Chapter 5 #2
‘I’m here incognito,’ I say firmly, feeling like a bit of a pillock as I speak. ‘I don’t really like publicity. I… Uh, I’d really rather not be on any social media or whatever, if that’s okay with you?’
Lord, I sound dreadful– like a complete diva. I might as well put on a pair of sunglasses indoors and start saying ‘no paparazzi, please!’ as I swan around the village in a fur coat with two bodyguards. But it needs saying. The last thing I want is someone posting a picture of me on Insta.
‘Are you in hiding?’ Laura says, looking intrigued. ‘On the run?’
I take a moment here and swallow my nerves.
How much should I tell them? I’m freaked out by all this attention and really not enjoying this at all, but what is the alternative?
Snubbing everyone? Packing up all my stuff and leaving?
Moving from place to place, avoiding all contact with other people, until eventually I end up back at square one?
No. That is another thing I cannot allow to happen.
‘I kind of am,’ I say quietly. ‘There was a problem, back in London. A man. I don’t really want to talk about it more than that right now, but I would appreciate it if you could respect my privacy.’
There is a surprised silence in the room. I’ve even surprised myself. Cherie reaches out and takes my hand across the table.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ she says reassuringly, squeezing my fingers. ‘You’ll be safe here, I absolutely promise you.’
Something about the certainty in her voice makes me almost believe her. Wouldn’t that be nice, I think, to feel truly safe. Zoe nods, and adds: ‘What she said. Don’t worry, I won’t be tweeting about our exciting new celebrity resident. To us, you’re just Sarah. Our friend.’
Maxine pats me on the shoulder. ‘We’ll look after you, love. You can relax here. Nobody even walks down the high street without someone reporting it. And while I get that might feel a bit invasive to you right now, maybe try and view it as the world’s best and most organic intruder alarm?’
‘Yes,’ Laura adds, pouring me some wine, ‘nobody sneaks by us. And we might call it cake club, but I reckon we’d all be pretty good in a rumble. You don’t need to worry. You really don’t.’
I realise, much to my horror, that I have started to tear up, and quickly swipe the moisture from my eyes. What the hell is going on here? What’s happened to me? Not only did I open up to almost-strangers, but I’m close to crying in public!
‘Thank you, all of you. And now please move on or I might actually explode. Is this the entire Ladies’ Club?’
I’m desperate for an escape and they obviously sense that.
‘We’re missing my sister, Willow,’ Auburn replies.
‘She’s currently living in Spain with her husband, Tom– he started Briarwood.
They have a five-month-old baby girl called Ronda, after the place they were staying when she found out she was expecting. ’
I’ve been to Ronda, and it is a magnificent hillside town carved into the side of a mountain.
Not sure about it as a name, but as a place, it is stunning.
I nod to acknowledge, and she continues: ‘And Katie had to go home. She has three sons who need a lot of wrangling, and she’s shacked up with my brother, Van, who’s probably the most childish of the lot.
Queen Edie is at her great-niece’s house for dinner.
Anyway… how about we move on to our agenda? ’
‘There’s an actual agenda?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Laura tells me. ‘At least not officially. We don’t even meet on set days, just squeeze it in as often as we can. We discuss super important things like the Halloween Ball at Briarwood, and Cherie’s gourmet evenings in the café, and men. In particular, one man. Is it time?’
There’s a flurry of people looking at their phones, and Becca announces: ‘About five minutes to go. Time to take our positions, ladies.’
I have no clue what’s going on, but everyone picks up their drinks and moves to tables by the window, where there is a clear and gorgeous view down to the beach.
There’s a breeze picking up, and the waves are crashing into the bay with more force than yesterday.
I look forward to seeing this exact same vista in every different season, I realise– I don’t want to ever leave.
If that means a bit of adjustment on my part, then that is what I will have to do.
You’re never too old for personal growth.
Or the Twilight movies, but that’s just me.
‘So,’ Cherie says, gesturing to the window with her head. Her hair is in a big fat plait today, trailing over her shoulder in a silver and black fishtail. ‘You know I said there’s also a new man living here?’
‘Yes. You said he was Halloween-y.’
Becca snorts out hot chocolate as she laughs at that, and Laura points at her and mocks as the liquid trails down to her chin. Sisters– the same no matter how many years they have on the clock. ‘Halloween-y!’ Becca says. ‘What does that even mean? Does he have a carriage made from a pumpkin?’
‘He could have,’ Laura replies seriously, ‘for all we know. I get what you mean, Cherie. He’s mysterious, and dark, and brooding, and…’
‘Sleeps in a coffin?’ Zoe supplies, looking amused. ‘Has a garlic allergy? Turns into a wolf when there’s a full moon?’
‘Again, for all we know, yes!’ Laura answers. She sighs, looking distraught. ‘None of us has even talked to him, and he’s been here for three weeks! And there are stories, you know, going round the village.’
‘What stories?’ asks Auburn, frowning. ‘And why haven’t I heard them?’
‘Well, Scrumpy Joe’s wife, Joanne, told me she was driving past his place and she heard howling. Like, proper howling. And Leanne who runs the butchers’ counter says he sounds exotic, like he might be from the States or Canada. And he buys loads of steak– pounds and pounds of rare, bloody steak!’
‘So,’ Zoe interjects, trying hard not to laugh, ‘you think he might be… what… an American werewolf in Budbury?’ I lose my own battle at that point and let out a stifled giggle. I wonder if I’ll pop into that pub over the road from me, and they’ll all stare and tell me to stay on the road?
‘And anyway, of course the steak is rare and bloody,’ Becca adds in. ‘It’s a butcher’s shop, not a restaurant! That means nothing! Maybe he just eats a lot of protein… He certainly looks like he works out…’
They all pause here, and a communal smile seems to run from one woman to another. The debate suddenly forgotten. ‘Hang on, I thought you hadn’t met him?’ I ask.
‘We haven’t met him, no,’ Cherie tells me. ‘But at about this time every day, he runs along the beach. And he does it topless .’
Laura nods vigorously, her curls bobbing around her happy face. ‘It seems rude not to watch, really, when he’s putting in so much effort. This is like our Diet Coke moment– you know, like that old TV advert? Except with cheesecake and booze, which is much better.’
‘Oh’ is all I manage to say. I feel slightly uncomfortable now.
I’m not quite sure if it’s because of the invasion of his privacy, or because if this was a group of men watching a woman go for a run, it would feel seedy.
This doesn’t, honestly. It just feels a bit silly…
but still. I’m not especially enjoying the double standard.
‘Here he comes!’ says Laura, sounding insanely excited as she points through the window.
I want to look away, or go to the loo instead, but something about the mood compels me to follow suit.
Maybe it’s all the talk of this man’s alleged supernatural qualities, because I’m a sucker for even a hint of a mystery.
Whatever the reason, I join in, staring out of the window.
I glance around and bite back the laughter. It is an amusing sight: a group of grown women, cups and glasses halfway to their lips, looks of anticipation on their faces as they wait. Laura in particular looks like she might be about to spontaneously combust.
I turn back to the window, and see what all the fuss is about.
Oh. Wow. My goodness. I blink a few times, and work hard at not audibly sighing.
That would be embarrassing after my vaguely self-righteous thoughts of just a few seconds ago.
He is… Well, he is a work of art, to put it simply.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair. Powerful legs in action as he runs, his bare chest and pumping arms displaying the kind of physique you generally only get to see on television.
He is eating up the distance, and all of our heads turn to follow him as he reaches the path that leads from the bay.
‘Now he goes up into the village,’ Laura says, her voice full of wonder. ‘You and Becca could actually sit in your living rooms and watch this, you lucky cows!’
I laugh out loud, and can’t imagine it: me sitting behind the net curtains, peering out and waiting for this man-God to jog past as the highlight of my day. It would be too humiliating. But maybe the upstairs window could work…
‘Oh my God!’ she says, jumping up to her feet in a flurry of discarded cake crumbs and excitement. ‘He’s stopped! He’s not going into the village… He’s coming here!’
She leaps away from the window and runs her hands through her curly hair, her face bright red. The other ladies all follow suit, dashing back to the original table. I stare through the glass and see that she is right: after a moment of hesitation, he is turning towards the café steps.
‘Quick!’ Auburn says, tugging at my shoulder. ‘Come over here or it’ll look like you were perving at him through the window!’
‘Yes, Sarah,’ Zoe adds, her tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘Don’t you know it’s wrong to objectify men like that? Disgusting attitude!’
I’m still scurrying over to the other table when he appears in the doorway. He stands there, slightly out of breath, covered in a light sheen of sweat, sunlight cascading over his muscular shoulders.