Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
By four p.m., just as dear Stan had predicted, a proper storm had hit the bay.
It was so dark it could have passed for night already.
Inclement weather along the journey had caused various delays to Poppy’s train from London, and now, with rain lashing the windscreen and trees bending along the drive, Rita felt a flicker of relief when she finally saw Thom pulling into the courtyard.
Not wanting to appear too eager to greet her son’s new love, she stayed put in the kitchen, watching discreetly from a window where she knew she wouldn’t be spotted, even with the light on.
Thom ran round to the passenger side with an umbrella, opened the door, and out stepped Poppy. No raincoat. All legs, lashes, and a tiny, quilted handbag. She teetered on stilettos so thin they could probably skewer worms.
‘Oh my gawd,’ Poppy shrieked over the gale. ‘My hair is literally crying. And do you know how long I’ve been on that pissing train? I knew this was a bad idea.’
Thom’s tight grimace told Rita everything. Rita, however, decided she would rather he be with absolutely anyone than even show the slightest attraction to Elodie Jenken, née Blunt, as Betty had alluded.
‘Go to the porch. I’ll grab your case,’ Rita heard him shout over the weather.
Just as she was about to move from her hiding place, her phone buzzed. She glanced down and gasped at a message from Teo.
Be muy careful, Rita. But you come right now to the barn, sí, sí?
Rita frowned, wondering what was going on.
She opened the front door to the elements.
‘Hi, Poppy. Amazing to meet you, but I’m needed elsewhere.
Thom, darling, the kettle’s just boiled and there’s fruitcake in the tin.
’ Dragging on her wellies, she grabbed her raincoat from the porch and pulled the hood up high.
‘Oh, I only do sugar on a Sunday,’ Poppy said, waving a manicured hand. ‘But thank you anyway.’
Rita, mentally noting that she probably only ever skipped sugar on February the twenty-ninth, was already halfway across the courtyard, the wind whipping at her back.
By the time she reached the barn, the storm had turned feral.
Once inside, Rita saw that everyone was already gathered, Teo and Zenya having decided the guests would be much better off inside the barn than out in a yurt, with the wind whipping around them at who-knows-how-many miles an hour.
Odette stood rigid, gazing upwards to check no beams might fall. Davie paced, muttering about insurance and liability. Imogen was busy writing notes on her phone, while Priya stood calmly, eyes scanning the roof and walls, taking everything in.
Cass had already taken the lead with Teo and Zenya, directing them to haul benches away from the walls, asking where the ladder was and whether they had anything to fix a leak, should one appear.
The wind howled with intent. Dust lifted from the floor. The lights flickered. Then came the thunder. Not a rumble, but a colossal crack that split the air clean in two.
Rita looked at Teo and Zenya with a face that said, Holy shit. Maybe they could all make a dash across to the farmhouse… but even that might be too dangerous. Above everything, her guests’ safety was paramount.
Odette gasped. Imogen shrieked. And then the rain forced its way in. Water started to flow through the roof in sudden, angry rivulets.
The doors burst open and Thom and Sennen ran in, soaked through, hair plastered to their faces.
‘What can we do?’ they shouted in unison.
‘I’ll fix it,’ Cass said calmly, already heading back outside with a ladder.
‘I’m coming with you.’ Thom followed.
‘Oh no. No, no, no,’ Davie said, hands flying to his head. ‘We are all going to die.’
‘No, we’re not,’ Rita soothed. This barn’s been here longer than Hilda and seen far worse storms than this.’
Another deafening clap of thunder shook the barn and a fresh stream of water cascaded down near the far wall.
‘Buckets,’ Zenya snapped, already grabbing one. Teo was beside her in seconds. Priya rolled her sleeves up and followed without hesitation.
Zenya puffed. ‘I love extreme weather. Makes me feel so alive!’
Priya’s eyes twinkled. ‘Alive, or terrified?’
‘OK, sometimes a bit of both.’
Zenya glanced at Priya and gave a small, almost shy smile, then quickly looked away.
Priya caught the glance and raised an eyebrow, amused. ‘Don’t tell me you’re enjoying being in this storm as much as I am.’
Zenya reddened and laughed a little breathlessly. ‘Maybe I am.’
Rita raised her voice and lifted her arm. ‘Retreat guests, follow me. It’ll be safer in the Nook.’
Davie, Imogen and Odette didn’t hesitate. Trusting her completely, they spilled out into the storm.
Cass appeared back in the barn after what seemed like an age, rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead, T-shirt clinging to his immaculately toned chest like it had been painted on.
Thom was close behind, looking like a drowned rat.
Cass took in the buckets and the general mayhem, then grinned as if this were all mildly entertaining…
because aside from the odd stray drip, the leak had stopped.
‘Told you I’d fix it, didn’t I?’ he said, flashing a wink at Sennen, then going to her side. ‘You must be Rita’s daughter.’
‘How did you guess?’ Sennen said, unable to stop staring at his pecs.
‘Cos you’re fit. Just like your mum.’
Sennen blinked. ‘I… sorry… what?’
But Cass was already moving again, grabbing a broom to clear the debris the water had brought in with it. Thom, Zenya, and Priya dutifully followed suit.
Realising they could be settled in here for hours, Rita slouched in one of the beanbags in the Nook, watching the rain hammer down outside. Thunder continued to roll around like a growling bear.
‘When is that wedding again?’ Imogen asked, making herself a coffee from the machine. ‘It’ll take a lot to clear that mess up.’ She gestured vaguely at the barn. ‘And I guess as you’re not that experienced, you can’t cut any corners… needs to be perfect for the bride’s big day.’
As if matching Rita’s wrath, a flash of lightning streaked through the window, and then another huge clap of thunder rolled overhead.
She took a slow breath and replied sweetly, ‘Sennen is incredibly good at her job. I’m just providing the facilities.
The bride is older, too, so hopefully not as pretentious as some she’s had to deal with. ’
‘Ooh, tell me about the difficult ones.’ Imogen looked gleeful.
‘You’ll have to ask Sen,’ Rita said dismissively, causing Imogen to sit back down at a crafting table and check her weather app.
Davie joined Rita in the beanbag area with a hot chocolate and a large pack of Haribo.
‘My mum used to make me and my sister hide in the understairs cupboard whenever there was a storm. Hence me being such a baby at the first sniff of lightning. Bless her… she was a right worrier when we were little.’
Rita tilted her head. ‘She’s not around anymore then… your mum, I mean?’
Davie gave a soft huff. ‘Oh, very much so. Mum and Dad are like love’s young dream still. Proper hand-holding-in-Tesco types.’
Rita smiled. ‘That’s lovely.’
Davie shrugged, his fingers grazing the sweets.
‘They’ve always loved me. Both of us. Me and my brother, that is.
Properly loved us.’ He paused. ‘But being gay… school was far from easy. I got good at performing. Being the funny one. The loud one. The extra one.’ He glanced up at her.
‘TV just felt like a bigger stage. And I do love it. The buzz. The attention. But…’ He swallowed.
‘They don’t see the real me. Just a caricature.
A version that’s louder, camper, shinier.
And I’m not sure I want to be that anymore.
’ Rita listened intently. ‘The trolling doesn’t help either,’ he added lightly, though his eyes said otherwise.
‘It’s taken my sleep, my peace… some days I don’t even recognise myself. ’
Rita’s brow lifted slightly. ‘You’re twenty-six, aren’t you, Davie? You still have time to be whoever you want to be.’
He nodded, staring at the sweets as if they might offer answers. ‘Sweets, cakes…’ He gave a small shrug. ‘Drugs. Drink. I’ve tried filling the void with whatever’s nearest. But the drugs really don’t work, do they?’
Rita shook her head, steady and certain. ‘No, Davie. They don’t.’
The young man then suddenly leaped up and declared, ‘Shit! I need the loo; must be the fear or all this sorbitol!’
As he ran off, Odette hovered with a huge over-the-top sigh.
‘This could be a plot for a book. The protagonist is locked in an old outhouse, with only a vending machine for food and a load of strangers for company, whilst her canvas home for the week is being blown off the side of a cliff. Ooh, I almost feel like writing that down!’ She drifted off and picked up a magazine from one of the tables.
Then Rita’s phone buzzed. A text from Jago:
Just checking you’re all ok over there? Stan was on his way but got stuck behind a fallen tree. The cows are going crazy over here x
She put a hand to her heart. Of course she wasn’t OK. She hovered over the reply button, unsure if she should answer. Thoughts of the goats and the chickens hit her. ‘Shit,’ she muttered, yanking her coat on.
‘What’s up?’ Davie asked, walking back through and catching her in mid-motion.
‘I need to check on the animals…’
‘Your son’s here, isn’t he; can’t he sort them?’
Rita raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re right. I’ll message him. He can help me.’
‘Rita… he can do it on his own, or if you tell me what to do…’
‘I’m quite capable,’ she said, brushing him off.
‘But you look tired and it’s still blowing a hoolie out there.’
Her hand went to her head as her mind raced.
What was Jago doing? He clearly wasn’t stuck behind a tree.
Cosied up by the fire with Miss effing France?
she wondered. Sitting on the sofa where they had made love countless times?
She had asked him to tell her as soon as Miss France had gone.
But knowing Jago, he wouldn’t send her off in this weather.
How could someone be too kind, she thought.
It reminded her of Sennen once talking about a date of hers, saying, But, Mum, he was too nice.
Rita had replied, Men being too nice is the only time we ever say that.
We never say, ‘Ooh, that dinner was too nice,’ or ‘That perfume is too nice,’ or ‘That velvet coat in the window is too nice!’
But sometimes Jago was too nice, and it made her chest ache with frustration. And sometimes… too weak. Her blood practically boiled at the thought.
Lightning sliced across the sky again, matching the sharp twist of panic in her chest. Thunder cracked overhead. She drew in a slow breath, letting the storm roar through her senses.
She squared her shoulders, tightened her coat, and whispered, ‘Right. Let’s go.’ If she wasn’t good enough for Jago Jenken, it was his loss.