Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Right, that’s a wrap for today,’ called Ronnie with a dismissive wave, already peering at the footage on the monitor in front of him.
Bets hurried over to wardrobe and shed the itchy tweed skirt and the too warm woolly cardigan, easing back into a cool T-shirt and cotton skirt.
They’d been filming interior scenes today and started at six.
It was now ten to five and the evening stretched in front of her.
She wasn’t required tomorrow, which meant she could have a lie-in.
Tiny house martins ducked and dived through the air catching the early evening insects before swooping back up to the eaves of the pub as she walked up the lane back to her room.
The garden in front of the pub was already crowded with Friday-night revellers.
She hadn’t even realised it was Friday. This second week seemed to have dragged as endlessly as January did.
She swallowed, picturing The Half Moon on a summer’s evening, Greta in her dungarees with a bright scarf in her hair, Doris holding court, and Jack keeping half an eye on Tiggy, who would be wandering about assuming she was welcome wherever she strayed.
Bets was about to mount the stairs to the bedroom at the back of the pub when she paused. Stop being such a wet blanket.
Wheeling round, she walked into the bar and spotted the landlord. There’d been little interaction between them since she’d been here, because she was usually too tired to do more than head straight up to her room, eat a sandwich from the catering van and collapse into bed.
‘Evening. What can I get you?’
‘Half of lager, please.’
‘And how you getting on?’ he asked kindly.
‘I’m sorry you’ve got the short straw on the room.
We haven’t got round to decorating that one and you were a last-minute booking.
The film company begged us for every room we had.
And the chef will be back next week, so we’ll be doing evening meals.
’ He gave her an apologetic grimace. ‘Timing wasn’t on our side. ’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said.
He pushed the half pint of lager forward. ‘Here, on the house, because you haven’t complained once and’—he lowered his voice—‘you’ve got cause to complain, unlike some.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Once another room comes up, I’ll move you.’
‘That’s kind of you.’
‘Here, take a bag of crisps. Go get yourself some fresh air. You’re looking a bit pasty.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, too buoyed up by his kindness to be insulted by the comment. She’d been on set all day every day for the last eleven without a break.
Everyone on set was so busy, with a very specific job to do, that she found herself rather isolated and, if she were honest, a little overwhelmed.
They weren’t unkind, just working hard, always trying to beat the clock.
Time in the film industry, as she’d learned very quickly, was the biggest budget wrecker.
Outside she managed to snag the very last empty wooden bench, with its view across the hillsides that crowded round the hamlet.
Forbidding dry-stone walls crisscrossed uneven fields, in ragged lines as wild as the landscape, converging on the distant farm buildings halfway up one of the slopes.
A tiny lane enclosed on either side by the walls wound its way through the contours to the farm.
Isolated trees, twisted and bent by the prevailing wind, dotted the field boundaries, and it was easy to imagine that, in winter, conditions here would be harsh, though giving bleak beauty to the landscape.
The isolation made it perfect for filming a period piece because there were so few signs of modern life – no lamp posts, telephone masts, telegraph poles.
It was a long way from the Chiltern Hills, with their unbounded grasslands and chalky paths.
Feeling self-conscious on her own among the groups of lively people socialising and enjoying their Friday night, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she finally sent a text to Ella with a picture of the view.
‘Gorgeous here.’ She added a smiley-face emoji to indicate a jolliness she really wasn’t feeling.
It was as much positivity as she could manage, which wasn’t like her at all.
Her Pollyanna spirit had been well and truly doused and wasn’t helped when she began to scroll through the recent pictures and videos of Tiggy, sent by Jack.
They hurt her heart. The most recent video, sent yesterday evening, featured Tiggy chasing a bee in the garden and careering into the bird bath, almost knocking herself out.
Jack had captioned it: ‘Good job there’s a vet at hand. ’
Then there was another, in response to a text she’d sent Jack during one of the long waits before her next scene, where she’d sent him a smiling selfie with the caption: ‘Proof of life. How’s my dog?’
‘Annoying.’
Which had made Bets laugh and reply, ‘You’re obviously not looking after her properly.’
‘No one needs breakfast at five a.m. You need a bigger stairgate.’
Over the week they’d exchanged many of these light-hearted and almost flirtatious messages, although she’d been careful to avoid talking about what she was doing or how she was doing. But suddenly she wanted human connection, with someone who knew her.
Temptation burned. No. She was not going to phone Jack.
If she did, everything would come spilling out.
How much she missed him, the homesickness – how pathetic was that?
Homesick at her age. Missing seeing friendly faces.
Resolutely she put her phone down and behind her heard a gale of laughter.
She turned and saw that some of the crew were sitting around a table near the door.
She recognised two of the sound guys, the young runner, the assistant director and a couple of the actors whom she’d not yet worked with.
Although she and Jeremy Quentin had done quite a few scenes together, he had barely acknowledged her, only speaking to her when lines demanded it.
Bets’ shoulders drooped and she gazed at the view again through blurred vision, her fingers scraping the scarred wood surface of the table as if it might ground her in the here and now. How she wished she were at home.
As she picked up her glass to knock back the last of her drink, something came racing across the grass and barrelled into her legs, jumping up, dark paws on her knees, before scrabbling up and onto her lap.
Her pulse exploded in quick recognition.
‘Tiggy!’ The dog, beside herself with excitement, licked her face, trying to get as close as possible, almost pushing Bets off the bench.
‘Hello, you. Yes, I love you. Yes, I do,’ Bets crooned to the near-hysterical dog, wrapping her arms around her and hugging her. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks.
When she lifted her head, she saw Jack standing in front of her.
She blinked, almost as if he were a mirage. ‘It’s you,’ she said in wonderment as her heart crashed against her ribs. He was here. For her.
‘It’s me.’ His tender smile unleashed another torrent of tears.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, wanting to reach out and touch him to make sure he was real.
In that moment, she knew she loved him as much as ever, if not more.
This time it was different. Falling-off-the-edge-of-a-cliff love, not the slow slide of friends who became lovers from the easy habit of being together.
Despite her trying to deny it, the love had just exploded in her heart.
‘Tiggy was getting terrible withdrawal symptoms,’ he said, sitting down opposite her.
Bets looked back the way he’d come, still in disbelief. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I drove.’
‘You drove.’ She nodded, stunned that they were both here.
Tiggy had settled down and was now sitting in her lap licking her hand and gazing up adoringly at her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, sniffing and she meant it as much for Jack as Tiggy.
‘She’s missed you,’ said Jack matter-of-factly and her breath hitched. Did he miss her?
‘Did you know, now she can jump over the child gate? She sits outside your bedroom door whimpering until I let her in?’
Bets giggled, wondering if she wasn’t a little delirious. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. I haven’t had a wink of sleep.’
She looked at his oh-so-familiar face, alight with laughter.
‘You fibber. You’ve let her sleep on the bed, haven’t you?’
He pinched his lips together and gazed at a point over her head.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, her pulse thudding because she needed desperately to know the answer.
‘I was worried about you,’ he said with an easy smile but he avoided eye contact, fiddling with Tiggy’s lead on the table.
Hungry for any kind of comfort, she latched onto the ‘worried about you’.
People didn’t worry about her. Not her mother.
Her bosses. Her friends. She was the cheerful, bomb-proof person least likely to rock the boat or take a ship off course.
Jack had never worried about her … or not that he’d ever said.
In fact, she distinctly recalled him saying, ‘I never have to worry about you.’
Before she could say anything, he asked, ‘Can I get you a drink? I could murder a pint. Half of lager?’
As soon as she nodded, he disappeared inside so quickly she’d have thought his pants were on fire. She sat mulling over his words. I was worried about you.
What did that mean? The bright beacon of hope that had lit up inside her when she’d first seen him died back.
He’d said he loved her the day they slept together but she hadn’t wanted to hear it and he hadn’t said anything since.
She’d assumed it had just been post-coital glow.
Did he care about her? Was this a good-friend visit?
Or something more? Did friends drive over two hundred miles to check in?
Or did they do it to prove that they were a good friend – and nothing more?
He came back and handed over her drink.
‘Thanks,’ she said and they sat in silence for a minute before she plucked up the courage to ask, ‘Why were you worried?’
So much for all that energy put into keeping her text messages brief and general – making sure no one suspected there was anything to worry about.
He smiled gently at her. ‘I know you, Bets.’
She swallowed and almost started to cry again.
‘And don’t just tell me you’re missing your dog, because you know she’s in good hands.’
‘She is and you’ve been brilliant with all the videos and pictures.’ She smiled back, although in fact, they’d reinforced her unhappiness.
‘So spill. What’s the matter?’
She glanced round at the increasingly rowdy table by the door.
‘I just don’t fit in.’ Her face crumpled and suddenly all the misery and loneliness spilled out. Jack moved to sit next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her into his lovely, broad, comforting chest.
The warmth of his skin through the cotton of his T-shirt eased her lonely soul a little and she inhaled the essential smell of him.
She put her arms around him and held onto his strength and the familiar security.
God, she missed him so much. She hugged him hard and his hand stroked her head, holding her close to him.
After a little while, she lifted her head, hoping he might kiss her, but he simply pulled her back down to his chest and hugged her again.
They sat like that for five minutes before she finally took a deep breath and eased away, feeling a little confused. She couldn’t read him at all.
‘Sorry. Phew. I needed that.’
‘Going to tell me what’s wrong?’
She did, telling him how unhappy and miserable she was and how she was scared of letting everyone down back home. He let her ramble on and on and on, not making any comments or judgement until she finally rambled to a stop.
‘What are you really doing here?’ she asked.
‘Checking that you’re all right. I knew you weren’t happy and I knew that you wouldn’t tell anyone. I thought Tiggy would like to see you and I couldn’t stop worrying about you.’
Her eyes softened as she studied his familiar handsome face. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’
‘That’s what friends do for each other,’ he said and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. And there it was, ‘friends’ – but that’s what she had wanted, wasn’t it, so she shouldn’t complain if he was sticking to her rules. ‘Now does this place do food? Because Tiggy is starving.’
‘I haven’t got anything to feed her,’ said Bets immediately panicking.
‘Hey,’ said Jack. ‘Stop worrying about everything. That’s my job this weekend.
I’ve brought everything she needs. Food, her bed and t-r-e-a-t-s.
’ They both looked down at the dog and she lifted her head, pricking her ears up; she was no fool and Bets was pretty sure she could spell.
‘This little lady travels in style, you know. I thought you could smuggle her into your bedroom for the night.’
Bets’ heart melted and she began to cry again.
‘That’s supposed to make you happy,’ said Jack, nudging her.
‘It does,’ she sniffed. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’
‘I know.’ He gave her a cocky grin.
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At an Airbnb not too far away. It’s got a lock box, so I can get the key and get in any time.
I came straight here because … Tiggy was desperate to see you.
Why don’t I get her stuff out of the car?
You don’t want to lose this table. I can bring her food and you can feed her while I take her bed up to your room. ’