Chapter Fifteen
Dad won the toss and he opted to put his team into bat. I kept myself busy preparing sandwiches, laying out the plates and teacups, chatting to Mum and her cricket-widow cronies and doing my best not to let my eyes drift over the other side of the field to Daniel’s tall, lean figure.
Tea came and went, a flurry of players piling their plates high, squabbling good-naturedly over the last chocolate fingers and chattering about the game.
When they all trooped back onto the pitch, Dad’s face split with a wide grin in anticipation of unleashing his special bowler, the empty pavilion fell silent except for the rattle of teaspoons in saucers as I went around collecting all the cups.
As I was dumping them into the sink, Miriam, Daniel’s stepmother, sailed into the cricket-club kitchen with a pile of tea towels and a pair of bright red rubber gloves, ready to do battle with the dishes.
What is it with that generation? They have an obsession with drying up.
Surely it’s more hygienic to leave things to drain or perhaps that’s me being lazy?
‘Darling, how are you?’ she said, soundly kissing me on both cheeks. She called everyone darling. Daniel once told me it’s because she has a terrible memory for names. Sebastian, more maliciously, observed it was an upper-class affectation.
However, anything less like a county matron would be hard to imagine. With her short grey hair cut in a spiky, gamine style, she looked more like an errant pixie. Dark blue dungarees covered her short, dumpy figure and the overall look was completed by a pair of maroon Doc Martens.
‘Much easier on the bunions,’ she’d told me once.
I was surprised when she suddenly grabbed my arm and brought it up to her face, to peer at the wound. Although short-sighted she was still in denial, so never wore the prescribed glasses.
‘Nasty. Daniel told me. Unpleasant.’
Miriam shuddered. Country born and bred, the concept of a casualty department in the city was as alien to her as an episode of Dr Who.
‘Help? Want some? You all right with that arm? Wash or dry?’ Miriam wasn’t a great one for social pleasantries.
‘Wash, definitely. Thanks for these.’ I nodded at the gloves. ‘The ones here are always full of holes.’
‘Can’t bear the bloody things myself.’ She snorted like a dissatisfied horse. ‘Came free with a job lot of slug pellets or was it worming pills? Amazing thing about skin. Waterproof. You know. Marketing people, worse than estate agents. Inventing things we don’t need.’
‘Mm,’ I murmured, looking at her hands — definitely the perfect advert for rubber gloves. The people at Marigold would have paid good money to show those chapped, wrinkled fingers.
‘Gather you put some work Sebastian’s way. If you can call prancing about in a monkey suit work. Looked a picture on the news,’ she said.
‘You saw him. What, at the Bond premiere?’ I asked. ‘What channel?’ I was still talking to several TV companies, trying to get hold of some tapes of coverage of the premiere.
‘The Beeb, darling,’ she said outraged. ‘Wouldn’t watch anything else. Can’t bear the ads and George does love those David Attenborough—’
‘So you saw Sebastian on the BBC,’ I interrupted, desperate to keep her on track.
‘Yes. On the news. Looked a picture he did. Showed Daniel last night.’
I nearly dropped a cup. ‘What do you mean you showed Daniel, last night?’ I exclaimed.
She gave me a sheepish look. ‘We still use our video recorder. I know it’s terribly, terribly old-fashioned but it works, so why not? And we know how to operate it. I can’t get on with Netflix. We set it to record the news in case they showed Sebastian on the red carpet. And they did.’
‘I don’t’ believe it. I’ve been trying to get that footage all week.’
‘You have.’
‘Yes. Can I borrow it?’ I asked eagerly.
‘What the video recorder?’
‘No, the tape of Sebastian. I desperately need a copy for work.’
‘Pop round tomorrow morning,’ she said airily. ‘We’re out to the Richardson’s for lunch. He’s a bloody bore but she’s a hoot. Daniel can let you in if we’re not about. Come on. Let’s get this lot done and then we can have a G and T.’
Great, another excuse to see him tomorrow. Just what I didn’t need.
* * *
Duty done, I headed out with a rug and a book to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine on the boundary.
I avoided looking at the players, especially the one at the crease batting.
So much for avoiding Daniel after today, but never mind.
Once I’d got that tape it really would be the last time I’d see him.
I was happily relaxed, lying on my stomach, head propped on my chin, relishing the warm sun on my back when a cool shadow fell, blocking out the hot rays, disturbing my pleasant daydreams. Turning to look over my shoulder, my irritation dissolved as I realised it was Daniel.
Even better, he was carrying a condensation-covered glass of wine along with a pint of lager.
‘Thought you might like one,’ he said, offering me the wine before settling down next to me. He studied me intently as I gratefully raised the glass to my cheek, enjoying the coolness against my hot face.
So much for keeping my distance; his tanned face was so close I could see the faint white lines around his eyes that had been missed by the sun. My mouth went dry.
‘Thanks.’ I looked over at the players on the pitch trying not to look directly at him. ‘Are you out? Sorry, I must have dropped off.’
He nodded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pulling a face.
‘Bad luck,’ I said sympathetically.
‘My own fault,’ said Daniel cheerfully. ‘Stupid bloody shot to play and it was a great catch.’
I risked looking at him and found his blue eyes were twinkling. Clearly being within an arm’s length of me wasn’t bothering him. I tried to ignore the skittering of my pulse, which seemed to have developed a pace of its own today. ‘How many did you get?’
‘You mean you weren’t watching every majestic stroke?’ he said with mock outrage.
I giggled. ‘No, remember me, chief sandwich-maker. Chained to the kitchen sink most of the day.’
‘Between gossiping with the whole village,’ he said teasing. ‘I saw you. We’re out there slaving over the wicket to bring home a triumphant win and the womenfolk can’t even be bothered to watch our heroic efforts.’
‘How many did you get, Hercules?’
‘Fifty-six. Not bad. We might just win. Mind you, your dad’s surpassed himself this year with that Aussie bowler.’
Another shadow appeared. Ben. Trust him.
The original gooseberry. With a brief grunted greeting, Ben dropped down.
His mood wasn’t great, he’d only scored a few runs before being caught out by a spectacular catch from Dad’s oldest teammate.
Lounging next to me, he helped himself to a good glug of my wine.
‘Oy, get your own,’ I snapped. He would have to spoil the mood.
‘Oo, what’s bitten you,’ he teased in typical irritating-brother fashion. ‘Girls, eh?’ He tutted, looking at Daniel.
I glared at him. ‘You’re just a bloody scrounger. Go get—’
Ben just laughed and jumped up. ‘Stroppy mare. She just needs a good shag.’
I very nearly threw my wine at his retreating back. I could wring his bloody neck. Did he have to say that in front of Daniel?
‘I’m not stroppy,’ I smarted indignantly, watching Ben saunter across the field back to the pavilion.
I might as well have been talking to myself. Daniel had gone very quiet. He seemed distracted as he stretched out on his back, hands tucked behind his head.
Sipping my wine, I looked over at the players on the field, conscious of the silence. Daniel sighed. Then he sighed again. Opened his mouth and then closed it.
If he had something on his mind, I wished he’d just spit it out. But he didn’t and the silence between us lasted until another wicket fell. It was only as a new batsman strode into the centre of the pitch that Daniel rolled over to face me, propping his head up on one elbow before finally speaking.
‘Shame your chap’s not here today,’ he began tentatively.
‘I mean, with Mike turning up. You could have done with a bit of moral support.’ He avoided looking at me as he traced small circles on the grass with his left hand.
‘I suppose weekends are a bit difficult for him.’ He glanced up with a quick, sympathetic smile.
‘What? For Mike?’ I was confused.
Daniel was absorbed in the grass again. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Your . . . you know, chap.’
I looked at the top of his head mystified. ‘Pardon?’ I wrinkled my nose and waited for him to look up.
It must have been catching. Last night Ben had been wittering on about a fella. My family had a lot to answer for. Chinese whispers had turned a couple of dates with Ned into a full-blown boyfriend.
‘It’s all right, I know all about it,’ said Daniel, his steady blue eyes holding mine.
‘Bloody Barney,’ I said, disconcerted by his gaze. ‘Honestly. Two dates and suddenly my family has me married off.’ I tossed my head in disgust. ‘Two. Neither a huge success. Ned’s not really my type, bit too football mad, but will they listen? Will they hell?’
Daniel’s eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘So it’s finished with the other chap?’
What was it with everyone? They all knew more about my love life than I did.
‘What are you on about?’ I asked, my voice rising slightly.
‘Emily did say you wouldn’t want to talk about it.’ He looked away, his index finger resuming its circles. ‘Must be serious. Never thought you’d fall for a married man.’
My mouth opened but I couldn’t say anything. ‘What?’ That wasn’t right.
‘I’ve known for ages,’ he muttered, still absorbed in the grass.
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Emily told me that night at the party.’ Daniel was still mumbling.
Bloody hell. The scheming cow. Suddenly everything fell into place.
‘She told you, did she?’ I snapped sarcastically, as I felt the blush heating my cheeks, which I think he took as guilt because he looked awkward and began apologising.