Chapter Seven
Laurel
Laurel hoped the lager would calm her nerves. Why was she so nervous?
She was, indeed, late because she had changed her outfit about twelve thousand times; different shoes, different top, different trousers, dress, skirt, shorts. And hair. Why did it take so long to do her hair?
In the end, she’d decided fuck it, don’t try so hard, don’t worry about it. It’s not like she was looking to pull Nate Daley, or anyone for that matter, was it?
But when he had ambled halfway onto the pavement, pint in hand, and watched her walking down the road, she knew exactly why it had taken so long.
‘Let me pay the tab, Angela,’ she said to the barmaid who handed her a bill that was way more than one drink each. Either that, or Angela was screwing her over, but she couldn’t argue, not today, not when they’d found something magical and beautiful under her field.
‘I haven’t stopped smiling,’ she said to Nate. ‘It’s so exciting.
His eyes sparkled and he drained his pint, picking up a new one.
‘It is exciting, you’re right.’
He leaned closer and she held his eyes for a beat. How did he always smell good? Like fireworks and colourful dreams.
‘Don’t you have to celebrate with your team? You know, good leadership and all that?’ Laurel said.
Nate pulled a hand through his hair and glanced out the window.
‘I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?’ He scrunched up his nose.
‘You really should.’ She nodded.
‘Come on then,’ Nate put his hand out, ‘after you.’
Laurel let him usher her out, his warm hand nearly burning through her thin t-shirt.
Nate Daley was so damned attractive. But they worked together, so she had to keep it in her pants. Besides, he was just being friendly and probably like this with all women around his age. Let’s face it, there wasn’t much choice was there? The students were too young and the only other person was a very married Rebecca. Perhaps he just found it hilarious making her blush.
The students were sprawled on three of the four picnic benches, overflowing onto the low wall, looking like a music festival advert in their pork pie hats, skinny jeans and unironic t-shirts. Laurel perched on the wall behind them, Nate sitting next to her. She waved at a couple of locals sitting on the remaining table. If she kept everyone onside it could only help with development.
‘Laurel!’ Came a cheer from Robin’s friends, who had congregated near a clump of female students.
‘Boys.’ She tilted her glass to them in greeting.
‘You get on well with Robin’s friends?’ Nate asked.
‘Half of them grew up on the farm running around playing lost boys and pirates. The amount of skinned knees I’ve patched up and sleepovers I’ve refereed.’ She angled her body to him. ‘But enough about me, you know practically everything there is to know, and I’ve got to ask.’ Her face was hot, but she’d started now. Her mouth wouldn’t stop moving and the words were just escaping from her brain. ‘Where’s Lucia?’
Nate nearly spat out his beer and Laurel clapped him on the back, because that’s what you were supposed to do when someone was choking, wasn’t it?
‘Uh, she’s in Goa, or Colombia, or Moldova, I don’t know.’
‘Oh.’ Laurel studied her drink. ‘So, you’re not still together then?’
Oh god, why had she asked this? It was literally like turning on a very big flashing neon sign that said LAUREL FLETCHER WANTS TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU. But it was a desperate, burning need to know whether he was attached or not, which had first planted itself precisely at the time Nate had stepped into her line of sight all those weeks ago.
She glanced up at him to check that he had heard, because he was taking too long to answer. Nate glanced around.
‘No, we’re not. There’s no one,’ he said.
She nodded and dragged her eyes away to a group of female students dancing to tinny music from a phone in the middle of the patio area.
‘You?’ He nudged her with his shoulder.
Laurel’s stomach flopped around like a tantruming child because this thing between them, whatever it was, wasn’t just her. Perhaps he had a neon sign as well.
No, he was just making conversation.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, it’s hardly bursting with eligible bachelors around here.’ She grinned. ‘Besides, I grew up with everyone here, and I am definitely not into the incestuous small town relationship thing.’
Especially after her one night stand with George Hibbert, and his utter inability to let it go.
Nate nodded contemplatively, his nearly-too-long hair flopping over his forehead. Well, that was all different kinds of sexy.
‘Laurel,’ Robin called sharply and she snapped her eyes to him. He nodded to a newcomer stalking down the road, obviously displeased with the brisk business of the pub.
George Hibbert. How frigging wonderful.
She hadn’t seen George Hibbert since she’d put in the expression of interest for his fields. Obviously, there was an issue because, despite her father discussing the matter with Old Man Hibbert, George was still harrying the sheep on the common, like a petty fourteen-year-old.
‘Who’s that?’ Nate asked, following her eyes.
‘George Hibbert,’ Laurel said, giving Nate a wan smile. She didn’t need to bring up the fact that she and George had seen each other naked. Once. Two years ago.
‘Oh, you’re buying his fields?’ Nate asked, gulping his beer.
‘Trying to, if the bank gives me the money.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m still waiting on them.’
‘But you won’t have to if you can get English Heritage sponsorship?’ Nate pushed.
Laurel sighed. ‘No, I won’t have to, but I will still want to. Hibbert has to sell. His farm is dying. If he doesn’t sell to me, he’ll sell to developers and they’ll put five disgustingly big “country cottages” on the land and ruin it for everyone.’
This was the argument she had repeated again and again to her family, to the bank, to pretty much anyone who would listen.
Nate narrowed his eyes at her.
‘So you’re saving it, really?’
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, turning to face him properly. She tapped him excitedly on the shoulder. Huh, those shoulders were more toned than she thought. ‘Why does no one else see that? It’s definitely saving the land, definitely. Keeping it undeveloped and grazed by Little Willow Farm, or let out for grazing. The maize maze. A tasteful, affordable, sustainable, local development.’
‘Can you afford that?’ Nate asked, his eyebrows wiggling together.
‘Well, no. Not really.’ She let her hand drop into her lap, deflated. ‘But can we afford not to? That’s the question. Can Little Houghton afford for us not to?’
The frown on Nate’s face deepened.
‘You’re not a saviour, Laurel. You shouldn’t take all this on yourself.’
‘But if not me, who? The farm would die, the town would be turned into some kind of hipster foodstall with Londoners coming for their “quaint countryside breaks”, which is great, don’t get me wrong, it brings in money and tourists.’ Laurel looked up and down the tiny high street. ‘But that’s not what people here want, they want to farm and they want to live a quiet life. They don’t want to be gentrified.’
Laurel looked back at Nate, throat a little tight. It was the first time that she’d actually, really, honestly articulated that before. Her need to save Little Houghton, to keep it hers. To keep it theirs. If she couldn’t save her mother, then she could save the family, the farm and the village she loved. Or at least, she could give it her best shot.
‘Anyway, enough.’ She swallowed her emotion. ‘This is supposed to be a celebration.’ Laurel forced a smile to her lips and stood up. ‘I’m going to the toilet.’
Nate nodded and she turned to head into the pub. He caught her hand to stop her.
‘You’re doing a great job, Laurel,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘Thanks, Nate.’
Nate
The atmosphere was charged between him and Laurel. He knew it and she knew it.
Nate ran a hand through his hair. She had been buttercups and summer when she’d leaned against him in the trench earlier. Sure, he didn’t have to hug her that tightly but shit, she smelled so good and she was so excited. And he’d wanted to.
When she’d asked about Lucia, looking up at him from underneath her lashes, brave but flushed and shy, he’d nearly choked on his beer. He did choke on his beer. God, he’d wanted to kiss her there and then, in front of everyone, sat on the low wall in the pub garden.
Kiss her until she was breathless and desperate.
Nate turned his face up to the dusky sky and ignored the single vibration on his smartwatch. It was probably Alex. Today was a good day. The amazing find and very slim possibility, not expectation, of more.
And her. Laurel Fletcher.
‘Yo, Nate,’ Robin called. ‘Where’s Laurel?’
Robin had done well for himself, his arm slung around one of the female students, holding court with his mates.
‘She’s inside,’ Nate called back, gesturing to the pub.
Robin’s eyes flitted over to the local’s table and he stood up quickly.
‘By herself? Jesus, Nate,’ he said, winding his way through the melee.
‘What? She’s a grown up,’ Nate said, standing. What was Robin’s problem?
‘Yeah, but George fucking Hibbert isn’t, Nate,’ Robin said pointedly, frowning at him. Nate glanced over, and yeah, George Hibbert wasn’t there, but his half-drunk pint sat on the table.
‘He’s not going to follow her into the toilet, Robin,’ he said, rolling his eyes, because surely not.
‘Who fucking knows?’ Robin’s jaw was tense. ‘How long has she been gone?’
Nate didn’t have time to answer because Laurel’s voice cut through the air.
‘George, I’m not talking to you about this right now.’
‘That’s right,’ he slurred. ‘Laurel Fletcher, too good for the likes of me.’
He was too close behind her, trailing across the pub patio. George Hibbert’s face was blurred and his ruddy, dirty blond hair was cropped short against his head. Nate took two steps toward them. Laurel’s eyes were fixed on the ground, shoulders curving in as she hurried over to them.
‘George, no,’ she said, not looking around at him.
‘Don’t fucking “George no” me,’ he said loudly.
George Hibbert grabbed Laurel’s arm and jerked her backwards sharply. Grabbed her. No.
Nate moved quickly, reaching her before Robin, and pushed George violently, hands smacking flat in the middle of his chest. George Hibbert stumbled back, confused and sneering. Nate put an arm protectively around Laurel’s shoulders and she tucked herself into him.
Robin launched himself at George, his swinging fist connecting with George’s jaw with a thud.
‘Don’t you ever fucking touch my sister,’ he yelled. ‘Don’t even think my sister’s name, you fucking bastard.’
George Hibbert stumbled again and spat disgusting blood onto the ground. It looked like he was about to take a running jump towards Robin, but spotted Robin’s band of feral boys like greyhounds barely restrained, begging for a fight, just behind him.
‘You Fletchers think you own the fucking town, and you don’t,’ he said, red eyes flicking between Robin and Laurel.
Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Laurel was shaking under his arm and he squeezed her tightly.
‘You should go home,’ Nate said, voice low and harsh.
‘I’ll take him, come on boy.’ One of the older men from the local’s table ambled over and ushered George Hibbert away, shooting Laurel a dirty look. What was the deal with these fucking people?
‘Fucking Fletcher bitch. You’ll get what’s coming to you, you better watch yourself,’ Hibbert shouted as he stumbled away.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.
She didn’t seem to be physically hurt, but she was scared and shaken. She nodded.
‘Robin, you absolute idiot, what did you do that for?’ Laurel smacked him half-heartedly on the shoulder.
‘No one grabs my sister,’ he said vehemently, glancing at Nate. Anyone with that kind of protective instinct over their sister deserved some respect.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked. ‘How’s your hand?’
Robin grinned. ‘It’s alright, Laurel. Besides, girls love the hero look.’
Nate rolled his eyes.
‘Okay,’ Robin said, and meandered off back to his table, his boys following.
The chatter started up again and Nate led Laurel over to their little perch on the low wall.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked, a little reluctant to let her go.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, with a resigned close-lipped smile.
She wasn’t.
‘Anwar,’ Nate called, fishing his credit card out of his wallet. ‘Get us a couple of brandies, doubles, and one for Robin. Oh, and get one for yourself as well.’
‘Brandy?’ Laurel’s mouth turned down in a grimace as Anwar obediently trotted off.
Nate smiled briefly. ‘Yeah, it’ll settle your nerves.’
Laurel looked down at her hands. He had the sudden urge to follow George Hibbert, grab him like he had Laurel and force him to grovel. She reached out and put a small hand on his larger one, folding her fingers around his.
‘Thank you. You didn’t have to, but thank you,’ she said, looking up at him with those big whiskey eyes.
‘I did have to,’ he said, heart thumping in his chest. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. ‘People don’t get to treat you like that, Laurel. You shouldn’t have to put up with it.’
The brandies arrived, and Laurel coughed after throwing hers back in one long gulp.
‘Urgh, how do people do that?’
‘Well, they don’t normally do it with brandy, that’s for starters.’ Nate laughed, sipping his drink.
Laurel laughed as well.
‘Anyway, tell me about your mum, she must be amazing to have raised you by herself,’ Laurel said, touching his arm lightly.
‘She is.’ So, he told her about his mum.
Nate told her about the time she’d cried when he passed his judo white belt grading aged six, how she had saved for months so he could have a bouncy castle party in the local town hall and how no one, ever, could make a tuna and cheese toastie like hers.
He let his knee rest against her thigh, her hand lightly touching his arm. This was heading somewhere, he knew it, and he wanted it.
‘Oh, I love this song!’ Laurel’s face lit up when some god awful, soft indie rock came on.
‘Come on then, let’s dance,’ Nate said, taking her hand and pulling her up to join the students waving their arms around and sashaying drunkenly to the music.
He twirled her under his arm and she laughed up at the darkening sky, and then he pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her back. She was slightly soft around the edges and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, but then pushed it quickly out of his mind. They had to spend every day together, and a one night stand would not be good for their working relationship. Besides, it’s not like he was in love with her.
‘How did you get all these muscles?’ Laurel said, squeezing his shoulder and sliding her hand down his bicep.
‘How did your skin get to be so soft?’ he murmured, letting his hand slip under her top. She pressed herself tighter against him.
The sound of the minibus rumbled closer and the students cheered drunkenly, getting ready to leave.
Laurel bit her lip and looked up at him, heat and desire in her eyes. ‘Do you want to come b—’
The trill voice of one of the female students interrupted her. ‘Dr Daley, Anwar’s throwing up behind the wall!’
Laurel shook her head with a smile and stepped back from him. Was she going to ask him back to hers? Would he have gone? Damn right he would have gone.
‘I don’t have to deal with that, do I?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘You really do,’ she replied with a grin, taking a couple of steps towards the pavement. ‘See you on Monday.’
He took a step after her.
‘You’re not walking home by yourself, are you?’
‘I live above the Post Office, it’s fifty metres away,’ she called.
‘Text me when you get home.’ Why the hell had that come out of his mouth? But what if George Hibbert was somewhere around?
He watched her walk for a few seconds, before attempting to manhandle Anwar onto the bus.
Laurel
Laurel’s mouth felt like she’d stuffed ten thousand crackers into it. She reached for the pint of water Drunk Laurel had put on the bedside table. She was a good one sometimes, Drunk Laurel. But she hadn’t been all that drunk, had she? She’d taken off her makeup, she wasn’t sleeping in her clothes, she’d plugged her phone in to charge, so those were all wins. But Drunk Laurel had forgotten to draw the curtains and she hissed like a vampire as she turned over into the blinding, warm sun.
She sat up gingerly. Okay, good. No spinning, no pounding. Drink the water, take two paracetamol, just to be on the safe side, and everything would be right with the world.
Laurel drained her water and checked her phone.
She texted back quickly.
What had happened to make calm, collected, stare-down-hardened-criminals Rebecca needy? Laurel frowned at the phone, concerned. She was never needy, never insecure, always on top of things.
Laurel dragged herself out of bed. Walking had always been their saving grace, a way of keeping their sanity and getting away from, well, everything.
Laurel considered texting Jack. See, that was the problem when your best friend was your brother’s wife; split loyalties. Laurel had learned the hard way that the best thing to do was to keep way, way, way out of their relationship and never, ever mention it to Jack. Ever.
Quick shower and brush of teeth, and Laurel was out of the door with big sunglasses covering her face. Surely, the unfeasibly hot British summer had to give way to furious storm clouds at some point.
When she arrived at the start of the footpath, Rebecca was already wearing out the path, pacing back and forth in her expensive trainers.
‘Hey,’ she waved.
‘Oh, Laurel, there you are,’ Rebecca said, hugging her tightly. ‘You look kind of alright for going out last night.’
‘Yeah, I know!’ Laurel was as surprised as Rebecca. ‘There was only one brandy, and that was Nate Daley’s fault.’
‘Brandy?’ Rebecca scrunched up her nose.
‘Don’t ask.’ This wasn’t about her; this was about her best friend.
Rebecca linked her arm through Laurel’s and they started along the footpath. There were picnickers, a family playing cricket, dogs chasing balls, kites flying. It was a quintessential British summer day, but Laurel didn’t see any of it, because her friend marched her unrelentingly along the pathway to the hill.
‘Come on, don’t be a baby, the twins walk up this hill,’ she said when Laurel started to moan.
They could have easily sat on the bench at the bottom and talked, but no. Rebecca obviously needed to burn some energy, work something out in her mind by making her legs hurt.
‘Fine, but I’m stopping halfway up,’ Laurel huffed. Rebecca strode ahead.
It wasn’t a big hill but still, bigger than she wanted this particular Saturday morning. Laurel was red faced and puffy when she collapsed on the bench at the top.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or are you just going to punish me for the rest of the day?’ Laurel said, turning her back to the sun and pushing her sunglasses into her hair. Rebecca twisted her fingers in her lap and avoided Laurel’s eyes. ‘Did something happen last night? What’s Jack done? You know he’s a complete idiot sometimes.’
Rebecca shrugged and looked over Little Houghton.
‘He wants another baby,’ she said, deflated.
‘Oh.’ Laurel blew out a breath. ‘I thought you guys were done after the twins?’
‘Yeah, so did I,’ Rebecca muttered. ‘It’s not like I don’t like babies, or kids. I do. I love them, and I love Lila and Micah. I just,’ she shook her head. ‘I just don’t know if I can have another. I mean, I’m mid-thirties—’ She stopped abruptly and cut her eyes to Laurel. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Rebecca,’ she said. ‘This is about what you want, not me. Besides, mid-thirties isn’t late to have kids anymore. There are plenty of first-time parents in their late thirties, forties, fifties.’
Rebecca looked to the sky for divine inspiration.
‘But it’s classed as a geriatric pregnancy.’
Laurel bristled.
‘Well, perhaps they need to rethink the name for it,’ she said indignantly. ‘There is nothing wrong with having a baby at your age, or older.’
Laurel put her hand over Rebecca’s, bringing her back to earth.
‘But it has to be what you want, and it doesn’t seem like it is?’
‘I’m so selfish, aren’t I?’ Rebecca’s chin wobbled. ‘It’s supposed to be a joint decision, equal weight. Me and Jack together.’
‘But it’s not like Jack has to be pregnant, is it?’ Laurel said softly.
Rebecca had been so big, so tremendously uncomfortable and had been prescribed multiple bouts of bed rest throughout her pregnancy with the twins. Some women glowed and enjoyed their pregnancies. Rebecca, however, had been a whale, and the birth? Well, let’s just say it was traumatic for all involved.
‘Jack was so excited. He said it would be amazing for the twins to have a little brother or sister,’ there was a catch in Rebecca’s throat, ‘and I feel so guilty, so bad, because it would be.’ Rebecca turned to face Laurel, her eyes shining with tears, pleading for understanding. ‘I really don’t want to have another baby.’
‘Oh Rebecca,’ Laurel said, reaching for her.
‘You remember before?’ Rebecca continued.
Laurel remembered the bleeding, the sleepless nights. Then, when the twins were born, Rebecca’s utter exhaustion. Now she looked back at it, she suspected that Rebecca had some post-natal depression, and Laurel bitterly regretted not spotting it in her friend at the time.
‘It will be like that but worse, because I’ll already have the twins to deal with,’ Rebecca whispered through choking sobs. ‘I already miss out on so much of them with work. The nanny takes them to swimming, drama club, school. I do as much as I can, but I’m on track for partner and work is important to me. It’s important to the family, because, no offense, we can’t live on Jack’s wages.’
‘None taken at all.’ There wasn’t much money to go around.
Farming was a tough life. You didn’t just marry the farmer, you married the land, the way of life. Jack couldn’t take time off to take the kids to school, take them to their clubs in the evening. Jack didn’t get weekends to himself, he didn’t get holidays. Sure, there was more help now that Laurel had managed to hire some farmhands, but Jack was Jack. He didn’t know any other way of life. Rebecca and him had argued endlessly over it when the twins were babies, but nothing changed. It had been a rough couple of years for them.
Rebecca pulled back from Laurel and wiped her face.
‘If I have another child, I’ll be off for six months to a year, and then there’s the night feeds and the sleeping. And what if I have twins again?’ She shook her head. ‘The kids are in school now and I thought this would be time for me, and time for Jack and I to be a couple again, now the twins are older.’
‘Did you tell him this last night?’ Laurel asked, holding Rebecca’s hand tightly.
‘I was too shocked, I thought he was on the same page as me. We hadn’t discussed it explicitly, but how would it work? That he would carry on living his life and then there’s me, giving up everything, accommodating everyone, doing everything.’ Rebecca was getting angry now, her tears turning from sorrow to rage. ‘Again? Does he even understand and appreciate what I did with Lila and Micah? What I still do?’
‘You need to have a conversation with him, Rebecca,’ Laurel pressed.
‘I’m being so selfish.’ Her shoulders slumped.
Laurel took a breath. ‘Rebecca, you are an incredible mother, an incredible wife. Lila and Micah are the luckiest children in the world to have you,’ she said.
Rebecca nodded, sniffing.
‘You both have to want another baby, and it seems that you don’t.’
‘I don’t, Laurel. I really don’t.’ Rebecca shuddered, saying it so bluntly out loud.
‘Then you have to talk to Jack about it, you have to explain. He’ll understand, won’t he?’ He would have to understand, otherwise Laurel would beat it into him.
‘I don’t know,’ Rebecca shrugged. ‘He was so excited last night.’
‘He didn’t want to start trying last night, did he?’ Laurel asked, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Oh god, I don’t know why I asked that, please don’t tell me. I do not want to think about my brother having sex.’
Rebecca snorted a laugh. ‘I’ve got my period so no sexy times, thank you very much.’
Laurel looked at her best friend earnestly.
‘Rebecca, you don’t have to have another baby if you don’t want one. You are not being selfish,’ Laurel said. ‘You are allowed the life you want right now. If you change your mind in a few years, then you change your mind.’
‘If I do change my mind, which I won’t, I would be too old anyway,’ Rebecca said, grumpily.
‘You won’t be, but if you are then there are other options. Adoption, fostering, surrogacy.’ Laurel shrugged. ‘Besides, maybe you’ll get to be the best aunt in the world.’
Rebecca raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Robin may knock up some girl from town.’
Rebecca laughed out loud.