Chapter 30
THIRTY
Over breakfast a few days later, feeling ready for the conversation, she finally did it. Before she could talk herself out of it, she sent the message to Jago. Simple. A time, a place. Tomorrow – she hoped – her future would be clearer.
Feeling suddenly freer for just doing this, with her hair full of straw, wearing elasticated shorts with a splodge of mud down her baggy white smock top, Rita walked back down from the goat pen, egg basket in hand. She stopped to talk to Teo, who was busy working.
‘I’m sure I see your Thomas in his Porsche on the coast road earlier?’ Teo quizzed as he continued to paint the door to the Nook store duck egg blue. Rita had decided that everything outside of the barn should also be freshly painted white with a hint of blue.
‘He’s been down twice already recently, so I very much doubt it. Sennen is due tomorrow, though, to discuss final wedding plans.’
Teo lifted his paintbrush. ‘This is a continental colour, Rita. I feel very at home. Muy bueno!’ Teo’s voice trailed off. ‘Talking of continental…’ A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘… ah, here comes your very own gigolo.’
Rita’s eyes flicked to the courtyard just as Jago pulled up in his Defender, gravel crunching under the tyres as he eased it to a stop.
He stepped out, looking catch-your-breath sexy, in cargo pants and a blue linen shirt, the kind of effortless cool that made Rita realise why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.
But there was something else, too, a flicker of apprehension in the way he paused, one foot on the gravel, as if crossing the courtyard might summon a disaster.
Rita didn’t move, letting the tension coil between them like a spring.
Teo, clearly satisfied with his handiwork, wandered off with a small chuckle.
She then remembered what a fright she looked: hair messy, shorts on, legs unshaved for a month. A bit like the first time he’d turned up announced and she’d found him attractive, she reminded herself. A reminder that life rarely did as it was told!
She met him by the front door.
‘I got your message and I thought… why wait.’ He smiled hesitantly.
Rita tilted her head, a wry smirk playing on her lips. ‘You’d better come in, then.’
She ushered him through the open door.
‘Sorry I didn’t warn you.’
‘It’s fine; I hear the scarecrow look is very in at the moment.’ Rita pulled a couple of bits of straw out of her hair.
He stepped into the kitchen, glancing around. It was a bit awkward; he sat down at the kitchen table and started fiddling with a stray napkin. ‘I believe you about kissing the builder.’
‘That statement doesn’t even warrant a reply.’ Rita sat down opposite and shifted in her seat with a little groan.
‘Are you all right, Rita?’
‘Just a bit knackered, that’s all. I want to make sure everything perfect for Sennen’s wedding.’
‘You’re a great mum, you know.’
Rita thought she might be sick in her mouth, but this wasn’t the time, not yet, not until she knew what was going on.
‘How’s it all going your end?’ Rita was curt, not really wanting to know but also wanting to know everything.
‘She’s still in Polheron but has found a place to rent back in Surrey. I’m getting the money together for the end of the month. She wants it all in cash, so Donal isn’t able to get hold of it. I cannot believe a man can treat a woman in this way.’
‘Oh,’ was all Rita could be bothered to reply, but nonetheless felt relieved that it wouldn’t be long before the French tart would no longer be circling the bay.
‘She’s given me a choice,’ Jago said, folding his arms defensively. ‘If I want to see Amélie, I can only see her if Elodie is with her and only in Surrey, or not at all.’ Jago ran a hand through his hair.
Rita shook her head in disbelief. ‘How very fair of her.’
‘The maintenance she’s demanding is high, too.’
Rita fought to stay calm, her voice level. ‘Jago, as much as I care for you, none of this is my problem. I don’t have to fix everything. And I don’t want to hear about all the intricacies of this sorry affair.’
‘But it is your problem if we are going to work things out between us. Amélie is my daughter, Rita. And will be in my life forever from now on.’
‘And with her comes an unreasonable sociopath, who appears to have a purse with a knack of emptying itself.’
‘I know, I know. She’s left me in an impossible situation. It’s a good eight-to-ten-hour round trip to Surrey, traffic dependent and I can’t keep leaving the animals to go there. It wouldn’t be fair on Stan.’
‘Wake up and smell the coffee, Jago. What if Amélie isn’t yours? She could be playing you. In fact, I think she is.’
Jago ran his hands through his hair. ‘And short of asking for a DNA test what am I supposed to do, Rita? Tell me.’
Rita didn’t let her strength wane. ‘OK. I appreciate this is difficult, but if this is the route you are choosing to take, then you have to work this through yourself. I am never going to be Amélie’s mum or even pretend to be.
’ Jago bit his lip anxiously. ‘I would never stop you seeing her, obviously,’ Rita huffed.
‘But if were you I would want proof before I changed my life and that poor little girl’s too.
And I do need some kind of boundary here with Elodie.
’ Even saying her name felt like poison in Rita’s mouth.
Jago swallowed, looking at her like she’d already built an invisible wall between them.
Rita softened. ‘Come to me on June the fourth as planned, with a sensible solution, that’s all. It would be the best birthday present you could give me,’ she added firmly.
Jago nodded, a little defeated, and turned to leave. Rita walked him to the door.
‘Think of that poor little girl.’ She rested a hand on his arm for a brief second. ‘Minutes ago, she was calling someone else daddy. She’s young, she’s confused, and she needs both of you to find your way without dragging her into it. Love her enough to do that, Jago.’
He swallowed, looking down. ‘We… we haven’t told her yet,’ he admitted.
Rita raised an eyebrow. ‘No?’
‘Not yet,’ he said quickly. ‘Elodie wants to get everything sorted, financially, properly, you know… before I… before we tell her.’
Rita gave a small, tight smile. ‘I bet she does.’
Jago looked like a little lost boy himself. ‘Can I hug you?’
She lifted his hand and kissed it sensually. Every inch of her body ached to pull him close, to let the warmth and tension spill over, but she couldn’t.
‘Not yet,’ she whispered, looking up at him. ‘… but soon, perhaps. You just have to promise me you’ll be careful with her, and with yourself.’
He swallowed, nodding, a flicker of relief passing over his face.
‘And Jago… don’t forget.’ Her voice was soft but certain. ‘I am on your side. Always.’
As she waved him off with a heavy sigh, she noticed Hilda beckoning from the annexe window, two fingers crooking impatiently. Thinking she could do without a lecture, right now, Rita headed inside to find her mother-in-law lying back on her reclinable chair, covered in a thick blanket.
‘Hilda! You look awful; why didn’t you call me?’
‘It’s nothing. Just a pesky chest infection.’ She cleared her throat noisily. ‘Haven’t been to see Dr Elliot for years but I’ve had to agree on some antibiotics for this beast.’
‘Oh, Hilda…’
‘Eric insisted I stay at home; so much for being pushed around in a diamond-encrusted wheelchair by a handsome toyboy in my dotage.’ She sniffed.
‘Said he doesn’t want an invalid under his feet.
Bloody men! I’d rather be in my own home when I’m feeling like this anyway, to be honest.’ Hilda then launched into a coughing fit so violent Rita half expected the windows to rattle.
When it finally subsided, the old lady waved a dismissive hand.
‘It’s not the coughin’ that carries you off,’ she rasped.
‘It’s the coffin they carry you off in.’
Rita burst out laughing despite herself. ‘What are you like?’
‘Practical, that’s what I’m like,’ Hilda croaked.
‘I’ve planned my own funeral down to the last earth throw.
Every single detail. It’s all written out and tucked in my bedside drawer.
Saves time for everyone later. The amount I’ve been to, I’m not having anyone, and I mean anyone saying one terrible thing about Hilda Jory’s send-off. ’
Rita felt a rush of fear. ‘Are you really that ill?’
‘I want lilies, just white lilies,’ Hilda continued. ‘And everyone in black, none of this pastel nonsense. Tea afterwards, proper tea, not that herbal rubbish you drink. And I want to be buried in the rose bed in the courtyard.’
Rita stared. ‘Buried? What? Where? Here at the farm?’
‘Yes, dear. With my head sticking out,’ Hilda clarified, before Rita could interrupt. ‘So I don’t miss anything. You know what a nosy bugger I am.’ Hilda managed a wry smile.
‘And the music?’ Rita asked cautiously.
Hilda smirked. ‘Ah yes, something no one would ever expect. On the way in, “I Will Survive”, Rita. Full volume. And if everyone is not wailing before the coffin is set down on the stand, poke some of them, will you?’
‘And on the way out?’ Rita was now fully invested with the theatrics of it all.
‘“Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien”, of course,’ Hilda said, eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘I met édith Piaf in Paris back in 1960, just after she recorded it. If that doesn’t cause a further state of maudlin and maybe faint amusement as everyone files out, I don’t know what will.’
Rita had no idea if her sick mother-in-law was joking about all this or not. Hilda dissolved into another hacking cough, clutching the side of the chair for support. Rita passed her a glass of water.
‘I’m really worried about you, Hilda. Do you want anything to eat?’
‘God no. I’m not even fancying a ciggie, so I know I must be bad. If you could just fill me a jug of water, put it in my bedroom with a clean glass, I’ll take myself in there soon and hopefully nod off.’
Rita did that right away, came back into the open-plan lounge and neatened Hilda’s blanket. ‘I will keep my phone on and if you need me, you must call, OK? Can’t be having you dying on me. I’d miss you too much.’
‘You’ll have me dying of bollocking shock if you carry on like that, you softie.’ Hilda blew her nose loudly.
Rita smirked. Hilda then looked her daughter-in-law up and down, ‘Which reminds me, since we’re having such a frank conversation… are you pregnant, Rita?’
Rita froze.
At that exact moment, the annexe door flew open.
‘Mum? Granny?’ Sennen’s voice rang out cheerfully.
‘I’m coming, darling.’ Rita seized her chance of escape and headed for the door at top speed to usher her daughter away.
With narrowing eyes, Hilda watched her leave.