Chapter 12
Wiping up the remaining ketchup smeared across her plate with the last of her toast, Scarlett popped it into her mouth.
She could get used to this – a full English to start the day.
It certainly put to shame the little pots of oats she poured hot water into before stirring, which were her usual breakfast staple in the van. ‘That was delicious, thank you.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’ Charlie picked up her empty plate before placing it into the sink and turning to Nicola. ‘Are you off now?’
‘I am, yes. We’ve got the Community Hub meeting at Pennycress today, and you know what that means.’ Nicola downed the rest of her coffee before standing up and pushing her chair underneath the large table set in the middle of the farmhouse kitchen.
‘Miss Cooke sniffing around, I’m guessing?’ Charlie asked sullenly.
‘Exactly, and Laura and Jackson are out this morning to sort the last few bits for their honeymoon, so I want to make sure I get there on time so I’m not holding them up.’ Taking her mug towards Charlie, she leaned in and kissed him. ‘See you later.’
‘You will.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I’ll pop you some lunch down if I have the time.’
‘Thank you.’ Nicola nodded before turning to Scarlett. ‘See you this evening, Scarlett.’
‘Yep, bye, and I hope Miss Cooke behaves herself today.’ Scarlett grimaced. She’d told Nicola and Charlie all about her run-in with her yesterday, and judging by the way they’d sympathised with her, they held the exact same opinion of her as she did.
Laughing, Nicola picked up her bag before heading into the hallway.
After wiping the work surfaces down, Charlie hung the cloth over the tap before turning to her. ‘Right, do you want to grab your coat and I’ll give you a tour of the farm?’
‘Yes, that’d be great, thanks. I’ll just grab my sketchbook too, just in case.
’ Pushing herself to standing, Scarlett hurried upstairs.
She’d spoken to Charlie about her illustrations and paintings and the upcoming craft fairs she had booked in, and he’d told her there was a spot on the farmland which was high enough to look down to the village below.
She couldn’t wait to see it and take some sketches and photos; scenes of Meadowfield would go down a storm at the local fairs.
Reaching the landing, she carefully inched her bedroom door open, making sure Thelma wasn’t lying in wait on the other side of the door ready to burst out and make a bid for freedom.
Scarlett hadn’t actually seen her run yet; the small creature so far only seemed capable of shuffling along at a maximum speed of two metres per hour but that didn’t mean she wasn’t practising a five-minute run in the privacy of the room whilst Scarlett was out.
She wasn’t about to take any chances; the two of them had been through so much thanks to Tyler that Scarlett wasn’t going to let her escape and become eagle dinner now.
Glancing around the room, she spotted her lying beneath the bed, snuggled against the jumper Scarlett had worn yesterday. Well, at least she could excuse herself for not picking up her dirty washing now. Thelma opened one small, beady eye, watching as Scarlett closed the door again.
‘Hey, Thelma. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair, or fur, soon enough and you can go back to snoozing.
’ Walking across to the pine chair she’d put her bag on yesterday, Scarlett reached inside and pulled out her sketchbook before rummaging in the depths of the bag for her pencil.
Just as she curled her fingers around it, the cheerful tune of her mobile rang out.
Taking the pencil and tucking it in her messy bun, she pulled out her mobile, her heart sinking as she saw Tyler’s name flashing across the screen.
Flicking the sound off, she let it ring out before tapping through to her missed calls. This was the fourth missed call she’d had this morning, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock.
Looking down, she massaged her temples. She really didn’t want to speak to him.
She didn’t want to give him another chance to wheedle into her life again, to plead forgiveness, to make her believe he was sorry, because there were no excuses he could make for doing what he had, for treating both her and Donna as he had, let alone his daughter.
No, not one excuse, but he was charming, and she was well aware of the fact that he’d somehow put a spin on it because that’s what he did.
That’s what he’d tried to do when she’d discovered the truth about him and the only way she could get away from his deception, to not let herself be drawn into the web of lies, had been to run, to move into her van and leave the flat behind.
And even that hadn’t been enough, had it?
She closed her eyes as memories of the last time she’d seen him came flooding to her mind.
He’d tried then to assure her that what had happened between them hadn’t been wrong, that Donna had known everything, that Donna was doing the same to him.
It had all been lies, of course. All of it, but for a second she’d wondered what her life would look like if she let herself believe him, she’d let herself remember all the good bits of their relationship, the way he’d cared for her, provided for her. All of it.
But that hadn’t meant anything. None of it had meant anything because he hadn’t loved her, not in the way she’d wanted to be loved.
He’d been married and likely spinning the same lies to Donna.
To others, too. Perhaps. She didn’t have a clue, but one thing she had known in that moment was that she’d needed to get away, and that’s when she’d gone to rescue Thelma and left.
And she wasn’t going to look back. She wouldn’t go back.
Not to him and not to anywhere close. She would have to ring him and face the music, though.
He had Laura’s number and knew where she lived too, and the last thing she wanted was for him to turn up to speak to her and realise Meadowfield was Scarlett’s bolthole. No, she needed to end this now.
Well, later. She’d enjoy the morning sketching, but then she would call him back, and she would speak to him.
Scarlett looked up as Thelma sauntered out from beneath the bed, turned around and went back under again. ‘Don’t worry, Thelma, I won’t be giving you up. Your days of living in the spare room are well and truly over.’