Chapter 13
‘I’m in the kitchen,’ Darren called as soon as Claire closed the front door behind her. ‘Would you mind very much doing me a favour and joining me?’
The tone of his voice was enough to tell her that something was seriously wrong, and her hands shook as she hung her coat on the rack.
‘Sure,’ she called back, hating the way her voice wobbled with nerves. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s probably best if I show you.’
She wracked her brains, trying to think what on earth she could have done to annoy him this time.
The slightest thing could set him off these days; last week he’d completely lost his shit because she’d put the mustard back on the ‘wrong’ shelf in the fridge.
She winced as she touched the bruise on her hip, where she’d banged it against the counter when he’d shoved her.
He didn’t even bother to apologise after his outbursts any more, and they were ramping up both in intensity and frequency.
She was genuinely scared he was going to seriously injure her or kill her if she didn’t get away soon.
Thankfully, everything was now in place.
Darren was going to be away overnight at a work conference next week, which would give her two clear days to move her stuff out.
Darren was sitting at the table when she walked into the kitchen.
He was ominously still, and her heart went into her mouth when she saw the shoebox in front of him.
How the bloody hell had he found her secret hiding place?
And, more importantly, what could she tell him to stop him ruining everything?
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, trying frantically to buy enough time to concoct a plausible story.
‘Yes, why not?’ He smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it. It was the smile of a predator playing with its prey. Fuck. What was she going to do? Her hands were shaking so badly as she filled the kettle that it took all her concentration not to spill water everywhere.
‘I found this at the back of the wardrobe,’ Darren told her, taking the lid off the box once she’d switched on the kettle and summoned the courage to turn and face him.
He started methodically taking the items out, laying them carefully on the table like trophies.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we? A passport in your name, a surprising amount of money, some bank statements for an account that’s also in your name, and a debit card.
Now, I’m no detective, but it looks awfully like you were planning on going somewhere. ’
I’ve managed to find a quiet, shady corner of the garden well away from everyone else and, for the first time in ages, I’m definitely in the zone.
I’ve been writing for two hours solid and, now that I’ve reached the climax of the first part of the novel, my fingers have almost taken on a life of their own as they dance across the keyboard.
However, I’ve been doing this job for long enough to know that I need to take regular breaks if I don’t want to end up with painful stiffness in my neck and shoulders, and the alarm on my phone is telling me that I need to get up and move.
The temptation to ignore it is huge; I’ve spent chapter after chapter carefully laying my breadcrumb trail, and this is a really inconvenient place to stop.
‘That’s why you have an alarm, Laura,’ I tell myself firmly as I close the lid of my laptop and force myself to stand, moving my head from side to side, stretching my arms and twisting my torso to loosen the muscles.
I breathe deeply, enjoying the mixture of floral scents in the air.
I glance at my watch. Eleven o’clock. I think I’ve earned a cup of coffee and maybe one of Cara’s delicious pastries.
This really is a stunning garden. Hugh and Cara have obviously put a lot of thought into both the layout and the planting.
As well as the table I’ve been sitting at, there are a number of other semi-private spots set up with benches, tables and chairs.
The area where I’ve been working is surrounded by riotously colourful flower beds, but even the herb and vegetable gardens that I’m walking through now have a functional beauty to them.
Finn obviously likes it here, as I spot him on a bench ahead of me.
He’s leaning back, with his eyes closed beneath his wide-brimmed hat and his long legs stretched out in front of him, almost blocking the path.
The crunch of the gravel beneath my feet evidently alerts him to my presence, as he sits up with a start when I approach.
‘Hi, Laura,’ he says with a smile. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I was just going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like me to bring you one?’
He heaves himself to his feet. ‘Do you mind if I come with you? I’m not stalking you, I promise. There’s something I wanted to ask you, actually.’
‘Oh, yes?’
He falls into step beside me and lowers his voice. ‘Is it me, or is there a seriously fucked-up dynamic at play here?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I may be imagining it, but there seemed to be an atmosphere at breakfast. The three women who were sitting together at the end of the table kept staring at me like I was some kind of monster, and the one you were talking to cornered me outside my room earlier and started babbling all this stuff about how excited she was to have a man in the group, as if she’d never come across one before. ’
‘Lynette is pretty full-on,’ I agree.
‘That’s one way of putting it. I’m starting to wonder if you and I are the only normal people here.’
‘Tess is OK, and the jury’s still out about you, stalker.’
Thankfully he takes my remark in the spirit intended and smiles.
‘I will find a way to convince you that I’m not, but I agree about Tess.
She came to introduce herself to me earlier and we had a good chat.
She was lovely, but we agreed that she probably wouldn’t be able to help me with my new show format.
There’s definitely something going on between the Double-Doubles and the hippy, though. ’
‘Who?’
‘Sorry, I have a habit of nicknaming people in my head. The three women reminded me of Macbeth’s witches.’
‘“Double, double, toil and trouble”,’ I quote with a smile.
‘“Fire burn and cauldron bubble”,’ he replies, grinning.
‘Have I got a nickname?’
‘No,’ he says so firmly that I’m sure he’s lying.
‘Come on. What is it?’
‘Promise you won’t be offended?’
‘Absolutely not. If it’s offensive, I reserve the right to take as much umbrage as I can.’
‘It’s not offensive.’ He’s blushing now, I notice.
‘Just spit it out, Finn.’
‘Don’t read anything into it. I only gave it to you because it alliterates with your name and it relates to the way we met.’
‘Finn!’
‘Fine. It’s Luggage Laura, OK?’
‘Luggage Laura?’ I repeat slowly.
‘Yes, because we met over your luggage.’
‘I think there are more complimentary alliterations you could have picked. Lovely Laura, perhaps, or even Luscious Laura?’
‘I think they would have been inappropriate, and would only have served to make you more certain that I was stalking you.’
‘Lickable Laura – now that would have been inappropriate and definitely stalkerish,’ I tell him, before realising what I’ve just said and blushing a little myself. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I was just getting carried away with the alliteration thing.’
‘Maybe I should rename you Alliteration Laura,’ he says with a smile, thankfully defusing the rather awkward atmosphere that was between us.
‘I’ll take Luggage Laura,’ I say as we start to help ourselves from the coffee jug that has been laid out. ‘I’ve been called much worse, and at least I’m not one of the witches.’
‘You won’t say anything to them, will you?’ he asks, his expression suddenly serious. ‘Things here are weird enough as it is.’
‘Your secret is safe with me,’ I assure him.
‘How’s the game show coming?’ I ask once we’re settled at the table with our drinks and a couple of pastries so delicious that they give Liv’s a run for their money – not that I’d ever tell her that.
The tantalising aromas coming from the kitchen indicate that Cara is evidently in the middle of preparing lunch, and I’m keen to keep the conversation going, if only to disguise the sound of my stomach growling in anticipation and to reassure him that I’m no longer suspicious of him.
I may have teased him about his assertion that he and I were the only normal people here, but there’s quite a lot of truth in it.
I could do with an ally and he’s surprisingly easy to talk to.
‘Slow,’ he admits.
I smile. ‘I’m no expert, but I imagine that it goes faster if you’re actually awake.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You were dozing earlier, weren’t you?’
‘I wasn’t! I was just thinking with my eyes closed, that’s all.’
‘Dozing,’ I repeat.
‘It was a late night and a very early start this morning.’
‘What have you got so far?’ I ask. ‘Or is it secret?’
‘That depends. Are you going to steal my idea and pitch it to the TV networks?’
‘I wasn’t planning to, no. But sometimes it helps to have a sounding board.’
‘OK. Do you remember me telling you about the essential ingredients of a game show earlier?’
I cast my mind back to our car journey. ‘Umm, it has to engage the audience, involve elimination and an element of jeopardy.’
‘Very good. So my idea, as far as I have it, is a kind of valuation game. The working title is The Auction Room, which we’ll have to change because it’s too close to an existing show called The Bidding Room, but that’s the least of my problems right now.
The contestants get shown a number of items that have recently sold at auction, and they have to guess how much they went for. ’
‘OK, but how do they get points? I assume there are points involved.’
‘There are, but it’s related to the jeopardy element.
As they go through the game, the price of the items they have to value increases.
So, let’s assume the objects in round one all went for ten pounds or less.
It might be a hundred, but the principle is the same.
Their opening prize pot is therefore a tenner.
Let’s say item one went for five pounds.
If they guess correctly, they get the prize, but every pound they’re off comes out of the pot. ’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Let me give you an example. The item went for a fiver, but you guess seven pounds. That’s two pounds out. So you only win eight pounds instead of ten.’
‘I get it. Not exactly white knuckle though, is it?’
‘Not to begin with, no. But remember, we’re looking more at elimination in the early stages of the game. We’ll start ramping up the potential prize pot in the head-to-head and the final.’
‘It sounds like you’ve got the formula pretty much nailed. What’s the problem?’
‘Exactly that.’ He sighs. ‘At the moment, it’s purely formulaic. Apart from the auction room thing, it’s pretty much a carbon copy of every other daytime quiz show. I need an edge, and that’s what I’m missing.’
‘Perhaps you should ask the Double-Doubles to give you an inspiration spell,’ I quip.
‘I think not,’ he replies with a laugh. ‘They’d probably suggest introducing a sudden death round where the contestants actually die suddenly.’
‘That would certainly give you an edge,’ I tell him through my own laughter. ‘You might struggle to recruit contestants though.’
‘Do you know, the worst thing is that I’m not totally sure I would?
You’d be amazed what risks people are prepared to take to get their five minutes of fame, particularly if they think there’s gold at the end of the rainbow.
However, there are one or two ethical issues with it, and I can’t see it getting past the safeguarding teams, somehow. ’
‘I’m sure you’ll come up with something,’ I encourage him. ‘You just need more of that magical eyes-closed thinking time.’
‘I hope so. Actually, can I ask something while you’re here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Would you mind very much sitting next to me at lunchtime?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re the only person here, apart from Tess, who doesn’t seem to have some sort of hidden agenda. I feel comfortable around you, which isn’t something I can say about the others.’
‘Are you seriously proposing that I act as some sort of human shield between you and the Double-Doubles?’ I ask.
He does at least have the grace to look bashful. ‘That’s not quite how I would have put it, but yes, kind of.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll protect you from the scary witches. Although I should warn you that Lynette thinks Gina will implode when she finds out you’re not a “proper” writer. Apparently, she takes this stuff very seriously.’
He looks completely nonplussed, and I realise he has no idea who I’m talking about.
‘The hippy told me that the head of the Double-Doubles will implode,’ I clarify.
His face clears. ‘Ah, right. Well, we don’t want that. Do you think I should come up with a cover story?’
‘Honestly? I’d leave her to it,’ I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. ‘She may think she’s queen bee on this retreat, but I don’t see why the rest of us should pander to her.’
‘Wow. Don’t sit on the fence, will you?’
‘I mean it. I’m here to get inspiration and work. If the rest of them want to waste their time stabbing each other in the back and generally playing power politics, that’s up to them. I’ve got a book to finish.’
He grins. ‘It could be the plot of your next book. A body is found stabbed in the back on a writers’ retreat. Everyone has a reason for wanting Gina dead, but who killed her?’
‘It has potential,’ I agree.
I’m smiling as I make my way back to my little corner of the garden. Finn is easy to talk to, and if being his human shield keeps me out of the family rift that is Lynette and Gina, so much the better.
He might have a point about the book too.