CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
So many conflicting thoughts are running through my head.
How long have I felt this way about Zak? From the moment he caught me in Sylvia’s oak tree? If that’s the case, I’ve done a pretty good job of denying it to myself! But I can’t deny it any longer. Just picturing his face, my whole body floods with feelings I never ever felt when I was with Richard.
At least I know now that the mysterious Beth isn’t his girlfriend! Perhaps I should abandon my rule of no men and take a chance . . . ?
But why would Zak want to be with me? He’s got enough complications in his world already, what with Maisie and his writer’s block. Even if he does - by some chance – like me, I doubt he has room in his life for a relationship.
I sigh. All of this inner turmoil and debate is completely irrelevant anyway if Zak doesn’t feel the same way about me as I feel about him.
But maybe he does . . .
I leap up off the sofa with a frustrated yelp. Agonising over it like this will drive me completely insane! I need a distraction.
But it turns out that switching on the TV and channel flicking is not the answer. And neither is going to the fridge to find a tasty morsel (my stomach feels like it’s being used as a trampoline). In the end, I go to bed and try to read, even though it’s still only eight-thirty.
I’m just attempting to make sense of the first page for about the ninety-fifth time when I hear Zak’s key in the lock. Instantly, the trampoline bouncers go into overdrive, leaping up and down frantically and telling me that I’ll be getting no sleep whatsoever tonight.
I lie there, listening to Zak’s movements as he goes to his room briefly then wanders through to the kitchen and makes himself a sandwich and a coffee (Not tea. He only drinks tea first thing in the morning.) Then he disappears into the living room, closing the door gently behind him, presumably so as not to wake me. (Ha! Some irony!)
Seconds later, I hear the murmur of the TV.
I glance at the clock in despair. It’s twenty minutes to nine and sleep is so far off, it would need a plane and two buses to get here.
Perhaps I should go and join Zak in the living room?
The very thought makes me slightly nauseous with nerves, although the fluttery breathless feeling inside at the thought of seeing him is so much more powerful. Against my better judgement, I slide out of bed and fluff my hair. Then I pull on jeans and get my best top out of the wardrobe. Sliding into the pale pink silk shirt with its delicate chiffon trim always makes me feel like a million dollars. But catching my reflection in the mirror a second later makes me snort at my own ridiculousness. Why on earth would I be wearing my best top for a night in watching TV?
Pulling it off, I dive into my pink cotton pyjama bottoms with matching vest top and white waffle summer robe then I saunter into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice, forcing myself to breathe deeply to calm the nerves.
‘Is that you, Ellie?’ calls Zak. ‘Yes, of course it’s you. Who else would it be?’
I laugh. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ My heart starts beating ridiculously fast. ‘I’ll be through to the loving room in a minute – I mean the living room!’ Oh my God, I can’t even talk properly now!
I walk through and he’s sitting on the sofa, arms folded, long legs stretched out. I decide to be bold and sit right next to him. I slop a little orange juice on my white robe in the process and he notices. ‘You’ve spilt some . . .’
‘Yes.’ I start trying to wipe it off with a paper hanky.
‘Here.’ He takes the hanky and dips it into a glass of water nearby, then leans in close to tackle the stain. A waft of his gorgeous male scent sends my head into a delicious spin and I’m staring at his beautiful mouth, which is only inches away.
I laugh nervously. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s going in the wash anyway.’
‘You’ve got to get stains like this out immediately or you’re sunk.’ He twists his lips in a sheepish grin. ‘Maisie’s always throwing juice over herself.’
‘I didn’t realise you were quite so domesticated,’ I murmur.
‘Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’
‘I’m sure.’
Our eyes meet in a smile.
His eyes are incredible up close. They’re hazel brown but they’ve got little flecks of gold around the pupil and I’m having a hard job dragging my own eyes away. My heart beats frantically as he moves closer.
For a second, he draws back slightly, that same tortured look on his face as before. He stares at the ceiling and my head spins with confusion.
Then he looks at me and our eyes lock for a second before his mouth comes down on mine.
His kiss is hungry and I lose myself in it totally, responding with a passion I never knew I was capable of feeling. My head might be telling me to stop because it can never end well, but my heart . . . well, my heart is obviously in charge because I’m so completely incapable of stopping . . .
Then suddenly, Zak pulls away from me.
‘Sorry.’ He rises to his feet, his breathing ragged.
‘It’s fine,’ I gasp. ‘It’s a lot more than fine, actually.’
He shakes his head, looking anywhere but at me, and the elated feeling of seconds ago subsides into horrible uncertainty.
What’s wrong? What did I do?
‘I’ve decided I’m going to move into Sylvia’s while she’s in hospital,’ he says, scraping his hair back with both hands. ‘You’ll have more room.’
‘But you don’t need to do that. There’s plenty of room,’ I blurt out, feeling sick with panic.
At last he meets my gaze. ‘It’s the best thing to do. Believe me.’
He looks so anguished that for one mad second, I think he might be about to change his mind.
Then he draws in a sharp breath. ‘I’ll head over there now.’
He strides out of the room and five minutes later, I hear him in the hallway and the front door clunks shut behind him.
*****
Waking up next morning, I groan as a helpful montage of the night before starts playing in my head.
Me sitting down next to Zak, spilling my orange juice and him leaning close to wipe it off. The passionate kiss. Then Zak almost instantly regretting it, springing up off the sofa and telling me he was going to live at Sylvia’s.
I lie there going over every little detail of what happened, trying to make sense of it. We’d shared such a lovely day with Maisie. I really thought Zak and I had grown closer as a result.
But maybe that was the problem . . .
As I drag myself out of bed to get ready for the bakery, I face up to the gut-wrenching truth. There really is no other way to interpret what happened last night. Zak might be attracted to me – the passion between us last night was most definitely not one-sided - but he doesn’t want me getting close to him and Maisie. He’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t want me in their lives.
What a bloody fool I made of myself last night!
I stand in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water wash away my tears.
*****
It’s a beautiful April morning. I leave early for the bakery and slowly walk an entire circuit of the duck pond.
All the time, I’m looking out for Jessica, the duck with the blue-green bill. But she isn’t there. Feeling panicky, I walk over to where six or seven ducks are congregated by the side of the pond. But she’s not among them.
Where is she?
Feeling heavy-hearted, I leave the pond and set off across the village green.
I slip into the bakery at nine, convinced Fen will take one look at my face and know I’ve been crying.
‘Hi. I’ve – um - put the kettle on,’ she says, nodding towards the back room.
‘Oh, right.’ I glance at her in surprise. She usually has a cuppa waiting for me and we have a chat, making the most of the time before Monster Madge appears. ‘Okay, do you want one?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
She hasn’t noticed my puffy eyes at all. Maybe they’re not as bad as I thought.
Puzzled, I head through to make myself some tea. Fen’s definitely not herself today. Perhaps she’s dreading her parents’ anniversary party at the weekend.
As I’m popping two teabags in the pot, I hear the tinkle of the bell as someone comes into the shop. It’s probably Mr Clegg, calling in as usual to buy his pregnant wife’s favourite iced buns for breakfast. But when I go back through with my tea, there’s no sign of him.
Fen rushes past me into the back room. Her face is tense and flushed, and I stop abruptly in the doorway. ‘Fen, what’s wrong?’
She shakes her head and rushes over to the sink, where she runs the cold tap and starts splashing water on her face. Then she pats her cheeks with a hand towel and stares out of the window, her back to me.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask gently. ‘If you don’t feel well, you should go home.’
She spins round. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ She attempts a smile.
‘Who’s in there?’ I mime.
‘Jaz.’
‘Has she upset you?’
She shakes her head and I wonder if Jaz has been winding Fen up again, like she did the other day, telling her not to be such a mouse.
Jaz could definitely do with some lessons in diplomacy!
‘Well, if you’re okay . . .’ I go through to the shop and stop dead in my tracks. Jaz is standing on the wrong side of the counter. The second I appear, she whisks her hand away from the till, looking guilty as anything.
‘I dropped a fifty pence piece,’ she mumbles, bending and scouring the floor for it.
‘Maybe it rolled under the counter,’ I suggest, and we both take a look.
‘Never mind. It’s just fifty pence.’ She shoots me a furtive look and scurries out.
I stare after her. I’ve never seen Jaz look so . . . sheepish. She’s usually about as subtle as a truck crashing through a department store crockery department.
And what the hell was she doing at the till?