Chapter 17
17
Jeepers , Jess thought, taking in Owen’s surly expression as he waited for her response. He was as enamoured at the thought of having her stay over as she was about staying. She didn’t think she could face the long evening that stretched ahead alone with him and his moods. She didn’t want to have to make conversation with him now. What she needed was to be alone with her thoughts to process what she’d learned about Amy today.
Owen was right, though; the temperature had dropped, and the air was filled with that real autumnal chill that had begun setting in every afternoon once four o’clock rolled around. It was a taste of the winter yet to come. She thought of that blazing fire he had going inside the cottage and thanked him for the offer before reluctantly following him back inside. Spying Jemima a safe distance away under the rose bushes, she poked her tongue out at her before closing the front door firmly behind her, just as the pudgy white goose charged.
This was so not what she’d planned. She should be sitting on the bus: boobs-a-bouncing, evil-eyeballing Leery Len as he drove her back to Dublin. Yes, by rights, she should be well on her way home to her own cosy apartment with all the noises of city life wafting in thanks to the building’s crap soundproofing. She should be looking ahead to an evening spent slobbing around in her elephant suit as she dined on beans on toast with a big handful of grated cheese on top for dinner. After which she’d pour herself a nice milky cuppa and curl up on the settee to think about Amy and begin writing her story while the emotions were raw and fresh.
Oh well, there was nothing she could do about it, she thought with a sigh as she followed him through the lounge and out through a door she hadn’t ventured past since arriving.
Jess found herself in a hall with a huge skylight in the middle of it.
‘That’s my room,’ Owen stated, pointing to the first door that was ajar.
She paused to catch a glimpse inside what was a surprisingly big room. It was spacious and painted white with a big, overstuffed armchair by a picture window that looked out at the gardens to the side of the cottage. An ottoman sat at the foot of the chair. Though the light was fading, she could make out a book resting open on top of it, and Jess wondered what he was reading – A Guide to Rearing Healthy Pigs perhaps? A huge double bed dominated the room, neatly made up with a masculine chocolate duvet with cream piping around the edges.
The next room was a large bathroom, complete with a gorgeous claw-foot bath and a walk-in shower. The room next door was to be hers.
‘It’s always made up. I have friends who pop over from London regularly,’ he told her, opening the door.
Jess couldn’t imagine him having friends who ‘popped’ in, but there you go – as she’d discovered earlier, Owen Aherne was by no means a straightforward man.
This room, too, was large but had been made to feel warm and welcoming with a double bed made up with a plain white bedspread, a folded patchwork quilt at the bottom of it. At the end of the bed sat an old sea chest.
‘You’ll find towels and an extra blanket in there if you need it,’ Owen said, pointing to it. ‘There’s an unopened toothbrush in there, too.’
She hoped he wasn’t implying she had bad breath. ‘The room is lovely, thank you.’ She wondered whether this was Amy’s old room.
‘I knocked the wall out between what was mine and Amy’s old rooms and turned it into the master bedroom,’ he said as though he’d read her mind, and then, turning on his heel, he left her to it.
Ah, so this room had once upon a time been his parents’ , she thought, looking around it once more.
Jess tossed her bag down on the bed. She should text the girls and let them know what was happening; otherwise, the pair of them would put two and two together and come up with five.
She wrested her phone from her bag, perched on the end of the bed and tapped out a message explaining what had happened. After sending it off, she sat there for a moment, unwilling to go through to the kitchen and face the long evening that stretched ahead. What on earth would she find to talk about other than Amy. She sensed Owen, too, was exhausted from trawling his memories and would have liked nothing more than to wave her on her way so he could reflect on the day. Sighing, she got to her feet. She couldn’t hide away in here all night; besides which, she was getting peckish. It must be all that fresh country air.
Owen was in the kitchen, making up a baby’s bottle. ‘Would you mind taking this out to feed Wilbur? Mick said he’d be here in the next half hour and that was fifteen minutes ago.’
Jess took the bottle from him happily. She was glad of the escape hatch and more than happy to go and see her little baby again.
The cacophony from the stall next door settled down as the sow, and her demanding brood, grew used to her presence. They couldn’t see her, but they certainly sensed she was there.
She crouched down and stroked Wilbur. ‘Hello, little man,’ she whispered, picking him up, sure that the squeal he emitted, although weak, was one of delight.
As she settled down to feed him, her mind played over what Owen had told her that day. She was still trying to process the sadness of Amy’s story, and she didn’t want to make that the sole focus of her article. She wanted to paint the picture of a girl who’d laughed and made others laugh with her for the short time she was here. The article began to take shape in her mind as Wilbur drained the rest of the bottle and so, settling him back into his box, she stood up. It must be around five thirty, which would mean he’d be due another feed around seven thirty. She could handle that one – even the nine thirty at a push, but was grateful she wouldn’t be pulling an all-nighter thanks to the drip bottle. She really did take her hat off to all new mothers, she thought, making her way back to the cottage.
As she approached the front door, she could see a Hilux parked next to Owen’s Land Rover. The bonnet was up, and Owen stood next to it, talking to a roly-poly little man.
That must be Mick, she decided, registering the surprise on his face as he clocked her making her way toward them. Owen waved her over.
‘Mick, this is Jessica Baré – she’s a writer up from Dublin. She’s doing a piece on Amy for her paper. I was supposed to drop her back in the village to get the bus back to Dublin, but the old beast died on me.’
Mick nodded, and the knowing twinkle in his eye as he gave her the once-over reminded her of a beardless Santa Claus. ‘Pleased to meet you. Aye, she was a bright spark, Amy. Terrible thing. Terrible thing.’ He shook his head then and turned away to make himself busy under the bonnet.
‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. Owen, is there anything I can get underway in the kitchen for you?’
‘You could top and tail the beans, thanks. I’ve knocked up a smoked chicken pasta bake; it’s in the oven. We should be eating in half an hour or so, all right?’
Jess was impressed, a man who could cook, and Owen looked bemusedly at her for a moment before turning away to help Mick.
He probably got the sauce from a jar, she thought, going back inside and having a quick look around to see whether she could spy any evidence. There was an empty cream bottle and a block of parmesan on the bench, as well as half a bunch of fresh herbs. He’d made the sauce from scratch. It was her turn to look bemused as she picked up a knife and began doing as she’d been told to the beans. They were freshly picked and obviously home-grown. Just who was this guy – a distant relative of Gordon Ramsay? He certainly had the same cranky demeanour, but thankfully he didn’t use bad language, and he was definitely better-looking in her opinion.
She’d just finished the beans when she heard an engine revving outside. Owen appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, looking pleased with himself as he headed over to the sink to wash his hands.
‘All sorted then?’
‘Aye,’ he grunted, drying his hands off before opening the Aga’s door, sending out a waft of something delicious as he did so.
Jess’s tummy rumbled. ‘Shall I set the table?’
‘Aye. I’m heading off for a shower. Do you want one?’
Jess must have looked shocked because Owen’s face flushed a mottled red and he stammered, ‘I, uh, meant after me, of course. There’s time before dinner’s ready.’
It was quite fun seeing this normally reserved man flustered, she thought with a grin before answering. ‘Oh, right, yes, I suppose I probably should.’ She had spent the best part of her day wandering around a pig farm, after all, even if they were extremely clean animals.
Owen recovered himself and pointed to where she’d find the cutlery, plates and glasses before disappearing down the hall.
By the time she’d laid the table, he’d reappeared, heading straight over to the stovetop to put the beans on. ‘The bathroom’s all yours.’
He’d changed into a clean pair of jeans and a loose sweater. Without the thick corduroy pants and gumboots on, he looked a different man. He’d lost the farmer look, and for the first time she caught a glimpse of the man who’d been a successful lawyer in London. His hair was freshly washed, and he had that scrubbed look of someone who’d done a hard day’s work and earned a hot shower at the end of it. She caught a whiff of something citrusy but fresh and rather delish.
‘Er, thanks. I won’t be long,’ Jess said, feeling slightly awkward about her silent inventory as she made a hasty retreat through the door. She checked her phone on her way through to the bathroom to find, as expected, that there were two messages – both from the girls. She read Brianna’s first:
Take care sweetie behave yourself and phone me as soon as you get home xox PS: Harry’s in big trouble he used my Coco Chanel as toilet freshener
Jess smiled. Poor Harry – he would be in the poo! Grinning at her inadvertent pun, she opened Nora’s message next, which was, as usual, indecipherable at first glance:
Wht u doin on pg frm – wnt xtrme mntain bking 2day feckn scry – wld hve bn lkin fwd 2 xtreme actn of anthr knd 2nite but cnt wlk
Bloody hell, she’s getting worse , Jess thought, rereading it and slowly beginning to make sense of what she was saying: What are you doing on a pig farm – I went extreme mountain biking today with Ewan – would have been looking forward to extreme action of another kind tonight but can’t walk.
God – movie star or not, this Ewan Reid would be the end of Nora. What would be next – abseiling down the Empire State Building? She shook her head at the thought of Nora leaping off tall buildings before grabbing a towel out of the chest and heading off for her shower.