the explosive week that it lasted. Then nothing. One last door banging and the war was over. A ghostly quiet and a father who systematically, scarily, smashed every plate in the house.
She’d wanted to yell at him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she ran away. Hid at the bottom of the garden under the safe canopy of trees until he came to find her. The next day he packaged her up like some unwanted gift that needed returning to the store. Took her away from her home, from her school, from her friends. Installed her somewhere bright, shiny and new. With the man who overnight had changed from the laughing dad into the alien Alfie and, too soon after, she’d been introduced to his dotty wife-to-be Carol.
She’d never even said goodbye to anyone or anything. That day he’d walked down the steps and put their suitcases in the boot of the car, rattled the gate to check it was secure then driven away without a backwards glance. The house that was her home had been locked up, locked out. Forgotten.
Her mother had never meant to get pregnant again, if she hadn’t she probably would have never said she was leaving with her toy boy. The man who made her feel wanted. The man she bought a plane ticket with and never looked back.
But shit happens, and sometimes it keeps happening.
Georgie opened the eyes she hadn’t realised she’d shut and looked down at the leaves round her feet. She stooped, picked up one of the shiny brown conkers from the road and rolled it round, the still waxy surface tacky against her fingertips, then closed her hand tight around it and shoved both her fists in her pockets. Slowing down to think about things was bad, ploughing on into the unknown, every day a different challenge was good. Kicking her way out of the crap that had closed in around her. She gave a last kick at the leaves, but this time it was an angry jab, that sent a pain though her toe. Great, just what she needed, a broken toe. She hobbled a couple of steps, at least this was a proper pain. Kicked her boot off and wiggled the toes experimentally, they moved so they couldn’t be broken, could they? She pulled her wellie back on with a sigh. Dawdling was just putting off the moment when she’d get there. Have to face him again and work out how to get what she wanted. It was time to kick ass, if her foot was up to it.
“Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? Twice in one week after not seeing you for years.”
“How could I stay away?” Keep her tone light was one thing, keeping her eyes off him was something altogether different. No-one should be allowed to look like that, Georgie decided. But at least the dread in her stomach when she’d turned into the place had been replaced with little fingers of anticipation that were reaching down a bit lower.
From the shadow on his chin he couldn’t have shaved since she last saw him, and the curls on his forehead were damp with perspiration. So was the T-black T-shirt that was clinging to his torso, just like she wanted to. He was gazing at her through dark lashes and the quirk to the corner of his mouth could have been amusement or something her dirty mind had made up.
Bugger.
“Did you forget something?” He’d ignored her comment, obviously used to being lusted after. But she was more than happy to up her game if she needed to.
“Call me nosy. I wondered what you got up to these days, when you weren’t handing out rides.”
This time he half grinned. What she was after, she supposed, except those little fingers in her stomach were firming up into more and tugging at something deep down in her stomach. Promising.
“I don’t tend to hand out seconds.”
“Arrogant bugger.” She laughed and the other side of his mouth joined in with the grin.
“If you’ve got it, why deny it?” He held out his hands wide, as though in submission and chuckled. Lord that chuckle was dangerous, it was practically making her toes curl, and causing all kinds of other havoc on its way down there.
“So, what do you do?” She glanced around, so that she had an excuse not to carry on staring at him. Being lured in, she needed to control this. Not just jump the man. There were neat fields either side, a barn at the end of the track and not much else from what she could see. The same old place that she remembered from all those years ago, but tidier. The same post and rail fence, still with the teeth marks.
Exactly the same teeth marks. She stared. This was worse than she’d thought. Her fingers curled, tight in her pockets until her nails bit into the palms of her hands. He shouldn’t be here, in this field. He should be in the next one along, nearer to Rowena’s, further from her memories. This wasn’t his place, it was hers. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to stop looking at the stupid fence.
Looked at something new. A neat white line of electric tape around the gateway to stop it becoming a muddy morass. Not that mud had bothered her last time she was here.
“I fix horses.”
“Fix? Come on, you’re not a vet.” He didn’t even like horses, he’d never liked horses or she’d have noticed when they were kids. They’d been her whole life back then.
“Wow, as sharp as ever I see, Sherlock.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood square. Damn, she was back to staring at him. “I fix their heads not their bodies, it’s all in the mind as they say.”
“What is?”
“The bogeyman, the monster hiding in dark places. That irresistible urge to run hard and fast.”
There was a trace of something darker in his voice, maybe something bitter, maybe just plain old irony. It wasn’t there long enough to pin down, but she sensed it. He shrugged, dispersed the tension she was sure she hadn’t imagined.
“Sometimes it can be a good idea to run.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but his face didn’t lift.
“Messes with your head if you don’t know why you’re running.” His eyes narrowed, sending out a fan of fine wrinkles towards his temples.
And she knew if she came out with it straight, why she was there, he’d be the one running hard and fast. She hadn’t quite worked out how to get round him yet, but the longer she looked at him the more she wanted him in the shoot. And she wanted it here too. It was part of him, and she didn’t want to separate the two. And it was part of her, a part that the ache inside her might want back. A sticking plaster for the soul as her gran would have said.
“So, where are the horses?”
“She’s in the barn.”
“She? As in one horse? That’s a bit crap isn’t it, as businesses go?”
“It’s how I work.” He paused. “One at a time.” Stared.
Now, was that a threat or a promise? He enunciated each syllable, slow and clear in that quiet, low tone of his and she suddenly knew that now might be the time to cut and run. To get away while she still wanted to. If she still wanted to.
Forget the whole thing. It was better to go somewhere else, get away from this stupid place. It was easy to find a man, a guy who looked good in dirty jeans, a grin and not much more. Very easy. A man with a dimple in the middle of his chin, and green brown eyes that you wanted to sink slowly into. A man with a firm body that you could wrap yourself round. Easy.
“I’ve got a proposition for you.”
