel happy presenting. The kitchen was a mess, but I forced myself to wait to clean up. I covered the new bowl and placed it in the bag.

“You’re very resourceful,” Tom complimented, taking the handles of the bag.

“Oh, you don’t have to carry that.”

“It’s nothing,” he assured me. “You lock up while I do the heavy lifting.”

I saw the logic in his words. While he went through to the front door, I locked up the rear.

“Be back soon,” I told Buttons, my cat, bending to press a kiss to his head. “You can come visit us if you get lonely.” Buttons wasn’t like most cats. He’d let you do anything you wanted to him so long as you were petting him. He had a cat flap in the back door, but he rarely used it. He was a homebody—a bit like me, really.

We were late. Most people were already there, but I refused to look at a clock to confirm the time.

Diane greeted me with a cheek kiss, accepted my gifts, and furnished me with a nice glass of ice-cold rosé wine. Her home was much larger than mine, probably four or five bedrooms. Her garden was equally large and, unlike mine, had grass as well as flower beds. Her patio ran around the house in an L shape, and she kept a table at both the side and rear. They had been moved to the side now, so they would be in the sun for longer.

It seemed to be mostly a crowd in their forties, with a few about Diane’s age. At thirty-two, I was probably the youngest there. I was pleased to see that they were mostly couples because I really hate being hit on.

I either knew or recognized everyone. It was hard to live in a village and not know most people, at least by sight, so I felt quite relaxed. I removed my cardigan and took a seat in the shade next to Bridget, a local sculptor who I ran into at many art shows—including her own.

Tom took the seat beside me, which was surprising. I thanked him once again for his help earlier. Curiosity piqued, Bridget asked what had happened. Tom explained, making it all his fault and me the hero for saving the day with a second salad. I’m not going to lie—that endeared him to me a lot, especially since he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

When Bridget went off to get herself another gin and tonic, I looked to Tom and found him smiling at me.

“Mum’s been mentioning you in our conversations for ages now, but I had no idea she was talking about you or I’d have introduced myself properly.”

I blushed at the idea of his mother speaking about me. “Picturing someone a bit older?” I asked.

“Well . . .” He had the good grace to look abashed. “I’m surprised I haven’t met you on one of my visits before now.”

“I don’t like to intrude when she has family visiting.”

“What’s different this time?”

The wine had given me a little Dutch courage. “Ah, well. You’ve been here for over two weeks, so you’re practically a local now.”

He laughed. “So how did you meet Mum?”

“Um, my first day here, actually. She came over to introduce herself and found me in a total mess. No furniture but a blow-up bed, no food, no fridge for the food I didn’t have. I thought I’d be really smart and get a pot noodle for tea—only I didn’t have a kettle.”

I’d been sitting in the middle of my nearly empty kitchen, crying over how inept I was.

“Was your moving van delayed?”

“Um, no. Actually, I downsized quite a bit so I decided to buy all new.”

“Even a bed?” He seemed confused, which wasn’t surprising.

“Yep. Crazy as it sounds, I wanted a whole new start. My white goods were supposed to arrive on moving day but they were delayed. I knew I’d have to wait for the bed so I had bought a blow-up bed and a beanbag from Amazon. I just”—I shrugged—“I wanted to start from scratch, you know? Find furniture that really fit the house.”

In truth, I hadn’t wanted anything that might remind me of Darren, my ex. I’d even bought new clothes.

“You’ll have to give me a tour sometime.”

“Sure.” My smile felt brittle, so I moved the conversation on. “Anyway, I was on the verge of tears and feeling like a complete failure for thinking I could live alone, and she suggested we visit the fish-and-chip shop.”

I shook my head, still embarrassed by my stupidity that day. I’d just been so overwhelmed by the late deliveries and my failure to even buy something simple, like a kettle, that I couldn’t think clearly enough to remember that takeout food existed.

“Anyway, Diane sort of took me under her wing after that. She showed me around, helped me find furniture; she was really good to me.”

When I looked at him, Tom was giving me a sort of half smile, which made me blush and look away.

“More wine?” he asked.

I said yes although my glass was still half full.

Once Tom left, Bridget returned. She started telling me about a new pottery wheel that she was having trouble getting used to and we were joined by my friend Clare, who taught at the local junior school, and her husband Robert, the resident financial adviser for the village.

Now that he knew who I was and was being friendly, I felt that my attraction to Tom was making me vulnerable, so I mingled for a while and only took my seat again when the meal was served. Tom didn’t single me out for conversation, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

By the time the sun was setting, someone had put some music on, the outdoor candles were lit, and we were all well oiled. Those who had to be up early the next day left, but I wasn’t working until eleven so I was fine. Eventually only five of us remained, so we grouped together around the same table.

I was content to listen to people, to let their conversations wash over me. I have always been happier in the background. I took on the role of server, making sure people had drinks and snacks; I fetched coats from Diane’s front hall for those who were feeling chilly.

While taking an empty wine bottle in to exchange it for a fresh one, I found myself cleaning up, as I usually did. It drove Diane mad, but it was my way of saying thank you.

“I wondered where you’d got to,” Tom said as he came into the kitchen.

For once, I didn’t jump.

“Sorry, do you need the wine?” I had topped everyone off before I came in—hence the empty bottle.

“No, we’re fine. Just wondering where you’d slunk off to.”

“Just tidying,” I explained. I had filled the dishwasher to capacity and I was hand-washing the things that wouldn’t fit.

Strangely, Tom didn’t try to stop me. He picked up a tea towel and began to dry the dishes.

Imagine that, I thought. A Hollywood star drying dishes.

We worked in companionable silence until I felt it might be rude if I didn’t converse with him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“How’s the leg?” I asked, then silently cringed. Why had I brought up such a sensitive topic?

“The bone is healed. Probably stronger than ever with all that titanium in there.” He paused and huffed in frustration. “The flesh is another matter entirely.”

“Flesh?” I hoped standing there with me for so long wasn’t causing him pain.

“The leg trapped in the car got doused with petrol. It’s healing slowly. Right now there’s a lot of scar tissue, which is causing mobility issues.”

“And the pain?” I asked softly, as if I was afraid he’d stop talking if he realized what I was asking about.

“Most of the burned area is pain free,” he said with a bark of ironic laughter. “It’s the healthy tissue around it that hurts like a bitch.”

He looked at me. Whatever he saw on my face suddenly made him look stricken.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. This stuff . . . it’s just hard to talk about. That means I don’t explain it very well.”

I nodded, too scared to say anything. I didn’t want him to think I was frightened of him. I wasn’t—my mousiness was a learned behavior. Darren opened up to me sometimes, but when he made himself vulnerable was also when he was at his most volatile. One wrong word could send him off on a tirade . . . or worse. I made a conscious effort to school my features to indicate that I was serene and interested.

“The burn was deep enough to kill my nerve endings. It’s only the surrounding tissue, which wasn’t so badly burned, that feels pain—and it feels a lot of pain. They’ve given me some strong pills. Although the woozy feeling wears off after a few days, I sleep more than usual on them. I’m worried about getting addicted, so I try to have a day or two off each week. It’s getting better.”

“Can you have a graft?” I asked, pleased to have regained the power of speech.

“Yes.” He smiled wryly. “And there’s the rub. In order to get full mobility back, I have to endure more painful operations and recoveries.”

I nodded. “When do you go back?”

“I’m seeing a consultant plastic surgeon in London next week. He’ll advise on the best course of action to regain full use and make it look as good as possible.”

“It sounds like you might be out of commission for a while.”

He nodded and took a wet plate I had just washed straight from my hands. I realized I’d been slowing down as I listened, so I sped up again.

“Probably a year, all told. I mean, I do have some promotion to do for future releases.” He shook his head. “Really not looking forward to flying around the globe with this leg,” he muttered gloomily.

“Is it true you finished the film you were working on?”

“Partly.” He was hedging. “They got my body double to film the rest of it. Then they filmed my head, and will morph me onto his body using CGI.”

“They couldn’t have given you longer to heal?” I was outraged on his behalf.

“After two weeks in hospital, I wanted to get it over with—I knew this wasn’t going to be the sort of injury I could hide under a desk. It’s not that sort of movie. Besides, they couldn’t delay indefinitely, and I want to put something out there. Something to—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘remember me by.’”

He smiled. “No, but it might be my last action role.”

“Because of the leg?”

“The scar tissue has reduced my mobility. It doesn’t stretch. The burn went into the muscle, which has reduced my strength. And then there’s the pain . . . ,” he explained.

“To say nothing of the break,” I added. I really felt bad for him.

“I can’t see it ever being as good as before, and no one wants to see scars.”

I wanted to argue that he could still be a great actor without taking his clothes off. Then I recalled that he’d won Rear of the Year not too long ago. I remembered Diane blushing when I teased her about it.

“Maybe they can put balloons under your skin to stretch it out,” I said slowly, remembering something I’d once read about skin grafts on conjoined twins who were being separated. “That way you won’t have as many scars, because you’ll have made excess skin. They could make the scar in your bum crease so no one would see it.” I pointed to where my thigh joined my buttocks for good measure, then felt my cheeks burn as I realized that I was talking to a Hollywood actor!

“Oh my God! I am so sorry!” Who was I to be giving out medical advice? “It’s the drink. I’m not usually so silly.”

He seemed amused by me, which I thought might be worse than being offended by me.

“Actually, it’s a good idea. I think one doctor mentioned it.”

“I should go.” I washed the final plate, handed it to Tom, and let the water out of the sink.

“Please don’t.” He almost sounded like he meant it.

“It’s late, and I still have my kitchen to clean up and a cat to feed.”

“Oh. Of course.” He turned serious. “But I hope it wasn’t something I said?”

“No. Honestly.” I shook my head. It was something stupid I had said. I could hear Darren’s voice in my head, telling me how stupid and uncouth I was.

“Let me walk you home,” he suggested.

I didn’t want to put him out. I just wanted to be alone with my mortification.

“Thank you, but it’s literally over the road.”

“All right.” He held his hands up as if in surrender, and I went outside to say my goodbyes to Diane and the others.

Once home, I turned my music up loud to drown out the thoughts in my head. I busied myself cleaning up the kitchen, and then I took a sleeping pill. I curled up with Buttons, an episode of Sense8 playing on my laptop while I waited for it to kick in.

***

I wasn’t sure if I wanted Tom to come into the bar the next day or not. After the lunchtime rush finished and I was clearing and wiping down the stragglers’ tables, I found myself looking to the door every few seconds.

I’d had some time to think that morning, namely about why I seemed to be backsliding in my recovery. I was jumping at every little thing and clamming up, and I had concluded it was because of Tom. Not that I felt threatened by him per se; it was more that he was reviving long-dead feelings that could leave me vulnerable again.

Once I understood my recent behavior, it was easier to tune Darren’s critical voice out. I couldn’t get rid of it completely, though.

I debated shutting things down with Tom and just avoiding him, but even if the prospect of being close to another man was frightening, I actually liked the way I felt around him. It wasn’t just excitement or lust. It felt more like waking up, as if I’d been sleeping for over a decade and I was only now starting to fully experience being alive again.

I’d met Darren when I was nineteen. From about age twenty onward, I began shutting parts of myself down in order to survive.

I had forgotten how nice anticipation felt.

The next time I glanced up I saw him heading in, so I quickly looked away, not wanting to make things awkward for him. I smiled warmly as I headed behind the bar. I put the glasses I was carrying down so I could serve him.

“The usual?” I asked as he passed, trying not to feel embarrassed over the things I said the night before.

“Please.”

Right behind him came the two girls from the week before—the ones who had been taking his picture.

“Sorry, ladies. You’re barred,” I called out.

“What?” asked the taller one.

“Why?” added her friend.

I pointed to the sign over the bar. “You broke the pub rules, so I can’t let you back in.”

“We did not!” The tall one folded her arms over her chest with indignation.

“Okay, let me see your phones.”

“Why?” the short one demanded, mimicking her friend’s aggressive posture.

“Well, if I don’t find any pictures taken from that table”—I pointed to where they’d been sitting—“then I’ll apologize and give you a free drink. But if I do, then you will be barred.”

“This is a shit bar anyway,” the short one said. “Come on, Alice.”

So the tall one had a name.

They left, and I got Tom his beer.

“Thank you,” he said as I approached. “They’ve been following me since I got to the beach.”

“That must make you so uncomfortable.” I sympathized.

“It makes you feel as if you’re constantly on display.” His mouth twisted up in a grimace. He looked tired and slightly hunted.

Not what you need when you aren’t at your best, I silently added.

“When do you see the consultant?” I asked brightly, hoping a change of topic would cheer him.

“Tomorrow, actually.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, love.”

He seemed slightly happier when he thought about it. I hoped that his doctor’s visit wouldn’t be bad news and depress him again.

One of my other customers raised a hand, so I left Tom. “Let me know if I can get you anything.”

He assured me he would, and I went back to work.

We still didn’t talk much while he was there, but we were more sociable than we had been previously. When we were alone in the bar we chatted about books, debating the merits of some—frankly overrated—classics.

He had a few texts come in. One made him scowl, but I didn’t ask about it.

He left about ten minutes before me, but when I reached the town steps, I saw that he was still about ten from the top. He had paused for a few moments, his unfolded cane in one hand and his other on the railing. Rather than let him know I’d seen him, I walked into the bakery and got myself a nice cream cake as a treat. When I returned, Tom was nowhere to be seen.

I hoped his doctor could do something for him.

I missed Tom the next day, which made me realize how much I’d been looking forward to his visits to brighten my shift.

That epiphany was why I didn’t mind being fired.