The Mini-Break

The man with the bright blue eyes and the tractor.

There is a God after all. I was beginning to wonder.

‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you,’ I said, trying to sound calm and measured and not as though I had been in the middle of a heated screaming match with my sister.

He pulled off gloves, which looked as though they had been constructed from old wet suits and held out a hand towards me. I shook it. His fingers were cold but his palm was warm and I felt an odd shiver of something. He reached over to say hello to Jassy who was busy being tiny and fragile and thoroughly irritating under her blanket.

‘Joe Field. I’m guessing you haven’t managed to fix the puncture?’ he said.

Trust me, if I had I wouldn’t be here talking to you, I thought, but that would have been rude and Joe Field might have been offended and left us to it. I wasn’t going to risk losing him again. I moved round a bit so I actually blocked his exit route.

‘I’m Louisa Darling, and this is my sister Jassy Sutton.’

I waited a beat to see if he realised who we were. He didn’t so much as flicker. Oh well. Perhaps he didn’t look at the gossip columns or read much chick lit or psychological drama?

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m afraid we haven’t managed to fix it. Jassy has a very fragile knee and of course I have to look after her full time.’

I made it sound as though she couldn’t be left for even a second, which was far from the case. In fact I’d gone to bed leaving her asleep on the sofa twice and yesterday I’d refused to bring her lunch on a tray and made her come to the table. I don’t think Jassy had been out of her pyjamas for three days and she was beginning to fall into the helpless, dependent patient state of mind.

‘I see,’ he said, rubbing the warmth back into his fingers.

‘So can you fix it?’ Jassy said.

‘I expect so, if you have a spare tyre. Or some tyre sealant.’

Tyre sealant? What the hell was that? Something like massive Sellotape?

‘I’m sure we do,’ I said. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘That would be lovely,’ he said. ‘Just give me the car keys and I’ll go and have a look and see what I can find. I’ve brought my compressor in case you don’t have one.’

What’s a compressor?

We watched him go outside. I had a sudden leap of optimism.

‘You don’t think he’s going to steal your car do you?’ Jassy said.

For a moment I gnawed at a thumbnail and thought about the possibility and then gave an exasperated sigh.

‘It’s got a flat tyre, Jassy, remember? This isn’t London.’

‘Well watch him – that’s all I’m saying.’

I went out into the kitchen and switched the coffee machine on and got some mugs out of the dishwasher. Then I tweaked the kitchen curtains back a bit more and watched him. He was rather watchable too, if I was honest.

He was very tall and broad in a muscly way and he had an ideal profile of strong straight nose, lovely cheekbones and a full lower lip that is supposed to mean a passionate nature. Well, it does in my books anyway.

The rain had stopped at last and the morning was the best since we had arrived. There was a bright blue sky and even some sunshine, which was burning off the early morning mist that had been hovering over the river down in the valley.

It was cold though, and a brisk wind was ruffling his dark hair. He made me think of Cormack McDonald, hero of my third book The Life I Always Wanted. Tall and big and rather – oh, for heaven’s sake.

Joe opened the boot and rummaged around for something and then pulled out a weedy-looking tyre like a toy with a red middle. He looked up, saw me watching him and gave a big grin and a thumbs-up. I shrank back and began making coffee.

‘Can I have some?’ Jassy yelled from the next room. ‘And I think there are some KitKats in the cupboard over the sink. If they aren’t there they’ll be in the stone jar in the larder.’

‘How do you know? I thought you couldn’t move off the sofa?’ I yelled back.

Bloody hell.

Meanwhile Joe was messing about with the flat tyre and constructing something that looked like a giant tin opener whilst jacking the car up off the ground. In a matter of minutes he had replaced the real tyre with the toy one and put the damaged one in the boot. Then he attached some engine sort of thing and pumped the spare tyre up a bit. It was very impressive.

He came back in the back door, bringing a cold swirl of air with him and the faint scent of wood smoke.

‘Okay, should be fine,’ he said, ‘but get a proper one fitted as soon as possible and don’t go over thirty miles an hour until you do. Could I just—’

He went over to the sink to wash his hands and I waited with the kitchen towel like some sort of theatre nurse by his side.

‘Thanks,’ he said, drying his hands.

The kitchen towel had little embroidered vegetables along one edge and he had hands like shovels so the two weren’t exactly compatible. It looked like he was using a handkerchief.

‘So, I can drive? I mean I do understand I need to get a new tyre. Where can I get one from?’

‘Depends where you’re heading,’ Joe said, handing me the towel.

I gave him a mug of coffee.

‘London!’ Jassy shouted from the other room.

Joe went into the sitting room where she was still bundled up on the sofa in her nest of blankets and cushions.

‘Then your best bet is Okehampton,’ he said. ‘You know how to get there?’

‘We’ll find it!’ Jassy said with feeling. ‘We’ve been in this ghastly place for long enough. We’ll find it!’

It struck me that this desperate haste to leave could be seen as rather insulting.

‘I mean we’ve had a lovely break,’ I said, ‘but we have appointments in London we really should keep. So thank you so much.’

‘Lovely break? Are you insane?’ Jassy grumbled. ‘It’s been the longest ten days of my life.’

Joe sipped his coffee and looked thoughtful. ‘Well, you haven’t exactly had good weather, I’ll give you that. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to get out and about either?’

‘We were supposed to be working,’ Jassy said, calming down a little. ‘We’re both writers. We have deadlines to keep, with our publishers. We wanted to recover after Christmas and get back in the groove. But it didn’t quite work out like that. Technology failure I’m afraid, amongst other things.’

‘Ah, the MacBook Air cable. I see the relevance now.’

Jassy smiled up at him through her lashes. I could see a familiar pattern here. Now the car was mended and our escape route was established, Jassy could relax and stop being a stroppy cow and start flirting.

Jassy flirts with everyone; it’s what she does and being married doesn’t stop her. She’s been known to flirt with policemen, car park attendants and even our accountant. Trust me, our accountant is not the sort of man anyone flirts with – he might have the financial skills of a sorcerer on speed, but he also has halitosis, dandruff and a comb-over. She would find a man as good-looking as Joe Field irresistible.

Suddenly I didn’t want my sister to flirt with Joe Field. I stepped briskly between them and gave him a warm smile of my own.

‘We’re very grateful, Mr Field.’ I looked at my watch; it was half past ten. If we set off soon we could get a new tyre, be back in Notting Hill by early evening and even have time for a comfort stop somewhere too.

‘Right then, here are the keys. I’ve put everything back as best I can,’ Joe said.

He dropped my car keys into my palm; they were still warm from his hand and it was rather thrilling. My fingers curled round them.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. And thanks for the coffee.’

He tipped his head back to finish his drink and Jassy watched him with narrowed and speculative eyes.

‘Would you like a KitKat?’ she said.

‘Um, no thanks, I don’t think so,’ he said.

‘Tunnock’s Tea Cake? Orange Club? I think we’ve eaten all the mint ones.’

‘Jassy!’ I muttered.

Joe pulled on his gloves and gave a grin.

‘I’m fine thanks. I’ll be off and let you get all packed up and back to the bright lights.’

I followed him to the front door. I felt a bit reluctant to let him go. I mean we’re all liberated, independent women aren’t we, but it doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate it when a handsome man wanders through our lives.

‘Thanks again, Joe,’ I said.

He turned in the doorway and shrugged his shoulders under his big, waxed coat.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘I’m always willing to help a damsel in distress.’

‘What do you do?’ I said. ‘I’m guessing you’re a farmer.’

‘Right first go. I’d better go and get on with it. My farm manager is away for a couple of days. I have sheep up on the moor.’

‘Gosh, sheep!’ I said as though it was something really unusual, although I knew from occasionally watching Countryfile that sheep were about the only thing that suited this part of Devon.

‘Anyway, I must get on. Don’t forget about that tyre,’ he said.

‘I won’t, absolutely not!’

I watched him walk back down the track to where he had left his mud-splattered Land Rover and then I went back into the house.

Jassy was already upstairs in her bedroom, gathering together all the discarded clothes and carnage that routinely surrounds her.

‘He was rather nice,’ I said.

Jassy wasn’t listening. ‘We’re off!’ she carolled happily as I stood watching her. She stuffed a handful of scarves into her case. ‘We’ll be back in London tonight. Proper central heating and takeaways and Wi-Fi and actual phone signal.’

‘You’ve perked up then,’ I said.

‘I have. Haven’t you? And let’s make a sacred pact never to come back here. Ever.’

I looked out of the window, watching as the sun rose over the valley. It was a beautiful day, and something inside me appreciated for the first time how lovely it could be.

‘I think it might be okay if the weather was halfway decent.’

‘You have to be bloody joking!’ Jassy said, widening her eyes at me. ‘I’m never going to set foot out of the Greater London area again unless there’s a frigging good reason and a five-star spa at the end of the journey.’

From being unable to walk further than from her bed to the sofa, Jassy now seemed to have miraculously recovered her mobility and was packed and fidgeting by the front door in no time.

‘Hurry up!’ she said. ‘Otherwise it’s going to rain, or there will be a landslip, or some criminals will escape from the prison or something.’

‘All right, calm down!’

We bundled everything into the back seat and boot of the car, left the front door key under the upturned bucket by the kitchen door where we had found it and were off down the road at a jaunty thirty miles an hour heading for a new tyre in the metropolis of delight that was Okehampton.

Chapter Three

Equipped with a splendid new tyre and filled with joie de vivre, we were back in London in time to dump our bags (no sign of Benedict at mine) and meet up with the usual suspects for an early supper. After a few shrieking and excitable phone calls Jassy decided we would try the new tapas bar that had opened in our absence. It’s like that where we live: someone opens a great new fusion restaurant in a fanfare of publicity and fire-eaters on the pavement and five minutes later it closes and reopens as a French patisserie.

The Gang were all there and they welcomed us back as though we had been off finding the source of the Nile. I scanned the room but Benedict didn’t seem to be around which was disappointing.

‘Darlings, so pleased to have you safely home where you belong!’

It was Jassy’s sister-in-law Maudie who had done something strange to her hair so that the roots were still dark brown, but the ends were now frazzled pink.

‘Maudie!’

Jassy embraced her and we all sat down with the others with a great deal of fuss and noise while a waiter hovered in the background with menus liberally sprinkled with pictures of bulls and matadors. I wasn’t actually sure I approved of that if I’m honest. I mean bull fighting is so horrible.

‘Ralphie was on the phone last night, complaining about the heat in Antigua. I said don’t give me that, you bastard; try London in the pissing rain. He’s missing you and can’t understand why he hasn’t been able to get through when he’s called,’ Maudie said. At this point she spotted a latecomer and waved a languid hand. ‘Keira, come and sit here! I want to know how the wedding plans are going.’

‘I haven’t decided if I’m going to forgive him yet,’ Jassy said, pouting. ‘Those pictures of him in that nightclub were pretty annoying. And he’d better not give me all that “what goes on tour stays on tour” rubbish.’

‘I told him you were still in Devon but I don’t think he believed me. Anyway—’ she waved a hand ‘—first I want Keira to tell you about Mark and Buzz. You will not believe what you are about to hear.’

Keira, a friend for several years, was engaged to Fergus, a computer nerd who whilst monosyllabic and mildly weird probably had more money than the lot of us put together. I was going to be one of her bridesmaids and the wedding was much on her mind these days.

I sat letting the noise wash over me while she recounted a tale of road rage and forged parking permits that had resulted in several arrests and a cracked windscreen. At the same time I tried to decipher a menu that promised various selections of tiny dishes but didn’t seem to have got the pricing right. I mean four dishes for twenty-five quid or five for twenty quid. How does that work then?

As the evening wore on I began to feel strangely out of it. I watched Jassy across the table, laughing and happy. She seemed to have forgotten her aches and pains. Perhaps it was the alcohol?

I nudged my neighbour Tanny, an ex-flatmate and friend since school days in Gloucestershire who now organised extravagant parties for American companies.

‘Have you seen Benedict at all?’

‘Well I haven’t for a few days, but the last time I saw him he was complaining about his workload for the tax evaders in Dubai or something.’ Tanny’s face screwed up into disapproval. ‘I think you are being an absolute saint, putting up with that.’

‘Putting up with what?’

‘Putting up with him moaning all the time. I thought you said you were fed up with him?’

‘Oh I didn’t mean that. I was just cross and tired. Has anyone else mentioned seeing him?’

‘Ask Toby – he lives in your building. Toby, have you seen Benedict recently?’ Tanny yelled across the table to where Toby Sedgemoor, a limp-looking but very successful financial whizz was draped across his latest girlfriend.

‘Benedict? Toby? Where is he?’

Toby blinked a bit. ‘Well his bike was chained up on the landing last night. I’ve told him he’s not supposed to leave it there and he says he’s going to sort it but he never does.’

‘But have you seen him?’ I said.

Toby’s eyes slid away from mine. ‘Isn’t he here? Oh I don’t know. You know. I mean – oh bugger, look anyone want another drink?’

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. Toby might be a bright spark when it came to financial matters and fund management – he wasn’t called Sedge the Hedge for nothing – but he was notoriously unreliable when it came to everyday life. Eventually, several bowls of tapas later and topped up with the best part of a carafe of red wine, I got a taxi back to my flat.

*

I felt quite excited as I got home. I was genuinely looking forward to seeing Benedict again. Maybe being away from each other had done the trick and it would help rekindle the spark we seemed to have lost. But the very first thing I noticed when I reached my door was Benedict’s blasted bike chained to a radiator. Yes I do understand it is far too valuable to be left outside overnight, though why he had to spend seven grand on a bike just to pedal less than two miles I’ll never know. It shouldn’t have been there at all. It should have been in the basement garage in the bike rack. The sight of it and its stupid anorexic tyres immediately ruined my good mood. I could so clearly visualise him in his equally irritating bike helmet and his monumentally unattractive bike gear as he steamed through Hyde Park, roundly cursing every pedestrian who got in his way.

With new and uncharacteristic reserve, I closed the front door quietly behind me and went to put my keys in the brass bowl, only to find it wasn’t there and a particularly vile ceramic dish had replaced it.

I went through into the kitchen and found Benedict sitting on one of my new Calligaris gas-lift bar stools watching a blonde chopping onions. She was wearing my Statue of Liberty apron over a dress that was falling off her shoulders at the top end and hardly covered her assets at the other.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ I said, in a voice that had somehow raised itself by several octaves.

Benedict looked startled. ‘Oh hi, Lu, this is Tess. I’m not sure if you’ve met?’

The blonde waved at me with my eight-inch chef’s knife and carried on chopping.

‘I said what are you doing? Who is she?’

Benedict looked a bit wild-eyed. ‘You’re supposed to be in Devon. I didn’t expect you back for a few days. Tess offered to show me how to make French onion soup.’

‘I bet she did,’ I muttered.

‘She’s just a friend, Lulu,’ Benedict said patiently, getting the situation under control as though I was in the slow learners group. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.’

‘Because I’m home now,’ I said. I was starting to feel a bit foolish, wondering whether I really had over-reacted. Benedict has that effect on me.

‘And it’s simply wonderful to see you, petal,’ he said, coming over to kiss me. ‘Have you had a lovely time?’

This is my flat, I wanted to shout. After all, Benedict had never paid a penny towards the mortgage. We’d had discussions about that before now and he had recently taken over paying the electricity bill. Why that should make a difference, I don’t know.

‘Percy was going to come round later for a quick drink,’ Benedict added, ‘to celebrate the Winston versus Hardman win.’

Percy was a particularly odious friend of his who seemed to do nothing but oil his way around the chambers of the Old Bailey pretending to be more important than he was.

‘To be honest I’m tired. I’d rather he didn’t.’

Benedict opened his mouth to argue and then, seeing my expression, did a bit of back-pedalling. ‘Okay. I’ll text him. Look, don’t be sulky, sweetie. I’ve missed you; I just didn’t know you’d be back today.’

‘Didn’t you notice my bags in the bedroom?’

Benedict looked vague. ‘No.’

The blonde pouted and looked at Benedict. ‘Perhaps I’d better go?’

‘Good idea,’ I said, pulling my coat off, ‘Tess.’

Benedict sighed. ‘Better find your things, sweetie, thanks anyway.’

She flounced off into the hallway, her pert bottom wiggling, and Benedict had the nerve to watch it go for a few seconds before I cleared my throat rather loudly and brought his attention back to me.

‘So what’s going on?’ I hissed.

‘God, nothing is going on. Look, Lu, you’ve got to stop being so neurotic.’

‘I’m not neurotic,’ I said.

‘You came back before I expected you.’

‘So this is my fault?’

‘No – well, partly—’

‘Okay, I’m sorry—’

As the words left my mouth I was furious with the way I was backing down yet again. I should stand my ground and sling him and the bottom wiggler out into the street.

At that moment the blonde returned looking petulant.

‘I’ve called an Uber; have you got some cash, Benny?’

Benedict gave her a fifty-pound note and they exchanged three, slow air kisses in a rather infuriating fashion. Then she gave me a little wave and a white, gleaming smile.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said.

‘So?’ I said as the front door closed behind her.

‘So?’ Benedict repeated, stabbing at his phone.

‘So what was she doing here? Why was she in my flat, in my kitchen?’

‘What on earth is the matter? Look, I’ve put Percy off – now come here, you’re getting hysterical,’ he said, holding out his arms and looking at me with the expression I know he thought was sexy and irresistible. I took a deep breath.

‘I’m entitled to be annoyed when I come home unexpectedly and find you entertaining another woman. How would you feel if you came back and found me with another bloke here?’

‘I wouldn’t mind a jot, sweetie. I wasn’t entertaining as you put it. Aren’t we above all that sort of silly insecurity?’

‘Well I’m not,’ I said angrily, ‘and if you’re so keen to see Percy all the time why don’t you go and live with him?’

Benedict looked a bit panicky for a moment. ‘What are you saying, darling? You don’t mean that. I don’t want to go and live with Percy. I love you, I like living here. With you. Come on, I’ve said I’m sorry. I was thoughtless.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘Well let’s forget all about it. I promise I’ll be good.’

He looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes and a little pout and despite myself I laughed.

‘Oh stop it, you fool.’

‘Right, well let me pour you a glass of wine but first of all, come here and give me a kiss. You’re looking superb. The country air must suit you. Fancy a fuck?’

*

I woke up the following morning after a restless night avoiding Benedict’s hands. I had a shower and then, wrapped in a towel, sat on the side of the bath to consider my options. I’d definitely let Benedict off far too easily. Anyone else would have had a hissy fit and slung him out on his ear. Why hadn’t I? Don’t think I wasn’t tempted. I knew he needed to think about what he’d done. And show a lot more consideration on a regular basis. I needed more time away from him before doing anything rash. I would focus on my work and when it was finished I would decide what to do next.

I know I’m my own worst enemy and I should have brought some of my muscular, attractive men friends round to make Benedict sit up and rethink his attitude. It crossed my mind that Joe Field would have made short shrift of Benedict and his over-groomed, metropolitan body. He would have swept him, his hair products, anti-allergy nose drops and Xbox out in record time, but of course Joe Field was several hours away and I didn’t know anyone else like him.

My parents were somewhere in America touring around the national parks in a Winnebago large enough for a scout troop. I suppose I could have gone to stay in their house, but they live near Inverness and they have a lot of rules about smoking and wine consumption and knowing my luck the fridge would be empty and the freezer full of vegan, gluten-free, preservative-free meals. At my age I need all the preservatives I can get.

I mentally ran through my address book and couldn’t think of anyone who would have me in their house for an indeterminate time while I got some much-needed distance from Benedict or with whom I could bear to share a bathroom.

Property prices being what they were in London, hardly anyone I knew could afford to buy a two-bedroom flat and most of the people I socialised with these days were child-free like me and didn’t need to consider a flatmate, so that automatically meant a sofa bed. Perhaps I was getting soft in my old age? Or perhaps I was just too fussy. I suppose the same constraints applied to Benedict. And let’s be honest he’d have to be desperate to move in with Percy. I couldn’t do that to him no matter how cross I felt.

I could have gone to stay with Jassy but the following day Ralphie came back from Antigua.

I mean I quite like Ralphie; he’s handsome in a floppy, public schoolboy, blond Hugh Grant sort of way. He’s reasonably tidy and clean and well behaved – well he has to be after all the bad behaviour on cricket tours of years past, otherwise he’d lose his job. But for all that he has to be one of the most boring people on the planet, unless you happen to like cricket of course. There can’t be many people who can hold forth on the Bodyline tour of 1932 with knowledge and enthusiasm for as long as Ralphie can. If there are I hope I’m never in the same room as them.