The Time Rip (6 page)

Chapter 2

It was just over a week later before Freya gave much thought to Joe, or Jeremy and her night in the field. The whole thing seemed unreal, as if she had simply dreamed it, and her business was always busy in the summer months, leaving little time for introspection.

At the end of a long week, she curled up in an armchair in her small basement apartment to go through her monthly accounts. As always when she tried to do the figures, her mind kept skittering away from the work making it take far longer than it should. She thought a little longingly of Jeremy’s offer to look at her accounts.

Just then, her mobile interrupted her thoughts and she answered without checking the caller identity.

“Freya? It’s Martin. I’ve been trying to get you for days.”

“Oh. Hi, Martin, yeah sorry about that, it’s been a real week and a half. So, what’s up? Is Mrs Johnson okay with her order, are you helping her do the church? I didn’t miss anything out did I?” Freya was aware she was rambling, but she was still kicking herself for answering without checking the caller.

“Yeah, I mean, no, I mean it’s all fine. At least, mum hasn’t said anything’s missing so I’m sure it’s great.”

“Good. I’ve been so busy this week I haven’t had time to think. So what can I do for you?” Freya felt Martin’s pause and mentally cringed at her speech. She was doing her best to keep him at arms length, yet still be friendly and professional. Why was it so difficult to put across she was not interested without causing offence.

“C’mon, Freya, give me a break. We’re friends aren’t we? Friends call up for a chat now and then.”

His voice grated on her nerves, a stark contrast to Jeremy’s tones, and she gritted her teeth at his words. How could she say she did not want to be his friend without being rude?

“Of course, Martin, I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve been busy thinking in business terms all week. It can be hard to switch off. So. How are you doing?”

“I’m great, yeah.” He then spent the next fifteen minutes giving her a blow-by-blow account of his week. Finally, he said, “I got some tickets to see the Wasps play Saturday, d’you fancy coming along with me?”

No. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

“Uh,” she paused and tried to force some regret into her voice, “I’m sorry, Martin, I’m a little busy this weekend. I’ve neglected these figures far too long and I really need to spend some time on them.” Freya cringed at her excuse despite the fact it was true.

“No, how can you turn down an offer like that? Best offer you’ll get for ages.”

“It’s really nice of you to ask me, but if I put off my accounts any longer they’ll take on a life of their own.” An image of her accounts growing sharp teeth appeared unwanted in her mind. Why were calls to Martin such hard work? She squashed the thought of her paperwork chewing the table leg and tried to concentrate.

“How about that?”

Martin was talking again and Freya paused, wondering if she’d missed anything important.

“Freya?”

“Uh…”

“What do you think?” Martin sounded impatient.

“Um, yeah, great,” she temporised, hoping she was not agreeing to anything she would regret.

“Great, see you.”

“Okay, bye,” Freya said. Well, that seemed to work out okay. Perhaps she was reading too much into Martin’s interest in her.

Late on Saturday afternoon the accounts finally drove Freya mad. She added up the same column of figures three times with three different results before lobbing her pencil across the room. She glared at the ceiling and then stomped off to the kitchen in search of something nice. The doorbell interrupted her and she swung back to the hall.

Opening the door, she offered a tired smile to her friend.

“Freya, you look shocking. It can’t be accounting time so soon can it?”

Janet was a welcome sight, a bundle of energy with a mop of curly brown hair. But, more importantly, her presence gave Freya the perfect excuse to take a break from the accounts.

“Hi, come in. I’m just making coffee, you want some?”

“You see, that’s why you’re my best friend,” Janet said, and then peeled back the lid of the tub she had brought to reveal a huge cake. “And this is why I’m yours.”

“Wow, cake, terrific. Is that chocolate?”

“Yep, and it looks like I got here just in time,” said Janet, surveying the mess on the coffee table.

Freya pulled a face, “I hate accounting.”

“No. You’re kidding, right?”

Freya laughed and picked up the pencil she had lobbed, tucking it behind her ear as she went to the kitchen.

“Maybe getting rid of the accountant wasn’t such a hot idea,” Janet said, with a grin.

“Too much cash, or should I say, not enough cash flow?”

“Are things that tight then?” Janet grabbed some plates.

“Nah, not really. The business can afford it. It’s just nice to have the extra.”

The girls wandered back to the lounge. Freya cleared the accounts from the table with one swipe of her foot, and they settled down to chat.

“Anyway, speaking of accountants…” Freya licked cake from her fingers.

Janet looked up, blowing gently on her drink. She met her friend’s mischievous grin with raised eyebrows and a smile.

“I had an offer from a rather delicious example of the genre to take care of my tax returns last weekend.”

“Now there’s an offer you shouldn’t refuse. How delicious are we talking here?”

“Flambéed Nutella pancake.”

“Wow, serious stuff.”

“Yeah, I’m getting flustered just thinking about him.”

Janet’s peel of laughter rang out, “You bad girl. So, give me the rest. You’re not gonna leave it there are you?”

“Hmm,” Freya said, and paused to pick cake crumbs delicately from her plate with the tip of her tongue.

“C’mon, I’m your best friend. It’s your duty to keep me informed.”

Freya grinned and gave in. “It was actually a bizarre experience, and I’m still not sure that I didn’t just dream the whole thing.”

“Knowing you, I wouldn’t be surprised. So? Are you going to see him again, what’s his name, where does he live, when did you meet him? Gimme the goss.”

“Okay, okay. Give me a minute here will ya.” Freya took a swig of coffee. “Well, his name is Jeremy Sanders and he’s an accountant. He’s just moved house and I met him on my way back home last Thursday week.”

“Ooh, Jeremy Sanders.” Janet cocked her head to one side and began singing: “Freya and Jeremy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Shut uuup. How old are you anyway?”

Janet laughed. “A good looking accountant, boy are you in trouble now.”

“I’m not that bad. I can afford an accountant if I want one, and I’ve managed perfectly well these last six months, I’ll have you know.”

“Uh huh.” Janet glanced at the mess of paperwork on the floor.

Freya rolled her eyes and reluctantly grinned.

“So. Are you going to see him again?”

“I’d like to.” She paused, thinking back on dark eyes and a solid frame. “Actually, I think I’d find an excuse to see him again even if he wasn’t a good looking accountant. It was,” she hesitated again. “He had a really nice way about him. I mean— he was polite, but not stuck up or anything. Then at the same time he was, I don’t know.” She stopped, lost for words. “Don’t laugh okay. He just seemed a bit dangerous.”

“Whoa, girl, serious stuff.”

Freya snorted with sudden laughter, “I think I just got off on the whole scary thing. I don’t know. Maybe I could just be passing and drop in. What do you think?”

“You’re gonna just be passing by— where was it anyway?”

“Off Junction thirteen, M4. I’ve been checking out a new supplier in Hungerford.”

“Well, I think you should go for it. I know you’re not the world’s best flirt, but a man can’t chase you if you’re not around.”

“Hah. Tell that to Martin.”

“You should tell him you’re not interested.”

“Yeah. Well, I think he might be getting the message. I told him I was too busy to see him this weekend and he seemed okay about it.”

“I think you should make it clear to him.”

“I know, I know. I just… it’s complicated.”

“Freya!” Janet rolled her eyes in exasperation, “What’s so complicated about telling him you’re not interested?”

Freya shook her head, “His mother’s really nice, besides being one of my best clients. I don’t want to go upsetting her boy.”

“She should think twice about her boy upsetting you, or she might find she needs to get a new florist.”

“It probably wouldn’t come to that anyway. I just don’t want to make waves if I can avoid it.”

Sunday morning dawned hot and overcast. The humidity was high and Freya woke early. Grateful to leave her hot, rumpled bed, she stumbled into her kitchen to set coffee going and rub the sleep from her eyes.

The tiles were deliciously cool on her bare feet and a bird was singing a repetitive bar outside the window to the accompaniment of a car sweeping past. The rooms in her flat were only a step from each other, and she grimaced at the mess on the floor of the lounge.

She had blown off the paperwork the previous evening in favour of going out for a meal with Janet. The pair of them had laughed themselves into stitches over all kinds of rubbish, and whilst Freya did not worry overmuch about the time spent, the accounts now most definitely needed attending to.

Her mind recoiled at the thought of a morning spent poring over figures, and she decided it was time to do something about it. “I’m gonna visit someone who’s gonna sort you out once and for all.” She snickered, and wondered if the person she had in mind to sort them out would also do the same for her.

Thinking absently of the women she had seen in Joe’s village, she trawled through her wardrobe. Long peasant style skirts were kind to her skinny frame. The swathes of fabric gave her curves a little help and the length gave her a few inches. She teamed the skirt with a white gypsy style blouse that made the most of what little she had, while keeping her fair skin well covered.

Debating the rival merits of tennis shoes over her favourite open toe sandals, she opted for the sandals in spite of the field she would have to cross. If she was going to see Jeremy again, she wanted all the extra height and confidence she could get.

She grabbed a plain fabric bag with a long strap to pack her accounts, diary and cardigan in. A quick drag of the brush through her hair and she was out the door.

It was still early when Freya found the M4. The breeze through the windows was lovely, and the sun was not yet high enough to make the humidity oppressive.

She found where she had turned off the road the week before, and coasted to a stop over the rutted track. Springing out she double-checked she had her mobile with her, tucked it into the deep inline pocket of her skirt where its comforting weight nudged her thigh and set off through the field.