Chapter 9 #2
He points to his face and his mouth pings up into a smile so bright and so sarcastic that I’m surprised there wasn’t an audible ding, and I can’t help grinning.
He turns serious again. ‘Let me get this straight. They sacrificed their chances of gossip about you… to see what they could squeeze out of you about me? They’re going rogue.’
‘I think they thought they were skilled enough at gossip-mongering to do both. Kill two birds with one slice of Victoria sponge cake, so to speak.’
He laughs, and I like being able to make him laugh.
I like the feeling of being listened to and feeling like I’m worth listening to.
The more time I spend here, the more I realise it was something sorely missing from my life.
It’s such a simple thing, but it makes me feel like I still have something to offer, like my ideas and thoughts and dreams aren’t as silly as I’ve felt they were until now.
‘And to think, I was so glad you’d arrived because I thought it would take the heat off me.
’ He takes another bite of curd tart and then says, ‘Let me guess, you were physically hauled out of the shop and dragged across the green to the ex-tearoom, where Wilma tried to intimidate you with her “terrifying headmistress” glare and when you tried to politely refuse tea and cake, Madge was one step away from physically poking it down your throat?’
I can’t help the snort that escapes. ‘Were you following me or something?’
‘It’s a common occurrence for all outsiders, and a rite of passage for all newcomers.’ He laughs again. ‘So, which tactic did they take? Asking if you knew anything or telling you what they think they know and hoping you’d confirm or deny?’
‘A fair bit of both, I think… Put it this way, your boss isn’t Jake Gyllenhaal, is he? Only Madge wants to sculpt him naked, so pass that on if he is. He deserves the advanced warning.’
Reece laughs. ‘Yeah, Madge asked me once too. I politely declined.’
I regret the gulp of tea I’d just taken when I choke on it. ‘And to think, there could’ve been a naked statue of you gracing the village roundabout.’
‘A regret I’ll have to live with every day, I assure you.’
I smile at his sarcasm, but something still niggles at me about all of this. He seems like he’s being open, but he hasn’t given anything away. For all I know, maybe his boss is Jake Gyllenhaal.
‘So… are you working for some huge Hollywood star or banker-type millionaire who wants to use this place as a second home? And why is it that in this village where everyone knows everything about everyone else’s business, the one thing none of them know is exactly what you’re doing up here?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m not doing anything. My boss bought the pub to turn it into a family home.
He intended to move here, but his plans went awry, and doing it up has been a bigger and more costly job than he’d planned on.
I’m not being secretive, there just isn’t anything more to tell.
And client confidentiality too, of course.
It’s not my place to discuss my employer’s private business with the locals.
’ His fingers fiddle with the handle of his mug, and there’s something about his suddenly awkward demeanour that doesn’t ring true.
‘They seem upset about losing the pub. I was told stories of their legendary quiz nights. Apparently it got so competitive that Madge still has a scar…’
He looks at me for a few moments, as if weighing up how much he trusts me, and then sighs.
‘There was a minor issue when Mrs Patchett first sold it. To avoid bad feeling in the village, she told everyone the new owner would continue to run it as a pub, but that was untrue. That option was never on the table. My boss never agreed to any such thing, but now they’re convinced he’s backed out of this non-existent deal and is determined to ruin their village, but the truth is that he loves this place too and just wants what’s best for everybody without bankrupting himself completely.
’ He takes a breath and doesn’t look me in the eyes.
‘If you told people that, they might go easier on you. Less anti-Kingfisher-House banners.’
‘I know. I also have this teeny-tiny little vindictive streak where the more they push, the less I want to share with them. The village gossip has been a shock. The more they gossip, the more determined I become not to give them anything to gossip about.’
I can’t help laughing again because I relate, hard. ‘There is a normal person underneath that “sunshine and rainbows” outlook then?’
‘I’m not all sunshine and rainbows all the time.
’ He meets my gaze across the table with a grin, and I catch something in his expression, but before I can work out what it is, he rolls his eyes when I don’t smile back.
‘I just don’t like being sad. Life is a gift and so many people forget to remember that.
Everyone would be a lot happier if they appreciated what they have, rather than getting stuck on what they don’t have. ’
‘I like that,’ I admit, thinking it over.
I’m definitely guilty of letting life pass by with annoyance and frustration, and never taking a step back to appreciate the good things too, and he seems like someone who’s got the balance right.
Although I’m still not sold on his attitude to leg injuries and ceilings falling down as minor inconveniences, I like his upbeat approach to everything, even if it does feel like it’s disguising something.
His smile has got a way of making me smile too, and we only drop eye contact when he looks down for another bite of curd tart and a gulp of tea.
‘Why didn’t you tell me the car park was private property?’ I finally decide to tackle the other interesting information I learned in the village today.
‘Didn’t I?’ He takes an unconvincing interest in the bottom of his mug.
‘Reece! You thought you were safe camping there because the bloody place is off-limits! Why didn’t you say that? Did I miss a sign or something?’
‘It was taped off at one point, but it’s been tattered by dogwalkers over the months. I kept meaning to replace it, but…’ He shrugs again. ‘One of the many things I haven’t got around to.’
‘You made it sound like it was perfectly fine for me to stay here indefinitely.’
‘It is fine,’ he says with yet another shrug.
‘But that’s not your decision to make, is it? What if your boss finds out?’
‘He’s not going to come here, so he won’t find out, and even if he did find out, he wouldn’t care.
It’s not like you’re doing any harm, and I consider anyone who buys me a Yorkshire curd tart to be a friend, so you’re welcome to stay.
You have my permission and that’s good enough for my boss and any nosy neighbours who think it’s their business to ask. ’
‘And you won’t be in trouble for that?’
‘I won’t be in trouble for that,’ he confirms.
‘What if other people see my van and start using the car park?’
‘Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?’
‘No,’ I mutter, but I do. I know I do. But then again, he hasn’t stolen a campervan and done a cross-country runner in it and he probably doesn’t have the police on his tail. I would have a lot less to worry about in his position too.
‘Why would you do that? Why would you put yourself out like that for me?’
‘Honestly?’ He sounds like he wishes I’d drop this topic, but then he meets my eyes again and lets out a sigh.
‘Because I like you. You’ve been very kind to me, you’ve given me a good laugh, and if I’m really, truly honest, it’s been nice not to be completely isolated up here.
And you seem like someone who’s a little bit…
lost?’ He sounds hesitant, like he’s not sure if I’m going to take offence or not.
‘You struck me as someone who needed somewhere quiet to take time out and figure out what comes next, and I recognise that feeling, and there’s nowhere better to do it than this.
’ He reaches across the table and lets his fingers rub briefly over mine, and I get the feeling that he’s speaking from experience.
‘Stop overthinking it and don’t let the village gossip get to you.
You can stay here for as long as you need. ’
‘Thank you,’ I mumble, even though I’m surprised that he picked up on so much, and I’m so incredibly touched by his kindness and gentleness, and more than anything, I want to know more about his life and how he came to recognise those feelings.
I think again about what he said on the first night – about everyone here running away from something or being lost – and I want to ask him, but I get the impression that he’s answered enough questions for one afternoon, and I don’t want to push him any further.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ I finish the tart and take a final swig of my tea. ‘You’re obviously having construction problems and you don’t need to make that leg any worse.’
He grins that wide, daft grin again. ‘I’m fine. Bringing me baked goods is by far the best thing anyone can do for me, so thank you for that. The only thing you can do to help is not share any info you may gather about me with the locals. Let me continue having my fun, yeah?’
I nod and promise that I won’t, but I think of that banner again. It doesn’t seem like much fun to me.
I know there’s a lot more to Reece than meets the eye, and possibly a lot more to this whole situation than I understand, because there is definitely, definitely something he’s not telling me, and I get the impression it’s more than one thing.
‘I should let you get back to your ceiling repairs. Try not to bring down any more of the building, yeah?’ I stand up reluctantly, lingering again, and then I point to his leg. ‘And come down later so I can check on that.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ He stands too, probably unaware that he winces as soon as his foot touches the floor. I watch as he gingerly moves his leg around to get it working again after sitting for a while and then limps towards the kitchen door.
I’m about to follow him when I spot a roll of electrical tape leaning against a toolbox on the counter.
It’s black and almost the exact same width as the letters of a numberplate, and I instantly have an idea about modifying a letter or two, just in case the police are ‘running my plates’ or whatever it is that they do in action movies.
The van must’ve been reported stolen by now.
What if the numberplate is public knowledge and anyone walking past could spot it?
What if it has been on the news? What if there’s a campaign running online to find it, and the numberplate is being spread far and wide and any passing dogwalker could notice it?
It’s undoubtedly not legal, but it’s a way of making my bright green campervan slightly less identifiable, and that tape is exactly what I’d need to do it. Before Reece has a chance to look around, I dart back and shove it into my pocket.
It’s not really stealing, I tell myself.
I’ll put it back next time I’m up here, and with all of this stuff everywhere, he’ll never notice it’s gone.
I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all if I asked, but that would involve telling him why I want to borrow it, and that, I can never do.
He might be open-minded and laidback, but he’d never support this kind of illegal activity, and this mysterious boss of his would definitely have a field day if he knew there was a wanted criminal hiding out on his land.
‘See you later!’ I can’t get out quick enough now the tape is burning a hole in my pocket, and I’m convinced he’s going to feel it as I squeeze past him in the doorway, feeling like a shoplifter, and like an alarm is going to start blaring at any moment.
* * *
I spend the rest of the afternoon tidying up.
The campervan is in disarray, and I find some string and create a washing line between the van and a branch of the tree and open the binbags and hang my clothes outside to air.
I find my baking equipment, thankfully undamaged, and gather up the pieces of broken teapot that were still rolling around and put them all in a bowl, intending to take them across to the skip later.
I find my books, squashed up and bent out-of-shape with Jared’s packing job, but at least with books and baking equipment rescued, the campervan is feeling more homely.
I’m not sure what my next move is or how long I’m staying here for, but Reece is right, I need time and space to figure it out, and I’m never going to get that with the threat of being caught hanging over me.
I know exactly what to do with the roll of electrical tape, but I can’t be seen altering the numberplate, and I hadn’t realised how many dogwalkers come through here on the hike to Thimblenouth Force, and it’s late, past 6 p.m., when it seems quiet enough and I can’t see anyone coming in either direction on the footpath.
I do the front plate first. Jared’s numberplate is N612 WFE, and all I have to do is add one extra piece of black tape to create a false bottom arm and turn the F into an E and the numberplate shouldn’t be recognisable at first glance.
I cut and stick a millimetre at a time, being careful that there aren’t any air bubbles and that it’s perfectly straight, and when I stand up and step back, it looks okay.
Obvious if someone was going to scrutinise it up close, but maybe the decaying kiwi colour is a blessing in disguise, because passersby are far more likely to be blinded by that than they are to be studying my numberplate.
I check there’s no one about and go round to do the back plate too. I cut the tape and apply it carefully, creating the perfect extra E. Alright, my numberplate now reads WEE, but it was the only option that could be changed easily. I push myself up off my knees and crouch to double-check it.
‘Looks good. You could never tell from a distance.’
‘Tha— Aaaaah!’ I go to thank him, but the word turns into a scream when I realise there’s someone there to thank.
I spin around on my haunches and overbalance, landing on my bum on the gravel, and look up to see Reece standing behind me with his head tilted to one side, admiring my handiwork. ‘I knew there was more to this story than meets the eye.’