Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (8 page)

‘Jake. Darling.'

All heads snapped around to find Lydia strutting towards them, the front zip of her gold playsuit straining to hold in place her surgically enhanced assets.

‘Sorry I'm late, sweetie,' she gushed, perching on the seat next to Jake. ‘I got here as soon as I could. So … are you ready to go?'

‘I, er – ' began Jake.

‘Jake and I have things to do,' Lydia informed the group.

At the sort of
things
implied, plus the ensuing conspiratorial look at Jake, Annie felt a prick of annoyance.

‘Not staying for the quiz, Lydia?' she asked archly.

Gazing seductively at Jake, Lydia traced a glossy fingernail down the line of her cleavage. ‘Quizzes aren't really my thing, darling. But, as My Darren used to say … you can't be good at everything.' She flicked back her hair and stood up in her towering heels. ‘Are you ready, Jake?'

Jake flashed an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. It was lovely meeting you all but I – '

Not waiting for him to finish, Lydia linked her arm through his and dragged him away.

‘Oh my god,' puffed Jenny, the moment the pair was out of earshot. ‘Has he been airbrushed or something? I thought men that good-looking were only in magazines.'

‘Even I could be tempted there,' chuckled Harriet. ‘Although no one else stands a chance with Lydia on the case. I don't suppose there are many red-blooded males around who could resist a cleavage like that.'

‘No,' muttered Annie wearily. ‘I don't suppose there are.'

CHAPTER FIVE

Jake hadn't slept well. In fact, he hadn't slept at all. Not that that was unusual. His mind often switched to overdrive when he was writing, but last night it had been especially active. Images of Lydia Pembleton chasing him all the way back to Scotland in ten-inch heels had pervaded his mind. Each time he'd woken up in a cold sweat, heart hammering nineteen to the dozen. Thankfully he hadn't slept long enough to discover what she had planned for him when she caught him. Now
that
really would have been a nightmare. By five o'clock he'd admitted defeat, tugged on shorts and a T-shirt, and gone downstairs to write. By lunchtime he'd had enough. He decided to take a break. He drove into Harrogate where he purchased some new running gear, stocked up on provisions, and had a haircut. He had just arrived back at the manor and started to unload the shopping bags when his mobile rang.

‘Jake, dahling. How are you?'

It was Tanya, his agent in London. Jake's heart sank. No doubt she wanted to nail him down to a deadline. Something he was never comfortable with.

‘Fine thanks, Tanya. What can I do for you?' he asked, tucking the phone under his chin as he retrieved a stray apple from the jeep floor and stuffed it into a carrier bag.

‘Oh, I think it's more a case of what we can do for you, sweetie. You will never, in a million years, guess who's just called.'

Never a fan of the woman's melodramatics, Jake rolled his eyes as he gathered up his shopping bags. ‘Well, if I'll never guess, you'd better tell me.'

She drew in a dramatic breath before blurting out, ‘Only the biggest film producing company in Hollywood. . They've read your last book and … wait for it … they
loved
it. They loved it so much they want to make a film of it.'

Jake's bags tumbled to the floor. His heart skipped a beat. This was incredible news. Mind-blowing. In fact, so mind-blowing he was almost rendered speechless.

‘Well, that's, er, very flattering,' he eventually muttered.

‘
Flattering?
' echoed Tanya. ‘It's phenomenal. For all of us. The agency's reputation will soar. And, needless to say, you will become a star. A very rich star. They are talking a lot of money, Jake.
A lot
of money. But we're not accepting their first offer. Oh no. Our lawyers are already on the case. And of course, once it hits the press, they will be all over you. When they discover your true identity, it will cause a sensation. But don't you worry. We'll keep it exclusive. We've already decided to…'

As the words gushed from Tanya's mouth, a film of cold sweat spread over Jake's body. His chest constricted. His breath shortened. He felt as though someone was holding a pillow over his face, suffocating him.

‘… assuming of course, that's okay with you.'

Okay with him?
Jake had no idea what she'd been babbling on about the last few minutes but he doubted any of it would be okay with him. ‘I'm afraid it isn't, Tanya. I'm not interested,' he managed to croak.

A brief hiatus ensued.

‘But … you … you have to be interested,' she eventually stammered. ‘This is huge. Massive.'

‘I don't care.'

‘How can you not care?' she snapped. ‘It's every author's dream.'

‘Not this one's.'

Tanya fell silent. Jake could hear whispering in the background. He could imagine them all crowded around the phone, advising her on what to say next. A few seconds later her voice, laced with a poor attempt at empathy, floated out.

‘Look, sweetie, I know it's a lot to take in. Particularly in your … circumstances. How about we give you some time to think about it? I'll call you again tomorrow.'

‘There's no point. I won't change my mind.'

‘Just think about it overnight,' she instructed, an edge of impatience creeping in. ‘This is an opportunity that could catapult you right up there with the big boys. Don't dismiss it lightly.'

And she hung up.

With the phone still to his ear, Jake couldn't move. His heart raced. But not with excitement. With sheer unadulterated terror. Tanya was right. This was most authors' dream. But for him it would be a nightmare. A nuclear bomb blasting to smithereens his newly-constructed life. A hurricane whipping away his protective cocoon. A scalpel slicing through his clumsily patched wounds. It didn't matter how much money they threw his way. No amount was worth that.

*

Back at the cottage, Annie shoved her apron in the washing machine, then stood up and ran a hand across the back of her neck. She really hadn't had a good day. Hardly surprising given she'd barely slept a wink the night before. Every time she'd closed her eyes, images of wedding cakes, gold playsuits and floral shift dresses had whizzed around her mind. Consequently, she hadn't been in the best of moods. A situation exacerbated by Lydia Pembleton's visit to the shop that morning.

‘How was your quiz night, darling?' asked Lydia, her condescending tone hacking a significant amount off Annie's already short fuse.

‘Great fun, thank you,' lied Annie. In truth, she hadn't enjoyed the quiz at all. Following Jake and Lydia's departure, she'd wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl under her duvet.

‘How sweet,' said Lydia, a disingenuous smile on her orange face. ‘Jake and I do think it's so considerate of the pub to provide entertainment for middle-aged women with limited social lives.'

Annie's hackles rose. ‘Isn't it? Without it, we'd all be at home watching our false teeth float around a jar.'

‘Something along those lines, I'm sure,' said Lydia with a saccharine smile. ‘Now, I'd like half a dozen chocolate chip cookies, please. It's a little treat for Jake. He has a very sweet tooth you know.'

Annie didn't know. Nor did she want to. Only marginally less than she wanted to know what Jake had done to deserve a treat. The less she dwelled on that, the better. Battling the urge to throw the biscuits at Lydia, she used her tongs to slide them into a paper bag.

‘He's writing a book, you know,' informed Lydia, in a voice which implied she were party to some great secret.

‘Who is?' asked Annie, feigning disinterest.

‘Jake, of course. Isn't it exciting having an author in residence?'

Annie rolled her eyes. She'd bet her shop that Jake wouldn't make it to Chapter Two before boredom set in and he moved onto the next thing. None of Jasper's friends ever stuck at anything. To them ‘A Hard Day's Work' was a misprint of the title of a Beatles' song.

‘Will that be all?' she asked coolly, handing over the bag of cookies.

Lydia sighed satisfactorily. ‘Yes, thank you.' She placed a five pound note on the counter. ‘And I would just like to say, Annie, that Jake and I think it's marvellous the way you combine being a single mother with running your little shop. Keep the change.' And with that parting comment and a flick of hair, she tottered out the door.

Recalling the conversation back at the cottage hours later, Annie still seethed. Honestly, Jake and Lydia – who'd known each other all of two minutes – were now, apparently, A Couple. Which had nothing to do with her. They were welcome to each other. But the idea of them discussing her and her life seemed a little … perfidious somehow. Completely nonsensical given that she and Lydia had never been close, and she scarcely knew Jake. It wasn't even as if her life was particularly interesting. Or any great secret. Everyone in the village knew of her personal circumstances and the history with Lance. No, what rankled her most was the slant Lydia had undoubtedly added. By her pitying tone in the shop, she would guess it went something along the lines of “poor little Annie, the pathetic abandoned victim”. Well, Annie most certainly was not a victim. She had picked up the pieces of her life and rearranged them very successfully, thank you. And, just because there wasn't A Significant Other to treat her, didn't mean she couldn't treat herself. She'd have a long soak in the bath, and a large glass of wine. If her memory served her right, there was half a bottle of Prosecco languishing in the fridge. She crossed the kitchen to investigate, but before she opened the fridge door, something on it caught her eye – her running plan. She ran a finger down to the current week to discover that she should be running three miles today. The last thing she wanted to do. But, if she didn't stick to the plan, how likely was she to finish the 10k race? Not very. And if she didn't finish the 10k, it would have a massively detrimental effect on her confidence to attempt a half marathon. No, she really should go. Other than being tired, she had no excuse not to, particularly as Sophie was having tea at Bethany's house and wouldn't be home for another hour. Plus, just think how much more she would appreciate the bath and the wine on her return.

Jake couldn't concentrate. He'd sat at the computer all afternoon and written a total of six words. Tanya's phone call had unsettled him. Not that he questioned his decision. Lord, no. Never in a million years would he accept the offer. But the call had triggered a rare analysis of his life – something he generally tried to avoid. Predictably, once the self-interrogation began, it spiralled out of control. Questions like:
Was he too reclusive? Was it healthy cutting himself off from the real world? Was he happy to face the rest of his life alone?
had bombarded his now battered brain. With maximum effort he had eventually plugged the torrent, bundled the questions into an imaginary box, and tied it shut with a large ribbon upon which the words
I am perfectly happy with my life
were imprinted. That done, he concluded there was no point wasting more time contemplating his navel. If he couldn't write, he might as well do something useful – like give his new running shoes an airing.

Not having explored the area yet, Jake decided to stick to the road. If he ran down to the sign one mile from the village, then back again, that should be enough to start with. He would map out a few longer routes later, set out a proper running plan. Today, he'd test out his new running shoes.

Yes, this was definitely a good idea he concluded a few minutes later as he ran past a field of frolicking lambs. He should make the most of his stay here in Buttersley – not just in terms of writing, but also by exploring the area. After all, it was unlikely he would be here again. And it really wasn't healthy being cooped up at the computer all –

He started as a pheasant flew out from the hedgerow, and at exactly the same time he encountered a pothole. The combination caused him to lose his footing. He toppled over, landing with a thud in the roadside ditch. Red hot pain seared his ankle. He sat for a few minutes catching his breath. Realising it was a long shot, he attempted to stand up. Not one of his better ideas. The pain intensified tenfold. He promptly sat back down again and wondered what to try next. Options were limited. In fact, he only had one: wait until someone drove by and took pity on him. Which, given how quiet the road was, could be a while. He might even end up being there all night, if it didn't get so dark someone drove over him first. Either scenario would, he concluded miserably, round off a really bad day.

Out in the fresh air, her heart pumping and her music blaring, Annie felt so much better – and just a tad virtuous – for dragging herself out of the house. Her three mile route consisted of a loop around the periphery of the village, the return stretch being along the main road. As she ran, she savoured the glorious bucolic scene: hedgerows teeming with flowers, sheep frolicking in the fields, a mother duck and eight miniature offspring waddling across the road. Did it get much better than this? She didn't think so.

On her return stretch Fleetwood Mac's
Tusk
blasted onto her iPod. She turned up the volume at exactly the same time something at the side of the road caught her eye.

Something quite still.

Something that looked suspiciously like a body.

Her already increased heartbeat rocketed. People didn't find bodies on the roadside in Buttersley. At least not on a school night. It wasn't that kind of place.

But no. Wait a minute.

Were her eyes deceiving her, or had it moved?

Oh, my word. It
had
moved.

It was alive.

But what was a
live
body doing by the side of the road?