Summer With My Sister (47 page)

Her dad cleared his throat. ‘She’s right, for once,’ he said gruffly. ‘And being made redundant is nothing to be ashamed of. It happened to Mike Jacks from the golf club last month. Couldn’t meet a nicer bloke. Best putter I’ve ever known.’

‘Sit down, let me make the tea,’ her mum said, patting Polly’s shoulder. ‘And tell us all about it, if you want.’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ Polly said, sitting at the table. ‘I’ve just been offered a new job.’

Her mum gave a squeal and threw her hands up in the air. ‘You have? Oh, well done! Doing what?’

‘Don’t tell us – Stuart’s made you bar manager,’ her dad teased, dumping the tomatoes in a colander and turning the tap on again.

‘No,’ she said, pulling a face at him. ‘It’s back in London, similar to my job before. But better.’

‘Oh, that’s brilliant,’ her mum said, pouring the tea and putting a warm, sticky-looking ginger muffin in front of Polly. ‘Well done, you. So, when does it start?’

‘September,’ Polly replied. ‘But . . .’ She fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable now that they’d reached the crux of the matter. ‘Well, I don’t know if I’m going to say yes, to be honest. I don’t know if I want to go back.’

Her parents both stared at her in surprise. ‘You don’t want to?’ her dad repeated, as if he’d misheard.

Polly took a bite of the ginger muffin. It helped. ‘I thought I did,’ she said through the delicious spicy mouthful, ‘but now I’m not so sure.’

‘Is it the job you’re not keen on, or the thought of moving back to London?’ her mum asked. ‘Because plenty of people commute from Amberley, you know. And there’s a faster train from Basingstoke.’

‘Or you could always get a job around here,’ her dad added. ‘I know it’s not as whizzy as London, but there are jobs going for brainboxes everywhere, if you wanted to move into accounting or . . . I dunno . . . computing.’

Polly was still coming to terms with the fact that they’d known her secret for so long, yet hadn’t held it against her. ‘The job in London does sound great,’ she said. ‘It’s more that being here for the summer has made me realize I wasn’t very happy, the way I was living before.’ She chewed thoughtfully, trying to untangle her thoughts into coherent sentences. ‘I love it here. I know I was a bit of a pain in the neck at first, but . . .’

‘No. Never!’ her dad joked.

‘But everyone’s so friendly. I’ve really enjoyed spending so much time with you two, and Clare and the kids. And I love the countryside too.’ She sighed. ‘My old job was such long hours, it took over my whole life. I don’t want to live like that again. Oh, I don’t know what I want!’

Her mum took her hand. ‘You’ll figure it out,’ she said. ‘I’d sleep on it. You’ve waited all these months to get a new job. You can wait a few more hours before you decide anything. And whatever you choose to do, we’re right behind you, all the way.’

The answerphone light was flashing when Polly returned to Clare’s and she listened to the message. ‘Hi, this is Kate Hendricks for Clare Berry. Just to say, Clare, that we are all delighted with the products you’ve supplied us, and would love to arrange another meeting to discuss a future contract together. Thanks very much.’

Polly smiled from ear to ear. Despite her ambiguity about her own job prospects, there was no doubt at all that this was fabulous news for her sister. She could just imagine Clare’s squeal of joy when she heard the news. ‘Well done, Clare,’ she said into the quiet kitchen. ‘Good for you.’ She tried to call her, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Clare had warned her that the caravan site had dreadful reception, so Polly sent a text instead, hoping her sister would get the news sooner rather than later.

She mooched around the house for the rest of the afternoon. She watered everything and pulled out a few weeds in the vegetable plot (at least she hoped they were weeds). She fed Marjorie and Babs and locked them in for the evening. She poked a fork around a plate of couscous and peppered mackerel salad, before giving up and throwing it into the compost. She was too confused even to eat. Oh, Clare! She was desperate to speak to her now. Being apart had only made her realize just how close they’d become in recent weeks; Clare was now Polly’s go-to person, her confidante, her advice-giver, the person who’d always listen to her.

What was she going to do about this job? She couldn’t possibly decide something like this on her own!

Right, Polly, pros and cons, she said firmly. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.

If she said yes and went back to London, she’d be mentally challenged again, she’d spend her day making interesting, important decisions, motivating and managing a team of staff, advising clients on million-pound deals. She’d be getting paid lots of money for it too, and could swing back into a more luxurious lifestyle: her own home again, new clothes and shoes when she wanted them. What was more, she wouldn’t have to snap on a pair of Marigolds and scrub pub toilets for the rest of her life, hopefully. Those elements all sounded pretty bloody great.

It was the accompanying lifestyle she wasn’t so keen on, though. The return to the concrete jungle, living in an office where a summer’s breeze was replaced by the drone of the air-con unit. It was the macho bullshit, the old boys’ network, the bitching and back-stabbing, the shallowness of the social gatherings, and an empty flat waiting for her at the end of the day, however luxurious it might be. It would also mean she’d probably never see Jay again.

She perched on the swing in the back garden and pushed herself gently off the ground, pointing her toes to send her higher. But she’d waited so long for a job like this. Surely she couldn’t turn it down?

Leaning back, she let her head fall behind her so that the world was upside down. The sky whirled dizzily above her and the ground rushed to meet her face. What was she going to do?

‘Oh! It’s
you
on the swing, Polly’ came a voice. ‘I heard it creaking and thought the children were back.’ It was Agatha, waving over the fence, her mismatched gardening gloves on as usual. ‘Everything all right, dear?’

Polly sat up again, head rushing as the world swung back to its usual position. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just trying to decide on something.’

Agatha pursed her lips. ‘If it’s money, sex or gin, just say yes,’ she advised breezily. ‘Everything else, just say no. Best of luck!’

Polly spluttered with laughter. Life lessons from Agatha – what next? ‘Wait!’ she called, as Agatha wandered away, secateurs in hand, humming to herself. ‘Agatha, what if it’s love?’

Agatha stopped still and turned, beaming, to face Polly once more. ‘Love? Oh, well, love wins hands down in any competition,’ she said, blue eyes twinkling amidst the deep wrinkles. ‘You say yes, of course. Yes to love!’

Polly smiled. ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘Thanks a lot. That’s very enlightening.’ She scuffed her feet along the ground to slow the swing and jumped off with a little wave.

‘I’m going to have to talk to him, aren’t I?’ she muttered to herself, walking back towards the house.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Agatha, overhearing. ‘You’ve got to
talk
to him, dear, absolutely.
Then
you can get to the sex. And the gin!’

Polly saluted her and went inside. Damn. She really was going to have to talk to him now, if only to get Agatha off her back.

She left the house before she could change her mind, and set off down the lane.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

Well, he was at home, at least, even if she wasn’t quite sure whether he was going to let her into the damn house. Even his wretched dog seemed to be staring balefully at her, as if weighing up whether or not to start savaging her ankles. After a long, heart-bumping moment he pulled the door wide. ‘Come in.’

She could hear the drone of sporting commentary from the television as she followed him into the living-room area; she’d interrupted him watching the cricket. Hopefully he wouldn’t hold that against her, she thought, as he turned it off with the remote control. Then there was silence. A clock ticked somewhere, measuring the seconds it took her to speak.

Tick, tick, tick. She didn’t know where to begin.

‘Have a seat,’ he said politely, waving a hand at the sofa. He perched on the leather cube and looked at her expectantly. Oh God, it was as if they were strangers, as if nothing had ever happened between them.

Tick, tick, tick.

‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out at last. ‘I’m really sorry. I was completely over the top the other night; I just panicked and handled it all wrong. I’m an idiot.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he said, but there was no real conviction in his voice.

‘I am,’ she argued. ‘I’ve had my head stuffed up my own arse for years; it’s taken me this long to realize.’

He smiled at that. A small, quick smile that flickered on his mouth and then was gone again.

She crossed her legs, feeling miles away from him on the sofa. ‘I got offered a new job today,’ she said.

His face changed for a second, before he regained his composure. ‘Back in London?’

‘Yes.’

‘Congratulations,’ he said dispassionately. ‘Just what you wanted.’

She shook her head. ‘Turns out it isn’t what I wanted, after all.’

Tick, tick, tick. He was staring at her as if he didn’t recognize her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I’m going to turn it down.’ Boom. She’d said it. She hadn’t even been sure of the decision until that very second. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a massive relief. Yes. It was the right thing to do.

‘You what? Turn it
down
? Why?’

‘Because . . .’ A million different reasons rose to the tip of her tongue. Because she loved popping round to see her parents for a cup of tea and a ginger muffin. Because she hadn’t laughed so much for years as when she’d messed about with the kids. Because she loved hearing the birds and seeing flowers bloom, and spending so much time with her sister. And because . . . ‘Because I want to try again with you,’ she said simply.

Well, he hadn’t been expecting
that
, judging by the way his jaw dropped. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to turn down a new job,’ he said slowly.

Tick, tick, tick. They looked at one another, and it was as if time had been suspended.

Then, ‘I want to try again with you too,’ he said, his dark eyes on her. ‘I really do. I’m so glad you came round tonight.’

Hope burst within her; it felt like a reward for bravery. ‘You do? You are?’

He grinned. ‘I do. I am.’

Polly laughed. And then she was standing up and rushing towards him, and he was doing the same. They met in the middle and wrapped their arms around each other. She could feel his heart beating through his shirt, could hear the sound of his breath close to her ear.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered again and squeezed him as hard as she could.

‘Forgiven,’ he murmured, stroking her hair and squeezing back for a long, wonderful moment. Then he pulled away from the embrace. ‘I’m opening a bottle of wine,’ he said, ‘to celebrate you having finally removed your head from that fabulous arse of yours.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ She felt high and giggly all of a sudden. ‘The view’s much better this way.’

‘And then,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the kitchen, ‘I want you to tell me all about this new job and why the hell you’re going to turn it down. And then . . .’ He looked back over his shoulder and winked. Pure cheese, but she loved it. ‘Well, after that, we can find something else to do.’

She blushed. ‘That sounds like a plan to me.’