Page 95 of Wild About You

‘We’re not going to get together,’ I mumbled.

‘Whatever,’ she said, tipping the remainder of her tea onto the ground. ‘I’ve got to get back.’ She got up from the bench and headed off in the direction of the house.

‘Nice dry robe,’ I called after her.

She gave me a cheerful two-fingered salute. ‘Just think about what I said, Anna,’ she called. ‘I mean it.’

The wedding was harder to cancel than you might think, and emails weren’t enough. Phone calls and difficult conversations were required. The following day Tobias got fed up of taking the flak from suppliers so handed the ring binder back to Tally, whereupon she burst into tears. Her bossiness had dissolved so completely I ended up sitting outside on a bench with her, my arm around her as she sobbed onto my shoulder. She seemed more devastated about what had happened than either the bride or the groom. So of course, I offered to take over cancelling things.

‘Sucker,’ mouthed Tobias at me, before launching into a version of ‘If I Only Had A Heart’ fromThe Wizard of Oz.

It was so strange, deconstructing Lucinda and Jamie’s wedding, gaining glimpses of what it would have been – tartans, roses, evergreens, many many candles (so many, it would definitely have constituted a fire risk – Tally really was the worst collections manager in the world). I could picture it all so clearly, and at the same time it seemed impossible that it had existed at all, even if only in Lucinda’s imagination.

It was, I was told, too late to take back the deposit for the cake, as the fruitcake layers had already been baked and were ‘resting’ and being ‘fed’ daily with syringes of single malt whisky. ‘Single malt,’ I muttered to myself, and saw Tobias shake his head. I arranged for the tiers to be delivered oncedone – the thought of it perhaps being a massive christening cake for Ross crossed my mind.

The news of the broken engagement had finally reached Fi, and she had called me for a technicolour conversation in which she called Lucinda every name under the sun. Then Ross started crying and she had to go. ‘We should be home next week. Give Jamie my love,’ she said.

Give Jamie my love. The truth was I had no idea what to say to him, but I knew my silence would start to look like coldness. After I’d hung up on the final cancellation call I was prepared to make – to the people who were making handmade favours out of timber cut at Stonemore (‘It was a fallen tree, Jamie insisted we didn’t cut any down, don’t you get on your high horse,’ Tally had bleated), I sat to compose a message to Jamie. One of Callum’s hot chocolates had found its way onto my desk.

‘Have you seen him today?’ I said to Cal, going into his office and shutting the door behind me.

‘Yes.’

‘How’s he doing?’

Callum looked pained, as though he wasn’t equipped to examine the intricacies of the human heart. ‘Alright,’ he said.

I sipped the hot chocolate and licked cream off my upper lip. ‘Anything else to add?’

‘Not really,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m not good at this stuff. He seems fine. Roshni and George are there.’

‘Righty ho.’

‘Oh, and the Tamworths are arriving next week.’

I turned back. We’d been discussing introducing some Tamworth pigs to a small area of the estate. ‘Really?’ I heard the eagerness in my voice.

‘Will you be here?’ He was looking at his computer screen, avoiding my gaze. I knew that move – I’d done it enough myself.

I felt empty. My last day was due to be next Friday. So I would see the Tamworths released and then have to leave them. ‘I hope to be,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Well, enjoy that hot chocolate. You’ve earned it. Single malt in an effing wedding cake.’ He widened his eyes at me, and started assembling his vape. ‘There’s a reason I intend never to get married.’

The thought of Jamie’s sadness stayed with me all day. I tried to focus on other things, and met with Keith and Mica to discuss how the volunteers were getting on with the parterre maintenance. But that evening, after avoiding my feelings all day, I took a sip of wine, and pressed send on a message to him.

I’m so sorry about what has happened. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Ross is doing well and Fi sends best love.

I looked around the room, at the boxes of my possessions. The log burner was built to a blaze and I was wrapped upon the sofa. I couldn’t bring myself to carry on packing. I wanted to dig my heels in like Hugo did when he decided he wasn’t going anywhere without a treat.

I looked back at the phone. Jamie had read the message, but there was no indication that he was online or typing. I put the television on. There was a moody drama about a murder on, but I couldn’t concentrate. When my phone plinked, I snatched it up. Tobias had been busy – it was from Roshni.

Single malt in a wedding cake? Don’t let me near that woman or I’ll murder her.

I rubbed my forehead and put it back down. I couldn’t sit here, waiting. I needed to do something.

I left my fireside behind, put my heavy coat on, and went out into the cold winter night. I took a torch to navigate the muddy, hollowed lane, all the time telling myself I was being stupid, even as I crossed the deer park and the manor house came into view. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, or why.

I came to a halt in the carriage drive of Stonemore, the proud, Neo-Classical house in darkness apart from the lit windows of the flat. I stood there, looking up.

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