Chapter Four
‘So, do you come here often?’ she quipped, once they’d settled by the lake café with a coffee each and a large milkshake for Elsa.
Dylan, laughing and looking embarrassed, said, ‘I apologise unreservedly for that comment the other day, and yes, I do come to the park quite a lot. It helps my concentration when I’m composing. Sometimes, I bring Scrappy-Doo, my singing partner’s dog, so I don’t look like a sad weirdo, or like I’m up to no good. Not that I am up to no good, of course,’ he added quickly, slapping his forehead. ‘What am I saying?’ He turned round eyes on Scarlett. ‘I do myself no favours. I’m really not weird, trust me.’
She waved her arm dismissing his comments. ‘You write songs, though? That’s pretty unusual, in my world at least.’
‘Yes, I already told you that. Didn’t you believe me?’ He turned his attention towards Elsa, who pulled at his arm, having noisily sucked her glass dry in seconds.
Elsa passed him a lump of crusty bread. ‘Here’s your bit.’ Dylan started to break his bread into tiny lumps, as if buying time but Elsa obviously wasn’t going to be fobbed off.
‘Dylan, stop messing around and come oonnn.’
He laughed, as Elsa tried to pull him up. ‘I’m coming. Keep your wig on.’
‘We’ll let Aunty Scarlett sit here a while, because she gets very tired being a hostess for foreign men.’ She gave Dylan big, sorrowful eyes.
Dylan’s own eyes widened as he took stock of Scarlett. ‘That sounds too interesting to pretend I didn’t hear it. Actually, it sounds so much worse than me watching Elsa dance.’
Scarlett pushed back her fringe. ‘No, it’s not half as good as it sounds. I’ll tell you when you get back. Go.’ She shooed him away as Elsa hopped from one leg to the other impatiently, until Dylan stood up and raced Elsa to the water’s edge.
Scarlett watched as they messed about by the lakeside, Elsa splashing about in her red ladybird-covered wellingtons, laughing as she waddled in the mud, mimicking the ducks. She put a lot of effort into throwing the bread out into the water, and the two of them cheered when the moorhens outswam the geese to gobble down the bread. When Elsa’s wellies got stuck in the mud, Dylan scooped her up before plonking her down on the grass and braved the duck-poo-smeared mud to rescue the boots.
From her spot on the bench, Scarlett enjoyed watching their antics and found herself touched by Dylan’s consideration of Elsa. After a while, though, she realised she was focusing more on Dylan than Elsa. A lot more.
His long legs were encased nicely inside ripped denims, and his faded t-shirt, with a weird logo on the back, showed off a nicely honed torso. His hair was unruly and probably not the most fashionably cut, although cute curls crept around his neck, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. His face more than made up for any deficiency on the hair front — particularly, the genial smile and his blue eyes. All in all, he was an exceedingly attractive package covered in scruffy clothes.
Beyond that, she couldn’t really work him out. His manners were impeccable, and he spoke well, although she had a feeling that his idea of wining and dining would be a Big Mac and a swift half in the Dog and Duck. Maybe he had fallen on hard times, or was estranged from his family. She shook her head. It really wasn’t her business, anyway. She just hoped he understood that she wasn’t on the market for romance —despite giving in to the café visit — and that he wasn’t hanging around hoping she would change her mind.
Since Sky, the man she’d thought was the love of her life, Scarlett had become an island, and she managed very nicely on her own, even if a twinge of loneliness crept in occasionally.
Tuning back in to her surroundings, she half listened to Dylan and Elsa’s conversation, as they returned up the grassy slope.
‘It’s called clover and most of them have three leaves but if you can find a four-leaf one, you’ll have good luck,’ Dylan explained to Elsa. He held Elsa’s wellies in one hand, and a clump of grass and leaves in the other as they inspected the likely candidates they’d plucked from the grass.
Elsa dropped her handful of squashed plants on the bench, then concentrated on counting the heart-shaped leaves of the clover she picked out. Spotting a buttercup in her collection, though, she soon lost interest and began pulling off its petals.
‘Come on, Elsa, you have to find at least one four-leaf for me.’ Dylan threw her a smile, and she dutifully trotted off to search among the grass once more.
As soon as she’d gone, Dylan sat back down next to Scarlett. ‘That’ll keep her busy while we have a chat.’ His eyes levelled with hers. ‘Looking for a copy of the Big Issue sticking out of my back pocket?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I can see you’re trying to place me.’
‘Not at all,’ Scarlett lied, blushing at her transparency.
‘It’s okay. An understandable reaction.’ He smiled. ‘I actually busk mostly for the experience, rather than the money, although I did move close to London to become the next Ed Sheeran. Surprisingly, I do earn a fair bit although it’s often Mickey Mouse money. If I ever make it to Zimbabwe, or Vietnam, I’ll be rich as a king. And people feed me — all the time — but let’s not get sidetracked by my uninteresting career path. What’s this about your job as a hostess for foreign men?’
She cleared her throat, still thinking about what he’d just told her. ‘I’m a flight attendant, an air stewardess — cabin staff, hostie, whatever it is people call us these days.’
Dylan’s excited expression faded. ‘That’s a shame. I was hoping Elsa had exposed your grubby little secret and you’d have to go out with me to guarantee my silence. I guess your job’s not altogether unlikely, thinking about it, though, given the proximity to the airport. EasyJet, or Ryanair?’
‘I work for a private airline.’
‘Oh, bad luck.’
‘Not everyone holds that opinion, actually.’ She knew she sounded prissy and her tone was sharp, but she’d worked hard to get to where she was and he was hardly in a position to judge.
‘Maybe not, but you must miss out on all those holiday destinations and free flights.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s true. I so wanted to go to Benidorm this year. I’m gutted.’
Dylan pursed his lips. ‘You don’t sound gutted.’
‘I’m being facetious. Sorry. I do travel to some interesting places, and meet some great people.’ She often downplayed what she did for a living, and he’d beaten her to it. It was ridiculous to be miffed, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Met many famous people?’
‘Yes, tons. Although to say I’ve met themis a bit ambitious. Mostly, I give them food and drink, and then they fall asleep. Although if they are pop stars I am sometimes invited to go along to their shows and suchlike, especially if they do their whole tour with us. Sometimes, I . . .’ Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together to stop them from wobbling. She closed her eyes momentarily, her eyelashes fluttering as she fought back tears.
‘Sometimes, you . . . ?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
His stare was piercing when she opened her eyes. He nodded, as if deciding not to push her. ‘So, you’re coming tomorrow?’
He changed the subject so abruptly, she had to backtrack in her mind to follow its path. ‘Oh, gosh, I forgot all about it. Umm . . .’
‘I know. I blindsided you, so you wouldn’t get a chance to think up an excuse. Come along. It’ll be fun.’
‘I’ll try,’ she said, knowing that she probably wouldn’t. ‘Do you have a card?’ she asked. It was always a good cop out, when she didn’t want to commit to anything.
‘A card for what?’
‘A business card?’ As soon as she’d said it, she knew how foolish her words sounded.
‘I don’t. Do you have a business card?’ He held out his hand, his eyes boring into hers.
She stared back. ‘Why do you want my business card?’
‘I might want to hire an aircraft,’ he said, deadpan.
She smiled at his words but also saw, in those dimmed, bluebell-coloured eyes, that he knew he’d been snubbed. Again. She instantly felt ashamed, dug out her business cards and passed one over. ‘I’ll try and make it — to hear you sing,’ she said, suddenly meaning it.
‘It’s okay. You don’t have to. Anyway,’ he stood up, ‘I’m going to go now. I should be working.’ His words sounded flat with disappointment, and his shoulders had drooped. He scanned her business card, before sticking it in his back pocket and holding out the remains of his bread to her. It felt like he was returning his offer of friendship along with the stale crusts.
She took the bread, and he plucked his guitar from the bench, threw the strap over his shoulder and the guitar settled, snug against his back. ‘See ya,’ he said.
‘Bye. Maybe see you tomorrow.’ She tried out her best air stewardess smile, wishing she hadn’t been so standoffish. Dylan had been nothing but friendly and she had chosen to do her ice maiden act.
Dylan didn’t smile back. ‘No worries.’ He offered up a small wave as he trampled across the grass, taking a short cut. He whistled a trill tune, and Elsa, clearly recognising it, looked up just in time to see him leave. Waving manically as she abandoned her search for good luck and joined Scarlett at the bench.
‘How did you know that was Dylan whistling to you?’ Scarlett asked her.
‘Oh, he always whistles a tune for the scruffy dog he looks after, and now I recognise it too. Mummy uses a similar one for Buster.’
‘That’s how you know him, through walking Buster?’
She nodded. ‘I thought he might want to be Mummy’s boyfriend, because they often chat when they meet up at the park, but she says she only has eyes for me, whatever that means.’ She gazed at Dylan’s retreating back. ‘Our dog is much nicer than his, though,’ she added proudly, before stuffing a large piece of the bread meant for the ducks into her mouth.
Scarlett extracted the rest of the stale bread from Elsa’s fingers. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Come on, let’s get back to your mum. She should be home by now.’
They wandered back, and once they’d reached Louisa’s house, Scarlett flopped gratefully onto the battered sofa.
Louisa was happy with the way her interview had gone and seemed to want to talk about it, as she filled the kettle and set about making tea. Feeling unsettled, Scarlett was more than happy to let her chatter on as her mind absently sifted through the morning’s events at the park and more particularly of Dylan and the surprising spark of interest that he had ignited.
‘I think they called me up on a Saturday, knowing I was a single mum. I’ll bet they wanted to see if I could handle it, so thanks so much for helping me out. I know it was your day off,’ Louisa continued plonking down two mugs of tea on the table.
‘No problem. We had a great time, didn’t we?’ Scarlett turned to Elsa but sighed involuntarily as she saw, in her mind’s eye, the hurt that showed on Dylan’s face. ‘Elsa says you know the busker who stands on Forrest corner. Dylan?’
‘Yes, I know Dylan. What about him?’
‘She seems to think you should go out with him?’
‘What? Oh, good grief, no. He’s not interested in me. I’m far too mumsy and staid. He’s just a really friendly guy.’
‘Oh, okay . . . only I think he asked me out. It was in such a roundabout way that I was unsure of what he wanted. I was a bit off with him, to be honest, and now I feel a bit bad.’ She sighed, blowing upwards at her fringe. This man was taking up too much of her mind. ‘He sings in a pub, right?’
‘I don’t know about that. I know his guitar is practically welded to his back, but maybe he wants more than just a guitar to keep him warm.’ Her sister’s eyes went misty. ‘Ah, bless him. He’s a lovely man, a really decent guy.’ She peered at her sister. ‘But you said no?’
‘I don’t date, do I?’ For a moment, she had to fight back the mixture of panic and despair that assailed her all too often, but she could change things if she wanted to. Move on. It was her choice, after all.
‘I wouldn’t presume to say that you should go out with someone you don’t want to, but Dylan is one of the good guys.’ Louisa paused. ‘I hope you didn’t do your Precious Princess act on him.’
Her sister’s words weren’t exactly a surprise. Louisa frequently commented on the barrier Scarlett put up when she couldn’t deal with a situation.
Scarlett sighed, wishing she hadn’t flagged up her lack of intimacy with any member of the opposite sex by mentioning Dylan. In her sister’s eyes he could be ideal for her and if he could assuage her loneliness just by existing it would be great, it was the interacting part she couldn’t do.
‘So, a total stranger comes on to me, and I’m supposed to go and eat pizza with him?’ Scarlett thrust out her chin, challenging, but deep down she knew she should have been kinder; the poor man clearly meant well.
‘Oh, Scarlett. You are what you are, but I hate to think you would give up the chance of loving again if it came your way.’ Louisa picked up their empty mugs and carried them to the sink, dumping them in the dubiously coloured washing-up water and grimacing as they sank. ‘I think I washed the frying pan up in that last night.’ She turned back to her sister. ‘You’ll know when it’s time, because the right man will come along, and you won’t give a second thought as to whether it is right or not. You’ll just know.’
‘Pretty sure it’s not going to be any time soon, even though the dastardly Todd isn’t taking no for an answer, either.’
‘I’ve warned you about him. You should report him in case he gets out of hand.’
Scarlett sighed. ‘I know, but he owns half of StarJet and has the power to fire me if he chooses — it would be a bit like reporting him to himself.’ She stretched out her legs and stood up. ‘I should go. I don’t know what time I’ll be needed to fly tomorrow, courtesy of Todd.’
Louisa sniffed and crossed her arms. ‘It’s not right in this day and age.’
Scarlett sighed again and shrugged into her jacket. ‘Which bit?’
‘All of it. You not getting a proper rest, and having a slimy man breathing down your neck that you can’t do anything about, for starters.’
‘I know, but that’s the private sector for you. You take it, or leave it.’ She opened the front door slowly, reluctant to be on her own. ‘Call me if you need me to look after Elsa again.’ She blew Elsa a kiss and closed the door behind her, the familiar rock of misery settling once more into her heart.
Reaching Forrest Road, she found herself dawdling, in the hopes of seeing Dylan so she could apologise, tell him she’d try very hard to hear him sing at the pub. Try being the operative word, as her airline could make her dance to any tune it wanted.
But Dylan, and his sidekick, were nowhere to be seen. Unwilling to return home, she dragged her heels, knowing her black mood would just worsen with the resurfaced memories that stopped her from living the life she wanted.
Dylan didn’t know what a lucky escape he’d had, she thought, as she let herself into her flat. The silence and cold air smacked her in the face like a rebuke, reminding her of her chosen solitude. Not for the first time since she’d met Dylan, she wondered if maybe it was time to move on. To start again.