Page 10 of A Manny for Christmas

‘Excuse me?’my brother and I say in tandem.

Evelyn grins and rubs Angus’ thigh suggestively. ‘Come on, darling. I only have eyes for you. But, objectively speaking, you Rutherford men are a special breed. Prime Derbyshire beef, if you like, and—’

I narrow my eyes. This conversation is going in a direction that I don’t like. I don’t like it at all. I’m being objectified and accused of being a sleazebag all in a single verbal slingshot. ‘And what?’

‘Well… I didn’t know Molly when she was younger. But she’s … beautiful. Stunning. There’s no other way to say it. Most of my straight male staff and a worrying amount of my straight female staff have an obsession with her. Especially with that hair of hers, but, really, with all of her. She’s gorgeous.’ She shoots me a look that would wither a lesser man’s balls. ‘And I’m not sure I trust you to behave yourself if you’re under the same roof as her.’

Dammit. Of course she has fans. Of course they’re swarming like fucking flies. It was the same story back when we were together, except somehow I was the only lucky bastard she had eyes for.

I swallow. ‘What about her hair, exactly?’ I turn to my brother. ‘Has she cut it?’ Please let her have cut it. Please let her have cut it.

He shakes his head. ‘If anything, it’s even longer. Not that I can tell, because I’ve never seen it down.’

Shit.

‘Her hair practically has its own Instagram account,’ Evelyn interjects helpfully. ‘The girls were teasing her about it last night. She wears it plaited and then coiled up in a big bun. Our colleague Nora was begging her to wear it down, but she says she only wears it loose for—’

‘Yeah, I know exactly who she wears it loose for.’ I flare my nostrils as I exhale, my hands fisting at my sides. She wears it loose for the lucky bastard she lets into her bed.

Him and only him.

I used to be the only guy on the planet who got to see her hair loose.

I remember that golden curtain glinting in the firelight. Candlelight. Remember washing it in the shower. Lathering it up in the bath. Wrapping it around my hand like she was fucking Rapunzel and I could find salvation if I just kept pulling myself up, up, up.

I remember I used to joke I’d lose all my strength if she cut it.

So the hair is still long.

Only, this time, I wouldn’t get to unravel that long plait.

To run it through my fingers like liquid gold.

To bury my nose in it till I’d quite happily suffocate.

Molly.

Jesus, the brain is a messed-up organ. Memories seem long-buried, but it’s just an illusion. They’re lurking right below the surface like a lethal fucking tripwire, ready to upend you when you’re least expecting it.

‘She’s always been beautiful,’ I tell Evelyn now. ‘Didn’t do us any good, though.’

‘I know it must seem like a bizarre idea,’ Angus says, his voice softer now. ‘But the timing is too good to be true, you blowing into town like this, just when she needs another pair of hands. Think about it. Help her out for a few days, and if it doesn’t work out, you can book yourself a room here, at the hotel.’

I sigh. ‘Look. Even if I was up for this, which I’m not, I don’t know the first thing about kids. Remember how I was with the boys? There’s no way I could look after Molly’s kids.’

Angus’ grown-up sons from his first marriage, Alastair and Hector, were good kids. I’d be happy to take them for a beer now, but I avoided them like the plague when they were little.

‘While I have extreme reservations about this for the reasons I just mentioned,’ Evelyn says, ‘I think you could manage the childcare part of it. It’s not rocket science. They’re eight and four now. It would just be a case of getting them up and dressed, sticking some breakfast down them, and driving them to school, which is about fifteen minutes away from the cottage.’

Spoken with the complacency of a woman who has a full-time nanny.

‘I don’t have a car,’ I say triumphantly. Take that, my meddling toad of a brother.

Evelyn shrugs. ‘We have a spare Landrover you can use. We don’t need all our cars while we’re based at the farm.’

Of course they have a spare Landrover. Bugger.

‘I mean, Evelyn could be right.’ My brother squeezes her hand on his thigh, and I experience a sudden pang for their clear affection. ‘If you don’t think you can keep it in your pants, then you shouldn’t do it. Molly doesn’t deserve your particular brand of shit. She has enough on her plate.’

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