Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
SEBASTIAN
After breakfast, I head to the manor gardens where a team of pyrotechnic engineers perform their final checks before tonight’s firework display.
For something that barely lasts twenty-minutes, it’s a huge undertaking we plan months in advance, and I spend the rest of the morning coordinating the part-time staff, answering questions, and liaising with the local emergency services. You can’t have Bonfire Night without an ambulance on standby.
I’m annoyed the whole time though, distracted by this morning’s events.
The last thing I want is to find a woman and settle down. Been there, done that, the t-shirt didn’t fit. Sure, I got my daughter out of it and she’s the light of my entire life, but I also like my life as it is. It took a while to reach that point—to recalibrate and figure out who I was without rugby—but things are good now.
The thought of having to date is horrifying, especially at this time of year. The lead up to Christmas has always been about spending time with Charlie, making memories. I don’t want anything—or anyone—else.
Why did I agree to this?
If I could go back in time a few hours, I would.
My phone vibrates against my ass, and I slide it out of my back jeans pocket, answering with a snappy, “What?” as I storm back to the house, the grass damp and muddy beneath my boots.
“Oh dear.” A chuckle sifts down the line. “Life on the farm treating you badly, Farmer Seb?”
Eric has been my friend for fifteen years now, and my physiotherapist even longer, back when I used to play for the national rugby team. He’s seen me through hard times, including an eighteen-month recovery from an injury that ended my career. He’s a good man, but sometimes he loves to piss me off.
“Not sure how many more times I have to tell you I’m not actually a farmer now, Eric, but whatever.”
“You live in the countryside and last time I called, you were in the middle of herding sheep.”
“They escaped onto our land, and I was helping round them up. It was one time.”
“What about that time you rode the horse?”
“Quicker than walking.”
Another hearty chuckle. “How’s the knee?”
“Is that why you called me?”
“Why else would I call your grumpy ass? For the riveting conversation? You missed your last physio appointment.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You used to train nearly twelve hours a day. Don’t give me that.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
Eric falls quiet as I round the side of the house and a commotion catches my eye.
“Eric, can I call you back tomorrow?”
A sigh blows through the speaker. “Make sure you do. If you don’t want a knee replacement before you’re forty-five, you need to look after your knee health, not ignore it.”
“Believe me. I’m well aware.” I have the fucking aches to prove it. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”
I’ve barely hung up before I’m marching across the gravel driveway to the gathering of women crowding the front steps and filtering through the door. The cacophony of their squawking voices makes me wince, and I’ve never been more grateful for the ability to silence a room than the second they catch sight of me.
“Ladies, is there something I can help you with?”
“Ah, Sebastian!” Gran pops out from the crowd. “Just the man I was looking for. I’d like you to meet the Walmsley Women’s Institute. Look at them, beauty and brains. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Oh my fucking god.
My mouth lifts into what I hope is a smile but feels more like a grimace. I let my gaze circle the gaggle of women and nod. A couple of the older women protest and giggle, and the younger ones blush, and I’d like to run away as fast as physically possible.
“Gran,” I grit out. “Can I have a word?”
She frowns, annoyed by my manners most likely, then plasters on her best hostess smile. “Ladies, if you head into the main lounge there’s refreshments set up for you. I’ll join you in a second and we’ll get our meeting started.”
I wait until they’re gone before demanding, “What are you doing?”
Gran blinks, all fake innocence. “I’m hosting the bi-weekly WI meeting. What does it look like?”
“Is that all?”
“What else would it be?”
“You’ve never hosted them here before. In fact, I’ve heard you say more than once that they meet at the village hall every second Monday of the month.”
“Oh, so you do listen to me.”
“Also, it’s Tuesday,” I say flatly.
She huffs at this, clearly understanding I’m not in the mood but annoyed by it.
“If you must know, I thought you might like to see some of the women the village has to offer.”
What the fuck?
“Do you not realise how bad that sounds?”
“How else are you supposed to meet someone? You don’t go out anywhere so I thought I’d bring them to you. I’m trying to help.”
“Do you really think I want to date a seventy-year-old named Agnes?”
“I don’t know your preferences, dear.”
I press my fist to my mouth for a few seconds, almost vibrating with frustration. “I told you I wasn’t looking to meet anyone.”
“But you also said you’d help fulfil my Christmas wish list.”
“That was before I realised it was about me.”
“But it’s my dearest wish, Sebastian. You’re so tall and handsome, and you have the biggest heart. You’d make someone very happy some day.”
A bit of the rage bleeds out of me. My shoulders drop. “Gran.”
“You don’t know what it’s like to reach my age and have all this time on your hands to think. I worry about you and how lonely you’ll be once I’m gone. I want you settled.”
For the first time since this morning, Gran looks earnest, and maybe there is some genuine concern behind her actions. I give her shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“You don’t ever have to worry about me. I’m here to look after you.”
“It doesn’t work like that. Being a parent and grandparent doesn’t end when you get old. I still worry about your mother even though she’s never around. I’ll worry about all of you until my last breath.”
The thought stings. I don’t even want to think about Gran not being here.
“Look, I said I will help you, which means I will look into maybe going on a couple of dates.”
Gran lights up.
“But you can’t force it,” I stress. “Let me do my own thing.”
“Okay, dear. Whatever you think is best.”
An unscheduled meeting with our gardener has made me late to collect Charlie from school, so I’m already irritated when the bell rings midway through opening the front door. Another delay is the last thing I need.
“Oh, fuck.”
Sasha shifts backwards, offence yanking her brow to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
Shit.
“No. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not annoyed at you.”
“That’s a first.”
I bite down, trying to restrain the burning impulse to snap back. This woman is determined to misinterpret everything about me.
“I forgot you were coming and I’m running late.”
“Well, good thing I’m not here to see you then.”
My jaw clenches.
“That’s a relief,” I mutter, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
Sasha sends me a dirty look as she wipes her boots on the doormat and steps inside. Her hair is piled up in some kind of chaotic curly bun, a few copper spirals grazing her cheeks, and her mouth is a glossy pink distraction I don’t need.
She’s wearing those tight jeans again too, faded denim with a tear in one knee, and a black jumper with a retro-looking rainbow rocket printed across her tits.
Definitely more than a handful there.
“I’ll, uh, just let Gran know you’re?—”
“Sasha!” Gran greets from the kitchen doorway. “How lovely to see you.”
“Here,” I finish needlessly.
Sasha’s smile seems forced, uncertain. “I hope it’s still okay I stopped by?”
“Of course! We were expecting you.”
We?
That’s a stretch.
Gran must sense the frosty atmosphere as she glances between us, the silencing lingering a beat too long. “Sorry. Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” we both snap at once, glancing at each other in surprise and looking away just as quickly.
“Right.” Gran’s unconvinced but she powers on anyway. “Shall we?”
Linking their arms, she guides Sasha deeper inside the main entryway. It’s the focal point of the house with its wood-panelled walls, open ceilings and sweeping staircase. There’s a fireplace too, stacked with chopped wood we never use.
“So how do we do this?” she asks.
“It’s like last time,” Sasha explains. “Tell me your budget and exactly what you want, and I’ll do everything to make it happen. Is there a theme? Any colour preferences? How many trees and garlands do you need, and do you want real or artificial? Once I know all that, I can get started.”
“Hmm. There’s no budget, but I’d like to keep things more traditional this time, in keeping with the manor.”
Sasha peers around, nodding. “Maybe a vintage aesthetic with reds, golds and greens?”
“Sounds lovely.”
“Lots of garlands, white lights, red velvet bows and poinsettias?”
“Yes, that’s right up my street. What do you think, Sebastian?”
“I don’t care either way.”
Sasha scoffs and she’s not even discreet about it.
“Something to say, Miss Smith?”
“I think we can drop the formality, don’t you? I mean, your hands have been on my ass.”
Gran lights up. “They have?”
“Not like that,” I bark. “It was a ladder incident. All perfectly above board.”
“More like below board, am I right?” Sasha jokes.
“Was that supposed to be funny because I forgot to laugh.”
“Shocker.”
I glare at her across the room, unable to hide the thunder from my expression.
“I was only thinking you seemed to care an awful lot about the decorations last time I did this,” she adds. “Almost too much.”
“That was last time. Things change. I’m actually too busy to deal with this today.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she says, throwing my earlier words right back at me.
It feels very much like she got the last word, and I don’t like it one bit.
“You know what,” Gran says then. “Ignore Sebastian, dearest. He’s in a mood today.”
“When isn’t he?”
I bristle at that, turn on my heel and storm off outside.
Later that night, a massive bonfire stacked high with wood crates crackles in the field, the orange flames stretching to the stars. Kids run around writing their name in the smoky night with sparklers, and the sky above Walmsley Manor lights up with starbursts of colour and sparks.
Charlotte bounces slightly where she’s leaning back against my chest and huddled for warmth inside my coat. Every now and then she rolls her head back to check I’m having fun, oohing along with the rest of the crowd.
Her smile is why I do this.
It’s why I do anything.
I glance around, searching for the other woman in my life, and spot Sasha almost immediately. She’s wrapped up much warmer than earlier, and talking to my Gran, keeping her company as she sits alone in her wheelchair where she insisted I leave her earlier.
I watch them for a while, smiling at each other in joy as the fireworks rain down bigger and bigger every time. Gran grips Sasha’s hand too, clutching tighter with every loud bang, and I realise the answer to everything is staring me right in the face.