Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (10 page)

She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn't called in that morning to check on him. After much deliberating, she'd convinced herself that it had been too early, that he would be zonked out on painkillers, and that he was a grown man who didn't need a nursemaid. But, regardless of all of that, the fact remained that he was still a guest at the manor, and she did therefore feel some responsibility for him. She would pop in later that afternoon and take Sophie with her.

The day passed in something of a blur for Annie. A coach-load of American tourists had stopped off at the village and been so impressed by her cupcakes they had bought the whole lot, along with all the gingerbread men and most of the carrot cake. Not wishing to disappoint her regulars, a major baking session had ensued to replenish the empty stands. As productive and enjoyable a day as it had been, Annie could scarcely contain her excitement as the time to collect Sophie drew nearer. She had the evening all planned. After visiting Jake, they would make pizzas, eat them outside in the garden, then take Pip for a walk along the riverbank and feed the ducks.

She'd just turned the sign on the shop door to ‘Closed', when somebody rattled on it. It was Lydia, wearing a teeny pair of what looked like sprayed-on white shorts, and a glittering silver halter-neck top.

‘Goodness, I'm so glad I caught you,' she puffed, a great air of purpose accompanying her perfume as Annie opened the door. ‘I know you're closing, darling, but I just wanted to let you know that, where Jake's concerned, I have it all in hand.'

Annie gawped, not daring to enquire which part of Jake Lydia had in hand.

‘Alison Stevens told me all about his accident this morning,' she ploughed on. ‘And I dashed straight over to the manor to make sure the poor lamb had everything he needed. I had to cancel my manicure but I told them it was an emergency. “The community has to pull together in times of crisis,” I said, and I wouldn't want anyone saying I don't play my part.'

Annie's jaw dropped.

‘Anyway, I picked up something very nice for Jake's lunch and have something extra special planned for dinner.'

With a meaningful wink, she then turned on her six-inch heel and tottered off from whence she came, before Annie could utter a single word.

*

In his writing room at Buttersley Manor, Jake sat at the desk, one hand supporting his chin, the other holding his mobile away from his ear as Tanya launched into another of her daily soliloquies on why “he really should consider the film studio's offer”. Seemingly, his reluctance served only to fuel their interest. Each day they upped their offer, and each day Jake declined it.

‘Look, Jake, they're not going to hang around forever,' puffed Tanya. Since her original call her tone had slid from excited, to optimistic, to hopeful, to exasperated, and was now just plain desperate. ‘We need to give them a final answer.'

Jake released his chin, leaned back in the chair and raked his free hand through his hair. ‘I've given my final answer, Tanya. Several times. It is, and it will remain, an emphatic “no thank you”.'

The sigh that whooshed down the phone almost blew him away. He suspected she may be quietly counting to ten before she spoke again.

‘Look, Jake, an offer like this only comes along once in a lifetime. If you're lucky. I know authors who would give their right arm for an opportunity like this.'

‘Only the left-handed ones, I'd bet.' His attempt at humour met with resonating silence. ‘Look, Tanya, I'm really sorry and incredibly flattered but all I want to do is write my books.'

‘But you can continue to write,' she said, an edge of hysteria creeping in. ‘And sell your books by the thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Don't you want Martin Sinclair to be a household name?'

‘Frankly no.'

Another brief pause. Another shuddering sigh.

‘Look,' she said at length, ‘why don't you come down here and we can discuss it properly? Or I could come up to Scotland if you prefer.'

Jake swatted away both suggestions. ‘I can't come to London because I've sprained my ankle and there's no point you going to Scotland because I'm not there. Now, if you want this next book any time soon, I really must press on. Goodbye.'

He threw down the phone and reached for his painkillers. He didn't know which was the bigger pain – his ankle or Tanya. He couldn't blame her for trying, he supposed. The film deal would make a huge difference to her CV – and, no doubt, her annual bonus. But even Tanya's impressive tenacity wouldn't work on Jake. There was no way on earth he would consider accepting the offer. No way at all.

The phone rang again.

He flicked his eyes skyward before looking at the screen. If it was Tanya again he wouldn't answer it.

It wasn't Tanya. It was Nina's mother.

Now that would be a different conversation altogether.

‘So what's this I hear about one of Jasper's old mates staying in the castle?' asked Portia.

This was the second call in a matter of days, from which Annie surmised that her friend was in desperate need of some light relief. Portia rarely spoke about her work, and Annie never asked.

‘Yes, one of Jasper's mates is staying in the castle,' she confirmed. ‘Much to Lydia's delight.'

‘I'm not surprised,' said Portia. ‘If I remember correctly, he was really good-looking.'

Annie didn't reply.

‘You fancy him!'

I do not.' Despite the accusation being hurled from thousands of miles away, Annie still blushed scarlet.

‘Yes you do. If you didn't, you would have said something there.'

‘When there?'

‘When I said he was good-looking. Have you slept with him?'

‘Of course I haven't.'

‘Snog?'

‘No. And I don't intend to either. He might be good-looking but my interest in him is purely professional. I had to take him to the hospital yesterday. He's sprained his ankle.'

‘Perfect opportunity for you to dress up in your nurse's uniform then. Wasn't that on the list of things to do before you're forty?'

‘Somehow I doubt it,' said Annie.

‘Then you have my permission to add it on.'

‘I'll do it right away. Oh … and guess who's emailed me.'

‘Who?'

‘Lance.'

‘Lance? What does he want?'

‘I have no idea but he must be up to something.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Nothing really. Just hello and looking forward to seeing you both.'

‘Did you reply?'

‘No, I deleted it.'

‘Good girl.'

In the life of a five year old child, the Buttersley Annual Fair was not an insignificant event. Indeed, Annie discovered that it was significant enough to cause her daughter three sleepless nights. By the time the appointed day arrived, Sophie's excitement was orbiting the earth.

‘Will you please sit still,' pleaded Annie, trying to plait the child's hair as she sat on the edge of her bed.

‘Sorry, Mum.' Sophie folded her arms and clamped them over her chest. ‘Can we take Pip to the fair?'

‘If you want to,' said Annie, finally tying off the second pigtail. ‘Now, what are you going to wear?'

‘Please can I wear my pumpkin outfit?'

‘I don't really think that's appropriate, sweetheart.'

‘Oh.'

‘How about your shorts and T-shirt?'

‘No thank you. What about my ladybird outfit? Is that appropriate?'

‘Not particularly. But if you really want to …'

‘I really do, Mum. And the wings.'

Annie didn't know what it was about the Buttersley village fair, but every year the sun unfailingly shone on it. Evidently the sun, as well as everyone else involved, dared not disobey the orders of the formidable organising committee.

The venue for the event was a buttercup-strewn meadow leading down to the river, on the outskirts of the village. It was England at its most quintessential and Annie loved it. She also loved that there wasn't a dodgem car, a waltzer, or a flashing beeping light in sight. The formidable committee maintained that the fair's traditional values were the secret of its success and Annie agreed.

As they threaded their way through the gathering, bumping into various friends and acquaintances, Sophie compiled her plan of attack, which was then dutifully followed. She rode a donkey, joined in the Morris dancing, acquired a stitch laughing at the Punch and Judy show, and managed a grand total of four in the Hook-a-duck. Her prize of a plastic silver crown was readily added to the ladybird outfit.

En route to the coconut shy, next on her list, Sophie suddenly squealed with excitement.

‘Look, Mum, there's Mr Sinclair.'

Annie's spirits nosedived. Damn. Just when they'd been having such a lovely time, Jake had to appear – no doubt with Nurse Lydia in tow. Steeling herself, she turned her head in the direction Sophie had indicated and immediately spotted Jake – wearing long khaki shorts, a white V-necked T-shirt, and a pair of trendy sunglasses. He was alone and appeared to be hobbling towards the coconut shy, which meant there'd be no way of avoiding him. Unless she invented some fabulous excuse why the coconuts would have to wait; an excuse Sophie couldn't possibly argue with. Tricky, but not impossible. Watching him, though, as he limped along, the muscles in his arms clearly defined as he rhythmically shifted his weight on and off the crutches, Annie found the formation of excuses, fabulous or otherwise, superseded by a desperate longing to know what it would feel like to have those strong arms around her, pressing her into that broad chest. To slide her hands up his T-shirt and–

‘Is Mr Sinclair in fancy dress too?'

Clattering back to the here and now, it took Annie several seconds and a great deal of brain power to realise what Sophie was referring to. Oh. Of course. Jake's crutches. She bit back a smile. ‘No, sweetheart. Mr Sinclair has sprained his ankle. The crutches keep his weight off it so it will heal quicker.'

Sophie furrowed her little brow. ‘I think he looks funny. Please can I go and show him my crown?'

Before Annie could reply, her daughter bounded over to Jake, ladybird wings afluttering.

Annie remained where she was, gathering her wits. Right. All she had to do now was calmly follow her daughter and, upon reaching her destination, completely ignore any beautifully defined muscles or broad chests – which may or may not be splendidly showcased in white T-shirts. Condensing the required action into such a concise form reassured her. She could do that. Easily. Why, in the four days since she'd taken Jake to the hospital, she had scarcely spared him, or his biceps, or his chest, a thought. Apart from the time she'd been washing up in her kitchen and her gaze had strayed to his writing room. Or the time she'd been in the garden and caught sight of the open downstairs window. And admittedly, he had popped into her head each time she'd baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Other than that, she really hadn't thought about him at all.

Her intention to move not yet fully transmitted to her legs, Annie remained rooted to the spot as she watched a bouncing Sophie exchange excited chatter with Jake. All at once, they both turned to look at her. As Jake's gaze met hers and he broke into another of his easy smiles, a swarm of butterflies began fluttering in Annie's stomach. Honestly. She really would have to be more prepared for those smiles. They had the ability to knock a girl right off her feet. Thankfully, though, she was still standing – just. What she needed, to put an end to her ever increasing nerves, was a large dash of the anger that had fuelled her the night she'd taken him to hospital. She cast her mind back to Lydia's ‘Jake and I …' speech. The result was as instantaneous and as effective as she'd hoped. Tilting up her chin, Annie pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath in. With a grip on her emotions, she prepared to face the enemy. Well, okay, he wasn't quite an enemy, more of a thorn in her side, but that didn't sound quite so dramatic. Anyway, whatever he was, she was ready. With her head high, she took two steps forward, before tripping over Pip's lead and landing, with a thud, flat on her face on the ground.

In a flash, she scrambled to her feet, disentangled the lead and brushed herself down, hoping all the while nobody had noticed.

As if.

‘Mum, are you okay?' asked Sophie, suddenly appearing at her side.

Annie affected a breezy tone. ‘Yes, darling. I just tripped over Pip's lead, that's all.'

‘I know.' Sophie burst into a fit of giggles. ‘You looked ever so funny. You flew right through the air. Like in the cartoons. Mr Sinclair said you looked like a rocket.'

‘Did he?' muttered Annie through gritted teeth.

‘Only when we could see you weren't hurt,' confessed Jake, appearing alongside Sophie. ‘For a moment there, I thought we might need another pair of crutches.'

‘Thankfully not,' said Annie, a cocktail of mortification and indignation coursing through her. Looking defiantly at his sunglasses, she added, ‘As you can see, I'm perfectly fine.'

‘Yes,' said Jake. ‘You are.'

Annie's jaw slackened and her heart skittered. Had she imagined it, or had his voice dropped an octave with that last statement? And had he looked at her just a fraction longer than necessary? But no, she was being silly. That would mean he had implied – which he most certainly hadn't. And anyway, because of his sunglasses, she couldn't possibly tell if he'd been looking at her or – The near-dislocation of her arm from its socket rudely interrupted her analysis. It was Pip, straining at the lead to greet his new friend.

Jake's attention shifted from Annie to the dog. ‘Hello, little fella. Are you having a good time?'

Pip replied by licking Jake's bare shin. Her mind still scrutinising his previous comment, Annie swallowed hard, resisting the urge to do the same.