Page 19 of Wild About You

There are some days when I wish I smoked. Or at least had a reasonable excuse to go outside and scream into the wind whilst doing something vaguely elegant with my hands.

After I had settled Fi back at her desk, wrapped her up in my chair blanket (so I have a chair blanket, what sane person doesn’t?) and made her another tea with about five sugars in it, I went outside to have an imaginary smoking break, and walked to the ruins.

The winter sky was incredibly beautiful: the brightest forget-me-not blue, with black and white clouds scudding across it. I admit that within fifteen seconds my hands were so cold they felt like they’d been flayed, but I pulled my fleece sleeves over them, and everything was fine. Perhaps it was good I didn’t smoke because I’d get frostbite in no time. I stared at the castle ruins, fragments of sky visible through windows empty of glass.

‘Penny for them.’

I turned to see Callum. He was holding the penguin mug in both hands.

‘It’s chocolate,’ he said, ‘but I can’t promise it’s hotanymore.’ He handed it to me, then passed me a blanket he’d tucked under his arm. ‘As Fiona is using yours, I thought you might need one. We don’t want you catching a chill.’

‘Thanks.’ I tried to tamp down the little thrill in my chest at the sight of his smile, but there were some things, I was learning, that even my ‘No’ mantra didn’t take the edge off. His presence was so comforting after the emotional upheaval of the day. And yet he was – undeniably, if not obviously – sexy. Yep, Callum was sexy.

I took a mouthful of hot chocolate and almost choked on it. He patted me on the back as I coughed.

‘Thanks again,’ I was laughing as I emerged out of the coughing fit. ‘Aren’t you cold?’ He didn’t even have a coat on.

‘Nah.’ He looked out at the estate. ‘Got my long johns on.’

I gave a cry of laughter, half inhaled another mouthful of hot chocolate and descended into another coughing fit. When I looked back at him, he was smiling at me, and I didn’t know how to arrange my face.

Honestly, it was as ifIwas on hormones, as well as Fi.

CHAPTER 8

I decided to deal with my difficult emotions by attacking the preparation of the site at Belheddonbrae like a demon, alongside a (bemused) set of volunteers. Together we took up the patchy grass of the lawn, working by hand with spades and rakes. That week we managed to reveal the subsoil, and I’d taken to getting up extra early to weed the ground, working on a square metre per morning.

After a day or so of fresh air, I decided it would be mature of me to speak to Sean rather than avoiding his messages forever. He called on my landline and we had ninety seconds of stilted conversation, before he admitted he wanted one of his CDs back, and asked whether he could buy it using my Amazon account, because he still had the password (classy). I agreed, and the conversation ended. When I hung up the phone I didn’t feel as desolate as I thought I would.

The thing was, I was getting used to Stonemore. Afterthe anonymity of London, it was strange to live somewhere where the local grocer said, ‘You’re wearing that nice green coat again.’ The fact that she knew my name, let alone noticed what I was wearing, seemed mind-boggling. It also helped that the village was so picturesque: quaint, grey stone cottages clustered around the river, with a local grocer, baker and post office where people gathered to chat – and of course, the Rising Sun pub. Everyone knew everyone.

I admit, the first time my neighbour (from across the field) said ‘You were up late last night,’ it seemedreally weirdthat they’d noticed the time they saw a light on in my bedroom window. But, nosiness aside, it was also the kind of place where, if you were running for a train, the guard would patiently hold it for you – and no one would mutter and look at their watch when you got on. I hadn’t really believed places like this existed, but when I witnessed it I felt a rush of goodwill and affection.

The cottage was already starting to feel more like home; I’d got used to its Gothic character and its one-up/one-down layout. I’d learned the creaks in the stairs, the knack of getting the shower in the tiny bathroom extension to produce hot water for thirty seconds, and I’d even started giving the mice names (they all looked identical, but it felt better to shout ‘Shut up, Gerald’ in the direction of the attic at midnight rather than quaking at the sound of them skittering across the upper floor). I didn’t hear them as much as before, because for the first time in years I was sleeping soundly, from the fresh air and hard physical work.

There’d even been a ceasefire with Tally, who had grudgingly accepted I wasn’t ‘too annoying, for a Londoner’. I’d started baking treats for the office, and always did an extra batch for Keith and Mica. Despite having been at Stonemore for decades, they had embraced my schemes with enthusiasm, and organised their team of volunteers and students to do my bidding with such kindness and lack of drama that I felt I should start worshipping them as deities. I was heaving an enormous bag of flour onto the counter to make a batch of scones for Mica when my phone chimed.

Any excuse not to begin the terrifying process of scone-making, so I went to my phone. It was a message from Tally on the work group chat.

4got to tell you @anna, the WI called, they kindly requested that you give them a presentation on wildflower meadows at their mtg next wk.

Plink.

I would advise you to accept.

Plink.

It is important for the reputation of Stonemore. Over and out.

I went back to the scone-making. Although giving a PowerPoint presentation to the Women’s Institute in a draughty church hall on a weekday evening wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, I’d had far tougher crowds. As I kneaded the dough, I remembered a conference paper I’d given two years before, with 500 delegates watching. Me: shiny, smiley, new engagement ring sparkling on my finger, manicure, sharp suit, not a hair out of place. The Anna that said yes to things. An entirely different person. So cheerful, so sure of what the future held: a houseful of children, a happy marriage, a successful career. Not baking scones for an empty house dressed in old jeans, a fleece, and with a dozen mice checking their watches upstairs to see if it was time for them to start dancing around the house and disturbing my evening.

The books all told me I should journal my feelings and face them, but for the last week or so I’d pressed pause on it, because it seemed to send me down a rabbit hole. I was happier rubbing butter into flour and mainlining podcasts; watching Forestcam and trying to forget that the only thing my ex wanted to talk to me about was not the fact that he missed the smell of my neck (I missed his) but that his Stormzy CD was missing. The only bright spot was the cheerful, buzzy feeling I had when I spoke to Callum, when he smiled at me in that twinkly way he had. And it was fine – I wasnotin the market for a new relationship. But a tiny flirtation couldn’t hurt, could it?

Stonemore Church Hall on a Monday evening was a surprisingly intimidating prospect once I got there. There were many more women than I had thought would attend, and although lots of them were smiling and chatting, a few were gazing at me with stony expressions as I set up my laptop with the projector.

‘I hear she’s some kind of environmentalist,’ one woman, wearing pearls and a pale pink twinset, said rather too loudly to another. ‘She’s probably involved with that Just Stop Oil lunacy.’ My smile fixed, rictus-like, on my face.Great, I thought,time to be inspected and found wanting. I’d told myself these would just be normal, friendly people, but here I was with a woman looking me up and down as though I’d wandered in for the free cake. At least I was wearing smart clothes and had made an effort with my make-up.Lump in my throat, check. Dry mouth, check. Kate, the lady who’d invited me, was flitting about, smiling and talking to people.

I went over and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘I’m just going to pop out for a breath of air,’ I said. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

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