Chapter Eight #2
‘Up in the woods, a couple of weeks ago.’ She looked ready to punch him, her chin lifted with all the pugnacity of a boxer. ‘Told me I was fat. The dog too.’
A hot wave of shame washed over him but it didn’t stop his eyes doing that bugging out thing, which immediately he saw pissed her off even more. The woman sitting in front of him now looked nothing like the drowned rat slash bag lady he’d torn a strip off that day.
‘With that and the phone bedside manner, I’d say you copped the double whammy.’ She sat poker stiff, her mouth twisted in bitterness, but it was the veil of misery he could see in the hunched set of her shoulders and the weary distance in her eyes that held his attention.
‘Aw shit, I’m so sorry.’ He winced in self-deprecation.
‘I was bloody rude. If it makes you feel better, I felt bad about it afterwards. I’m not normally like that.
Honest. I’m a nice guy really. Would it be any justification if I told you I’d been up all night and had to put down a dog that morning? ’
Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it.
‘I shouldn’t have made the personal comment, although .
. . ’ He racked his brain trying to remember exactly what he had said.
He was pretty sure he hadn’t come out and said she was fat.
The dog, yes, but not her. ‘Look, the dog I had to put down was in agony. So overweight it had developed diabetes. I’d warned the owners so many times .
. . they didn’t listen. That dog didn’t need to suffer or be put down. ’
Her eyes started to soften. Fractionally.
‘I don’t normally lash out at complete strangers, I was just feeling sorry for myself and took it out on you. I’m sorry. Really.’
She eyed him carefully, her nose scrunching ever so slightly as if she were weighing him up with the precision of a set of scales.
Tension took hold of his shoulders, vicelike in its grip.
Why should it matter what she thought? It wasn’t as if she’d be alone in having a low opinion of him.
Since taking over Dad’s practice he seemed to have upset more pet owners than pleased them.
If it wasn’t for Bets keeping him going in the surgery, he’d have slung his hook weeks ago.
Dad was still pretending to be at death’s door but it was time to call his bluff.
He’d give it a couple more weeks and then he’d be out of here.
Start afresh elsewhere and no woman was ever going to derail him again.
From now on he was going to focus on his career.
For a minute it was tempting to slump, let the depression break in and have its way with him.
Sheer boredom was the only reason Ella had come tonight. That and the realisation that Bets would have just kept knocking at the door until she answered. She sighed and narrowed her gaze at Devon.
One of her worst faults was this grinding inability to let a grudge go.
Second only to the desire to go back to the seat of an argument and niggle at it like a tongue going back to a mouth ulcer over and over.
Seeing Devon tonight was like manna from heaven, it gave her the opportunity to let out all her internal shittiness.
Except he went and spoiled things by apologising and being human about being rude before.
She hated herself for the horrid small-minded meanness which seemed to have seeped into every corner of her soul.
She hadn’t always been like this. Seeing that bleakness in his eyes, the sudden blankness almost devoid of emotion, made something inside her pop like a balloon.
She knew the expression. She’d seen it in the mirror every day for the last few months.
Abject depression. Misery. Self-loathing.
The sight of it punched into her so hard it almost took her breath away.
Knowing the feelings so well she couldn’t not acknowledge it.
Funnily enough, touching his hand made her feel better.
His head shot up in surprise and they stared at each other.
Probably the same surprise echoed in her eyes.
Blind instinct. Wanting to dispel that darkness haunting his eyes made her want that human connection again for the first time in a long time.
When had she become so cold and brittle?
Remote and isolated from everyone? Stupid questions, because she knew the exact moment.
No wonder her mother was so worried about her.
Of course, now she’d done it, it felt a bit weird. She pulled her hand back hurriedly and they both looked away, pretending the brief moment hadn’t happened.
She swallowed. So maybe he wasn’t all bad. ‘I’m sorry too. A bit all over the place at the moment.’
‘I know that feeling. Shall we call a truce?’
She nodded as they exchanged wan half-hearted smiles. Not that they’d probably run into each other that often. Before either of them could say anything more Bets bounded into view.
‘Ella, Devon, this is Richard the vicar.’ The sandy-haired vicar beamed from behind round glasses as Bets completed the introductions. For some reason, Ella immediately sat up straighter. She’d never met a vicar before.
‘Richard the Vicar. Sounds rather noble, doesn’t it?
’ he said noticing her posture. ‘Bit like Richard the Third. Not, of course, that he was terribly noble. Quite the contrary. Rather ignoble. The princes in the tower and all that.’ He beamed again and Ella couldn’t help smiling back at him, not quite as happily.
She noticed Devon smile too. Maybe the vicar was a spiritual miracle worker – he’d already lightened the atmosphere.
In his checked shirt and sensibly styled jeans he reminded her of a rather beatific country singer, John Denver’s younger brother.
An image popped into her head. Startled, she sat wide-eyed for a moment. Then she grabbed her handbag.
‘Sorry, I digress. Nice to meet you both. I’m sincerely hoping that one of you knows one end of a dart from the other, metaphorically speaking. Because of course it’s quite obvious. The sharp pointy end . . . you know.’
He mimed throwing a dart as Ella finally managed to pull a pencil out of her bag.
A beer mat would have to do. With sudden energy, she peeled away the top layer of the beer mat, leaving the blank card beneath and rapidly sketched.
Excitement fizzed and popped in her system as an angelic-looking mouse complete with wings and a halo took shape.
With a breathless, ‘Oh’, she stared down.
Englebert. It was Englebert. She hadn’t been able to get a feel for his character for weeks.
He didn’t get much of a look-in. Always the quiet, serious one.
With the pencil she shaded his eyes and added a blissful smile to his little mouth.
‘Very nice to meet you, Ella. I hear you’ll be doing the flowers for the church one weekend.’
‘Yes? What?’ Aware again of her surroundings, Ella looked up, her brain now computing what the vicar had said.
‘That’s wonderful news. It’s always gratifying when people get involved in the community and doing the church flowers may seem like a small inconsequential thing but it’s all part of the bigger make-up of village life.
Magda’s very good at that sort of thing.
’ He paused and looked out of the window.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from her.’
Ella’s shook her head as her heart sank.
It was just as well she hadn’t heard from her godmother, she might have a few choice words to say to her.
Seriously, flower arranging? What had Magda been thinking?
And now she’d missed a perfect opportunity – she should have told him she was far too busy.
But you couldn’t lie to a vicar, could you?
‘And, how lovely, you’re an artist. I shall look forward to your floral creations.
It must be truly wonderful to have a talent like that.
Sadly, mine run to much more practical things.
Well, I say practical, but not in a plumbing or putting up shelves sort of way.
So probably not terribly practical at all. ’
Unsure of what to say to his stream of consciousness chatter, she nodded again, her eyes sliding to the quick sketch she’d done.
Devon peered down at the beer mat, took a sidelong look at Richard and then back at the picture, his mouth curving in sudden amusement.
When she looked up again, his eyes danced with mischievous delight.
For a second her breath caught. Was he going to rat on her?
It hadn’t been a deliberate caricature. He gave her a conspiratorial wink.
‘I’m sure you’re good at loads of things, Vicar,’ piped up Bets, quite unaware of the silent exchange. ‘I’m hoping for a bit of divine intervention. Or you could do a prayer or two.’
‘I tend to do that with regard to somewhat weightier matters.’
Bets gave a cheerful shrug. ‘Just a thought. Right, we’re playing 501 to zero. Devon, you can score. You’re better at maths than me.’
‘And I have a calculator on my phone.’ Devon held up his mobile.
‘Even better. Here they come. Alan, Fred, Bill and John. Welcome.’ Bets introduced everyone and the four men, who seemed to be a set of quadruplets in a general uniform of khaki chinos and chambray blue shirts, sat down with their pints at the table opposite.
Ella was amused by Bets’ assumption that she was likely to be the weakest link. She was down to play last after Devon and the vicar.
Neither Devon nor Richard had lied about their skill.
The vicar missed the dartboard completely with two of his throws and the third dart hit a three.
Devon was no better and managed to hit a ten and the part of the board outside of the numbers.
Alan, Fred and Bill threw their darts with quick efficiency.
One. Two. Three. Insouciant confidence radiated from them as they stepped up to the oche with self-assured strides instead of shuffling about on the line the way Devon and Richard had done.