Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (12 page)

His classical cogitations were broken by Sophie who shifted her head slightly on his shoulder and sighed wistfully. Looking down at her, something tugged in the area of Jake's heart and all thoughts of naked Greek statues flew from his mind. She really was adorable – particularly in that ladybird outfit. And such good fun too. He had sincerely meant it when he'd said Annie should be proud. Sophie was a fantastic kid. He couldn't begin to imagine what it must be like to have such a positive presence in one's life, a tiny being to care for, to love, nurture, steer through life's rocky road.

As he'd watched Sophie chattering with her friend earlier, he'd found himself imagining what his own daughter might have looked like, how much she would have enjoyed the fair. Fortunately, he'd managed to adroitly end his melancholy. Practice, as the old adage goes, makes perfect. And Jake had had more than enough practice over the years.

Back at the cottage, Annie bundled a sleeping Sophie from the car.

‘I'll take her upstairs,' she whispered to Jake. ‘Make yourself at home in the kitchen.'

Jake nodded his thanks and, accompanied by Pip, hobbled along the small path to the kitchen. Fortunately, in the car, alongside his scrutiny of the day's events, he had mentally prepared himself for the effect the room had on him, and that effect was every bit as strong today, he concluded as he hovered in the doorway and breathed in the delicious aroma of currant buns. This was a home in the true sense of the word, a real family home. But this afternoon he had determined not to dwell on any of that. This afternoon he would relax and enjoy it. He hoped.

‘Not so much as a murmur out of her,' said Annie, startling him out of his reverie as she entered the room a few minutes later. ‘She's dead to the world and will hopefully stay that way for at least half an hour. If not, I recommend a hasty retreat. A crabby five year old is not a pleasant thing to have around.'

Jake swallowed hard, wishing he had personal experience of that one. Unfortunately he didn't – another thing he had no wish to dwell on that afternoon. ‘I can't imagine her being crabby,' he said, managing a smile. ‘She always seems so happy.'

Annie snorted disbelievingly. ‘Have you had much to do with children?'

A flash of regret shot down his spine and his smile wavered. ‘Not much. No.'

‘I thought not.' Annie bustled over to the fridge and yanked open the door. ‘Now, what would you like to drink? Beer or white wine?'

Welcoming the change of subject, Jake sucked in a deep breath before replying, ‘Wine would be great, thanks.' He began hobbling towards the table.

‘Here, let me help.' Without closing the fridge door, Annie scurried around the table and pulled out a chair for him. ‘How's your ankle? Does it still hurt?'

‘The odd twinge now and again,' he replied, lowering himself onto the chair and trying desperately not to notice that her smooth bare thighs were merely inches away from him. ‘Nothing like it was.'

‘That's good. And at least it doesn't affect your writing.'

Jake breathed a sigh of relief as she marched back around to the fridge.

‘How's the book coming along?'

Somewhere in his psyche, the distant ringing of an alarm bell sounded. ‘Um, okay, I suppose,' he muttered, starting as Pip jumped onto his lap.

‘Is it your first one?'

The bell rang a little louder. Jake shifted in his chair and tickled Pip under the chin. Damn. He really should have been prepared for this. But he wasn't. Not at all. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him how few people had enquired about his personal life since Nina's death. Naturally, his rare forays to anything remotely resembling a social occasion dramatically reduced the chances. And in Scotland, the few locals he did happen upon never asked him anything about himself. Whether from respect for his privacy or disinterest, he had no idea. Either way, it suited him fine. But what should he say to Annie now? He hated lying, but if he told her it wasn't his first book, it would inevitably lead to a string of other questions. Questions he really couldn't face right now. For all he'd congratulated himself on the efficient dealing of his many mawkish thoughts over the course of the day, he was aware he had merely swept them under a flimsy carpet. A carpet so thin, the slightest hint of a breeze would lift it, and out they would all drift again.

‘Er, yes. Yes, it is,' he lied, trying not to cringe as the words left his mouth.

‘It must be great writing a book,' mused Annie, plonking a bottle of white wine on the table. ‘Wonderful seeing pages and pages filled with your own words. Not to mention your name on the cover.'

At the mention of names on covers, Jake gulped. ‘Yes,' he muttered, with another pang of guilt. ‘Yes, it must.'

‘Will you use your own name or a
nom de plume
?' she continued, producing a corkscrew from a drawer.

The ringing of one alarm bell was joined by a dozen others. What was this? The Yorkshire Inquisition? He had envisaged enjoying a lovely, relaxing afternoon in Annie's wonderful company. But this was torture. Purgatory with a big fat capital P. Perhaps he should make some excuse and go. An evening on his own with a slice of dry toast would be preferable to this barrage of questions. He watched Annie as she turned the corkscrew, a look of concentration on her beautiful face. No, he was being unfair. Her questions were perfectly reasonable. It wasn't her fault every word that came out of his mouth was a lie. He couldn't blame her for the deep hole he was digging himself. But now that he'd started, he had to finish.

‘I, um, really haven't thought that far ahead.' He jumped as the cork parted company from the bottle with a resounding pop.

Fortunately, Annie appeared oblivious to his jittering nerves. ‘I think I'd have to use my own name,' she said, setting down the bottle and whipping two large wine glasses from a shelf. ‘As proof that I actually wrote it.'

Jake gave a shaky smile. ‘Good idea,' he mumbled.

‘So, what did you do before?' She tipped the wine into the glasses and pushed one over to him, before sitting down opposite him.

Oh god. Could this get any worse? Jake snatched up his glass and knocked back a very large slug of wine.

‘Before what?' he blurted out, aware he was stalling for time.

The bemused look Annie shot him suggested she may be noticing something of his odd behaviour after all. ‘Before you started writing, of course.'

‘Oh, of course.' Jake attempted a self-deprecating roll of the eyes. In hindsight, he suspected it made him look like he was having some kind of fit. ‘I, um, worked in finance.'

‘In the stock market?'

Lord. Was there no end to it? He gulped down another mouthful of wine, before concluding that a dramatic change of subject was needed. Quickly.

‘Something boring like that.' He plastered a grin onto his face. ‘So how's the running going?'

To his relief, her mouth stretched into a wide grin.

‘I'm loving it. It's hard work and even harder finding time to fit it in. Mrs Mackenzie has been a complete star as usual. She looks after the shop for me a couple of times a week so I can fit in a run in the afternoons. It's a bit of a juggling act, but I'm so glad I started. It's amazing the progress you make in such a short time.'

‘So you'd never ran before then?'

‘Never. It was Portia's idea. Well, not really Portia's idea. She found this silly list of things to do before you're forty, and “Run a marathon” was on there. That's my ultimate goal.'

‘Really? I wouldn't mind having a look at that list, given that I'm not that far away myself. Hey, that's not it there, is it?' Amidst all the paraphernalia on the fridge door, his eyes landed on a list with several things encircled in red. ‘Could I have a look at it?'

To his dismay, Annie flushed scarlet. ‘It's just silly things really,' she muttered, standing up to unclip the list and hand it to him. ‘And the red circles were Portia's idea, not mine.'

Jake was intrigued. His eyes ran down the list taking in the circled items: stand on your head, learn the merengue, put the bin out in your undies, run a marathon, have a screaming orgasm, fall madly in love. He stopped there. No wonder Annie looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up. He pushed the list to one side and blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘I can't believe you're anywhere near forty.' He prayed that didn't sound as naff to Annie as it did to him.

Fortunately, it appeared not to but then again, he mused, judging by her obvious embarrassment, she would probably have welcomed a topic about dust mites – anything to steer the conversation away from that list.

‘Thanks.' She flashed him a fleeting smile. ‘Five years to go. Although some days I feel one hundred and forty.'

‘Don't we all? It's natural. You've a lot on.'

‘No more than thousands of other women. There are lots of single mothers out there, with much more to cope with than I have.'

Jake held his breath for a moment, wondering if he dare ask about Sophie's father. He promptly concluded he didn't. It was none of his business. And, given that they'd only known each other five minutes, it was highly unlikely Annie would want to share the details of her private life with him. Best steer the conversation to more neutral ground.

‘So, are you looking forward to the race?'

‘Are you talking about Mum's race?' Sophie appeared in the doorway, still wearing her ladybird outfit, and clutching a bedraggled teddy bear.

‘We are,' confirmed Jake. ‘Have you had a nice sleep?'

‘Yes, thank you. Mrs Mackenzie was going to take me to watch Mum's race but now she is going to stay with her sister so I have to go to Jessica's house.'

‘That's a shame,' said Jake. ‘When is it?'

‘July the twelfth,' confirmed Sophie. ‘Will you still be here then?'

‘I will.' Jake couldn't hold back a smile, as he guessed what was to follow.

‘Then you can take me, if you like.'

‘Sophie!' exclaimed Annie. ‘You really must stop putting people on the spot like that. It's very rude. Apologise to Mr Sinclair at once.'

‘Sorry, Mr Sinclair.' Sophie dropped her little head. ‘I didn't mean to be rude. But if I go with you and I can't see anything, you can put me on your shoulders. Like Bethany's dad did with her at the carnival last year.'

‘I'm sure Mr Sinclair has much better things to do with his Sunday afternoon than watch me race,' said Annie. ‘You will be going to Jessica's house as planned and I will tell you all about it when I pick you up.'

‘Ok,' muttered Sophie, a solitary tear streaking down her pink cheek.

Jake tugged his mobile out of his pocket and pretended to look at his diary. ‘Well, it says here that I'm actually free on July twelfth. So, if it's okay with your mum, I could take you after all.'

He bit back a smile as Sophie's huge emerald eyes gazed pleadingly at her mother.

Annie appeared to give the matter some consideration before shaking her head and, on a deep exhalation, saying, ‘Oh, all right then. But you have to promise to be very good.'

‘I promise,' said Sophie, breaking into a fit of giggles as Pip leaped up and licked Jake's face.

Jake couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed an afternoon so much. Certainly not in the last five years. Not only was Annie's garden a delightful spot, but the weather was glorious and the food even better. With what seemed to him like minimal effort, Annie had produced a feast fit for a dozen members of the royal family – chunky vegetable kebabs, a mouth-watering array of salads, tenderly cooked perfectly seasoned meat, and a taste-bud exploding dessert – barbecued bananas with melted chocolate and ice cream. All washed down with several large glasses of wine. But all of the above paled into insignificance compared to the delightful company. Predictably, it was Sophie who had stolen the show. Her hilarious take on the Eurovision Song Contest – complete with national dress – resulting in fits of laughter. Her latest outfit, though, was nothing to do with Europe.

‘This is my kikono,' she announced with a twirl.

‘Your ki
mono
,' corrected Annie.

‘It's from Japan. My Daddy brought it over for me. He lives there, doesn't he, Mum?'

‘He does,' confirmed Annie levelly. ‘Now, I have a really great idea for your next outfit.'

‘What?' asked Sophie excitedly.

‘Pyjamas. Say goodnight to Mr Sinclair, then off you go and change quickly please. It's time for bed.'

As Sophie grudgingly bade goodnight, then made her way back to the house, a million questions whirled around Jake's head, but he had no idea where to start. And even less idea of whether he should. Annie's personal life was her own business and he had no right to pry. Almost as if reading his mind though, Annie said:

‘Lance moved to Japan when Sophie was a few weeks old.'

A few weeks old?
Jake's eyes grew wide in astonishment. What kind of man deserted their new-born child? Even if he and Annie hadn't been together at that point, surely this Lance guy would have wanted to spend time with his daughter. With no idea of what to say next, he examined Annie's face. The look of sadness upon it caused something painful to twist in his gut.

‘Excuse me for a moment.' She suddenly thrust to her feet and made a futile attempt at a smile. ‘I'd better make sure she's getting ready for bed.'

As she headed into the house, Jake leaned back in his deckchair, trying to make some sense of this latest revelation. Of course he had no idea what had happened, had no facts at all, and knew absolutely nothing about this Lance. But he couldn't believe there was a man on this planet who wouldn't want Annie and Sophie in his life. This Lance character must be mentally deficient. Or a callous bastard. By the look on Annie's face, he suspected the latter. He must have hurt her badly and, although not normally a violent man, Jake found he wanted to punch his lights out.