had already started falling into that rich cerulean blue by the time I’d dropped the key round to Mrs Hedley. I needed an excuse to get out of movie night at Martha’s.
As soon as I’d let us into the cottage, Dave went straight for his spot on the floor at the back of the kitchen. I crashed too, on the window seat halfway between Dave’s bed and the bottle of wine I’d left on the breakfast bar, and lay back there looking up at the rows of books on the shelves above me. I held my phone above my face and flipped through the menu to text Martha. I know, I’m a coward, but it’s markedly easier to say anything when you don’t have to use your voice to do it.
The call I’d missed was from a number I didn’t recognise. They hadn’t left a voicemail.
Martha returned my text within seconds, checking that I was feeling OK and not having the meltdown my mother was always warning everyone to be ready for. Martha was surprisingly fine though. I should imagine it was nice for them to have a Saturday night to themselves for a change without me playing gooseberry. I didn’t fancy Rob’s chances for getting out of the grapefruit breakfast tomorrow though.
My arm started to ache from mid-air texting, so I rolled onto my side. Martha had made a long mid-grey cushion to run along the cream timber seat, and had insisted on at least six scatter cushions in soft lime and grey to finish off ‘the look’. Never mind how it looked, it was pretty damn comfortable here. Comfy enough to just slope off into a sleep. I pulled a cushion under my head. Across the kitchen, through the chunky legs of the table, I could see Dave’s hulking frame already snoozing in his bed. He had an easy life. Reluctantly, I pushed myself up.
A glass of red, and a soak in the tub were the only things that were going to get me on my feet.
Dave was already too far gone to come sit in the bathroom with me. I poured a glass of wine, grabbed one of the deli pots out of the fridge and headed up on my own. I polished off the feta chunks while I changed out of my jeans and tee shirt, and wished I’d bought more as I sunk my tired body into the hot silk of the water. There were few things more pleasurable than sliding into a deep bubble bath. Well, there were a few things, though I could vaguely remember what those things felt like. Vaguely. I resolved to start making more time for baths and showering less.
The change in temperature rippled me with gratifying goosebumps. I lay back and closed my eyes, enjoying the drip, drip, drip of the tap into the otherwise still water at my feet. The stiffness in my shoulder from Dave’s yanking gradually began to release. Through barely open eyes, I lifted a foot to the trickle of cold water, plugging the tap with my toe, and was more than shocked at how long I must have left it since last de-fuzzing my legs.
Bloody hell, Holly. You won’t need to wear trousers through the winter if that grows much more!
I spotted my razor on the tray in the shower. ‘Oh sod it, I’ll do it tomorrow,’ I said, before settling cold shoulders back into the warmth beneath the water line.
I relaxed again, the noises of the water swilling around me died away to nothing. Downstairs, I could hear Dave sucking in a deep, sleepy breath through his nose, then the dull buzzing of my mobile phone vibrating on the bed.
I thought Martha had given up too easily.
Just ignore it.
But then she’ll worry.
Go answer the phone.
‘Damn it, Martha!’
The towel I grabbed had spent just long enough to warm through on the radiator. I pulled myself free of the water’s reluctant release and wrapped myself in the towel, then trod wet feet over the rug on the landing and into my room at the back of the house. This was the only room in the house with carpet, thanks to my sister, and I was glad for it as I padded across the floor to the heavy four-poster. The phone stopped buzzing before I reached it, of course. I dumped myself on the soft give of the simple ivory quilt Martha had said was to die for, and looked at the screen. The same unfamiliar mobile number sat at the top of the list of missed calls. Martha and Jesse’s names took all remaining spots.
I started towelling the ends of my dripping hair and pondered who had pulled me from the tub before I’d had a chance to wash it through. Maybe it was Annie, Big Frank’s wife. She’d tried her best to get me to go and spend some time with them; it was probably her off the back of our catch-up today.
Still no voicemail though. I wasn’t calling her back now, I’d do it tomorrow some time, right after I finally called Mum. Crap. I was going to get an earful.
I was thinking of my mother’s impending annoyance, mobile phone still nestled in the palm of my hand, when it buzzed back to life. Annie’s attempts at being friendly had always been persistent, and I hated myself for holding it against her. I just didn’t want the therapy she thought she could offer me. My thumb hovered over the reject button but it seemed a little harsh, ungrateful too, probably. And I had enjoyed seeing Frank today. Maybe I was starting to mellow. Just answer it.
‘Hello?’ I said, waiting for Annie’s buoyant voice.
‘Hello?’ came his answer.
‘Frank?’
‘No. Not Frank. Is this the correct number for Miss Jefferson?’
I didn’t know why I’d thought Frank. Only it definitely wasn’t Jess or Rob, which left me searching through a very limited list of male names.
‘Who is this?’ I asked, checking the time on the dresser clock. It was a bit late for mobile phone companies, or offers of PPI reclamation. There was something familiar though—
‘It’s Ciaran. Argyll.’
The faintest involuntary gasp of breath kicked off a sudden thumping in the side of my neck and the wash of a tingling sensation over my cheeks. My body was already starting to react to some sort of stressful situation my brain didn’t understand yet.
‘Or … occasionally I go by Bond. James Bond.’
I knew it, as soon as the name started to trip off his wistfully Scottish tongue, I knew what was coming. For some reason, I felt like I’d been caught out by him again.
Think of something to say …
‘And on occasion, Handsome S—’
‘Ah, Mr Argyll … what can I do for you?’ I asked, searching for what the hell the answer could be. Thump, thump, continued the percussion in my neck. I tried to breathe quietly and evenly, to not allow the unsteadiness to give me away.
‘I’m sorry to call you out of hours, Miss Jefferson—’ I could hear the smile still there in his voice ‘—but I’m afraid I have a few queries about my order.’
In the dresser mirror I could see the look of absolute confusion all over my daft pink face, but at least at the mention of work some part of my brain found a foothold and started to climb its way up to the light.
‘How did you get this number?’ I asked, allowing myself the first stirs of what could be annoyance, hoping that they might chase off whatever else was stirring back there.
‘Nothing’s sacred these days, Miss Jefferson. I find a little research saves time. I hope you don’t mind?’ It was one of those statements that had
