Page 58 of Bad Influence
‘Yeah, I definitely will,’ I said unconvincingly.
‘I can show you now, if you like?’ Star offered.
I made an excuse to swiftly move on.
The party was well underway, and I was feeling a bit tipsy when I wandered outside into the garden to try and ring Rob again. He hadn’t been far from my thoughts all evening, and I wanted to share some anecdotes with him about the strange array of guests Julie-Ann had brought, andwhether the Somerset Set would fly back to their apple farm in one piece. I couldn’t wait to tell him about the orgasmic guru – he would find that hilarious. I paused on the thought of orgasms. The idea of being romantically close with Rob already felt a distant memory. I missed pressing my body into his and waking up with his arm flung across me.
He didn’t pick up. Again.
Maybe he is expecting me to be busy.
Maybe he’s busy.
Maybe he’s asleep already.
Maybe he doesn’t want to speak to me.
Maybe it’s over.
I also needed some air because Mandy was holding court in there, being vivacious in such a loud, brash way, clinking glasses and saying ‘Cheers!’ in a phoney British accent at every opportunity, and it was starting to grate. Coco and Philippa seemed to feel the same way, because I found them sitting in a dimly lit corner of the kitchen drinking wine as I wandered past, swiping three trout cocktail boats on my way.
Outside, the air was fresh and damp. It smelt of recent rainfall on soil mixed with the nostalgic scent of burning wood from the multiple crackling log fires inside the house. It was reassuring and reminded me of home and my parents’ garden, albeit theirs was one hundredth of the size of this one.
I wandered down beyond the patio area, across the grass and onto a little gravel pathway that led into a small, classic walled cottage garden. We had been so busy over the lastfew weeks, I hadn’t yet had a chance to properly explore and appreciate the grounds, only glimpsing the garden from various windows and doorways rather than walking in it.
Although not as lush and colourful as it would look during summer, it was a really pretty, quintessentially English garden, with blossoms starting to appear on sculpted bushes in the shape of orbs, carefully pruned rose bushes, and snow-white blossoms on fruit trees heralding the start of spring. Along the side were two covered raised beds showing signs of heads of lettuce growing under a poly tunnel. It looked like someone was taking loving care of this part of the garden, and I wondered if that responsibility fell to Philippa as well.
I kept walking and even though it was dark I could see enough, thanks to a single row of dimly lit festoon lights hanging overhead, swaying gently in the breeze, and a pretty line of snowdrops on the edge of the central path. I thought about how I should have grabbed a coat or scarf as I left the house and rubbed the top of my arms.
I paused and let nature envelop me, a quiet welcome break from the constant chatter inside. In the distance I could still hear the muffled sound of music and laughter, but it was peaceful out here. At the far end of the walled garden was a small pond, where I spotted a gnome who had seen better days, and two stone toadstool-shaped stools by the side of him. I perched on one, the cold sensation on my bottom making me sit up straight.
I turned to the gnome. ‘Hiya, mate, how’s it going? Needed a bit of space too?’ I gently brushed some mossfrom his face to reveal two rosy, red cheeks. ‘Yep, it’s a madhouse in there.’
The gnome in his bottle-green painted-on hat, decorated face, and moony perma-smile, despite being a little chipped and faded, seemed to agree with me. It reminded me of a gnome couple my grannie had in her front garden for years – the welcoming committee, she used to call them.
‘You’re wondering what you’re doing here too? Shall we make a break for it?’ I asked the gnome.
Then I lifted my face to the sky, noticing for the first time that the moon was large and full.
From a little way down the path, in the direction I had just come, I heard leaves crackling. I looked up sharply and could make out the dark shape of a person walking towards me.
I heard a squelchy sound followed by some words in Spanish. ‘Mierda! Este lugar se va a la mierda!’Some heavy breathing followed, and then, ‘Hola, guapa.’
I knew who it was because I could see his white jacket – you couldn’t miss it – bobbing along the pathway like the gaudy cousin of the Michelin Man, at odds with the muted beauty of the garden.
When Jimi came into the lit area near me, for a moment we both took each other in. He seemed more startled. ‘¿Que tal estás guapa?’
I looked at him confused. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish. Unless you countholaandjamon.’
‘Both useful words. Sorry. After a few drinks, I’m back in Miami in my head. I thought you were with someone?’
‘Me? No, I came out to make a call.’ I held out my phone as proof.
‘It’s cold.’
‘It’s freezing. I thought you were DJing?’
I was a bit annoyed he was spoiling this moment of solitude for me. I’d come out here for some peace.
