Chapter 4
Four
The train station for Jasper’s village is so small that I have to move carriages as we draw into the platform because it’s too short to accommodate the entire train.
No one else gets off here; it’s just me and my case rattling along the empty platform towards the car park as the train departs.
As promised, Jasper is there waiting, leaning on the open door of his Land Rover Defender.
He brightens as I approach and his warm smile makes my eyes well up.
After facing a barrage of hate online, it’s nice to have someone look happy to see me.
‘Hey, Ash,’ he says, striding over, arms outstretched. ‘Come here.’
He pulls me in for a hug, holding me so tight, I can’t move.
Unlike Mum, Jasper is a hug kind of person.
He’s tall and broad, built like a rugby player but with the gentlest soul of anyone I’ve ever met.
He doesn’t have the deep-auburn hair I landed with, but his is strawberry blonde, the slightest hint of a redhead.
‘How was your journey?’ he asks, releasing me and picking up my case.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I say, trying not to wince as I watch my case of designer clothes and shoes – a perk of being in fashion is, obviously, the freebies that come your way, even if you’re a lowly assistant – being tossed haphazardly into the boot of his car, balancing on a pair of mud-caked wellies.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says, shutting the boot and gesturing to the front passenger seat. ‘Climb on in and let’s go.’
Sliding in next to him, I close the door behind me and put on my seatbelt, exhaling audibly as he turns on the engine.
He pulls out of the car park and straight onto a road lined by hedges that separate it from the fields stretching beyond.
We get to a crossroads and he indicates, turning his head to look down the road my side and stealing a glance at me.
‘You all right?’ he asks casually as we turn onto a road that is narrower than the one before and with a few more potholes.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Really?’ he checks.
‘Not really. But I am happy to be out of London.’
‘Mum told me what happened,’ he admits, his brow furrowing with anger as he keeps his eyes on the winding road ahead. ‘As in, she told me the truth compared to what the press is saying. It’s not fair what he’s done to you, Ash.’
‘No, it’s not,’ I mutter.
‘Here, you can forget all about that bastard,’ he says so passionately that I’m forced to look at him in surprise. ‘If he dares to contact you, I’ll let him know exactly what—’
‘He hasn’t got in touch,’ I quickly assure him. ‘I doubt he will.’
‘Good. He can fuck off,’ he spits.
I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. Jasper notices and frowns.
‘What?’ he says, confused.
‘I’ve never seen you so worked up before. It’s weird. Good weird. But weird.’
‘Yeah, well, it takes a lot to piss me off,’ he admits, ‘but Chris Courtney has gone above and beyond to make it happen. The conceit and entitlement. How does he think he can get away with it?’
‘Because he can,’ I answer simply.
Jasper’s jaw clenches and I turn to look out the window as we pass a field of grazing horses.
I smile at the sight, watching their long tails flick as they nibble away at the grass, their coats glossy in the sunshine.
I have a thing about horses. Mum says I was obsessed with them as a little kid.
It was strange, she says, because I didn’t grow up around horses. It didn’t matter; I loved them anyway.
When I was eight years old, our urban school ran a trial initiative for a year with a south London stables where students were offered group riding lessons.
It was a brilliant idea, a programme that was designed to introduce city kids to horses and stable life, building confidence, improving interaction with animals – but I didn’t care about any of that.
All I cared about was the fact that I was going to get the chance to be around horses.
At the time, we didn’t have much money and I remember going to the fancy stables and enviously watching the girls who rode there often, girls in expensive jodhpurs and tailored jackets with perfect hair and posture and the uncanny ability to let you know exactly what they think about you with a single look.
Their superior sneers are burned into my memory.
I was determined to be good at horse riding and I got the hang of it pretty quickly, finding myself naturally confident with a good balance in the saddle.
I was the best in the group and I remember the instructor saying that she thought I had real potential if I kept it up.
But the programme was cut after two terms. By then, I had a good foundation in riding and was jumping, already envisioning myself as a showjumper for Great Britain.
I was devastated. Mum promised me that she was going to get me horse-riding lessons as soon as we could afford them.
By the time she could, my obsession with horses had been forgotten.
By then, I’d grown up and accepted I was not an equestrian; I’d never be one of those posh pretty girls in the sculpted cream jodhpurs and leather riding boots. I haven’t been on a horse since.
Still, I love the sight of them.
‘It is beautiful here,’ I remark to Jasper.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never visited before. Any time I want to see you, I’ve had to trudge up to London.’
‘That’s because there’s things to actually do there,’ I tease.
‘Now you sound like Mum.’
‘She sends her love, by the way. She’s still annoyed about Christmas, though.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘She knows it’s a busy time at the pub.
We’re always fully booked around the Christmas period.
And as I said last year and the year before, you two could come to me.
You’d love it around here during the winter.
The pub is very cosy and the village lights are great. A real community atmosphere, you know?’
‘Mum couldn’t, not with her work. She barely got Christmas Day off. Basically, both of you work too hard and live too far apart.’ I rest my elbow on the door and lean my head against my hand. ‘Right now, I’m glad you live far away, though. Thanks for letting me stay.’
‘Hey, the room is always yours, whenever you want for whatever you need.’
‘Thanks. What I need is somewhere to hide.’
Jasper frowns. ‘He shouldn’t make you feel like you’re the one who needs to hide. And anyway, I don’t think shutting the world out is an answer.’
‘I thought that’s why I came to a place I can pretend the world doesn’t exist.’
He looks amused. ‘It’s not dead around here, Ash. There’s plenty of things going on and people to meet. Speaking of which, I thought you could help me out in the pub while you’re here.’
‘You’re offering me a job?’
‘Yeah. Put in a few shifts here and there. Might be better for you to keep busy and keep your mind off things. Work is a good distraction.’
‘I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here, though.’
‘We’ll see how we go.’
He slows and turns off the lane into the uneven, dusty car park of a gorgeous stone-walled pub, its name emblazoned above the symbol of a dog on a green sign hanging above the door: The Old Greyhound.
Mum has shown me pictures of it before, emphasising their decision to keep as much of the original character features intact as possible so it retains that quaint country-local feel, like the wooden door with its cast-iron knocker and the wooden hitching posts lined on the grass outside the front that were installed in a time when people would tie up their horses there before nipping inside for a pint.
One glance at the pub and I can understand why Jasper fell in love with this place and put his all into saving it – I haven’t even gone inside and I already know it’s a place worth protecting.
He parks and I climb out the car as he retrieves my bag from the boot, heading up the stone path to the entrance of the building.
Admiring the exposed beams and wonky flagstone floors, I follow Jasper through the empty pub to the door hidden behind the bar, up the stairs and into his living quarters.
I don’t know what I expected but I’m surprised at how neat and clean it is up here.
‘It’s really nice,’ I declare, scanning the vintage patterned rug of the lounge, the prettily displayed cushions on the sofa, the healthy thriving array of plants and the cool arched floor lamp in the far corner. ‘Very… stylish.’
‘What were you expecting?’ Jasper challenges, arching his brow at me. ‘A dusty old room filled with cobwebs?’
‘No!’ I hesitate. ‘Maybe a bit of dust.’
He chuckles. ‘I’m not completely useless. Here’s your room.’ He carries my case into the spare room next to the lounge which is small but bright, the sun pouring in through the tall windows. ‘I hope it’s okay.’
‘It’s lovely. Thank you,’ I say, wandering over to the window to check out the view of the spacious beer garden that looks out over miles and miles of unspoilt countryside. ‘Wow.’
‘Not bad, eh? Bathroom is next door and my room is at the far end.’
I sigh, sitting down on the white and blue floral duvet. ‘I owe you big time.’
‘Don’t mention it. This is your home for as long as you need. Right.’ He rubs his hands together. ‘I have a few things to do before opening. I’ll let you settle in. Shout if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.’
‘Thanks.’
Leaving me perching on the bed, he shuts the door behind him and I hear his footsteps disappearing down the stairs.
I don’t move for a while, listening to the complete silence.
No background noise of traffic or trains in the distance or the bustling of people on the streets below hurrying to get wherever they need to be.
I fall back to lie down on the squishy duvet and stare up at the ceiling, my hands clasped over my stomach.