Chapter Ten
Mizzletoe & Wine
Gemma saw little of Matt for the rest of the day. He didn’t emerge from the studio for lunch, and she kept busy tidying his room and changing the bedlinen. She escaped to the cottage for a few hours, making a feeble attempt to write about Bruges, but her heart wasn’t in it, and she found herself looking forward to the evening, for a few minutes of company – if it could be called that.
Her mother had been in touch, asking if she would go home for Christmas, but Gemma had said no. She had a job, and she would see it through. Although her mum was disappointed, Gemma pointed out that she’d have Rebecca and the grandchildren there, and they moved on to discussing what to buy for the little ones.
There was still no sign of the new passport, and when the call ended, Gemma pocketed her phone and walked over to stare out of the window. The few remaining brown and curling leaves had lost their tenacious hold to the previous day’s strong winds and the trees opposite stood stark and bare, their black branches stretching upwards in welcome to a cluster of crows.
It was early yet but, fed up with her own company, Gemma, head down against a steady mizzle, went back to the main house. She’d inspect the fridge for tonight’s meal, which would probably never see the inner workings of Matt’s stomach.
The wind continued to grow in strength into early evening, howling into the sheltered creek and whistling through the bare trees, which creaked and swayed in its grip. When Gemma went out to fill the log basket, her hair whipped across her face, and she could see the smoke from the chimney scattering in all directions.
Back in the kitchen, another log on the fire, the lamps lit and the curtains and blinds drawn against the dusk, Gemma chose a Christmas playlist on Spotify and then turned her attention to the complexities of the evening meal.
So engrossed was she, tongue between her teeth as she read Anna’s instructions, she didn’t hear the door from the conservatory open.
‘Can you please turn that bloody awful music off!?’
Matt tossed his leather bag onto one of the sofas and came over to the kitchen, but she ignored his request.
‘Good evening,’ she said primly, continuing to study the file. ‘Dinner will be on the table in’ – she glanced at the clock on the opposite wall – ‘about twenty minutes.’
An exasperated sigh came from behind, and a long arm reached over her shoulder and reduced the volume.
‘Can’t you put something different on?’
This time, Gemma did turn round, folding her arms across her middle. ‘Why? We’re going to see the Christmas lights switched on tomorrow. Doesn’t that mean it’s time to get in the mood? Do you honestly hate it?’
Matt’s expression was sullen, but, rather than telling her to mind her own business or simply leaving the room, he leaned against the countertop, folding his own arms. ‘I don’t. Least, not the season itself. It’s that damn music. Curdles my brain.’
Gemma tilted her head. ‘Your band had a huge Christmas hit and it gets back in the charts every December. Didn’t you contribute to the lyrics at all?’
‘More than people will ever know,’ he growled, picking up an open bottle of red and a glass. ‘Want some?’
‘I’m a rosé girl, like my wine nice and chill. It’s got to be good for the upcoming tour, though, the reminder right now of BorderLine Beat and their music?’
The hazel eyes holding her green gaze flashed for a second. Then he took a swig of his wine, saying nothing.
‘Fine. Go and relax somewhere. I’ll call you when the meal’s ready.’ Gemma checked the clock on the oven. She may only be warming the chilli on the hob, but she needed to cook the rice and put out the dips. The pan of water was boiling, so she grabbed the sachet of rice and dropped it in, peering hopefully at it.
‘Don’t burn dry on me,’ she whispered, giving the saucepan handle a discreet pat.
‘You can eat with me tonight.’
Can I? Maybe I don’t want to… Gemma’s stomach betrayed her with a grumble. ‘Is that part of my duties now?’
‘No. Not if you don’t want it to be.’ Matt waved a hand back towards the hallway. ‘Seems pointless cooking two different meals each evening.’
Heating up meals could hardly be called cooking, but she didn’t want to disabuse him of the notion she was a capable chef. Not yet, anyway.
Matt picked up the bottle and walked out to the table, where he placed it with the glass, then walked back through. ‘Going for a shower, be back in ten.’
Gemma couldn’t put a finger on what made her lay a second place and add another portion of rice to the boiling water. Matt was a strange mixture, one minute dismissive, the next a vulnerable, wounded figure who needed… what , exactly?
By staring unceasingly at the pan containing the rice, Gemma managed not to burn it. She felt like she’d scaled a mountain.
She fluffed it up with a fork, as instructed by Anna, then placed the warmed bowl on the table next to the chilli, the aroma of which filled the conservatory. Gemma placed the trio of dips alongside a bowl of nachos and went back into the kitchen to grate some cheese, something even she could handle.
She could hear Matt coming down the stairs, so she hurried to retrieve a bottle of rosé from the cottage. By the time she’d poured herself a glass, he was seated at the table, head in his hands.
‘Don’t let it go cold.’
Matt looked up as she took a seat. ‘I’m not particularly hungry.’
‘How can you resist it?’ Gemma wafted a hand over the richly coloured chilli. ‘There. Inhale that. It will get the stomach juices going.’
A reluctant smile formed, and Matt sat forward and spooned some rice onto his plate, followed by a small amount of the chilli.
Gemma dipped a nacho into the guacamole, savouring the soft flavour against the saltiness of the chip. ‘Mmmm. You must try this.’ Taking a dollop of rice, she covered it with chilli, sprinkling cheese on top. ‘Do you have your sister’s talent for cooking?’
Matt was prodding the food around his plate, and she almost held her breath as he lifted a forkful to his mouth. He didn’t answer for a moment, then he swallowed.
‘I’m not bad, but I was spoilt.’
‘A parent who did it for you?’
He pulled a face, but Gemma was pleased to see him push his fork into the mixture again. ‘Mum and Dad did too much for me. Still would, if I’d let them. I meant when we used to tour.’ For a second his face darkened again, but then it cleared. ‘We travelled the world at the height of our success. There was a fantastic catering truck, real quality food.’
Gemma chuckled before taking a sip of her wine. ‘And there’s me, all these years assuming travelling bands lived off Maccy Ds. And now? Your home is Hampshire?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got an apartment in the West End, but I wanted to be far enough away to feel I’d escaped. I’ve got a few properties.’ He met Gemma’s intent gaze with a mocking look. ‘Amazing what you can do with those royalties.’
‘And you have a housekeeper who cooks for you now.’
‘Well, to be honest, I have a cook and a housekeeper-cum-cleaner. They both live in, but the gardener doesn’t.’
Wow.
Matt didn’t eat a lot, but Gemma was relieved to see he cleared his small plateful this time and then tucked into the dips with the nachos. The open wine didn’t last long, so he went to fetch another bottle, declining Gemma’s offer to bring out one of the tempting desserts in the fridge.
‘You have one. I don’t have a sweet tooth.’
‘There’s cheese and biscuits if you prefer?’
‘Brie?’ His face brightened, and, relieved he was willing to eat a little more, Gemma arranged a plate with crackers, a few grapes and the soft cheese.
He looked around the conservatory at the fairy lights Gemma had attached to the beams and the vase of flowers on the sideboard, then sent her a curious look.
‘You have an eye for making a place look homely.’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘Probably way off the mark, but you look too young to have home-bod cares, and with the solo travels Anna told me about…’
‘You’d be right. I own a box of a flat in London, not much room for interior design, but it serves a purpose.’
‘And the travelling?’
‘It felt like time. I mean, I’m thirty-eight.’
Matt blinked as he got to his feet. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘I know.’ Gemma huffed a breath as she followed him into the living room, where they took seats opposite each other. ‘My face belies the truth, but it’s small consolation when, in reality, I can see the big four-o waving at me. I tried ignoring it, but it won’t go away. I suddenly realised life wasn’t going to come to me, I’d have to take myself to it. I’ve been working in a bank all my adult life. Boring. Predictable. I managed to wangle a six-month sabbatical, set off on the big journey, only to have it cut short a month later. I ended up in even worse straits, had to go back to the parents because of the concussion.’
‘I’m…’ Matt hesitated. ‘Sorry… for you, but not for me.’
Warmth swept through Gemma, promptly cooled by Matt’s smug expression.
‘If you hadn’t been around, I’d be washing my own towels.’
Gemma threw a cushion at him, which he caught deftly and tucked behind his head.
‘Thanks.’
Silence descended, and, uncertain as to whether it could be deemed ‘comfortable’, Gemma put on some music – avoiding the Christmas playlist from earlier – before resuming her seat.
Matt’s eyes had closed as he lay back against the leather chair he’d taken as his own, long legs stretched out on a matching stool, his half-empty glass cradled in his lap.
Gemma studied his face. He had the same long lashes as Anna and, despite being a little too thin, even in repose his features were attractive. Her heart did a little dance as she continued to observe him and she grasped her midriff.
‘Down, girl,’ she whispered as Matt’s lids lifted.
‘Did you say something?’
‘No, no. I was thinking aloud. Forgot I wasn’t alone, for a change.’
Matt grunted, placing his glass on a side table and shuffling up in his chair. ‘It’s underrated.’
‘How so?’
He sent Gemma an amused look. ‘Try touring several countries for months with three bandmates all bunked up in a tour bus.’
Gemma smiled. ‘No posh hotels, then?’
‘Now and again, but we had an excellent tour manager, and he was a stickler for keeping to the budget.’
Would this be a good time to go fishing?
‘And what are they like, the old band? You must be looking forward to being back together, recapturing those days?’
‘Must I?’ Matt’s mood lowered in an instant.
Gemma leaned forward, placing her glass on the coffee table.
‘Matt, why are you doing this if it’s not bringing you pleasure?’
He ran his hands through his shorter hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions.
‘Matt?’
‘This feels like a bloody interview. You’re as bad as Anna,’ Matt muttered. ‘I thought she held the crown as Queen of Curiosity.’
Gemma knew the polite thing would be to back down, but her interest was at its height and, with Matt seemingly a little more open to talking this evening, she wanted to press the advantage. ‘So, tell me about the band. Why BorderLine Beat?’
Matt took a sip of wine, then eyed Gemma over the glass. ‘It’s a bit boring, to be honest. Harry – he’s the lead singer, you may recall – and I are from England, but Pot Hole is Welsh and Roddy is a Scot. Hence the border connection.’
‘I never knew that! That’s a great reason for the name.’ Gemma sent him an expectant look. ‘And Pot Hole?’
A grin spread across Matt’s features. ‘Jonno named himself. Said people swerve to avoid him.’ Then he sobered, and the mantle of despondency descended again.
Gemma’s brow furrowed. ‘Are you okay?’
He drew in a slow breath. ‘Jonno had problems with the booze.’ He met Gemma’s look with a shake of his head. ‘Not a bad habit, like mine. Real problems. You may have read about it back in the day.’
More recently than you might think, actually.
‘I’m so sorry. Is he… how is he now?’
‘Clean. Sober. But that’s because he isn’t with us, careering around Europe and living it up like we had no cares in the world. He’s married – for the second time. The first one blew apart spectacularly. I thought we’d lose him in the aftermath, especially when his ex-wife moved abroad with the kids. He never sees them, and it almost broke him.’
‘And the second marriage?’
‘Better. Bryony’s level-headed, good for him. They’ve got a little one, and Jonno hasn’t touched a drop in five years.’ He drew in a shallow breath. ‘I love him. He was the baby in the band.’
Gemma felt so sorry for Jonny, and for Matt, who seemed burdened by the weight of the past. ‘Why is it troubling you now? I can see it.’
Matt’s gaze flew to Gemma’s, and for a minute she thought he was going to end the conversation or simply walk out. ‘I’d rather not say. Do you mind if we change the subject?’
‘Of course not.’
The wine, and Matt’s approachability this evening, had given Gemma false courage and, slipping her hand into her pocket, she withdrew the note she’d found and laid it on the table in front of him.
‘Will you tell me about this instead?’