Page 18 of The Player

It’s a huge room that takes up most of the barn. It’s open to the rafters and full of rather ferocious-looking machinery and worktables. Guitars hang from slots on the wall in various stages of creation. There’s an air of happy industry about this room that’s palpable.

Everyone clusters around me as Joan brings over the cake. “Blow,” she says.

I bite my lip. “It’s a bit early in the morning, Joan.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thank you so much for your restraint,” she says tartly.

I lean forwards and pause. “Thank you so much for using thishugenumber of candles,” I mutter.

“Well, you’re getting on a bit, dear. We’ll need a fire extinguisher next year. And I’ll need help carrying the cake, or I’ll put my back out.”

“Such a witch,” I say admiringly and blow out the candles. Everyone cheers, and Con shouts, “Make a wish.”

I look at his sweet face framed through the smoke drifting from the candles.I wish for you, I think fervently, and everything screeches to a halt in my head.Where the hell did that come from?

His smile drops away slowly, and he straightens up, and I flush, breaking the connection by standing up in a panic.

“Ooh, what did you wish for?” Joan asks.

“Oh, no wrinkles until I’m fifty,” I say flippantly.

“Too late,” Tim mutters.

Joan watches me, her wise eyes sharp and knowing. “I hope it comes true,” she says, and I know she isn’t referring to wrinkle cream.

I blink, and she bustles away, saying she’ll cut the cake while Evan grabs my arm and drags me over to a table where a pile of colourfully wrapped presents is waiting. “All yours,” he says cheerfully. “Lots of presents and cake for breakfast.Brilliant.”

I smile at the young apprentice, still reeling from the lightning realisation that I want Con. “You’ve got that right.”

Everyone clusters around me as I open them. I end up with some bottles of wine and lots of chocolate, which indicates that my workmates have an alarming knowledge of my eating habits. Joan’s present is a box of Thornton’s rum truffles that I have an addiction to and some leg tanning cream. “Why?” I ask.

She looks pointedly at my ankles. “Because you persist in wearing trousers that don’t go down to the ground and have limbs that are paler than a pint of milk.”

“What a truly splendid present,” I cry, and we grin at each other.

The second to last present is from Evan—a red bow tie that spins around with alarmingly sharp edges. I look over at him. “That’ll be very useful when I run away to the circus,” I say as he laughs.

The last present is a big parcel set on the floor with Con’s name on the label. I open it slowly and gasp. It’s a huge wooden wine cabinet, the wood gleaming in the light. Carved around the slots for bottles are vine leaves, and along the top is carved, “The rose-coloured glasses of life.”

I trace my fingers along the words. “That’s F. Scott Fitzgerald, isn’t it?” I say, looking straight at Con. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and his eyes are intent on me.

He shrugs. “Very roughly paraphrased.”

“I can’t believe you made this for me, Con.”

He smiles, and it’s warm and soft and just for me. “It’s for all the champagne you’re going to drink for the rest of your life.”

“Will I be celebrating for all that time?”

“I hope so,” he says steadily. “It’s the least that should happen to you.” I swallow hard, and he smiles. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t like it. Iloveit,” I say quietly, still staring at him.

For a second, it’s like we’re in a little bubble dappled with the wood dust that floats in the air and scented with linseed oil. Then it’s broken as Joan bustles in carrying plates of cake. I straighten up, running my finger along the carving. Con is saying something to Mandy that makes her laugh, but I can’t help noticing that his breathing has picked up.

Joan comes up next to me and hands me a plate with a huge piece of cake on it. She nods at the cabinet. “He worked for weeks on that.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say quietly. “I’d know his work in the dark.”

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