Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A fter I finished work that afternoon, I shot an email over to the Dean of the Veterinary School at Bristol to request an interview time, then nipped out to the shop to get the supplies I needed for my plan to win Teddy over. I would utilise all the skills he’d taught me in my flirting masterclass sessions with him. As I devised the intricacies of my plan, reliving each of the funny, poignant, and surprising moments of my acquaintance with Teddy Fraser, my heart began to brim with hope and warm feelings, yet a touch of anxiety still swirled in my stomach.
What if I couldn’t make this work? What if I just created some ridiculous shitstorm that I had to live with for the rest of my life?
But there was more than just my relationship with Teddy at stake. The thought of the Fraser twins never speaking again didn’t bear thinking about, and I knew I had to do this for them as much as for myself. Even if Teddy could never look me in the eye again.
As agreed, Clara had concocted a dastardly plan to ensure Teddy was delayed at work that afternoon. His father was enlisted to pile extra projects on him and keep him in the office until late so I had time to get everything ready at his house. Then Henry would accompany him back, under the pretence that they needed to try to clear the air, then make sure that when he arrived home he participated in the weird little treasure hunt that I had devised, before leaving the rest up to me.
I only hoped that it would work.
Clutching my carrier bag of props, I headed across the surgery car park, pushing open the rickety gate of The Old Rectory. At the top of the stone steps, I felt around for the spare key that he’d started leaving under the plant pot on the doorstep after the whole cellar incident, and I let myself in, sticking the first clue to the front door next to the heavy iron knocker.
Throw me around and give me a clout, you’re likely to find me where the porn stars hang out. What am I?
Taking out an ancient, battered rugby ball hastily purchased from the charity shop in my lunch break, I glanced around the hallway, before placing it at the foot of the mirror where he’d told me how beautiful I was, just over a week ago. And stuck the next note in the centre of the reflective glass and over the pinched and nervous face staring back at me.
Superstition says I’m lucky for some, but perhaps not if you end up with thorns in your bum. What am I?
With Pluto’s rather twisted horseshoe in my hands, I was transported back to that fateful morning a few weeks ago. I’d been so shocked and mortified to see his face again, yet now couldn’t imagine not seeing him every day. It was so weird how things can change in the space of a heartbeat, how feelings can bloom out of supposedly nowhere. Looking around, I chose the handle of the kitchen door to hang the horseshoe on and stuck the next note above it.
A feline abscess burst up above, yet you didn’t pass out before the goddess of love. Who am I?
My confidence was still shaky, but I carried on into the kitchen, where I selected Aphrodite’s cone of shame, with my badly drawn cartoon of her face decorating the plastic shell. I placed it on the table with the next note tucked underneath.
Don’t be afraid, no need to cry, you’ll find me outside where the devil sheep lie. Where am I?
Outside in the bright, clear sunshine, I began to question again what the hell I was doing. Would this really work? Clara had been adamant and hugely enthusiastic, and even Henry had apparently approved of this insanity, if the excited text messages I’d received were anything to go by.
As I reached the shed, I selected the “I ? goats” keyring from the bag, a joke present for Teddy that I’d got when the sales rep from one of the drug companies had come in last week. I hung it on a small nail protruding from the door frame and attaching the next note on the door.
Who lies in wait? Are you sure you won’t hide? I am fearsome, I am terrible, but a softy inside. Who am I?
I pushed open the shed door to discover Agnes sitting in the pen. Her back was to me, and she looked so peaceful in the soft sunshine that illuminated the sleeping kids.
“Hello, Hannah, dear,” she said pleasantly without turning around. She carried on stroking the top of Deidre’s head as the goat quietly chewed her cud, her jaw working in a circular motion. It was strangely hypnotic.
“Hi, Agnes. How did you know it was me?”
“A sixth sense, perhaps? If you’re looking for Teddy, he’s not here.”
“I know.” Swivelling her head to look at me, I saw that the smile on her face was sad and tired. “Are you ok?”
“Oh yes, dear. Just not sleeping so well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I joined her on the straw bale and affectionately patted Deidre. “Any particular reason?”
“Not that I can fathom. It’s a right bugger getting old – I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s better than the alternative, right?”
“Right.”
Agnes’s eyes misted over a little, and I knew she was lost in her memories.
“I need your help with something.”
“Oh yes?”
I took a deep breath. “Teddy and I haven’t been honest with you, and I’m sorry about that.”
Her frail, bony hand covered mine, the crêpey skin over her knuckles translucent, paper-thin and fragile, but the firm squeeze she gave me hinted at the strength I knew she still possessed.
“We aren’t a couple, not really, but…”
“But you want to be?”
I nodded and looked at my feet, scuffing my toes in the straw.
“I do, at least.”
“It’s obvious that he does too.”
“It is?”
It was her turn to nod.
“Mmmm, well, I want to be more than friends with him, but I didn’t believe that he wanted anything more than, you know….”
I did a weird gesticulation with my hand, hoping not to have to say any more.
Agnes chuckled. “You thought he just wanted to have sex with you? And nothing more?”
“Right.”
“What a silly goose you are.”
“I am?”
“Yes, you are. That man looks at you with hearts in his eyes every day. Even when he’s angry with you he can’t hide how much he loves you.”
“He does?” My conversation skills were slipping, obviously, as I stared at the old lady next to me, hope blossoming at her words.
“He does. Whenever you’re around, you’re all he can see. He is so hopelessly in love with you that it radiates off him in waves.” She paused and patted my hand again. “For an intelligent girl, you’re pretty stupid about some things.”
“That’s what Teddy says,” I muttered.
“So what do you need my help with?”
Here goes nothing, if she didn’t think I was stupid before, she definitely will now.
“He’s got it in his head that I’m in love with his brother. Which I’m not,” I added hastily. Agnes nodded, gesturing that I should continue. “He’s not talking to me or answering messages, so to show him how I feel, I’ve devised a treasure hunt to remind him of our shared experiences and all the little things about him that I love. Is that bonkers?”
“A treasure hunt?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the prize?”
I pointed my index finger into my chest and cringed. This was ridiculous and would never work.
“I should scrap it. It’s a terrible idea.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You need to put him first. Show him how you feel. He’s done it for you more times than you’ll care to admit, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I confessed in a sulky whisper, because it was true. He put himself out there for me, regularly, without hesitation.
“So be bonkers and silly for him. Risk embarrassing yourself and then he’ll know you really mean it. Step outside your controlled and logical comfort zone, Hannah. Live a little!”
With a sigh, I got to my feet. “You’re right. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, what can I do?”
Digging into the bag at my feet, I pulled out the next note. “Deidre’s one of my clues, and an instrumental part of our recent history. Do you mind if I pop a clue in here somewhere?”
I handed Agnes the note and she read it with a smile on her face.
A tool that’s useful for the best DIY, I also spin wildly where you let sleeping vets lie. What am I?
“I don’t know what this means, but I definitely think you’re being bonkers enough.”
I winced and handed a little drawstring bag to her. She placed the note inside and tied it on to the thick leather collar Deidre wore.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind waiting?”
“Of course, that’s fine. I’ll stay with her and make sure none of them eats it. Goats will be goats, after all. But if one of them swallows it, that’s not going to help you snag the sexy architect.”
Bending down and folding my arms around Agnes’s thin shoulders, I gave her a little squeeze.
“You’re my people, Agnes. I hope you know that.”
“Silly goose,” she murmured, but couldn’t hide the flush that bloomed over her cheekbones. “Now get on with it. He’ll likely be back any moment and you need to get home and put on a peephole bra and crotchless knickers.”
“Agnes!” I coughed. “I will absolutely not be doing that!”
She tutted. “Some prize you are.” But she was chuckling to herself and waved me away. “Go on, leave this old woman in peace with her goats.”
I headed back to the house and up the stairs, via the back passage where a bucket and the plaster mixing drill had been stored. Still unable to suppress the bubbly snigger when I thought of that epically disastrous plastering session (and not at all thinking about the Mr Darcy-esque climbing-out-of-the-pond moment), I placed these items by the bedroom door, the next note stuck to the handle of the drill.
I’m prickly and spiky and grumpy as hell, but fundamentals in flirting have treated me well. What am I?
In the bedroom, I assessed my attempt at a vegetable animal again. I wasn’t too proud to admit that it wasn’t a patch on the one Oliver, aged four, had made for the village fayre, but it still looked vaguely like a hedgehog, so it would have to do. I snuggled it down happily amongst the bedclothes and alongside the next note.
I glitter and shimmer and I’m crap in a tree, but you love her, I know it, when she’s down on her knees. What am I?
On the windowsill, I placed the silver sandals that I wore to the garden party, tucking the next note inside and wistfully thinking back to the treehouse – the first time he’d really let me see him, and see into his heart – regretful that I’d not had the right words to say to him then, or since. I hoped he’d give me the chance to make this right.
Oh, would you look, in the car park no less? An arrow, a marker, what does it confess?
Leaving the house, and locking the door behind me, I trotted along to the surgery, conscious that Henry and Teddy would be arriving back here soon, when a text pinged in my phone.
Clara: They’re heading back, he’s pissed off and has had a massive row with Henry outside the office. ETA 20 min. Brace yourself.
Excellent. Well, this might turn into a monumental shower of shit after all. But I was committed and there was a whole load of people involved – not least of which was Agnes who was still sitting in the shed and making sure that none of the goats ate my note. So, no turning back now.
In the car park, I organised some sawdust into a large arrow in the gravel, pointing towards the door of my flat, and placed the penultimate note on the ground at the head of the arrow with a rock on top.
Follow this arrow to find a tool of this vet, and I’m honestly (possibly) never meant as a threat. What am I?
With a large, fortifying breath, I hung my last prop on the door handle, with the final note, before heading inside to await my fate.