Chapter Fifteen
Knock-knock-knock!
Geez, I’ll never get used to that brass door knocker, it’s so unbelievably loud! Back at the townhouse, we used to have one of those doorbells with a built-in camera, and you wouldn’t believe some of the things it used to capture on film - we had too many little videos of our poor old postie picking his nose to count!
Coffee mug in hand, I open the front door and I’m faced with a chipper-looking Victor.
‘Good morning, Ruth!’ he trills.
‘Morning, Victor,’ I reply through a yawn as I scratch my head. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well, I wondered if you might want to come along to the Spring Festival today.’
Blinking, I tilt my head to one side. ‘Spring Festival?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Eagerly, he nods. ‘It’s a wonderful affair, there’s food, games, fair rides, dancing, a whole day of fun in the sun!’
I glance behind me at the laptop sitting closed on my coffee table. I really ought to check my emails first, it’s shameful to confess that I haven’t dared to look at my inbox since I sent off the draft illustrations three days ago. But that shouldn’t take too long …
‘Okay, count me in!’ I exclaim. ‘I’ll be along a little later on, I’ve got some work stuff to take care of first.’
‘Right, you are. It’s on the village green, you won’t be able to miss it!’
I wave goodbye to Victor and sit myself down in front of the laptop. My heart skips a beat when I see the email pop up from Starlight Publishing, and I’m almost too scared to click it. But avoidance is what got me into trouble in the first place (in both my professional and personal life, let’s face it), so I muster every ounce of my courage and click it open.
Hi Ruth,
This is fantastic work - it was a longer wait than I’d anticipated for a first draft, but I’m extremely impressed. I’ve sent a copy to the author and she believes you’ve really captured the essence of her story and is very happy to proceed.
I understand that life can get in the way at times, but for future reference, please do inform us if you will be late handing over a project. We love your talent and would like to build a working relationship with you, but going forward, communication needs to improve.
Kind regards,
Hank Trotman, Starlight Publishing.
With a sigh of relief, I rest my back against the soft couch cushions. Life can get in the way at times - no kidding! Recently, it feels as though my life’s goal is to destroy itself, and I’m powerless to stop it. Still, Hank seems like a decent, understanding guy, I definitely need to stay in his good books going forward.
After finishing up a little more admin, I slam the lid of my laptop shut and head out the door. It’s a beautiful day today, the sky overhead is bright blue and I don’t see a cloud in sight. The air is so temperate and pleasant that I don’t even need the denim jacket I brought along, so I wrap it around my waist, reasoning it might get chilly and I’ll be thankful for it later on.
I can hear the Spring Festival before I even catch a glimpse of the green. A mad symphony of um-pah music carries all the way across the village, jovially leading the way to the big event. The village green has been utterly transformed - coloured bunting hangs above, little stalls are scattered across the grass and just as Victor promised, there’s a huge white Ferris wheel and a helter-skelter too.
Entranced, I wander around, marvelling at the hubbub and the sound of children’s laughter in the air. There’s such a deep sense of community and connection here, and it’s a joy to be a small part of it. A kind woman offers me a stick of candyfloss, and when I try to pay her, she holds up a hand and shakes her head.
‘You take it, love,’ she gives me a toothy grin. ‘Call it an official welcome to Lily Vale!’
I blink in astonishment. ‘How do you know I’m new around here?’
She simply laughs, clasping her hands over her middle. ‘Oh my love, I’ve lived here for sixty-five years, I know everyone, except you - which means you must be a newbie. I’m Yvonne, by the way.’
‘Ruth. Well, thanks! I appreciate it.’
Glad to have made a new friend, I continue my amble around, savouring the sweet, sticky candyfloss. At the very centre of the action, I stumble across a makeshift dance floor made up of wooden tiles, and before it stands a small stage where the polka band sits, playing their accordions, tubas and trumpets with impressive gusto.
Folk young and old take to the dance floor, swinging their hips and boogieing to the music. Toes tapping to the beat, I watch them wistfully, too shy to join in myself. But across the dance floor, someone catches my eye. Shaun is standing by himself, dressed in a pair of casual blue jeans and a tight-fitted black t-shirt.
Biting my lip, I look away and self-consciously tuck a blonde strand behind my ear. When I dare to look up, he’s at my side, his hand extended.
‘Shall we?’
My palms suddenly clammy, I rub them awkwardly on my skirt. Shaun the stoic, oh-so-serious gardener is asking me to dance? And not just any dance, the polka? This has got to be a dream, no doubt brought about by a sugar rush from the candyfloss. I blink once, twice, but he doesn’t disappear. He’s just waiting, expression impassive and collected, though his ears are turning bright red and his jaw is clenched just slightly.
Astonished by the gesture and inexplicably nervous, I place my hand in his and allow him to lead me to the dance floor. Surrounded by embracing couples, we twirl around and promenade in time, and I’m grateful there isn’t such a thing as a slow dance when it comes to polka music. Still, the touch of Shaun’s calloused fingers against mine ignites ripples of heat over my flesh and I’m certain my true feelings must be written all over my face.
‘Did you speak to Maude?’ I blurt out, desperate to focus on something, anything else but how close in proximity we are.
‘Yep. She said I must have her confused with someone else.’ His arm circles my waist as he spins me around, sending my skirt billowing about my knees. ‘Sorry, Ruth.’
‘It’s okay, thanks for trying.’
I guess that’s my answer, Shaun’s client clearly isn’t the same woman who whispered a warning in the charity shop after all. Or maybe she is, and she’s just super set on keeping whatever happened to Rosemary buried.
It’s hard to concentrate on that particular mystery though, now that Shaun’s muscular arm is wrapped around me, and with each breath, I inhale his earthy, masculine scent.
‘Ruth.’
I tremble in his grasp, my name sounding as soft as velvet from his lips. It reverberates through my bones, and I have no choice but to gaze up at him.
‘Yes?’
My voice is barely audible as I will my heart into submission, praying he can’t feel it pounding like crazy against his chest.
Shaun opens his mouth, then closes it … and then he releases me from his hold.
‘Nothing. I - I’ll speak to you later, okay?’
And then he’s gone. I’m all alone in the middle of the dance floor, wondering what the hell just happened. One minute, Shaun was holding me close, and the next, he was bolting from the scene like a whippet on caffeine.
Confused and a bit embarrassed, I slink away from the dance floor, and a flash of silvery blonde over by the tombola draws my attention. It’s her, the woman from the charity shop - she’s here!
‘Maude?’
When I call out she reacts, confirming that it is indeed her name. She jumps, and her eyes widen as she locks them upon me. With haste, she averts them and scurries off, her head ducked inside the collar of her coat.
‘Wait!’ Almost tripping over my sandals, I rush after her. ‘Maude Hanson? Please!’
She doesn’t hear me, or perhaps she’s just pretending not to. Muttering apologies, I squeeze past reams of villagers and continue to shout out her name. But it’s no use, she scampers away and I lose her in the crowd.
Panting with my hands on my knees, I stop to catch my breath, puzzled. Okay, she for sure knows more than she’s letting on. After all, if she’s not hiding something, why did she run?
People with no secrets have no need to run.