I'm Not in Love (Once Upon a Winter Book 2) (3 page)

‘Do say yes! It’s the same old faces every year and it would be lovely to have a new one.’

‘I’m not very photogenic…’

‘Everyone is photogenic by the time Rainbow gets hold of them.’

‘Rainbow?’

‘Our photographer. She’s absolutely brilliant.’

‘I’m sure she is but…’

‘You’d be great…’ Ross stood in the doorway holding a metal tool box, and with a huge grin on his face. He turned to his mum. ‘I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes without you trying to recruit.’

‘When you bring a lovely young lady over what else am I going to do?’

‘I wouldn’t exactly say young…’ Hannah gave a self-conscious laugh. She really wanted this conversation to be over.

‘Come on, Hannah…’ Ross angled his head at the back door. ‘Let me rescue you.’

‘Back to the glamorous world of broken-down cars – yes please,’ Hannah smiled.

Briony looked rather put out and made Hannah solemnly promise to at least consider the calendar and to make sure she called for tea at the farmhouse again whenever she had time. She grumbled good-naturedly that Ross’s dad was always out and she was forever alone, and that Ross was becoming almost as much of a workaholic as his father, and then Hannah finally managed to say goodbye before following Ross out to his Land Rover.

‘They’re not nudie calendars,’ Ross laughed as he opened the door for her. ‘More likely you’ll be suffocating under pumpkins and apples, so we’d hardly see that much of you at all.’

‘Oh… well, it’s very nice of your mum to offer but I don’t think it’s really me.’

‘That’s a shame actually. I think you’d look pretty good buried under an artfully arranged mound of marrows.’

Hannah giggled. ‘I bet my sister would be up for it, and she’d look a hundred times better.’

Ross was silent. Hannah glanced across and saw he had a faraway look, as if he was visualising just how good Gina might look under a mound of marrows. He was probably wishing that it
was
a nudie calendar. Then he seemed to shake himself, and his usual boyish grin was back. He started the engine. ‘I’ll do my best to persuade you while we drive back to George’s. Mum would never forgive me if I don’t. Perhaps your sister could join in too… might make you feel a bit less self-conscious?’

‘Maybe…’ Hannah replied. The truth was she did feel obliged to say yes, if only to repay the kindness Ross had shown her. But the thought of it made her feel sick, and it was going to take a hell of a lot of persuading, no matter how many cars Ross fixed for her.

*

After much discussion, Ross persuaded Hannah to let him drop her off at home while he went back to get her car going. Hannah wasn’t crazy about the idea, especially as she felt like such a burden on his time; but the little jobs she had neglected at home over the previous week were beginning to nag at her, and the thought of getting back and starting on them was too tempting. If the truth be told, she was also a little tired and cold, and home seemed like a nice place to be right now.

‘If I manage to get it going I’ll bring it back, and if I don’t then I can tow it over with Sally,’ he said as he dropped her at her gate. His cheeky grin was back as he added, ‘But I’ve never met an engine I couldn’t get purring again.’

Unable to prevent the giggle that erupted from her, Hannah bade him goodbye and let herself in, alone again in her cottage for what felt like the first time in years.

The silence enveloped her as Hannah slipped off her coat and hung it up. It was chilly, but the central heating would kick in soon and if she cracked on with the tidying up she wouldn’t get cold. She needed to keep busy, because she missed Gina and Jess already. It was almost enough to make her wish she’d enjoyed Briony’s hospitality a little longer after all.

It was hard to believe that three women could make so much mess but Hannah was glad of the distraction. Her phone sat on the mantelpiece as she worked. Even though she’d set the volume as high as it would go so that she’d know as soon as Gina was back safe, and even though she was expecting it to go off, she still jumped when it bleeped the arrival of a text. When she checked, however, it wasn’t Gina, but the paramedic who had lost his watch. As Ross had suggested, they’d taken a photo of it earlier and sent it to the number the man had left, and the text he sent back now confirmed that it was indeed his watch and that he was delighted they’d found it. Hannah replied that he could come whenever he wanted to pick it up. It was nice to have done a good deed for him when he was always doing them for other people.

It was later, as she was beating the crumbs from her living room rug and wondering just how they kept ending up there when she rarely ate anything in that room, that the car pulled up outside her gate. Not her own sunny little Citroen or Ross’s sleek Range Rover, not a car belonging to anyone she knew for that matter. It was a sexy looking black Audi with personalised plates bearing initials that she didn’t recognise either. The windows were tinted to a degree that made Hannah wonder whether they were entirely legal, so she had no way of
preparing herself for who might emerge from the car. As hers was the only cottage in the immediate vicinity, she had to assume that whoever it was had come specifically to visit her.

The engine stopped, and there was a moment of suspense before the driver’s door opened. Out stepped a slim blonde woman, immaculately turned out in a calf-length navy woollen coat, her hair pinned into a neat chignon. Hannah gave an involuntary gasp as she recognised the figure, and before she had time to fully process the information, another, more familiar figure, got out of the passenger side to join her. Physically he looked a lot healthier than he had the last time she saw him – certainly a lot less bedraggled – but there was something sombre in his expression, a strain that made Hannah want to run and hug him. He looked like a man whose mind was still not altogether as it should be. He looked very unhappy. And considering what circumstances she had encountered him in on Christmas Day that must mean he was very strained indeed.

The woman extended a hand as Hannah opened the gate for them. ‘Hannah, I presume?’

‘Hello…’ Hannah glanced at Tom as she shook the woman’s hand. What did she call him now? She gave him the brightest smile she had in her reserves, and the one he returned was like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day – bright and glorious. But as fast as it had appeared, it was swallowed up again by greyness. He seemed to be tussling with some inner turmoil, and looked extremely uncomfortable, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. There was no reason for either of them to feel awkward, really, so why did it feel like that? She wondered if her face told the same story. ‘I’m Martine,’ the woman continued. ‘I’m so pleased to finally meet you. Mitchell has told me so much about you.’

Hannah forced another smile. ‘Mitchell… so at least I have a proper name now. We had to make do with Tom on Christmas day, at the whim of my niece, I might add.’

‘So I hear!’ Martine laughed. Even her laughter was elegant and musical, though Hannah couldn’t help but feel it lacked warmth. She shook away the thought. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and she was feeling it in buckets right now, even though she knew she had no right to. This woman was so impeccable, so together, so obviously successful that Hannah would challenge any other woman she knew not to feel a little bit of envy. She and Mitchell made a handsome couple. ‘It sounds as though it was quite an adventure.’

Hannah looked at Tom, who was now Mitchell, as she answered. His name was awkward and alien to her when she tried to attach it to him. She liked him better as Tom. ‘It was. How’s the head now?’

‘It’s on the mend,’ he said.

‘So…’

‘Oh, his memory is still away with the fairies,’ Martine answered for him. ‘I’m sure a bit more time will sort things, though.’

‘Oh…’ Hannah replied. ‘Nothing has come back at all yet?’

‘Bits,’ Mitchell replied. ‘Annoyingly it’s little things that don’t seem important, like I’ll recognise a coat I own and remember where I last wore it, but I don’t recall important things…’ he glanced at Martine, ‘like my wife.’

‘I know, it’s a shocking state of affairs,’ Martine said. ‘A lesser woman could be very offended by that.’

Surely every other woman was a lesser woman, Hannah thought. There it was again, that little worm of jealousy. ‘Um… would you like to come inside for a drink or something?’ she asked. She prayed they would say no, because Martine looked like the sort of woman who might break out in hives at the sight of an unwashed cup, and her house still looked like a bombsite from Gina and Jess’s visit.

‘That’s very kind but we really don’t have a lot of time today,’ Martine said. ‘We were actually on a drive out to see if we could jog Mitchell’s memory and then we’re going to visit a few old friends to see if that will help too. But as we were passing here Mitchell insisted that we pick up some flowers to bring over for you. There’s a petrol station not far from here and we got some rather decent ones from there.’ She added the final sentence gleefully, implying that she herself would never receive petrol station flowers thereby reinforcing Hannah’s transient and inferior status as a part of Mitchell’s life. Hannah was wondering where the flowers were, when Mitchell went to the boot of the car and produced a bouquet of white and yellow roses and carnations.

‘They’re lovely, but you needn’t have,’ Hannah said as he handed them over.

‘We wanted to thank you,’ Martine said. ‘Both of us wanted to thank you for your kindness on Christmas day. Goodness only knows what might have happened to Mitchell had you not found him.’

‘It was more a case of him finding me,’ Hannah smiled. ‘I really didn’t do anything at all.’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ Martine said. ‘You certainly did more than a lot of people would have done.’

Hannah glanced at Mitchell. Why was Martine the only one talking? She didn’t like this new, miserable, henpecked version of Tom-who-was-now-Mitchell, standing before her as though he wished a giant bird would swoop from the sky and carry him off. Did he feel at sea in the company of his wife, a woman he should have been intimately acquainted with but
couldn’t remember at all? Or was he simply finding her as irritating as Hannah was? Martine was perfectly courteous – as perfect in her manners as in every other aspect of her being – but there was something about her that Hannah simply couldn’t warm to. Not that it mattered, of course, they were hardly going to be best friends; and she supposed it was nice of her to want to call and meet Hannah and thank her in person.

‘So… you live nearby?’ Hannah asked, grasping for some neutral conversation, anything that would stop her being a monumental bitch, which was what her thoughts were making her feel like right now.

‘Chapeldown,’ Martine replied, with obvious pride. There was a suitable pause to give Hannah time to be impressed. Chapeldown was the next village along Holly Way – more of a hamlet really – inhabited by stockbrokers and surgeons. It was way beyond Hannah’s (and most other people’s) budget.

‘Very nice,’ was all that Hannah could find to say.

‘Close enough for you to pop over and see us sometime,’ Martine added, which Hannah translated as
please never pop over to see us
. Hannah simply smiled.

‘We should probably let you get on,’ Mitchell cut in. Hannah could see that the meeting wasn’t getting any easier for him. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling as well as he looked after all. If he still hadn’t regained his memory, then who knew what deeper injuries lay beneath the surface wound that was now barely visible beneath his hair. Maybe it would take him years to get right. Hannah couldn’t imagine how horrible that would be, but she felt for him with every ounce of her being. She wanted to hug him, to tell him everything would be alright. Impossible, of course, or at least highly inappropriate.

‘The flowers really are lovely,’ she said. ‘I appreciate you stopping by and I’m happy to see you both looking so well.’

‘Flowers are the least we could do,’ Martine said. ‘As Mitchell said, we should let you get on.’

There were a million questions Hannah wanted to ask, but she had the distinct feeling that she wouldn’t get straight answers to any of them – at least, not from Martine. Perhaps it was none of her business anyway, but they still fired around her head, desperate to be aired. Neither of them had even hinted at what had sent Mitchell out into the snow that day, to be injured and lost. Had the police been involved when he had turned up at the hospital? It must have been something bad, something traumatic; people didn’t just take off like that for nothing. How were they dealing with it now he was home?

Martine shook Hannah’s hand again, and this time, so did Mitchell. Her grip was cold and strong, whereas his warm hand lingered in hers for a fraction of a second too long, and he held her gaze as if trying to tell her something. ‘Take care,’ he said, and it seemed as if he had never meant anything so sincerely in his life.

‘You too,’ Hannah replied, ‘and if you ever need anything you know where to find me.’

‘Gracious!’ Martine laughed, ‘I hope he’s not going to go wandering off and need rescuing again or I’ll have to get a chip inserted.’

Hannah stared at her. She couldn’t help it, when Martine’s words were so cold and thoughtless. Mitchell was clearly distressed enough, without his wife belittling him. Martine didn’t seem to notice Hannah’s reaction, however, and Mitchell didn’t seem to notice Martine’s cutting remark. After another brief goodbye, the Audi was gone, and Hannah was left holding her flowers and more intrigued by Mitchell than ever before. She knew more about him now than she had done a week ago, but that only deepened the mystery.

*

Her flowers sat in a glass vase on the mantelpiece as Hannah finally cradled a glass of wine and curled up on the sofa with a book now that the evening was hers alone. She glanced up at them again as she had many times over the day. Petrol station or not, she liked them. Ross had left her an hour before, having been true to his promise that he would get her car running again. She’d also had a very interesting visit from her paramedic friend, who had picked up his watch and then, it seemed, was so grateful that he gave her far more information than he probably ought to concerning Mitchell, including his surname and why his wife was well-known to the doctors at the hospital. Hannah was sure he was breaking many rules of confidentiality so she simply took it in, feeling all at once wild with curiosity but sneaky and underhand too. If Martine and Mitchell had wanted her to have any of this information, surely they would have told her themselves? The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that they had been hiding an awful lot earlier that day. Mitchell didn’t seem happy to be back where he belonged. Even if he couldn’t remember his wife, there would surely have been some residual spark of attraction, some sense of belonging. After all, he must have loved her when he married her and love was a powerful enough emotion to survive every assault on it, wasn’t it? Hannah didn’t really know enough about amnesia, but her logic told her this ought to be so. And Martine was just as puzzling. She didn’t strike Hannah as someone who had been out of her mind with worry when Mitchell had wandered off. In fact,
she seemed rather unconcerned by the whole affair. People made jokes about traumatic events, they made light of them to deal with the real hurt, but Martine wasn’t even doing that – God knows Hannah had done enough of it over the years to recognise it. Martine really didn’t seem to care.