Page 45 of The Player

“But he wasn’t a loyal man or someone you could rely on. Having fun was everything to him, and he’d do anything to get it. So, people fell by the wayside because there was always someone else around the corner who’d be more fun.” She looks softly at me. “I’ll never know what possessed him that month he met and married you, but I would kiss him every day for it if I could, Frankie, because he brought us you, and you’re absolutely wonderful.”

I blink my hot eyes, and she smiles. “But you need to listen to me now, darling. Some people pass through our lives and make an impact, but the best type of people are the ones who stick, and Con is that for you. David was a stop along the way, and the best thing he ever did in his life was to give you to Con. He had a wonderful wild impact on your life like a comet falling, but Con will be the one to share that life. He’s the one for you, and everyone can see it except you.” She smiles. “Well, up until now anyway. Better late than never.”

“What about Con? Does he know it?”

She reaches over and pats my hand. “That’s a lover’s secret and not for me to tell. Con’s got a voice, and it’s his place to tell you those things.”

“He wants me to go to the summer hop.”

She sits back. “Well then, you need to make a move, young man. It’s your time to do that. Con’s been dancing around you for far too long. Now it’s time for you to take some of the steps yourself.”

I stare at her, biting my lip. “What if we’re wrong?”

She smiles. “But what if we’reright? What happens then?”

I stare at her for a second and then nod, feeling surety running through me like a visible pulse for the first time since I met a wild man at a concert and embarked on an adventure that brought me to the shores of the one man who’s meant for me.

“You’re right,” I say.

She nods serenely, and Hank Marvin sidles along the back of the sofa. “Garrotted with a clothes line,” he says sadly.

“Shut up, Hank Marvin,” we say in unison.

Later that afternoon, I step outside my cottage and reach back to lock the door. I gaze up at the sky. The bright cornflower blue from the last few months has gone, and it’s full of yellowish clouds. It looks like the promised storm is arriving sooner than expected. I hope it keeps off for the party.

The party is being held in a field on the outskirts of the village, and I wander down the narrow lane towards it. Trees hang over my head, making a green canopy over me, and the high hedgerows are full of hawthorn that wafts its sweet scent to me. It’s the scent of summer and new adventures, and my heart skips and flutters.

I can hear the music before I see the marquee. It’s a wild beat that makes your pulse skip and your feet tap. It’s the recognisable sound of Con’s old band. I only got to see them a handful of times when I was first with David. After the band finished, they concentrated on the business. They were amazing together. David was a charismatic frontman, but Con, who was the still centre on the stage, had always held my attention. Wrapped in music and oblivious to the audience, he was nevertheless a compelling figure. I shake my head and laugh. How the hell did I miss my feelings for him all these years?

I pick up speed, feeling excitement running under my skin like I’ve caught hold of a downed power cable. I haven’t felt this way in a long time—this combination of excitement and nerves makes me feel alive.

I step into the field and immediately see Mandy. She’s standing outside the marquee, talking to a thin young man.

“Frankie,” she calls. She looks me up and down. “Ooh, you look terrific,” she says, not quite managing to hide her astonishment. I look down at my outfit. She didn’t know me before David died, so she’s never seen my old clothes. I suppose she’s so used to seeing me in dull outfits that this must still come as a surprise. I’m wearing a sky-blue shirt, skinny black-and-blue checked ankle-length trousers with red braces, and my patent black leather brogues. My hair is down and wavy, and I’m about as good as I get.

“You too,” I say. I gesture to the tent. “I’m just going to get a drink and see the band.”

“They’re amazing,” she says excitedly. “Con’s so good. I always forget what a brilliant musician he is.”

I smile and make my way into the tent, pausing as I’m hit with a wave of noise and heat. Everyone from the village appears to be here, and over half of them seem to be three sheets to the wind. I look over at Lucy Scrimshaw. Wearing a red dress, she’sbright-eyed with excitement. This event usually provides her with enough fodder for six months of gossip. It’s free booze and food and goes on until the early hours, so someone’s marriage will invariably break up, affairs will be started, and there’s usually a punch-up at some point.

She looks up, and I hastily duck behind a local farmer. Then I edge along to the bar and grab a cider from the counter. Taking a sip, I look over at the stage at the end of the room. It’s set next to a large wooden dance floor that’s packed with people whirling and laughing, but Con immediately draws my attention.

He’s sitting on the right of the singer, beating a bodhran, the beat mesmerising. Wearing jeans and one of his band’s old concert T-shirts, his booted feet are tapping out the beat, and he looks bloody fantastic. I watch him, enjoying the freedom to observe him without any of the worries of the last few months. I’ve come to a realisation between leaving Joan and coming here that whatever happens between us, we will always be in each other’s life. We’re too important to each other. So, to me, it’s worth stepping out on the ledge and taking that final step. I watch his blond-brown hair falling over his forehead and his dreamy eyes.

As if sensing my regard, he looks up, and his eyes find me immediately. They’re suddenly fierce with some feeling, and for a long second, we stare at each other as his fingers move on the drum. Then he smiles. It’s wide and warm and intimate, and there’s so much joy in that brown gaze at seeing me that it makes a lump appear in my throat. I smile back at him, and he nods as if saluting me before going back to his playing.

I see a few people look over at me and offer them a genial smile and a wave before edging to the side where I can watch. It’s rare to see Con on a stage anymore, so I want to savour it. It’s doubly hot now I know what he looks like when he comes and how his naked skin feels against my own.

My pleasant thoughts are interrupted when someone moves to stand next to me. I look up with a smile that dies as soon as I see Tim watching me.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says in a snide voice.

I gape at him and then recover. “I am, thank you.”

My pulse is thrumming. He’s here watching Con. For some reason, I thought he’d have gone. To see him here is a huge shock.

He looks up at Con and smiles fondly. “He’s good, isn’t he?” he says in a much friendlier voice than he’s used towards me so far.

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