Nearly Almost Somebody (14 page)

‘Why?’

Grace glanced at Jack. ‘Because I use it in my eyes sometimes. It looks good. And Maggie told me about her taking it, so that if anything happened I’d know what it was and what it did. Lucky for you.’

‘I rang Zoë. She’s coming back.’ Jack sneezed again, the noise sending another jolt of pain through Libby’s head.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ she asked him.

‘That cat.’ He shot a filthy look to Hyssop, who sat on the bed the other side of Libby. ‘It’s why I’ve never rescued any kittens. I’m allergic to the little horrors.’

Hyssop hissed. Jack glared back.

‘Oh.’ She frowned at him. Jack didn’t like Hyssop? Or kittens?

Libby couldn’t be more relieved when he went to make more coffee. What kind of person didn’t like kittens? She watched Grace, who sat on the windowsill, fiddling with a charm bracelet. And how could Grace, a vet’s assistant,
love
someone who didn’t like kittens?

For the longest thirty minutes of Libby’s life, the three of them sat in silence aside from Grace’s occasional instruction to drink more coffee or have a glass of water. The purgatory finally ended when Zoë arrived home and Grace prepared to leave, her charm bracelet jangling as she pulled on her purple mohair cardigan.

Libby took a deep breath. ‘Grace–’

But Grace glared at her before striding over to Jack, her chin raised defiantly. She laid her hand on his head, refusing to remove it when he tried to brush her off.

‘Whatever influence I hold over thee,’ she said, her voice wavering, ‘be at peace. I set thee free.’

Was Grace releasing him from whatever spell she’d cast? It wasn’t a spell Libby had discovered yet. Jack frowned up at Grace, but she whispered, ‘We’re over
.
’

‘I’m sorry,’ Libby whispered, ‘but thank you, for coming to help me, I mean.’

Grace paused on her way to the door. ‘Libby, my
ex
-boyfriend is sitting on your bed, there are two used condoms in your bin and I’ve just had to play nurse maid. I don’t think you can begin to imagine how much I hate you right now.’

Two condoms? But they’d only had sex once. Hadn’t they? Libby closed her eyes, fighting through the fog in her brain, but then she could see them, both facing the mirror. She was on his lap, her legs hooked over his as he ran his hands over her body, following hers. He’d whispered for her to touch herself, to tell him what she liked, what she wanted. She’d acted like a complete whore and to make things a whole lot worse, the man looking back from the mirror, his fingers sliding inside her, wasn’t Jack. It was Robbie. She’d had sex with Jack, but imagined he was Robbie. Her stomach churned, the coffee sitting unhappily with the guilt and shame.

What kind of person had she become?

Tears rolled down Libby’s cheeks as Grace left, but she braved facing Jack, as much to punish herself as him. At what point did he realise she was out of it and hallucinating? After the second time, or before?

‘Thank you for asking her to help, that can’t have been easy, but you should go now.’

‘Libby…’ His eyes implored her.

‘Go, Jack.’

She rolled over, pulling Hyssop towards her, positive she’d never hated herself quite so much.

* * *

‘She should be alright,’ Grace said, putting the empty cafetière on the kitchen worktop. ‘Another of those and make sure she drinks plenty of water.’

Zoë dipped a finger in the deadly-nightshade-laced wine, taking her time to suck off the resulting drips before she answered. ‘Will do.’

‘But tell her to stop messing around with summoning spells. The craft is not a game.’

‘You don’t believe in all that burning candles and wishing for your true love bullshit, do you?’

Grace’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve done it too?’

‘Maybe.’ Zoë couldn’t help a smug smile as she popped the bottle of wine onto the top shelf of the panty.
A great shag with plenty of money.

‘Just be careful what you wish for.’

On Monday morning, Libby crept into work with trepidation in her bones. Would Robbie still be mad at her, or would he apologise? She opened the door, but he never looked up from his paper. Fine. It’d be easier to have a simple boss/employee relationship if he hated her.

But she didn’t want him to hate her. She needed a friend, someone to talk to. Once Libby had recovered, Zoë was bugger all use, finding the whole episode hilarious and saying Grace had got her just desserts for being a jealous cow-bag girlfriend.

‘I see you played hard to get on Saturday,’ he said.

She stared at her feet, guilt burning her cheeks. How did he know? ‘Oh, piss off. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

His head jerked up, but Libby grabbed for the tack room key on her way out. In her rush, her fingers fumbled and the key clattered to the floor. She crouched down, fully aware Robbie was already on his feet.

‘Libby–’

‘What? Are you going to yell at me again for trying to help?’ She faced up to him, her anger rising. ‘I’m sorry if I interfered, but obviously something was wrong, and after everything... I know you’re my boss... but after everything that’s happened recently, I thought it’d be okay to ask because I sort of thought we were friends. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

‘Have you finished?’ he snapped.

‘No,’ she said. ‘If you ever speak to me like that again, I really will piss off and I won’t come back.’

His face held no clue to his feelings, but as she turned to flee, he stopped her, gently grasping her wrist. She refused to face him, too scared she’d cry.

‘Libby, wait,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about Saturday. It’s no excuse, but it was a really bad day.’

The room shifted as relief flooded over her. He didn’t hate her. Oh thank God. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the warmth of his body behind her, the citrusy bergamot in his aftershave, but she glanced down at the hand holding her wrist.

Those fingers… those were the fingers she’d seen in the mirror, the fingers that had brought her to the most intense orgasm she’d ever had. They were fake memories, but she swayed backwards, his shirt touching her back. Had she imagined it, was it another hallucination, or had his thumb really brushed her arm?

‘Please don’t piss off,’ he said, his mouth so close his breath tickled her ear.

Was she still hallucinating? Surely this couldn’t be happening. She turned to him, frowning from under her fringe. His face was six inches from hers and his eyes gazed down. She had to be dreaming. With her heart thumping, Libby tipped her head up. Four inches of air stood between them and a kiss. Why wasn’t he backing off? The gap shrank. Three inches.

‘I should never have given you the job,’ he murmured.

Unable to stop herself, Libby kissed him. Or had he kissed her? She didn’t know, but when her lips met his, frozen for a second, it was definitely his hand holding her face. Slowly, their lips moved and as the kiss grew, she clutched his shirt, hoping to stay upright.

‘Stop it!’ yelled a girl’s voice.

Oh god, no. Libby pinned herself back against the kitchen units, getting as far from Robbie as possible. He’d stepped away, staring wide-eyed towards the living room where his two daughters were grappling with a pink fairy wand.

‘Dora, get off, it’s mine.’

Libby sagged with relief. They hadn’t been caught, but now what? Robbie turned and slowly, the movement almost imperceptible, he shook his head.

‘Daddy, Dora won’t give my wand back.’

Libby fled.

The cool feed room did little to calm her burning cheeks. What had she done? She’d kissed a married man and he’d kissed her back. Storm kicked at her door, the other horses fidgeting, eager for their breakfast, but after Libby tipped a bag of Pasture Mix into the bin, she stood, hugging the empty bag, reliving the kiss. His lips against hers. His fingers in her hair. His head shaking.

He’d said no.

She fought mortification and tears as she tried to complete the usually simple task of scooping nuts into buckets. What if he fired her? He couldn’t, could he? He’d kissed her too. She had to stop fancying him. What she needed was a distraction from her distraction – she needed her true love. She’d have to do the Summoning Spell again.

A shadow fell over the room and she closed her eyes, praying he’d go away.

‘Lib?’

With a little shake of her head, she pulled herself together and faced him as she faced everything in life – with her head held high. Robbie fiddled with his car keys, glancing at the floor more than her.

‘It’s fine, a mistake, I know.’ She forced a quick smile. ‘Sorry.’

‘The girls–’

‘Let’s forget about it.’

He nodded, a huge frown marring his perfect face. ‘If that’s… I’d better go.’

At least he hadn’t fired her.

That evening, under the powerful energy of the full moon, Libby sat on the lawn with her candle, flower petals and a new piece of chintz wallpaper. She had to get it right this time, to choose her words carefully.
Good looks, 25-35, nice eyes but not brown, English, honest, decent morals, single, good with animals
. Then, in a final flourish, she scrawled,
I want my Somebody
.

For two days, she avoided Robbie. Each evening she’d hover outside, waiting until the girls needed him in another room, then she’d hang up the key quickly and quietly, leaving the list on the worktop. The following morning, a new list would replace the previous one, but he wasn’t in his usual place at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

Libby’s misery grew. She missed him. She missed talking to him. She wanted to tell him about Dolomite clearing four feet, but how could she face him? For two nights, despite working Dolomite and Storm until the horses were more tired than she was, she’d barely slept, her brain and body reliving that kiss. She had to stay away from him.

On day three, with the mucking out finished, she sat down nursing a mug of tea and took the time to light a cigarette before she took out his list. She read his words, stared at his neat handwriting and wished he were with her, kissing her again. Then she read the last item.

Talk to me.

Talk to him. Why, what would he say? Olivia Wilde, you’re fired? Or the opposite. She banished the idea. He’d shaken his head. He didn’t want her. God, she wanted him, but he’d said no. Another grounding exercise hadn’t eased her obsession. All she could do was focus on the routine and turn up the radio to block out inappropriate thoughts.

Lethargically, she dropped the first hay net into a tub of water, soaking it for Smokey’s ancient teeth, but the dance track blasting from the iPod stopped. Libby froze, her heart rate tripling. Tallulah had gone shopping to Kendal with Chloe. No one but Robbie would turn it off. Well, to hell with going out there. He could come and find her. Cromwell, who never left her side, lay outside the door, stretched out in the midday sun, giving away her location.

Footsteps approached, but Libby concentrated on stuffing the next hay net, not looking up as Robbie came in and perched on the hay bales.

‘Don’t you have a restaurant to run?’ she said, sounding more cross than she’d intended.

‘It’s quiet. Laurel can manage.’

Libby pulled the net strings closed and braved facing him. Sitting on the hay, in his pristine white shirt and dark grey trousers, he looked like a model in a high end, arty photo shoot.

‘Lib–’

‘Can’t we just forget it?’
Please, don’t fire me.

‘No,’ he said, fiddling with a piece of hay, ‘because I haven’t thought about anything else for three days.’

And just as he did most mornings, he looked her over, but this time she didn’t breathe the whole time. It wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t going to fire her. He wanted more and the arrogant twinkle in his eyes suggested he wanted more now. Crikey, that was the look Clara had told her about – the look that said he’d bend her over whether she liked it or not. Libby’s body pulsed. He could; she would.

No. He couldn’t; she wouldn’t.

‘You’re married. It’s wrong.’

The arrogant twinkle vanished and he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders sagging. ‘Fuck, I’m sorry, Libby.’

Sorry for what? Wanting a roll in the hay, or not wanting one anymore?

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘It turns out I wasn’t paranoid. She finally admitted she’s shagging that French wanker.’

Her heart broke to see Robbie’s face fill with desolation. ‘Did she apologise and beg for forgiveness?’

‘Not quite. She wants some time to work out what she wants.’

‘A sabbatical?’

He nodded, rolling his wedding band around with his thumb. ‘On Sunday... I agreed. I said she could have her free pass.’

‘Oh.’ What else could she say? She couldn’t tell him it’d be okay, that Vanessa would change her mind because she had no idea what his wife might be thinking, but Libby hated to see him so dejected, his ego so battered. ‘And do you get one too?’

His hands picked at a piece of hay. ‘Why do you think I said yes?’

And he looked at her, his eyes glinting.

‘What, are you expecting a quick roll in the hay?’ She sounded flippant, but the suggestion of shagging him made her cheeks redden. ‘Not my style, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, now you play hard to get.’

‘Ha, ha.’

She tried opening the next hay net, but her fingers wouldn’t work. Swearing, she threw it to the ground and studied him, her hands on her hips, fingers tapping. Did he really think he could just turn up and shag her? What else could she expect? They could hardly go out on a date. There’d be no relationship, just sex, something to boost his ego, something to distract her. Did she really want that?

‘I know you’re in a bad place,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to be the one responsible for wrecking your marriage. Free pass or no free pass.’

‘It’s wrecked already.’ He leaned forwards, frowning at her. ‘She said she wants someone to talk to about the thing she loves. Music. He can do that. I can’t.’

‘But–’

‘The thing is, Lib. I get it. I know what she means because...’ Robbie took a deep breath. ‘Every morning, Dora screams for her.
I want Mummy. I hate you, Daddy
. The amount of times I’ve almost rung Vanessa, to tell her to come home. Dora misses her so much, but I don’t ring her, because if I did… there’d be no more wine at five o’clock with you. And I don’t want to give that up because it’s the highlight of my fucking day.’

Libby crossed the gap between them in two strides and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Desperate to make him better, for him to make her better, she kissed him, hoping to show him he was wanted by somebody. Wanted? She needed him.
He
was her perfect distraction.

With their bodies pressed together, they kissed, but it bore no resemblance to what had happened in the kitchen. They tumbled backwards onto the hay, his hands holding her face as his tongue tormented her mouth. This time she really was going to have sex with Robbie Golding and he really did want her as much as she wanted him.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this now,’ she whispered, her mouth hovering over his ear. ‘I smell like a horse.’

‘It’s very, very sexy.’ He looked her over, smiling as he slowly pushed up her t-shirt.

‘But you’ll get dirty... I mean...’

‘If you’re trying to talk me out of it, you’re doing a dreadful job.’

Grinning, he slipped her t-shirt up her arms, but used the material to bind her wrists together. Held captive, she squirmed helplessly as his fingers trailed slowly down her arm and along the edge of her bra, his touch sending shivers shooting through her.

‘This is so wrong,’ she mumbled.

‘But inevitable.’

He released her hands and Libby took over, kneeling astride him to teasingly drop kisses down his neck as her shaky fingers unfastened his shirt. The last button opened and she pushed aside the cotton fabric, gaining full access to the torso she’d coveted for so long – the real thing and not some hallucination. Crikey, he was fit.

She glanced up, expecting to see his arrogant smile, but instead he stared, wide-eyed at the ancient beams. Was he having second thoughts? Gently, she placed a nervous hand on his chest. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

Quietly, he sat up and tipped his head to the side, taking slow, steadying breaths.

‘The problem is, Lib...’ He tugged the band from the end of her plait and shook out her hair. ‘I’ve wanted to do this since you called me an arrogant bastard.’

They lay on a stable rug, naked, and Libby held him in her arms. They’d had sex. Crikey, they’d had good sex, but his silence for the last five minutes unnerved her. While she scattered kisses along his shoulder, up his neck, he merely stared into space. Was he regretting his revenge shag?

‘Are you okay?’ she asked quietly.

He nodded.

‘Working out how you can run away?’