CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Oh God, he’s perfect,’ Scarlet says after I give her the breakdown of my weekend. ‘So what’s wrong with him? Why is he single? You’re going to arrive at his house in – wherever it is – and find a collection of axes or knives in a dungeon, or discover he’s really into Warhammer or that he’s a cyberhacker or … something.’
‘I bloody hope not,’ I reply as we sit on our sofa, feet up on the coffee table, each drinking a glass of cheap red wine. ‘Although he’s just so lovely and so-o-o good in bed that I could probably live with a combination of all of that, to be honest.’
‘Does he have a brother?’ Scarlet asks hopefully.
‘Sadly, not.’
‘Best friend who is single and also owns his own farm?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘He does have a best friend, but I don’t know if he’s in the eligible bachelor category or not. I’ll do some digging.’
‘You might meet the best friend. Then you can do some proper reconnaissance for me.’
‘I feel it might be a bit too soon for meet the friends , although we are going at quite a speed, so you never know. In only a few weeks we’ve kissed on the night I met him, been on two dates – or three, if you count the two-in-a-row situation—’
‘Had two orgasms,’ Scarlet chimes in helpfully, which makes me laugh.
‘Yeah … that. And now I’m going to stay at his house in the country for the weekend.’
‘Here’s to a roll in the hay,’ she says as we clink glasses and cheers each other.
As the week rolls on, my flirtatious chat unconsciously dies away with Chris. I acknowledge any message he sends, because I’m not rude, but they’re short replies, unquestioning, a thumbs-up emoji here and there instead of a full-blown conversation. I no longer start our messages back up. I’m not the kind of person who usually treats people like this and … it’s Chris. It’s Chris. So it hurts to be so flippant, but I need to instigate the general demise of our – whatever it is we’re doing – because of Josh. I’ve slept with him. Twice. And we’re making plans to keep seeing each other. Focusing on Josh is the right thing to do. And, slowly, I think Chris has got the hint, as his constant stream of messages has petered out.
By Friday afternoon I am ready to escape London. I am also unemployed again, as the multiple agencies I’m registered with have either failed to respond to my messages or have deigned to reply to me, but in the negative. Why is the job market so hard at the moment? I’ve been lowering my prospects towards doing any kind of office job. Anything at all. I have a degree, for God’s sake, and a lot of admin roles behind me, but I can’t even get a temp job now. I’m trying to convince myself it’s merely a blip. It’s just as well I’m escaping London for the weekend. It’ll take my mind off it.
I say goodbye to the woman I’ve been working with on reception every day for the past two weeks. We exchange general chat, wishing each other good weekends and enthusing about what the other has going on. We’ll never see each other again, unless I get a job back there, which is unlikely.
I pick up my mid-sized roller suitcase and make a beeline for the door. I’ve loaded the case with clothes. I have no idea what to expect. Josh and I have messaged every day this week, and my worries – about the pace of whatever is happening between us – have abated in favour of excitement about going to his farmhouse. In fact I can’t wait to get out of this building and onto a train for a couple of hours. Knowing Josh is going to be at the other end of the journey makes me smile and pick up pace, as I roll my luggage towards the station.
I’m scrolling through my social media while I wait for the train to come in, when Chris messages me a simple Hi . My heart rises with its usual excitement when this happens – and then falls all at the same time, when I remember I have to disentangle myself from him. The guilt is only going to gnaw away at me, if I don’t. I won’t reply immediately. I’ve got a long journey, so I’ll sit on this message for a bit and work out how to make it clear that we shouldn’t be talking as much as we are. I wonder about the possibility of keeping Chris as a friend. We both know our messaging isn’t taking us in any particular direction. But it’s laced with something additional.
I put my case into the overhead rack after I’ve boarded. With the weather changing from summer into autumn, I’ve brought T-shirts and jeans, cute dresses with jumpers, trainers, some nice shoes, just in case; some very lovely underwear and, of course, my older-than-old Hunter wellies, because I’m going to a farm and the novelty of this is beyond compare. I tried them on last night with a floaty white dress and felt I’d nailed that Glastonbury look – not that I’ve ever been. Maybe I should. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Chris’s book and take myself on a date to Glastonbury. I look out of the window while we’re still in the station and smile at that thought. I hope, with all of these outfits, that I will at least be able to conjure up a couple of suitable looks for anything Josh has planned this weekend.
After an hour’s delay, when the train sat outside somewhere called Didcot Parkway for what felt like for ever, the sun started going down and the sky darkened to a deepening shade of blue, I finally arrive at Chippenham and follow Josh’s instructions out to the car park, where he’s standing by an army-green Land Rover. Of course he is.
The lights of the car park illuminate him and he looks just as he always does: button-down shirt, dark chinos, but with the addition of a gilet and some Timberland boots. It’s colder down here than it was in London.
Josh smiles when he sees me. I thought I’d look out of place here, in my receptionist work clothes, but lots of people got off the train similarly dressed. Somerset is clearly a weekend hotspot and I had fun on the train trying to work out, from people’s conversations and luggage, who might have a weekend house nearby.
‘Hi,’ Josh says with a wide smile, stepping forward to take my case. He bends down to kiss me and it’s long and deep. That chemistry from last weekend hasn’t disappeared. ‘I’m really pleased you came all the way down here, after a long day at work,’ he goes on. ‘Thanks for making the journey.’
‘It’s obscenely long,’ I joke while getting into the car’s passenger side. ‘I can’t believe you did that back-and-forth four times for me.’
‘I didn’t have an hour’s delay, though, so you had it worse. Sorry.’
‘It was worth it,’ I reply and he looks pleased as he starts the ignition and we leave the car park. ‘I’m really excited,’ I confess.
‘Me too,’ Josh says, grinning as we begin driving away from the station and out towards the countryside. ‘It’s a bit of a drive now, I’m afraid, so settle in. I can’t believe you’re here.’
‘Staying in London, or visiting you in Somerset? Tough call. So what are we doing first?’ I ask, and he tells me that he’s got dinner cooking in the Aga already and he’s brought some wine and nibbles to get us started.
‘And then maybe … I dunno; board games or—’
‘Board games?’ I cut in. ‘Is it Christmas?’
He shrugs apologetically. ‘I don’t know how to entertain a woman at my house. I’ve never had a woman back to mine before.’
I turn to him in disbelief. ‘You’ve never had a woman back to your house? What – ever?’
Josh shakes his head, flicks the indicator and we turn into a country lane.
‘How …?’
‘It’s just not happened.’
‘How old are you, Josh?’
‘Thirty-two.’
My jaw drops, not at his age, but because he’s reached thirty-two years of age and has never had a woman back to his house. I’m only a little over thirty, but I wasn’t expecting Josh also to be over thirty and be so inexperienced with women.
‘Like I said, I’m so busy working that meeting women is difficult.’ And then he clarifies. ‘I’d like to point out that I have put it about a bit over the years. Just … when my parents lived here, I couldn’t exactly bring someone home for a casual thing. So I never did.’
OK. Phew! That makes slightly more sense. I suppose, if I think about it, I don’t bring men back to the flat I share with Scarlet all that often. And I certainly didn’t bring any home when I lived with my folks. I settle back into my seat as we continue through the countryside. We turn into a long drive and Josh tells me, ‘It’s down here.’
After about a minute of driving along a tree-lined avenue the house appears through the darkness. There’s a series of lamps lighting up each of the windows of the ground-floor rooms – at least three long windows sprawl away on either side of the front door – which indicates that this house is not small, although I can’t see in the dark how big it is. I was expecting a dinky little tumbledown farmhouse. This is a mansion, surely? Or a manor house? I’m not sure what the difference is.
Josh parks and I feel the reassuringly country-esque crunch of gravel under my feet as I get out of the car and stare around. The moon shows a series of small outbuildings, built of similar pale stone to the house, but I can’t see anything that indicates an actual farm. He leads me through the front door, carrying my luggage for me, and a wonderful smell of cooking greets me.
‘Lasagne,’ Josh tells me. ‘I popped it in before I came to get you.’
‘You’re a man of many talents,’ I say as I glance around the large hallway.
Inside, it’s like stepping back in time. The decor fits the house. It’s so comfortable, with hooks holding Barbour jackets in the hallway and a series of weather-beaten wellies waiting underneath them. To the left of the hall is a huge sitting room, with casement windows and battered red-fabric sofas that look old but in keeping, providing a hint of a well-loved family home, which is now inhabited by one man. In the middle of the quadrangle of sofas sits a fabric ottoman, piled high with farming journals and old issues of Country Life .
‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say. ‘So homely.’
‘Thanks. Come through to the kitchen. There’s a bottle of red with our name on it. You hungry?’
‘Starving,’ I reply, giving him a warm smile. Josh puts me instantly at ease. He did so at the wedding, at the restaurant, in the hotel and in the park, and now here, in his home – where he’s never entertained a woman. Until now. I feel I’ve a lot to live up to. I’m either about to set the bar for every girlfriend who follows me into Josh’s life, or this is it. But I’m getting ahead of myself now. I’ve been here for four whole minutes.
He’s already set places for two, and he lights candles in the middle of the scrubbed wooden table that could easily seat ten people. Heat from the Aga bursts out as Josh opens the door and presents me with a bubbling lasagne. It looks great. I’ve never seen an Aga in real life and quiz Josh as to how it works. He baffles me with a general level of basic science, and we sit to eat one of the most delicious home-cooked dinners I’ve ever tasted.
‘Do you have a Labrador?’ I ask as we tuck in.
He stares at me. ‘Me? No. Why?’
‘In every picture of an Aga I’ve seen, there is always at least one Labrador asleep in front of it.’
‘Oh, right,’ Josh laughs. ‘We did have a family Labrador. Or, rather, we do. He lives with my parents.’
‘Aha,’ I say. And then, ‘Tell me about your friends.’ I want to know all about his life, his friends, but I also need to remember to find out about his best friend, for Scarlet.
‘Well, there’s Dan, who you’ve met.’
‘Have I?’ I ask, my wine glass halfway to my mouth.
‘At the wedding? I was his best man.’
‘Of course you were,’ I exclaim. I’ve done this twice now – totally forgotten this poor man, who was inadvertently responsible for bringing Josh and me together. ‘I remember now,’ I say guiltily as Josh smiles. This makes me wonder. ‘How well do you know Chris?’
‘The usher you decided to ditch me for, after we danced?’ he says with a sideways smile.
‘Yeah,’ I reply slowly, guilt rising even more. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s OK,’ he says, and I think he means it. ‘I don’t know him that well, to be honest. I know Dan from school, and Chris is one of Dan’s mates from uni, I think? That’s the extent of my knowledge.’ Josh looks at me. ‘What did Chris have that night that I didn’t?’ he teases after a pause, but I sense real curiosity there.
‘I’d already promised him I’d return with drinks. Which you paid for,’ I point out.
‘So what happened with Chris, in between me buying you both some drinks and you kissing me not long after?’
So many things , I think. So. Many. Things.
‘We talked and it was nice, and then he got a taxi to the airport and went back to New York.’ I’ve made that sound so much simpler than it was. I left out the fact that I’d felt torn in two directions, unsure whether to get on a plane with a man I’d only just met or stay in London. I’ve been picturing Chris and me together in his adopted city. Would I still be there now? I drag my thoughts back to the present. ‘And then you coerced me into kissing you,’ I say light-heartedly.
‘I did not !’ Josh laughs. ‘You were up for it, as I remember.’
‘I was,’ I say. I still am .
We eat our lasagne and drink more wine, Josh opens a second bottle and eventually we wind up in the sitting room, taking our glasses with us. There’s a chill in the air and he deftly sets up kindling in the fireplace, starting a small fire and building it up into a proper roaring blaze.
‘Boy Scout?’ I ask.
‘Farm boy,’ he replies. And there’s something so sexy about that comment. I wonder if he’s got any hay bales and if it would be comfortable? Or if it would be itchy? Like how sex on the beach is a bit … grainy, and not that sexy in real life.
I tuck my feet under me, thinking about this for a moment as Josh and I cosy up on his sofa. I feel so content, sophisticated in this space (hay-bale thoughts aside) as I sip delicious red wine with an attractive man in his country house. This is ridiculous and I laugh.
‘What?’ Josh asks.
I turn towards him. ‘Nothing,’ I say and then, because it’s probably been a whole ten minutes since I last kissed him, I lean in again. ‘It’s probably time for a tour of the house,’ I suggest, finally pulling away and seeing the heat in his eyes match my own.
‘Is it?’ he asks. ‘Where should we start?’
‘The bedroom.’