Chapter 8
Bex’s head hurt. Seriously hurt.
There was a throbbing behind her temples, a strange heat radiating from behind her eyeballs. And then there was her throat, which felt like she’d swallowed several hedgehogs, followed by a basket full of pinecones and then swallowed down with something acidic and foul-tasting.
‘How much did we drink?’ she groaned as she rolled over and flopped against Duncan.
‘Too much,’ he replied. ‘Do you remember getting home?’
‘I remember singing. And saying how beautiful the moon was.’
‘You were singing?’ Duncan grimaced. ‘Maybe that’s why my head’s so sore.’ Had it been any other situation, Bex probably would have thumped him on the arm, but even twisting her neck was enough to make her eyes burn. There was no way she could lift an entire limb.
‘How much do you remember?’ she asked, trying to massage the headache away and knowing instantly it was going to fail.
‘I remember saying the first round’s on me…’ Duncan moaned back. ‘Then it’s all a wee bit fuzzy.’
A wee bit fuzzy. That was one way of putting it.
She had a horrible feeling the singing wasn’t her only attempt at performing.
She had a distinct memory of dancing, although to what music, and where on earth she’d found enough space to do the moves that kept flashing through her memory, she had no idea.
‘Do you remember buying the champagne?’ Bex asked.
‘Did I?’
‘Yup. Six bottles of it.’
‘Ouch. Good job we’re rich…’
‘Hmm, I mean, we still have to repair the roof, fix the windows—’
‘It’s fine. And it’s not like they’re going to get engaged again…’
‘God, I hope not,’ Bex groaned. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’ At least it was a Saturday. That was good. It meant she didn’t have to rush off to the office, even if she did have a never-ending list of jobs at the castle to do.
As Bex sank back into the pillow, debating whether she had enough strength to go downstairs and make a coffee, a sudden blast of noise tore through her skull.
‘Oh, my God.’ She grabbed a pillow to put over her head. ‘What is that? Why is it so loud? Why is it so loud?’
‘Sounds like your phone.’ Duncan winced. ‘Where is it? Stop it! Make it stop!’
Whether it was some kind of acoustic phenomenon or simply the fact that Bex was suffering one of the worst hangovers she’d had in years, the sound of the phone ringing felt like knitting needles through her eyeballs.
And that was with her head under the pillow.
Yet somehow, no matter how tightly she squeezed the fabric to her, the sound only seemed to get louder.
Knowing there was nothing else for it, she scrambled over the bed, squinting against the light and trying but failing to keep her ears covered at the same time.
‘Try your pocket. Your jeans pocket,’ Duncan suggested.
It was a good idea, only, Bex had no idea where her jeans were. She had no recollection of getting undressed before getting into bed, but the phone had to be in the room to be as loud as it was. Didn’t it?
Dropping to the floor, she finally found the rogue item of clothing, just in time for the ringing to stop.
With a half groan, half sob, she collapsed onto the carpet, panting like she’d just run a 10k, not crawled out of bed.
‘I don’t think I can speak to anyone today,’ Bex muttered.
‘Then don’t,’ Duncan replied. ‘Could be worse. You could be the laird who got everyone pissed. They’ll probably think I’m putting up their rents to pay for my tab.’
Bex chuckled, although the action hurt far more than it should have done. Almost recovered from the exertion of the crawl across the floor, she prepared herself to climb back into bed only for the ringing to start again.
‘What is going on?’ she groaned. ‘It’s Saturday!’
This time, she located her jeans quicker, and, as predicted, the phone was in the pocket. She pulled it out and saw Fi’s name on the screen.
Panic struck. Had she said something the night before? Something worse than singing and dancing? Had something happened to one of them in their inebriated state?
‘Fi,’ she answered. ‘What is it? Is everything okay?’
‘Morning, boss, how’s your head?’
Bex squeezed her eyes shut. How the hell did she sound so chirpy?
‘Did you ring me just to disturb my hangover?’ she groaned.
‘No.’ Fi chuckled. The high pitch of her laughter struck an auditory nerve Bex hadn’t been aware she had.
‘I rang because I didn’t know if you’d forgotten you’ve got a ten-thirty meeting today.
With the woman from the clothing chain? I tried reminding you about it several times.
She could only do weekends, remember? I thought it was best if I kept a clear head, you know… as you weren’t going to.’
Bex’s hangover had just reached an entirely new, guilt-laden level. They had been celebrating Fi’s engagement, and yet she had stayed sober for her.
‘I do. I do…’ Bex said, sitting up and pressing her fingers into her forehead. ‘Yep. The only day we could both do. And she’s a big client, right?’
‘Right.’
‘The accidental chain store.’ Bex was speaking to remind herself as much as Fi. ‘The one who’s not sure what kind of tax they should be paying with the different properties?’
‘That’s the one. She just rang to say she’s running late. Probably more like eleven fifteen.’
‘Thank God,’ Bex replied. ‘Okay. I’ll be there. With coffee.’ She went to hang up, only for another question to jump to her mind. ‘Fi, it’s not eleven fifteen yet, is it?’ she checked.
* * *
It wasn’t the first meeting Bex had ever held hungover, but she promised herself it would be the last. And she was pretty sure the two double espressos she had beforehand were the only reason she made it through.
Although, as meetings went, it wasn’t a complete disaster.
‘You know, no one’s ever explained things so slowly and clearly to me before,’ the client said, shaking Bex’s hand on the way out.
‘I really appreciate that. Every other accountant I’ve spoken to just rushed through everything like I’m supposed to know what it means.
But that was really step by step. Bite-sized. ’
‘Thank you,’ Bex said, making a mental note to act hungover the next time she had a tax-phobic client. The slow pace had absolutely been to ensure she hadn’t missed anything, rather than for the benefit of the client. Either way, she was grateful it worked.
‘Well, I’ll get those things sorted and be in touch,’ the woman added.
When the door clicked shut behind her, Bex turned to Fi.
‘Thank you for being here.’
‘It’s my job. But I’m impressed. I can’t believe you remembered all that about tax bands and exclusions when you couldn’t get the key in the front door.’
‘Well, I’ve been doing it a long time. And the key is quite stiff,’ she added, even though they both knew it was a lie. ‘Now, I am heading back to bed.’
‘See you Monday morning then.’ Fi grinned back. ‘Bright and early.’
Bex groaned in response.
Damn young people. Just wait until she hits thirty, she thought. Then she’d know what a hangover really felt like.
Given how much alcohol Bex had suspected was still in her system, she had walked down to the village, and that meant walking back too. But that was rarely a wasted journey. Regardless of the time of day, she almost always used the walk to ring and catch up with the girls back down south.
Although for the last few weeks, she’d been struggling to get hold of Daisy. All they’d managed were a couple of rushed two-minute conversations.
She understood, of course. Daisy ran a café on a canal boat, and now that the weather had changed, she’d be rammed.
Busy from dawn till dusk, serving cake and coffee to every dog walker and stroller who came past. Still…
it would’ve been nice to have a proper catch-up.
Hoping that this time would be different, and the weather was inclement down there, or that perhaps Daisy was on her lunch break, she tried calling her first, only once again, the phone went to voicemail.
Not wanting to do the walk without chatting to someone, she dialled Claire instead.
‘Hey, your ladyship.’ Bex could hear Claire grinning down the line. ‘How’s it going?’
‘I wish you’d stop calling me that.’
‘You need to get used to it. You’re gonna have a proper title soon. I’m preparing you. So, how is life as lady of the manor?’
‘It’s good,’ Bex replied, already ready for her third coffee of the day. ‘But I haven’t been able to get hold of Daisy recently. Have you seen her at all?’
‘Daisy?’
The way Claire said her name was almost like she didn’t recognise it.
‘Yes. Our best friend?’
‘Yes, sorry, I know. She’s been wrapped up with the coffee shop, right? You know what it’s like this time of year. Everyone out, worried they’ll never see the sun again.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I figured. But if you do manage to get hold of her, tell her to give me a ring, okay? I miss talking to her.’
‘Will do. Now tell me how you’re doing. How’s wedding planning going?’
Bex let out a groan, possibly deepened by the hangover, but it would’ve been a groan, regardless.
‘I met Amanda,’ she said.
‘How is she?’
‘Terrifying. And apparently, I’m unprepared.’
‘Unprepared?’ Bex could hear Claire smirking. ‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, she’s the wedding planner. I thought the whole point was that she plans the thing so I don’t have to.’
‘I’m not sure that’s how it works. I think you’re meant to have ideas. Why don’t you go on Pinterest?’
‘Pinterest?’ Bex questioned.
‘Yeah, on your phone. Just find a few photos of things you like. Flowers. Colour schemes. That kind of thing. Then you can show her those when you next meet.’
It was a great idea, although it still required a chunk of time she wasn’t sure she had.
‘Is that something you could do for me?’ Bex asked hopefully.
‘No,’ Claire replied. ‘This is your wedding. It’ll be fun, honestly. You might even like it.’
As she continued her walk back to the castle, their conversation meandered to Claire’s daughter, Amelia, and how she had no forward thinking for the future, changing her mind about what she wanted to do every other day.
‘Sorry, Claire,’ Bex said as she reached the castle and saw a figure standing in front of the door. ‘I’ve just got home, and there’s someone here I need to speak to. We’ll catch up soon, right? And tell Daisy I want to talk to her.’
‘Of course. Love you loads.’
‘Love you too.’
She hung up the phone, heart lifting slightly, then paused.
The figure ahead still hadn’t noticed her.
He was busy on his phone, focusing on the screen.
Bex took advantage of his lack of attention, quietening her footsteps in an attempt to creep up on him.
An attempt that worked surprisingly well.
When she was only a few feet behind him, she stopped and cleared her throat.
‘You,’ she said, ‘have some serious explaining to do.’