Chapter 18
Jack jogged through the little gate at the other end of the park and slowed as he neared the bandstand. A couple of youngsters had already gathered there, and a vague whiff of cigarette smoke wafted up his nose as he went past. More fag ends for him to clean up in the morning, he thought. And he also caught a glimpse of a can being passed around and guessed it would be dumped on the grass by the end of the evening.
He slowed to a walk to give Jet a chance to cool down before they reached the cottage. The dog was panting heavily but he still had a bounce in his step, so Jack wasn’t unduly concerned. The pooch had coped well with the extra distance and was padding nicely by his side.
Jack put a hand on the silky head. ‘You’re a good boy,’ he murmured, surprised at how much he enjoyed the dog’s company on his run; it was like running alone, only better.
Jack’s breathing was quickly returning to normal and his pulse was slowing nicely he saw, as he examined the app on his watch, angling it so he could read it properly; but when he looked up from the screen his heart gave a nasty leap.
There was a woman standing outside the newly hung gates, staring at the cottage.
‘Chantelle,’ he growled, and Jet nudged his hand and whined.
She hadn’t seen him yet and Jack wanted to make sure she didn’t, so he slowly moved towards a large beech tree and sidled around it, keeping his eyes on her.
He knew it had been a mistake to give her his address, but what else could he have done? And he certainly hadn’t expected her to turn up a few hours later. He wondered how long he could stay outside: she must have seen his car, so she probably knew he wouldn’t be far away.
Hoping she hadn’t already knocked on the door, he leant up against the trunk, feeling the rough bark through his Lycra top, and rested his head against the tree.
‘Please go,’ he muttered, and Jet whined again.
Jack stayed in the same position for a few minutes before eventually risking a quick peep.
His relief when he saw Chantelle heading towards the main gate was immeasurable. He felt as though he had dodged a bullet. Hoping to goodness she hadn’t spoken to Molly, he waited until she was no longer in sight, then hurried towards the cottage.
‘Molly?’ he called, opening the door, Jet bounding ahead of him. The smell of frying onions and garlic was in the air.
‘I’m in the kitchen. Dinner will be half an hour,’ she called back, and he was pleased to hear she sounded normal. Maybe all Chantelle had done was come for a look-see? He hoped that was the case.
As he climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time, he heard Molly making a fuss of the dog and he smiled. However, the smile didn’t stay on his lips for long, as he grabbed his phone and fired off a quick message.
But after he sent it, he wished he hadn’t. He should have waited until he calmed down a little, but he was furious. How dare Chantelle come to his home.
However, when he thought about it logically, he realised that technically, she hadn’t. She had every right to be in the park, which was an extremely public place, so sending her a message telling her to butt out and leave him alone probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do. He wished he could take it back, but it was too late now.
Oh well, he reasoned, at least he had made his feelings clear. He’d pussy-footed around her for far too long, not wanting to hurt her feelings, and he had tried letting her down gently, but that hadn’t worked, so maybe this would.
Hastily Jack stripped off his running gear and jumped in the shower. He would no doubt need another later after wielding a paintbrush, but he didn’t want to sit opposite Molly at the dinner table when he was all hot and sweaty. He told himself he was simply being considerate, and ignored the little voice in his mind hinting it was because he wanted to look and smell his best.
‘Anything I can do?’ he asked, walking into the kitchen a short while later and sniffing the air appreciatively. He noticed his mobile on the counter next to Molly’s, and seeing the two phones sitting side by side gave him a warm, fuzzy glow.
‘You can lay the table,’ she suggested.
He got the knives and forks out of the cutlery drawer, sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he did so. Every time he looked at her, he saw something new – such as the freckle on her earlobe, for instance. Then his gaze was drawn to the pale skin beneath it, and he wondered whether it was as soft as it looked.
The urge to find out was almost overwhelming, and he might have done something stupid but for the sudden harsh tune blaring from his phone that dragged his thoughts away from nibbling her neck.
He dropped a knife on the floor with a loud clatter and bent to retrieve it before he reached for his phone, gritting his teeth when he saw Chantelle’s name and photo on the screen.
‘Excuse me – I have to take this,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
Jack hurried outside, knowing if he dropped the call or turned his phone off, he’d risk the possibility of Chantelle turning up at the cottage again.
‘Chantelle,’ he said sotto voce, as he stepped into the garden. ‘What are you playing at?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. What were you doing in the park?’
‘I went for a walk.’
‘You never go for a walk.’ Chantelle wasn’t a “going for a walk” type of woman. Which was why he had been so taken aback when she had told him that she wanted to go running with him. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever expressed an interest in. Looking back, that had probably been when he’d realised she was being far too controlling for her own good. And for his.
He could almost hear her shrug over the phone. ‘Well, I did today,’ she countered. ‘It looks nice, your cottage. The garden is a mess, though.’
Jack stared at the back garden, which was even more overgrown than the front, and didn’t say anything.
‘Are you planning on staying there long?’ she tried again.
‘No idea.’
‘Look, Jack, I was curious, OK? There was no need to send me such a snotty message.’
‘Sorry, but I thought that after the conversation we had when you came to mine the other day, you would have…’ He was going to say “got the hint”, but he thought it sounded a bit harsh.
‘Did you enjoy your wine?’
‘I haven’t opened it yet.’ He had given the bottle to one of his neighbours. He wouldn’t have felt right drinking it himself.
‘You could save it for your moving-in party,’ she suggested.
He took a deep breath and blew out his cheeks. ‘I’m not having a moving-in party.’ He changed the subject. ‘Have you moved into your new place yet?’
‘Er… no, not yet.’
Jack shook his head. He didn’t for one minute think she had another place lined up – or another boyfriend, despite what she’d told him.
‘Jack! Dinner is ready!’ Molly’s voice carried from the kitchen, and he saw that the window was open.
‘Who was that?’ Chantelle’s voice was sharp.
‘No one.’
‘You’ve got someone else!’ she accused. ‘No wonder you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Moved in with her, have you?’
‘Chantelle, you’ve got it all wrong. Molly is my landlord.’
‘Huh! You must think I’m stupid.’ Her voice was a snarl.
‘I don’t—’
‘I hope she makes you happy,’ she spat, her tone suggesting she hoped the exact opposite. ‘Scumbag!’
Jack was about to explain the situation to her, when he realised he was holding a dead phone.
‘Jack! Dinner!’
‘Coming.’ Sadly, he slipped his phone into a pocket and went inside. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Chantelle and it wasn’t his fault her jealously had made her jump to the wrong conclusion, but he still felt bad. He wished she didn’t love him as much as she did, and he hoped she would one day find someone worthy of her love, but unfortunately that someone wasn’t him.
‘Everything OK?’ Molly was staring at him in concern.
He didn’t want to go into detail, but he had to say something. ‘That was my ex. We broke up a few months ago. It hasn’t been easy.’ He grimaced.
‘There’s no need to explain,’ Molly said. ‘Shall we eat?’
‘I think we’d better.’ The table now held two plates of food. ‘It looks lovely.’
It really did, but Jack had lost his appetite. And from the way Molly pushed her meal around her plate, she didn’t appear to be hungry, either.
***
What had that been about, Molly wondered as she picked at her food. Jack hadn’t looked happy when he came in from the garden and he continued to look miserable as he prodded at his meal.
Considering he had left his phone sitting next to hers, she hadn’t been able to help see the name of the caller flash up on the screen, and she couldn’t have failed to notice the accompanying photo.
Chantelle was gorgeous, Molly thought. Long, blond hair, classically pretty features, perfect makeup… No wonder Jack was sad they were no longer a couple. Molly bet they would have looked good together.
Who had broken up with whom, she wondered?
From the woebegone expression on his face, Molly guessed that Jack was the dumpee and his ex had been the dumper. As he had said, he hadn’t found it easy, and her heart went out to him. She’d never been in love so she had no idea what he must be going through, but she could imagine, and she wished she could do something to make him feel better.
No wonder he had been so reluctant to put his house on the market: he must have been hoping for a reconciliation.
Molly wished she knew what the conversation had been about, but he had clearly said all he was prepared to say and she didn’t want to pry.
Not only was her heart bleeding for him, it was also bleeding for herself. She didn’t stand a chance with him, not after seeing what he was missing. Molly couldn’t compete with the likes of Chantelle: she was nowhere near as pretty and she definitely wasn’t as polished. Look at her – scraped back hair bundled on top of her head, paint-splattered T-shirt, mucky ripped jeans (properly ripped by a rusty nail, and not artfully ripped in the factory before they even reached the shop). Molly was under no illusion that she looked a mess. She was also under no illusion that Jack would ever be interested in her romantically. And especially not when he was pining over someone as gorgeous as Chantelle.
As they cleared away the dinner things and got started on the decorating, Molly’s thoughts kept returning to the phone call, and she wondered why Chantelle had phoned. It was probably something to do with the sale of the house, but Jack hadn’t mentioned anyone else had a stake in it. Maybe Molly should have asked, because if Chantelle was a co-owner, in order for a sale to go through all owners had to sign the paperwork. Then again, that was something for the solicitors to sort out, not her.
Whatever the reason, Jack and Chantelle had unfinished business, and despondency swept through her.
Molly grew even more morose as she thought about what would happen when the sale of his house went through. It wouldn’t be long before he had an offer on it, and there had been some interest, the property already having had a couple of viewings – although she hadn’t told Jack about them yet. There wasn’t any point until someone made an offer, or unless the prospective buyers all had the same negative comments to make, in which case she would be obliged to share them with him. So far, the three prospective buyers who had been shown around the house had been complimentary, and she was quietly hopeful one of the viewings would result in a second.
Actually, she wasn’t hopeful at all. She was dreading it. If his house sold as quickly as she suspected it would, Jack might move out sooner rather than later. Even in this short amount of time, she had got used to him and would hate to see him go.
The thought of Jack not living in the cottage made her incredibly sad.