Summer With My Sister (48 page)

Somehow or other, though, the agenda didn’t quite go that way. No sooner were they in the kitchen than they started kissing. Tentatively at first, with the gentleness of uncertainty, but then becoming faster and more fervent, their fingers fumbling with buttons and zips, clothes being taken off and blindly discarded around their feet.

Just as Polly was thinking they were about to do it there and then on the kitchen table – and why the hell not, it was as good a place as any – he led her into the bedroom and they fell onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and hot, juddering breaths. It was more frantic than last time, more urgent and passionate, but still felt like love-making.

Love-making
. Such a beautiful, romantic phrase, Polly thought dazedly, as the words came into her head. She’d run a mile last time he’d dared mention ‘love’, but she’d done a lot of thinking since then. The idea of love and intimacy didn’t terrify her quite so much any more. In fact, it made her feel . . . happy.

Afterwards the world seemed to tilt back around again and fall perfectly into focus, as it had done on the swing. Polly knew for sure that she’d made the right decision.

‘As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,’ he began, and they both burst into giggles.

She lay curled against his chest, feeling absurdly content. ‘You can interrupt me rudely any time,’ she growled, tracing a finger across his skin. ‘By the way, do you think you can teach that dog of yours to bring the wine in here, please? I can’t be bothered to move from this bed ever again.’

‘I’ll get the wine,’ he said, gently extricating himself from her, ‘and then you can tell me about this job. I still don’t understand why you’re going to turn it down, unless it involves a placement in Outer Mongolia or somewhere.’

She watched his gorgeous bare bottom thoughtfully as he left the room. Right now, London might as well be Outer Mongolia, for all the inclination she had to live there again.

He came back and poured the wine, and then she explained exactly why she was going to say no to the job.

He frowned. ‘Nope. Still don’t get it,’ he said, passing her a glass of smoky-smelling Merlot. ‘I’m not some caveman bloke who thinks a relationship has to mean that you’re here cooking dinner and fetching my pipe and slippers every evening. Why don’t you take the job and we can see each other at weekends?’

‘It wouldn’t work like that,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘That kind of job, it takes over your whole life. I should know. I’ve only just recovered from the last one. We’d hardly see each other.’

‘It seems so extreme, though,’ he countered. ‘What about commuting? Or asking if they’d consider taking you on part-time, or as a job-share?’

She hooted with laughter. ‘No. It
is
extreme, that’s part of the deal. You have to sell your soul to these people. I just don’t want to do that again.’

They were propped up cosily against the pillows and there was silence for a few moments.

‘So what
are
you going to do?’ he said eventually. ‘Other than cook my dinner and fetch my pipe and slippers every evening. JOKE!’ he added, as she punched him on the arm.

‘What am I going to do? Well, that’s the big question,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know. I need to find somewhere to live before Clare boots me out, though. And . . .’

‘Why don’t you move in here? With me.’

She nearly choked on her wine.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘Why not? There’s plenty of room for two.’

She gulped. This was all moving a bit fast. ‘I . . . Thanks,’ she said. ‘One thing at a time though, eh. I was thinking of asking Stu and Erica if I can rent a room above the pub for the time being.’

He was beaming at her. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? About staying in Elderchurch, I mean.’

She nodded. ‘Deadly serious.’ And, with a huge wave of happiness, she realized that yes, this was what she wanted. A life of her own, here in the village. To be here for Alex’s birthday in the autumn, to watch the trees turn golden brown, to take the children sledging down Whistledown if it snowed, to be there for every Sunday dinner at her mum’s. To be at peace with her memories of Michael, instead of trying to escape from them. And for long, happy days and nights with Jay Holmes forever after. Yes, that really was what she wanted.

He put his arms around her and showered kisses on her head, neck, shoulder. ‘Brilliant,’ he said. ‘This is the best news I’ve had all year.’

She lifted her head to kiss him right back. Turning down a heavyweight job in London . . . Sophie and the like would think she was crazy. Well, maybe she was – maybe she’d live to regret this decision if she still hadn’t found a good way to earn some money by Christmas. But right now, at this precise moment, she had never felt saner or more contented.

The future was rosy.

Epilogue

‘Is that the lot?’ Graham was waiting by the van, his hand on the back door.

Polly nodded. ‘That’s the lot,’ she said.

It was a Saturday, six weeks later, and summer had definitely given way to autumn. The trees on Whistledown were seeing the first tinges of rust-gold edging their leaves, the flowers in the Remembrance Garden were brown and drooping, and all over the country women were digging out pairs of tights they hadn’t worn for months and deciding that yes, they definitely needed a new pair of boots and, what the hell, a new coat too. As for Polly, she was on the move again.

Her dad slammed the van doors shut. ‘I guess we’d better go,’ he said.

She hadn’t been there long, but truth be told, Polly was a tiny bit sad to be leaving the bedroom she’d been renting above the King’s Arms. It had become a regular love-nest, with her and Jay shacked up there together so many nights. It was where she’d properly fallen in love with him again, curled up with him in the double bed, talking and laughing long into the night. She gazed up at the upstairs window where she’d stayed, and smiled. This was a special place; one she’d never forget.

‘Let’s do it,’ she said, climbing into the van.

Was it really only six months since she’d left London? It seemed so much longer. Already Elderchurch felt like the home she’d always wanted, the safest place in the world – somewhere she could be herself, and be loved for it. Thank goodness she’d turned down the job with the Walkley Group when she had, even though doing so had made her feel sick with nerves. She’d gritted her teeth and asked Stuart and Erica if she could work some extra hours at the pub instead. Oh, and about the room that was going begging upstairs: would it be possible to rent it?

Clare and her parents clearly thought she’d suffered some kind of breakdown – turning down a perfectly good job and moving her belongings into a poky, beer-smelling room above a pub on the main road. What the hell was she playing at? And while Jay had understood her rationale for not taking the job offer, he didn’t get why she wouldn’t move in with him, when his house was a million times nicer. But Polly had stuck to her guns and refused to let anyone talk her down. She didn’t want to clip the wings of their fledgling relationship before it had even lifted off the ground. She wanted to take things slower this time; to get it right. And she had to take this leap of faith that an even better job would come along – a job that suited the life she wanted to lead now. No more compromises.

Just one week later an even better job
had
come along. ‘I’m afraid it’s not
exactly
what you were looking for,’ the recruitment consultant had said apologetically when she’d phoned with details of the position. ‘I know you wanted to be back in London, whereas this is largely home-based, with perhaps two days’ travel a week, but I thought I’d flag it up in case you were interested.’

Polly, who’d been collecting dirty glasses in the pub when the call came, promptly sat down at one of the tables, her heart pounding. ‘Tell me more,’ she said.

This time the job sounded completely different from what she’d done before. Although based within the financial industry, it would be as an outsider, working for a financial watchdog that monitored and regulated the banking world. She’d be poacher-turned-gamekeeper effectively, checking up on all her old colleagues and contacts, advising on best practice and having a good snoop through their paperwork to make sure everything was above board. She’d almost laughed in glee as the consultant filled her in. Let’s face it, she knew where a
lot
of bodies were buried . . .

Once again she’d stormed the interview process and had been offered the job. She’d been there three weeks now and was thoroughly enjoying herself. The work was fascinating and called on all her years of expertise and investigative skills, without swallowing up her entire life. She loved having her London ‘fix’ every week, while still spending most of the time home in Elderchurch. Best of all was the fact that she’d be auditing Waterman’s in the next few months. She could hardly wait to see their faces when she walked in there to investigate them. Revenge was going to taste so damn sweet . . .

One thing was for sure, though. She was never going to let herself get in a financial mess again. Her investments were finally on the up, and she planned to tend them carefully from now on, as well as building up a buffer of savings for the future. It was all very well taking risks with one’s heart, but when it came to money matters, Polly had vowed to become a new, improved model of prudence. She’d certainly learned from her past mistakes on that score.

Graham started the van’s engine and set off down the high street. Polly waved as she spotted Debbie hurrying towards the post office – probably to send her hundredth care-parcel to Lydia, who’d just started at Bristol University. According to Clare, Debbie had got herself a place at college too. Spurred on by the success of the labels she’d designed for Berry Botanicals, she’d started a graphic-design course at Amberley Tech and was having a whale of a time.

Graham snorted as they glimpsed someone else running along the pavement, beaming and waving. ‘What the hell is that batty old woman doing now?’ he said fondly, pulling over to the kerb.

Polly wound down her window. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Is there room for me? I’ve made you a cake.’ Karen had a Family Circle tin swinging in a carrier bag, and Polly could see a potted fern as well. Bless her.

‘Of course there’s room,’ she said, unclipping her seatbelt and shuffling along the double passenger seat. ‘You didn’t have to bake a cake, Mum. You’re still going to see me all the time.’

‘I know but . . . Well, you know.’

Polly squeezed her mum’s arm companionably once she’d clambered in. Yes, she did know. She knew that she had the loveliest, kindest parents in the world, and was truly grateful that she’d finally realized as much.

‘Don’t start getting muck from that plant in the van, will you,’ Graham admonished. ‘I borrowed this from Mike; he’s not going to be happy with me if I bring it back in a state.’

‘Oh, hush, will you,’ Karen said, pulling a face at Polly. ‘Just drive us there, for heaven’s sake.’

Graham gave a long-suffering sigh, then set off again. ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t just
walk
there, Karen, it’s not exactly
far
,’ he muttered.

Polly smiled to herself. Funny he should use those words. It wasn’t far to Jay’s house, no, but the journey felt pretty momentous to her right now. She couldn’t quite believe she was moving in with him, after all these years of being apart. And yes, okay, maybe this wasn’t taking things quite as slowly as she’d initially anticipated, but hey, she couldn’t resist any longer. Jay was a hard man to refuse. Besides, whenever she thought about the dark winter months ahead, and Christmas to celebrate at the end of the year, she was certain there was nowhere else she would rather be every night.

And, as Clare had said, sometimes you just had to take a chance.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the village, Clare was trying to hurry Leila and Alex into getting ready, but couldn’t help the occasional admiring glance into her hall mirror as she waited for them. She’d had her hair cut the week before, had actually treated herself to a proper salon do after years of snipping haphazard trims herself, and the soft feathery layers fell about her face, framing it prettily. Alison, the hairdresser, had put some colour in too – a cheerful coppery shade that somehow brought out the flecks of green in Clare’s eyes. Damn it, it felt good to look after herself for a change. And hadn’t she bloody well earned it.

It had been fantastic, signing a new twelve-month contract with Langley’s back in the summer. It had been even more fantastic getting the cheque for the first delivery. Once she’d paid Debbie and Lydia for the hours of work they’d put in, she’d taken her parents and friends out for a slap-up curry at the Bombay Brasserie in Amberley as a thank-you. It had been the proudest moment of her life being able to treat all the people she loved with her earnings. Her – a businesswoman. She’d never held her head quite so high before.

Polly had refused to take any money from her. ‘Let’s call it quits, for you putting up with me in your home for so long,’ she’d said, handing back the cheque. ‘You have it, Clare. Put it towards that holiday you were talking about.’