Trying Not To Love You - Part Three

Part Three

Martha was still in shock, she’d pulled the huge vehicle past the farmhouse and into the yard with relief. Never more glad to park a vehicle. The trauma of the hospital visit, actually seeing her father was compounded by the physical challenge of actually driving the least responsive vehicle in the world home. The last thing she expected was to see the door at the far end of the coach house open, and then for him to step out, the man she’d seen in the pub the previous night. For a moment she tried to fathom why he was in her home, and as the penny dropped that this was the lodger Aunt Lucy was talking about, he was followed out into the morning sun by the same disruptive blonde he was with the previous night. She looked terrible, her hair a mess, her heels ridiculous on the cobbles of the yard, and her dress making the walk of shame complete. Then like the previous night she wrapped herself around him and proceeded to eat his face.

He stood there, accepting her ardour, much as he had the previous night, talking but not reciprocating, and it was ugly, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away, and when they moved slightly, she met those eyes again, over the blonde’s shoulder. And she almost stumbled.

She didn’t know what had stunned her the most, the fact that THAT man was the infamous lodger, that he had taken that girl home to her father’s farm, or that he had waved at her so arrogantly as she got out of the vehicle. Not that she had much time to think about him, the nameless man; she had to get to grips with things before she went back to the hospital. There was a time and place to deal with all that.

The restaurant office was chaos, though there was a computer there, it didn’t seem to have much on it. She did find a huge file of bills, invoices and hand written accounts and the phone numbers for her father’s accountant and lawyer, so she spent most of the morning up to her eyes in figures, dates and orders, a phone wrapped around her head.

                “So glad...” it was a slur, but Martha knew what her father meant, he was pleased that she’d come home, and the fact that he was talking to her, well that was so special. She tried to blink away the tears, but when one escaped and coursed down her cheek he moaned sorrowfully.

She reached out and stroked his hair, “I love you Dad.” Carl Mansell’s eyes glittered at that, but a reply was clearly too much for him, so she carried on, “I’m on the case with the restaurant.” She explained all that had happened that day. “I’ll keep everything going, but you keep thinking if there’s anything I need to know, ok? I found your journals, so I’ve got some records, though I’m still trying to work things out. The horses I’m struggling with...way out of the comfort zone of a shop manager. Fortunately I’m good with the numbers.”

Her father’s eyes widened, but she merely patted his hand, “I’ll sort it. Don’t worry, just get well. Okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes.

                “You tired?”

He nodded again, eyes still closed.

                “Ok, I’ll leave you for now; I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll call tonight, see if you need anything, the nurses can let me know,” she added quickly.

She drove home through a veil of tears, could things get any worse?

As Martha pulled into the lane that led to the farm she spotted one of her father’s prize mares loose in her path.

                “Shit!” She screeched to a halt, or rather as much as a half tonne chunk of junk could screech. “What the fuck?”

Jumping out of the vehicle, she moved slowly towards the nervous animal. She had no way of restraining her, and no way of leading it, so she had to rely on her tact! As she backed the animal towards the yard, she glanced alongside the building to the damaged fence on one side of the paddock. The empty paddock.

                “Jesus Christ!” She shouted to no one in particular. “Can anything else happen today? Please?”

There were five horses, fortunately the stallion was stabled. She’d found that out earlier. So, she only had three mares and two foals to catch. Easy, hey?  Not in skinny jeans and ridiculous heeled boots, and three inches of mud.

Sonny Carter had had another shit day, he wasn’t getting the information he needed and he was being made to do ridiculous things supposedly for that very opportunity. He’d come back to the coach house earlier in the day, glad to be incognito for a while, he survived on very little sleep, so the lack of it the previous night wasn’t an issue, no, it was the fact that he was having the piss taken out of him, that was what was winding him up. As it had the previous day. Clarity and serenity, that was what he needed, and the four walls, the cold room, they were as good as it got.

Opening the cupboard that sat beside his bed, he pulled out a bottle, vodka, all he could find, but one of his drinks of choice. He had one glass, a crystal one given to him by his mother when he was a kid, and that was what he used to tip two inches of the clear spirit into. Taking a long slug he felt the tension ease slightly, but not enough.

He’d been working for Marcus Thomas for months, the man was a household name in certain decidedly dodgy circles and in certain parts of the country, but here he wasn’t known so well. But the man had placed him there deliberately to sabotage, observe and possibly incriminate Scott Oldbury with every gesture, but obviously without the man realising. In exchange he was expecting information, about who set him up, who made him do time. And that was where this relationship was becoming one sided. Thomas was playing him, and he should walk, but if he did, then he would definitely be none the wiser, and all these months would be wasted. And he hated Oldbury, being part of his downfall was like an aphrodisiac.  So he knew he’d carry on, eager for every drip of information.

Shaking his head he tried to clear the fog of the past, he could head to town, the Oak would be busy, or further afield, he’d been around these parts long enough to make a few acquaintances. He didn’t do friends, hadn’t since he’d been taken into care when his mother died, he’d been just eight. He’d learned the hard way that you didn’t trust anyone, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a drink with one of his fellow snooker players, or the guys who invited him to play poker every once in a while. Or there were the ladies, he’d become acquainted with several over the last few months.  Most were more than keen for a repeat performance.

                “JESUS CHRIST!” The words echoed in through the window and he looked up.

Sonny knew he’d recognise that voice anywhere, even though he’d never actually spoken to her he knew it was Carl’s daughter.

Walking across the room he pulled open the curtains and could barely contain his laughter. Looking down into the yard below he could see Miss Holier-than-thou, in ridiculous boots and the most obscenely tight jeans trying to wrestle a horse, and fail. Looking past her he grimaced at the damaged fence, it was happening again. Poor Carl.

He could help her, not that he was an animal person, as he said that Tinker the half wild cat who insisted on sharing his bedroom looked up at him with a conspiratorial purr, giving the animal a scratch, he surveyed the scene, no he could help, but then he could also sit and watch. And that could be fun.

Martha soon realised it wasn’t catching the horses that was the problem, a trip to the feed room meant she could tempt them with food, and she could guide them back to the field, it was the damaged fence that was the problem, every time she got them in there, turned to work out how to fix things, one would escape again. She was hot, bothered and increasingly angry and the frustration was all set to cause her head to blow off when she moved and the heel of one boot caught within the cobbles and broke with a very audible snap.

                “Will you guys give me a break?” She stared into the eyes of the biggest of the horses with a groan, “please?”

She was covered in mud, she wouldn’t mind but she’d only brought a small bag with her, she hardly had anything else to wear. She hadn’t really been thinking when she’d left the previous day that was for sure. The dogs weren’t making things any easier yapping every time the horses strayed.

Prior to the boot breaking her heels had sunk into the mud, and the standoff with the mare wasn’t going as she planned. Sideways glances around her revealed nothing, nothing that would patch up the gaping hole in the fence. There was a roll of chain link wire in the coach house she knew that, but if she left to get it, then they’d escape again and she’d be back to square one.

                “Portia, Tessa,” she called the two dogs to her feet. “Can you please help me out here?” Tessa looked at her, head cocked to one side, and Martha shook her head, “I’ve been back less than twenty four hours and I’m already talking to animals! You guys are killing me.”

                “And there was me thinking you were a regular Dr Doolittle.”

The voice caused her to freeze, the situation was bad enough, but to be witnessed by someone was worse, to be witnessed by who she presumed was stood behind her was akin to hell.

Turning slowly she took in the man stood in front of her, she remembered the eyes from the previous night, they’d seen through her, but now she had a moment to take in the rest of him. He was tall and slim, but with broad shoulders, and he was wearing a long sleeve grey t-shirt that clung to him, and dark jeans, no more appropriate for the situation than her own attire. Her eyes rose up to his face, and there it was, that arrogant grin, the look that he’d gifted on her this morning. A look of confidence, he was used to women, used to attention, but she wasn’t one of his catches, wasn’t someone who was going to flutter her eyelashes at him. She ignored his eyes, the searching gaze; instead she focussed on his cocky smile.

                “Lowered yourself to help then? Least you could do really!”

He was holding the roll of fencing, he’d obviously had the same thoughts as her, and as much as she wanted to snatch it away from him, push him and his help away, she had to change into her farm boots, so she stormed past him, nose in the air, ignoring the lopsided gait that her broken heel caused.

                “Least I could do?” She could hear him musing over her words behind her, “you think that?”

It took seconds to change boots, then she grabbed the chain link and attacked the job in hand. She’s started to unroll the fencing, trying to work out how best to repair things before she answered. “I don’t have an opinion on you. I hear that my father likes you, that you’re staying here.” She turned to glare at him, “THAT is all I know.”

He nodded knowingly, “he’s a good man, your father, and I’d do anything for him, including helping you when you’re being rude. He’s a true gent, though seems he’s alone in that around these parts.”

She looked back at the job in hand, only offering a mumble of, “you got that right.”

Sonny knew he could take that however he wanted, it was meant as a swipe at him wasn’t it? Or was it something more? This woman had been away years and judging by last night’s performance and the reaction in the pub, something had precipitated that, and a lot of people still hadn’t forgotten. That both intrigued, and pleased him, she wasn’t perfect, no one was.

                “Out the way, I’ll fix that.” He’d brought wire cutters, nails and a hammer out with the roll, he fully intended to repair the gap, he’d watched her struggle for long enough.

Shaking her head she snatched at the tools, “I’ve got it. Thanks for the polite and timely offer though!”

Her sarcasm made him smile, she was right he had enjoyed her struggle, but was now a little pissed off that she wouldn’t take the help he’d offered. So he refused to hand her the tools for a moment, “I said I got it!”

He tutted and rolled his eyes, “knew you’d be one of those!”

Then he stormed off.

Trying Not To Love You - Part Two

Part Two

Martha ordered another drink; aware that she’d downed the inch of whisky in a few seconds, but she’d never felt pressure like this. She swore to herself that she could hear comments about her passing around, but when she moved, studied people, all she saw were smiles. Another drink and she’d leave, she’d humoured James, but had no intention of staying for food, if she managed another half an hour she could disappear, her father was ill, she was sure she could muster a few tears to command, they had been very close to falling all evening anyway. He’d understand that.

                “Martha,” Mr Richards her primary school headmaster approached asking about her father, then he was joined by Pat, the shopkeeper. She tried to smile, to be genial, but her heart was elsewhere.

As she drank her second whisky Martha spotted a lull in the attention she was getting and dragged James into the conservatory, pulling him square in front of her.

                “Seems my father has been lying to me, and so have you. Oldbury! You said he’d not been seen. Spill!” Her ex fiancé was the last person she wanted to discuss, but he was also the most dangerous person she knew, so she wanted and needed to be forewarned.

James looked sick, “he’s not been seen for months.”

She raised an eyebrow, “really? Lucy said he was at the farm last week.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, “someone said they saw him, but I haven’t honest. I thought he was away.”

“You sure? Cos this wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve tried to manipulate that relationship.”

He watched the argument unravel from his seat in the corner through the doorway to the back of the pub. James looked embarrassed, flushed, and that made him laugh. He liked this girl, she had fire in her belly. But when she looked up, spoke beseechingly to the chinless man, he saw fear in her eyes. She was scared of something, and she was fronting it out.

He drained his drink, then contemplated another, but as he glanced towards her again, he locked eyes with James, there it was, that knowing scowl, the cocky warning in his glare. It infuriated him beyond belief, and fighting with him here, now, was not the right thing to do. The way he was feeling this day would never end well. So he threw the glass back onto the table and stormed out. He’d get a game in the snooker hall. Hopefully hustling some money from the other losers hanging out there would ease his tension.

                “It was a mistake last time Martha, I swear, he told me he was desperate to see you. I believed him.”

Martha looked at James, his ‘mistake’ five years ago had had grave consequences, not that she was keen to remember that time.  She wanted to get out of there, she’d not wanted to think about Scott Oldbury since she’d left, or the chaos that James had caused by orchestrating that final meeting with him.

James looked sick, and though she may live to regret it, she believed him. This time.

Escape, she thought as she followed him back into the bar, and then groaned, as in through the door came Helen, her best friend from school. They had barely spoken since she’d left town, but via facebook, no one was a stranger anymore.

                “Oh-My-God Martha! You look amazing!” As she pulled her friend into a hug, Helen spotted James rolling his eyes and suddenly apologised, “I’m SO sorry, obviously you’d look so much better without the stress of your dad. Shall I order us some wine?”

Without waiting for an answer, Helen ordered a bottle of chardonnay, and with three glasses, James led the girls out into the conservatory, where it was a little quieter and away from the prying eyes of the gossips.

He’d lost twenty quid in three games of pool, he never lost, he was the best player by a mile here, and it had done nothing to lighten his mood. He’d go home, sleep, there was a lot to do the following day, he could do with some uninterrupted rest. That was the best plan, so far he’d kept himself under control, he hadn’t give in to the frustration or anger of the day. Saying his goodbyes he headed back out onto the High Street and made for home. As he passed the pub a gang of girls called to him from the beer garden. Turning around he immediately relaxed Gemma Arthur. Blonde, tall, slim, and one of the good time girls, SHE could be the distraction he was looking for. She’d been hounding him for weeks. She occasionally worked behind the bar with that letch James, this could be a double win situation.

Turning back towards them he gave a wink then headed inside. By the time he’d reached the bar, she’d entered the pub from the beer garden and met him there.

                “Are you on your own?” She asked staring at him. He’d been told he was good looking by women in the past, but he wasn’t stupid, his aloofness and disinterest was one of the main reasons women threw themselves at him, it had been happening since he was fifteen. And tonight was no exception. Gemma and her friends were good time girls, out most nights looking for fun, his reputation was well known, there’d be no confusion between them, and she smiled at him, as he nodded.

                “Drink?” he asked. Not waiting for an answer he turned towards the barman to order for them, and it was then he connected with the most beautiful yet unexpectedly blue pair of eyes from the other side of the bar.

Martha couldn’t see her finishing the third bottle of wine, she was shattered, but the other two were full on reminiscing and the wine had been free-flowing, so she had to go along really and this was her round. As she waited for Mick the barman to open the bottle, she felt more than saw something to her right, glancing that way, across the serving area to the bar she’d been in earlier she suddenly froze. All she could see were brown eyes, and she felt as though she was drowning in them, leaning back she just about managed to focus on the face they belonged to, angled cheek bones, a strong jaw darkened by stubble, and short dark hair.  She’d never seen him before in her life, but there was something absorbing about him. Then like a clapboard on a movie set, a skinny overly made-up blonde female, snapped the link between their eyes by thrusting her face to his. Martha almost recoiled in shock as the man, and he was a man, started to kiss the blonde. Not a peck, not even a snog, this was a full on face eating, hands wandering, ‘get a room’ event...completely inappropriate for the bar.

He had been wrong footed by Gemma’s apparent ardour, but angling his head without ending the kiss, he sought to find those eyes again, he was desperate to see her again. But it was as he reconnected with her that he saw the look of distaste, disgust even as she snatched at the wine and moved away from the bar as quickly as she could, and it was with the memory of that look that he dragged Gemma out of the pub away from Miss Holier-than-thou and in the direction of his bed...if they made it that far.

She hadn’t slept, that was inevitable, she had so many things to worry about, once she got to the restaurant, got control of things, she’d have more of an idea about what was going on, until then she had to try and fathom what the hell was going on here, she had to keep things running smoothly for her dad. She owed him that.

Martha left the kitchen via the side door into the utility room, passing the washing machine, dryer and large open sink, she moved into the feed room, in it were large sacks of feed, labelled for the various recipients, and above them a chart, stating the times of feeds for the dogs, cats and horses, an A3 poster of how to run the farm house, then there were rental prices, contract details for all the fields that were rented by various members of the local community. Smiling at his organisation she found her boots, old black rubber soled boots that still fitted her like a second skin, then went out to start the day.

By eight am she’d familiarised herself with everything at the farm, she still had to visit her father, and then get to the restaurant, but she felt as though she’d made a decent start. Hearing voices she looked up to see Eamonn her father’s right hand man. She’d known him for years and he used several of the fields for his own purposes, as payment he helped her father out with his own.

                “Eamonn.” She hugged him as hard as he hugged her.

                “How’s your da?” He asked, she was always amazed that his Irish accent was still as strong as he’d lived in town since he was a youth.

                “They say he’s stable, I’m going there later, then I’ll know. Is everything running well?” Martha asked, “I don’t know how long my father is going to be out of action...”

Eamonn smiled, “this place runs itself, I can manage everything...”

                “But?”

He sighed, “things haven’t been easy for your father.”

It was not what she wanted to hear, a common theme was emerging and it wasn’t settling her nerves at all, “Eamonn?”

                “You’ve seen this town Martha, this is the only farm left, and there are people who want to develop more of the area. This farm is the closest land left near town. It’s prime land, in demand. Your father’s been under a lot of pressure from parties to sell.”

Martha sighed, she’d been right to worry. She knew how ‘persuasive’ people could be, especially people with money if they wanted something. Then there were the horses. These were the huge investment her father had staked his future on, she’d ridden Pumpkin, her pony as a kid, but didn’t have a clue how to manage stud horses, foals...breeding cycles.

With a sigh of frustration she made for the house, she needed breakfast before going to the hospital. When she got back she’d deal with things. There was only so much she could do.

                “Sleep well?” Aunt Lucy was sat in the kitchen, a cigarette smouldering in the ashtray in front of her.

Martha wrinkled her nose for a moment, then shrugged, not keen to make small talk. Her head hurt, but this was nothing to do with alcohol. “I’ve been trying to sort things out here.”

Her aunt nodded, “your father hasn’t been on top of things lately.”

That surprised her, she was confident that her father could manage everything. She’d seen his filing, his plans, his rotas, he seemed ultra organised. Her aunt had a love hate relationship with him, so she tried to take the comment with a pinch of salt. Filling the coffee machine, she toasted some bread whilst she waited for it to brew thinking all the time. Eventually she turned to her aunt.

                “Why?”

Aunt Lucy looked up, “why what?”

                “Why is Dad struggling?”

Aunt Lucy lit another cigarette then smiled at her, “lots of things, he thinks I don’t see things. But I do. He’s too old to keep doing all that he does really. And then there’s the lodger.”

Martha sipped at her coffee for a moment, “you mentioned this last night. Yet you don’t tell me the full story.”

Her aunt laughed, “he’s always been soft, too soft! I mean he let all those things happen to you, then he let you leave. Now he’s got some criminal living rent free in the coach house. Rent free I tell you! He has no idea what people think about him, and this illness...well it’s been a long time coming.”

She thought about that all the way to the hospital. Herman her MG was bogged in mud, so she’d had to drive her father’s Land Rover, that was years older than even her dated vehicle. She’d not driven this lump of metal for a long time, and it was hard work, there was no such thing as power steering, a ninety degree left turn took a ton of effort and elbow grease, turning out onto the main road was harder than pumping metal for three hours at the gym.

A lodger, that was so like her father, but there was tension from Aunt Lucy that was worse than normal. She was concerned.

Not for the first time Martha wished she had a crystal ball to see how this would all play out. Instead she was miles from her own life floundering like a fish out of water.

By the time she got to the hospital she’d lost any confidence that she had at the thought of seeing her father. Her legs barely functioned as she climbed the stairs to the ward that housed her father. He was asleep, the doctor came to see her, attempted to fill her in on all that happened. The man seemed optimistic, but all she could see was her father, pale, limp and unresponsive in bed. And it was about to break her in two.

He opened an eye, the first thing he saw were the blonde locks of a woman draped across his arm. Gemma. He groaned, he wanted her gone, what happened to waking alone? When he’d lived in London he’d always gone home with women, his home was a sanctuary, if they did come back to his they had always disappeared in the middle of the night, never wanting to be the wrong side of town when the morning came, but they were different here. Rolling to his side he glanced at the room, though it was barely that, he had a bed, a table and a small fridge. That was it.

Sitting up he found his boxer shorts and untangled them from the rest of the debris of his night with Gemma, a black dress, a lacy bra that he remembered dragging off with his teeth, and five condom wrappers - a fair display from him, all things considered. Sex, like alcohol or bad behaviour gave him a high, but like waking up with broken ribs or in a eight by twelve police cell, or with the hangover from hell, there was always a come down, and her still being there wanting more from him was today’s treat.

He knew he was selfish, but that was part of the deal. He gave women a good time, no one could ever deny that. But with it came the distinct promise that there were no ties, no comebacks, and no cups of tea in the morning. It may show a lack of morals, but he was up front about it, he wasn’t kidding anyone.  

His bathroom was a cold water shower as the boiler was broken, and a toilet downstairs, and whilst it was getting late in the year and generally cold, he found the dumping of ice cold water every morning invigorating.

He was dressed in dark jeans and a long sleeved black t-shirt, hair still damp when he climbed the stairs, his watch told him it was almost ten o’clock, he had places to be.

                “Gemma,” he shoved her gently, “I’ve gotta get going.”

As much as he had nothing worth stealing he had no intention of leaving her here whilst he left, this was HIS space, all he had and the sooner she was gone the better.

He was stood drinking a glass of water as she finally opened her eyes, pulled herself into sitting. The light duvet fell away from her body to reveal her lithe, almost childlike figure, childlike except for the larger than a handful fake breasts that she’d had great pleasure in telling him cost three thousand pounds. With her messy hair and sleepy face he felt a moment of endearment, she wasn’t a bad kid. Then she reached for him, pulling him close, hands ripping at his jeans, pulling them down, and her lips expertly fastening around his rapidly growing erection.

She could stay a few more minutes he thought as he closed his eyes.

                “Can we meet tonight?”

He shook his head, “I’m in town tonight, things on...work.”

She was pulling on her muddy heeled sandals, and with last night’s dress and damaged underwear she didn’t look the best, but that wasn’t his problem. Leaning against the doorway he dragged on a cigarette as he watched her unfold to her full height. “Call me?”

He shrugged, “I’m not promising anything, ok?”

Gemma tried a pouty look, then sighed when he didn’t respond to it, “what is it with you? We have a night like that and you won’t plan a repeat?”

She didn’t need to know that it was years since he’d planned ahead of the day in front of him, “I’ve got to work, ok?”

He led her down to the front door, it was a sunny morning, as he pulled back the door he flinched at the bright light shining in at him, she stepped down onto the cobbles of the farmyard  that housed the coach house he called home, then turned to him, “you won’t change your mind.”

He laughed, “it was a great night, but that’s it, it was a night, ok? I won’t make false promises.”

Nodding she threw her arms around his neck, “I can appreciate that.” Then she threw her lips on his.

For a moment the kiss was almost aggressive and she was moaning in delirium, writhing up against him, but he had no intention of this deepening, they were not taking a step back upstairs. Instead he gave her a gentle push away, “see you round.”

As she teetered across the yard making for the path back to town he felt eyes on him. Looking up he saw her, there again. Across the yard next to the old beaten up Land Rover that Carl used to get around. And she was staring at him again with that look of disgust, as though he was shit she’d found on her shoe.

Instead of letting it get to him, he did what he always did, plastered on an arrogant smile and waved at her. As her eyes widened indignantly, he closed the door behind him and headed back upstairs.

Ten minutes later he’d had a phone call and was about to be picked up, today was going to be another busy day.

NEW STORY Trying Not To Love You

A/N This story has taken over my life. Hope you enjoy. Please feedback as I'm not sure I'm doing it justice. Will be posting frequently, the last story I found hard to complete, the way this one is going that won't be the case!

Enjoy!

Trying Not to Love You 

Martha felt the phone almost fall from her hand at the words uttered by her aunt, she’d not gone home enough, she didn’t call enough, and now her Dad was ill. Really ill. There had been so much distance between them for so long, for SO many reasons. She thought of the man her father was, the tall burly man who would throw her up on to his a shoulder and stride across fields as though she weighed nothing even when she was in her teens. He was the strongest man she knew, getting up before dawn to manage his farm land before heading to the restaurant he ran, and sitting up until late helping her with her homework. He was invincible, immortal, the strongest hulk that she knew, wasn’t he?

She hung up on her Aunt and called the hospital, the Stroke Unit.

                “He’s settled, its early days, and he’s been very ill, but he’s making steady progress.”

She bit her lip, not wanting to cry, “will you tell him I called? I’ll be there in the morning.”

And so knew there was nothing for it but to head home.

Home.

Not a place she’d thought of too often, since she’d left five years ago she’d restricted herself to occasional visits, Christmas, birthdays...not much else. Not through choice, but through necessity. With bile rising in her throat and pain in her heart she got back to the house as quickly as she could. Stephanie, her godmother and ultimately her saviour, was as serene as ever, glamorous to the letter, was stood in her perfect cashmere twinset and pressed trousers and the heels she was never seen without, cooking dinner without a single splash on her perfect attire. When she stepped in to the room the older woman sensed her presence and looked up from the stove to smile, then immediately she sensed Martha’s anxiety.

                “Are you ok?”

Martha nodded, “was everything ok today?”

Stephanie laid down the spoon she was using to stir the pot of soup in front of her, “we’re fine. Why? What’s happened?”

                “Aunt Lucy called. My father’s had a stroke.”

Stephanie looked like she’d been slapped; the fear on her goddaughter’s behalf was palpable, “really? Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Are you going?”

Martha nodded, not remembering hearing Stephanie using a profanity in the past, even one as mild as shit. “I just need to get some things ready.”

                “I’ll pack you something to eat.”

Martha couldn’t thank this woman enough, in her hour of need she’d stepped in and supported her, for five years had been like a mother to her, and when something happened like this, she just took the responsibility without complaining. “This will be really hard for you.”

Stephanie smiled, “it’s fine. I can cope. You NEED to be home with Carl. Ok? Give him my love.”

Martha was still in a daze as she got in her car and waved goodbye to her home, then started the journey back to the place that had been home for twenty three years.

As the motorway headed away from London, the roads changed from well maintained carriageways, to narrower single lane roads, and then lanes. She’d been born in the house on Carrowbrook Farm twenty eight years earlier, in those days the village of Denbrooke had been just that, a large village. A few houses, the pub, the church, then the couple of dozen farms that flanked that, and the restaurant her parents had cultivated from nothing. Over the last twenty years more and more of the east side of the area had been sold to property developers, and now, the village was more like a town, and a suburb of the nearest city, large estates of social housing had changed the demographics of the area greatly, but Martha didn’t realise quite how much until she finally drove along those roads and truly saw them for the first time in years. All her previous visits had been rushed and excited, she hadn’t really seen where she was driving, now with too much time, too much silence it was all she could do, think and see.

As she pulled through the centre of the town her phone rang, connecting the call she answered with a weary “hello?”

She’d left for work at seven am that morning, the clock in her car told her it was eight thirty, and already dark, it had been the longest day, and she’d had to call in every favour she had to get away like this.

                “Martha? It’s James. I wasn’t sure if you’d heard about your father.”

She smiled, James had been in her class throughout school, his parents ran the Royal Oak the main pub in town, and had done since they were kids. Since she’d left the town five years ago she’d barely seen anyone other than her father, but with the benefit of social media she had been in loose contact with some school friends. As she informed him she was driving through town as they spoke, he was ecstatic.

                “Come to the pub when you’re settled, I can’t wait to see you, I’ll treat you to dinner, I bet you haven’t eaten! I know this isn’t the best of circumstances, but it will be great to see you.”

Normally she slipped in and out of town rather evasively, avoiding everyone bar her father and Aunt Lucy, and it was the last thing she wanted to do, a public appearance in town for the first time at such a fraught time could disarm her. But her stomach gave a traitorous rumble. And it was then James added, “look I know you probably don’t want to see everyone yet, it’s been a while, but think, a Thursday night is a million times quieter than a Friday in town. It’ll be like a half way thing, not so intimidating. I presume you’re going to be home a lot more for the next few weeks anyway. You’ve nothing to lose.”

                “Will HE be there?” she asked at a whisper, dreading the answer.

James sighed, “haven’t seen him around for months. Honestly, it’ll be fine.”

The farmhouse had always been a dominating feature on the left of the road half a mile past the village, but now a supermarket, a large supermarket at that, sat between the town and the driveway to the farm, hiding its presence.  Nothing stays the same, she thought. The track that connected the road to the farm was however exactly the same, two tyre tracks in what felt like knee length grass. Total hell, for an old sports car more used to the well paved streets of London.

Pulling up at the front of the house, the wheels locked in the mud, and she knew that this was to be the resting place for ‘Herman’ as she affectionately named her car, for a while at least. Climbing out of the vehicle she made for the house. There was the hint of a light on, in the lounge, that meant that Aunt Lucy was up, though it was almost nine o’clock, and that was unusual in itself. Aunt Lucy rarely stayed up after nine.

Tessa the collie and Portia the rather highly strung sheep dog met her as she stepped out of the car. They had kennels near the backdoor and a dog flap into the coach house, an annex off the back of the kitchen, which meant they were always around.

Stooping to scratch both their heads, she sighed, it had been SO long. As she entered the house Harriet and Kitchen the ridiculously named cats wound around her ankles affectionately, Tinker the youngest girl was nowhere to be seen, but then she was half feral. Not a people animal.

                “Hello?” She called out pushing open the kitchen door. But there was no answer. Opening the door to the lounge she stopped, there fast asleep in a chair next to the fire was her aunt, her mother’s older sister. She was seventy five, and had been ill and frail for as long as Martha could remember, but tonight she looked peaceful. She didn’t want to shock the woman, so she started to make subtle noises, calling out, shutting doors until the eyes started to flicker open.

Martha had such mixed memories of her aunt. Since her own mother died suddenly when she was only twelve, Aunt Lucy had moved in, admittedly her father needed help with her, the restaurant was an antisocial job for him, and he’d needed someone to be there for his daughter after school and in the evenings. But she’d been strict had Aunt Lucy, quick to criticise her and her father, in fact, she often wondered whether the two adults had hated each other. Despite that she felt affection for the woman who was slowly opening her eyes.

Lucy smiled at Martha, “darling! It’s so wonderful to see you!”

Martha crossed the room and stooped down for a hug. “How’s Dad? What happened?”

Aunt Lucy sighed, “he collapsed, this morning after breakfast. I wanted to go to the restaurant, but since my hip...”

Who could forget her Aunt’s hip replacement? Barely a conversation passed without her mentioning it.

                “Of course Aunty, and I wouldn’t expect you to. I’ve managed to take a month of emergency leave. Hopefully I can help the guys keep everything running here and the restaurant. I called the hospital and I can’t visit until the morning, I’ve been worried sick. How was he?”

Aunt Lucy sighed, “he’s a strong man, physically anyway he’ll get through this, you’ll see, he’s still as soft and gullible as ever in so many other ways though.” The comment was accompanied by a condescending look.

Martha treated the snipe with the contempt it deserved, “Aunt Lucy, you need to stop!”

The older woman laughed, “trade hasn’t been the best in the restaurant, times are hard, he’s been stressed, then there’s constant pressure to sell land, housing agents are here ALL the time wanting to buy his fields. Then HE was here last week, I swear that influenced things.”

Martha gasped, “HE was here? Really?”

Her aunt nodded, not appreciating the seriousness of her comment, “haven’t seen him since though. And then there’s the lodger!”

                “Lodger?” Martha was still trying to fathom the fact that the man she never wanted to see was in town, despite James’ promise so she could barely contemplate anything else. Her nerves were on edge and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

                “Yes! I mean when money is tight then it’s ridiculous to let some fly-by-night lodger live rent free in the coach house. It’s no wonder your father is ill. I’m going to bed.”

And with that she left the room meaning that Martha didn’t even need to justify that last comment. Her father took in every stray animal this side of London; hence the strays and feral animals that lived in the yard, so it was no surprise to know that he had someone lodging in the outhouse. Not that it was the exact lap of luxury above the tack room!

Her father had inherited the farm, but had found the life too difficult for it to be his sole career, he and her mother set up the restaurant fifteen years ago, and it had been hard at first. Then a couple of years into the venture her mother had died. Her father had thrown his heart and soul into the business, running the farm down to nothing. He rented out fields to people for various uses, some were farmed, others held livestock. He had always intended to get the farm back up and running, but it had never happened. Until he’d bought a few horses to breed a couple of years back. She had no idea how she would keep everything running without him at the helm, but she could only try, luckily the chef at the restaurant was well established and not as hot-headed as the last one, so hopefully that would be okay for a while at least. Her biggest concern was the horses. Over the last five years her father had branched out into breeding an expensive type of horse. He swore it would make his transition to some sort of retirement easier, they were labour intensive but would sell he assured her for a lot of money. Now all that was up in the air. She’d spotted the field of animals as she’d come onto the farm, and she now had to figure those into her schedule too.

Martha looked around the room, nothing had changed in the last twenty years, the farm was like a snapshot of the seventies, the mismatched Chesterfield chairs, the open fire, and the ancient mirrors and lamps were unchanged from her childhood. The kitchen was more modern, but the whole place looked neglected and unloved. But then she’d not been there.

Climbing the stairs with her bags, she entered her old bedroom, the large antique bed was still there, dominating the room, and the dressing table with the huge mirror, even her Take That stickers still adorned every surface, and posters covered her wardrobe. Nothing had changed. Running her finger over the photo on the bedside table she felt a lump in her throat, it was a photo of her and her dad, taken days before she’d left. When things were SO different.

Martha was such a long way in SO many from her home in London. She’d left the place five years ago, running away from the very public and disastrous end to a doomed relationship with the golden boy in town Scott Oldbury, and through it had she’d become the latest hot gossip at the time, and now what? She was about to set all the tongues wagging by waltzing into the heart of the town again having not been there for years. If her father was there he’d protect her, but he was weak, frail and struggling in a hospital bed somewhere, and she still hadn’t seen him.

Martha glanced at her reflection, her dark hair hung as it always did, in an unruly fashion to her shoulders, her face was plumper than she would have liked, but her hectic life stopped her visiting the gym as often as she should. Glancing down at her body she shuddered, she’d always imagined that the next time she waltzed into town she’d be perfect, traffic stopping,  but she was more lumpy than hourglass, and she hadn’t brought anything glamorous to wear with her.

With a sigh of resignation, she delved in her handbag and pulled out her least dried out mascara, and waved it over her eyes, she had no lipstick, or even gloss, this was exactly what happened, she rued, when you travelled at such short notice. But then she’d expected to see her father, then go to bed. Instead she had missed visiting hours, and now she was about to launch herself back into her own personal nightmare.

Whilst the farm was out of town, there was a path that led behind the new supermarket and into the centre of the town. She used to walk it in the dark uncaring, but five years in London had made her more nervous. She marched to the Royal Oak with her house keys poised like a knife in her hand, her ears sensitive to the slightest sound. But as was typical with this side of town, it was a quiet and uneventful journey.

She paused at the door to the pub and took a deep breath. Then walked in. The pub had a central bar, one side serving their restaurant and conservatory, the other the lounge. It was a large place, and the layout meant that you could see into all the rooms when you stood at the bar. She had walked into the restaurant side and it was deserted, so taking another steadying breath, she made for the door into the bar.

He’d been sat in the corner nursing his drink for half an hour, it had been a stressful day, and he’d hoped time here would help him unwind. But it hadn’t. He was itching for something, anything. The adrenaline, the anger, the anticipation was mounting in him rather than easing and he knew that if he didn’t do something constructive he’d end of fighting, or fucking, or maybe even both. That was how these nights played out. That was how he dealt with these moods, these feelings. Tonight he wanted it to be different.  

He barely noticed the door open, but when it did he looked up, and that was it. He was transfixed. He’d know who this was just from the stories he’d heard even if he hadn’t seen her photo in her father’s wallet a dozen times. But the photo hadn’t done any justice.

There were several groups scattered around the room, maybe thirty people, quiet for here, but every single one of them had silenced the second she’d walked in. He felt pity for her, it was a position he’d found himself in so many times in the months since he’d moved to this godforsaken town. The silence, the looks, the gossip. He’d never known a place like it.

But then he’d never seen a woman like her.

He watched as James, the man who treated him with more contempt than most approached her, pulling her into an embrace that was meant to be a welcome to an old friend, but he wasn’t stupid, the son of the landlord was immediately after more with the woman than friendship. A few other people walked over to say hello, but she wasn’t comfortable. She didn’t want to be there.

He heard someone whisper something to his right, so did she, but she held her head high, smiling at James and ignoring the unwanted attention. He liked her spark, her bravery. Something had happened, there was some reason why she was the centre of attention, but then there would always be a reason why she left and never returned. The old man hadn’t shared that information; he’d find out, he knew that.

She ordered a drink at James’ request, and he was pleased that she ordered a whisky, straight up. A no frills drink, he glanced at the two fingers of vodka that sat in front of him and thought ‘snap’.

As she hiked herself on to the stool next to James he studied her, liking that no one noticed him sat away in the corner alone. Her hair was glossy, shiny, bouncy, and he loved that it was far more attractive than that of the girls who’d fill the place the next evening, Friday, having spent hours teasing their hair into some sort of style, and yet he instantly knew that she hadn’t spent hours in a mirror trying to make it look that way. Her eyes were shining, he couldn’t see what colour they were, but with her dark colouring he presumed they’d be dark too. She had a bravado about her as she broke into a smile and accepted hugs from a few more of the locals, all of whom obviously knew her. But he could see she was stressed, anxious...didn’t anyone else pick up on that?

He’d loved women, all women, but he’d never found bigger women specifically more attractive, but there was something captivating about this one, not that she was big, she was just not waif like, that seemed to be the fashion at the moment. No, she was amazing. Her legs were long, slim, but she was curvy, more than that, and her hips and arse were rounded, and on her that was enticing, and she had what appeared to be the most perfect breasts. But it was her smile that hooked him; he instantly thought he’d do anything for that smile.

Not that he’d ever have that chance. She was good, pure...and her father’s daughter.  There was no way that he’d venture anywhere near her. But he was enjoying the time to sit, watch, and appreciate, as the pantomime played out in front of him, and for once he wasn’t the star.

Chasing Rainbows - The End

Chapter Thirty Seven

 

Emma looked at the closed door in shock and wondered what the hell had gone wrong. One minute they were planning their Christmas festivities, and now she was alone. She fumed for a little while, not happy but not wanting to chase after him and continue the fight. He’d been so angry, she couldn’t believe it, he’d said some horrible things, all because she had invited his parents to join them for Christmas. Her parents were due in a few hours, and he was meant to be picking them up along with the extra groceries that she had managed to order during her mad panic that morning. . Instead she was left with everything to do.

A squawk from the monitor in the corner of the room alerted her to the fact that Lena was awake. She was such a good baby, but she had the greatest timing too. Climbing the stairs she picked up her little girl and gave her a settling cuddle. Then carried her downstairs, sat in her highchair she fed her banana and some juice and she was immediately quiet.

Emma sighed, hating that she felt on the verge of tears, but the fight with Jacob had unsettled her, and she was now feeling dreadful. Her parents were due soon she didn’t have everything ready, Christmas was meant to be a fun time, but instead she’d managed to get stressed out to the max. What was happening to her?

Closing her eyes she relived the moment when Jacob had emerged from the shower hours earlier. She had suddenly realised that she didn’t have enough of anything, so she’d been on the phone to the local supermarket begging them to fit her on to the delivery list for later that day. But they were full. They offered her the chance to collect it in person, but she felt as though she was treading water, there was too much to do and it seemed that panicking was making her do very little.

Then Jacob’s parents had called.

Jacob had wanted their first Christmas as parents to be just the three of them, him, her and their little girl. But she’d insisted on inviting her parents months ago, and now that his parents were at a loose end and trying to amend their earlier scorn and disinterest she’d felt obliged to invite them too. Since Lena had arrived they’d made more effort and surely Christmas was a time to forgive? To offer an olive branch?

But he hadn’t seen it that way.

                “All I want is the three of us, a turkey and some gifts. Is that too much to ask?”

When she’d shaken her head and said, “it’s a time for family Jacob, and we both have families.”

                “And neither has given a shit about us for years. We’ve done everything on our own Emma, or do you forget that? They weren’t there for you when Theo Samuel screwed you over, and they weren’t there when you had auditions in two places at the same time and needed to get across the city in record time, and they weren’t there for you when you had a twenty eight hour labour delivering Lena. We didn’t need them then and we don’t need them now! It’s just the three of us.”

She shook her head again, “you’re wrong Jacob. If we let hatred dominate how we live our lives and how we bring up our daughter then it’ll spell disaster. Can’t you see that?”

He shook his head, “three of us or nothing, that’s what I want.”

And he’d left, stormed out.

He’d not walked out on her before, never thrown down an ultimatum. In the past their relationship had been volatile, but since Lena they’d become best friends, he had supported her in everything she did. She couldn’t ask for a better partner. He didn’t want her travelling to LA to audition for a few major roles, but he knew she wanted it, that her career was important, so he’d taken her, driven her around, supported her in every way. He cared for Lena from day one to allow her to work, and he never complained. So this disappearance scared her, nothing until now had phased him, but he’d stormed out hours ago and she felt bereft.

And there was so much to do.

After her lunch Lena was keen to get out of the chair, so Emma lifted her out, sat her down in the corner of the large kitchen on a rug with some toys. She had to stuff the turkey, prepare the veg, and make the dessert for dinner the following day, if she could do that it would leave her enough time to get to the supermarket and then the airport.

Rushing upstairs to change after spilling food onto her shirt, she fell on the top stair and bruised her knee, by the time she hobbled back into the kitchen to find Lena fast asleep on her play mat, Emma burst into tears. Where the hell was her husband?

Carrying Lena back upstairs, she laid the exhausted little girl in her cot, then pulled off her jeans to see a gash across the front of her knee. As she was about to clean, disinfect and cover it up she heard a noise downstairs.

                “Jacob? Jacob?” Emma stormed through every room in the house trying to find her absent husband. “Bloody hell, where are you?”

Throwing open the door to the garage, the last place he could be, she froze. Stood there unloading the much anticipated grocery shop was Jacob...and his parents. All three looked up and Jacob’s eyes widened with humour, whilst his parents looked a little embarrassed. Her eyes moved between the three faces until she realised that she wasn’t wearing jeans, she was stood there in a fairly short t-shirt and her lacy knickers. Jacob stepped towards her, blocking her from her parents view, a smile appearing on his face.

Emma saw red, this was all his fault, he’d abandoned her, now he was laughing at her. Without a care she reached out and slapped his face.

                “Excuse me,” he hissed at his parents as he grabbed her upper arm and dragged her towards the stairs. By the time he reached the bedroom his fury was no calmer and he turned to her.

                “What the hell was THAT all about? Hitting me? In front of my parents?”

                “YOU! You walked out, you left me, you told me that was it.”

He laughed, “you thought I’d leave you for good? Over this?”

When she shrugged he laughed dryly, “I’ve been queuing at the bloody supermarket for over an hour getting the groceries YOU wanted, when YOU wanted them, because I always do as you tell me. Don’t I?”

She shrugged looking a little more vulnerable than she had, “you said you’d had enough.”

When she dropped to the bed, her head in her hands, he noticed the blood and bruising to her knee, “what the hell have you done?”

She sighed, “I fell, trying to rush...”

Kneeling on the floor in front of her he lifted her chin, made her look at him, “I love you Emma, but you drive me up the bloody wall sometimes.”

                “You stormed out! You acted like a child.”

                “We fight all the time, you’ve never listened to me yet, so why now?”

Emma wiped a hand across her face, “we haven’t fought like this, not for ages, and you’ve never stormed out on me. That’s what I do. You are a silent fumer.”

He sat back onto his heels and laughed, “if I did differently then it’s because you make me that way! Look life was never going to be a fairytale of hearts and flowers, or smiles and fairy dust. You are a pain in the ass, demanding, annoying...” When her face fell he laughed, “and I am hot-headed and impatient and I will always say the wrong thing, we are the same people. It was all that passion and anger and fighting that has made this work. That’s what we are. We fight...but we make up, that’s what we do.”

“All I want is us to have a good Christmas, I wanted everyone to see how organised we are, how perfect our life is...”

Running a thumb across her bottom lip with a sigh he offered, “hosting a faultless Christmas dinner is not a sign of how perfect our lives are. Bringing Lena up in a home of love, devotion, friendship...that is perfect. All the things that we missed. My aim is to give her...and you, the love and support that I never had. I’ll humour this Christmas thing, of course I will...but allow me the chance to kick off every now and again when things aren’t quite how I like them, ok?”

She gave a little nod and he sighed, “I love you Emma, I really do, more than I ever thought possible, but I’m not about to become a sap who sits at home all subservient. I’ll shout and scream and fight, ok? But then I’ll traipse off to the supermarket, get the shopping you want, and even pick my parents up. Because it’s what you want, and all I want is to make you happy.”

                “Your father saw me half naked!”

He laughed, “Happy Christmas Dad, hey? Now...how long can we make this ‘discussion’ last?” As he asked the words he was already tipping her back on to the bed. “Long enough to get started on a brother or sister for Lena?”

She paused, a hand on his chest, “you want more?”

He nodded nipping kisses over her skin as he started to remove her t-shirt. “Both of us are an only child, didn’t do either of us any good, did it?”

As he devoured her, overwhelming her with his love and devotion, just as he promised, Emma thought her heart might burst with love. For her life WAS perfect, for as long as she had him, and Lena...and any other child that might follow.