1 out of 2 :)
K. xx
***
The next morning a loud and insistent doorbell woke Ulla up. She'd gotten so little sleep and was still so exhausted that she acted on autopilot. She rolled over the sprawled body of the Reverend Holyoake and climbed off the bed. The man was deep asleep on his stomach, his left arm hanging off the edge of the bed, and didn't even twitch, probably due to the previous night's extreme exertion. She pulled on his tee, and stomped to the entrance door. She jerked it open and stared at Yola, owner of the Hey Jude the Obscure Bookshop, and a giant bouquet of irises she held in her hands.
"Morning!" the shop owner hollered, and then looked Ulla over. "Oh, dear, and what a good morning it is." She pointed at Ulla's hair that no doubt was sticking around her head in the most bizarre fashion. The hair had been through a lot in the previous seven hours. "You properly should start getting dressed and brushing your hair down before opening the door. The town has gotten the message, Ulla. The reverend father is a stud. You can stop shocking us with your bedhead and your state of undress."
"What is it, Yola?" Ulla grumbled.
The pink-haired woman giggled. "These are for you," she said and pushed the bouquet into Ulla' hands. "As well as– this!" she announced and flamboyantly pulled an envelope out of her messenger bag.
"And that is–" Ulla yawned and sniffed the flowers. They were gorgeous, not that she'd ever admit loving having fresh cut flowers around.
"A cheque for just a tad over three thousand pounds," Yola said.
Ulla lowered the bouquet.
"What?"
"That's your cut," Yola whispered conspiratorially and shoved it towards Ulla, looking around in the most suspicious way. "Quickly, take it, before someone sees."
"Are you bonkers?" Ulla asked, frowning.
Yola dropped her act and burst into loud laughter.
"You're adorable, you know that, right?" she said. "The Reverend Holyoake isn't going to be bored one day in his life. Not that you aren't perfect for him, or anything."
"What's the money for, Yola?" Ulla asked.
She was starting to feel cold, and she just wanted to go back to bed and tuck herself into the side of said Reverend Holyoake. He was warm, smelled delicious, and she might be in love with him. Bugger.
"So, yesterday, instead of selling thirty or so copies as I had assumed, I sold a hundred and twelve. Did you know that even before the reading started, you had twenty seven additional guests at your party? That is considering that every single person the Reverend Phibbs had invited showed up. And someone tweeted about the reading at the very beginning, so by the time we sat down to listen to Barnett, we had another thirty two."
"I'm aware," Ulla grumbled. "I had to deal with the shortage of seats and biscuits. Were you the one who tweeted?"
"I might be in the business for the money, but I do love my writers and my books, mate," Yola said, growing somewhat serious. "I would never infringe on a writer's confidentiality like that. It was one of the Fitzroy daughters. But mate, we made a lot of money. That - is your ten percent."
"Yola, I didn't–" Ulla started.
"No, you don't understand. That's me donating money to the church." Yola laughed again. "I doubt you'll be pocketing it."
"You're donating a 'cut' to the church," Ulla repeated, flabbergasted.
"Yep. And Ulla? Thank you," Yola said ardently. "The reading was important for the community, and you managed it with style. Be proud of yourself. And now go inside. It's baltic."
She blew Ulla a kiss, turned around, and ran back to her Fiat 500. Ulla - feeling shell shocked - slowly closed the door. In the kitchen she put the flowers in water in a vase she found in one of the cupboards, and then she slowly walked to the bedroom, holding the envelope in her hand.
"Oli," she called and touched his shoulder. "Oli, wake up, we need to talk."
"Sure, yeah," he rasped out. "Yeah, just– just a minute..." He stirred, moved, and tried to rise with a groan. "What does my head feel like there's a Ducati Panicage V4 in it?"
Oh my god. The Reverend Holyoake is a motorhead! Not important right now, but blimey, did he just get even sexier, as if it were even possible?!
"You might have overindulged in bubbly last night, and then we shagged till four in the morning," Ulla dismissed, "But Oli, look what I got!" She shook the envelope. "Yola dropped off the money for the church. I've collected money for your church!"
He opened one eye, his face still half pressed in the pillow.
"You did what?"
"I've collected three thousand quid for your church," she repeated proudly. "Apparently, Yola made so much money last night she decided to share."
He slowly sat up and rubbed his face with his hands.
"That's usually the custom, yeah, in case of events like that– wait, what? Three thousand quid?"
Ulla nodded and shook the envelope again.
"Wow," he exhaled, his eyes widened.
God, he's so beautiful! That's what they call baby blue eyes! It's almost as if there are sparks dancing in them! Having fluffiest longest lashes helps too. Will his children have these eyes too? Wait– what?!
"Business owners traditionally donate a share of whatever they make during the church events, but it's not regulated, of course," he said. "And I don't think anyone has ever collected more than a thousand at a time. To be honest, the Reverend Phipps is hardly proficient at bookkeeping."
Was that a good moment to mention that Ulla had taken accounting courses for when she'd had her own band, which normally involved a surprising amount of financial management? Probably not. It might sound like you're offering your services. Are you, Ulla?
"I'm planning to ask my sister to help me out at the beginning, once I step in," he said. "She's an accountant in John's publishing house. But, Ulla– three thousand quid!" He cupped her face and kissed her firmly. "You're amazing!"
"Well, it wasn't just me," she mumbled. Wow, are you actually being... humble? So, un-Ulla of you! "It was a communal effort."
"I know. But we need to put it into the church newsletter! I'm sure people will be pleased to know the party was a success." He laughed and kissed her again. "Which means we'll need to set up said church newsletter. I don't think the Reverend Phipps has anything going there. Maybe, we can make a Mailchimp account."
'We.' Wait, we can make a mail chimp account?! There's no 'we!' Ulla swallowed a knot in her throat. We - as in we, Ulla Svensson - don't need to be involved in a church newsletter! We aren't a church newsletter writing kind! Suddenly it was a little bit hard to breathe, and she slowly moved away from him. Something must have changed in her face, because he let her go and gave her an attentive look.
"Ulla?"
"Um– I need coffee," she muttered and pushed the envelope in his hand.
"Ulla, I'm sorry," he said quickly. He raised his hand, as if to stop her, but of course he didn't touch her. "I didn't mean to impose it on you. I will set up a Mailchimp account for the church." He gave her an apologetic smile. "And if you want, I can keep your name out of the newsletter. I'm sure Yola would be only happy to get all the credit."
Look at him! He's so worried to pressure her he's backing up with the speed of said Ducati Panicage V4. Does she look that freaked out?
Somehow his consideration made her feel only worse. Just a few minutes ago she'd felt so proud of herself! She'd done great! But to think of it now, she'd done great at being Mrs. Vicar! She'd checked a while ago of course, and that's what the vicar's wife was supposed to do: to 'mother' the community, to organise events, to help the vicar with the books.
Also, no matter how good he was at maintaining this mellow facade of his, she knew him well enough now. She could see the hurt that was hiding under his 'generous offer.' He was catering to her freak out - but it wounded him. What did he say the night before? 'Honoured to be your plus one.' He'd like to be openly proud of his 'plus one' - and she took it away from him.
Somehow, possibly for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure what the right thing to do was here - neither did she know what she thought and how she felt. So, she did the only thing left to do. She ran.
While she was loading the Sage in the kitchen, her thoughts whirred. She kept mentally switching between being annoyed at the whole situation - she wasn't his little wifey, and she'd only gotten dragged into this whole aggro because their current vicar was an incompetent muppet! - and being angry at herself for enjoying it so much! It's like she'd gotten lured into it with the promise of adoration of a whole bunch of village oafs - and she'd bitten the bait like a berk!
And somehow, what made her most dischuffed was that she was a hundred percent sure that once he came into this kitchen in a few minutes, he'd be perfectly jolly and patient and bloody... loving towards her as if nothing had happened! She'd feel almost better if he told her off for being an insensitive bitter hag - but he wouldn't be Oli Holyoake if he did!
Ugh! Why couldn't she have fallen in love with yet another abusive, unfeeling, broken alcoholic who only wanted to control and subjugate her - instead of a wonderful, kind, decent man who gave her a massive sense of inadequacy? Bugger!
***
Five days later...
Ulla watched him come out of the cottage and lock the door behind him. The whole time he was walking towards her car he had a beaming smile on his face. He climbed in and immediately pulled her into a deep kiss.
"Mmm, Oli–" she mumbled, and he let her go. "Not that I'm not happy to see you," she said with a giggle. "But aren't you a bit too jolly for a hospital visit?"
He laughed. "I've done this before, love. It's the same surgery again. And I'm very happy to see you." He leant again, and she pressed the tips of her fingers over his lips. He snorted. "Right, we might be only an hour early there," he drew out teasingly. "We need to hurry."
"Don't mock the Nordic-ness," she grumbled - and then kissed him herself.
She was that happy to see him too! She'd spent the last two nights in the city - and she bloody hated it with every fibre of her soul! Woman up, Ulla. It's just the Holyoake withdrawal. You can do this! It'll get easier. Ugh. Maybe. Hopefully. Not really... Bugger!
Also, she needs to stop the man now, or they might repeat a certain car episode right here, in the middle of a lovely sunny morning.
She pushed him away and laughed.
"Hold the thought," she murmured and rubbed the corner of his mouth with her thumb, wiping off her lip gloss. "I'll pick you up after the surgery, and once you have a nice long nap, we can talk about how much you missed me. I took the whole day off." He smiled widely at her. Ugh, you're so weak, Ulla! You're going to say it, don't you? "And how much I missed you," she whispered.
Oh bugger, look what you've done! He now looks even more beautiful, with these shiny widened eyes and his soft lips! Bugger! Stop kissing him! You'll be late!
Ah... whatever.