Strains of Verdi's String Quartet in E-minor drifted across the yard as Libby slipped off Shakespeare's saddle. The muted notes Vanessa coaxed from her cello sparked memories of Libby's first professional role for the English National Ballet and the inevitable tears fell. There had to be thousands of classical pieces Vanessa could play, why that one today?
'For Christ's sake, Tallulah.' Robbie's voice, loud and angry, obliterated the music.
Libby ran to the tack room, the saddle over one arm as she wiped at her eyes, no doubt smudging her make-up. She couldn't let him see her crying. It sounded as if he was in the garden. She could escape unnoticed.
'Five minutes,' he yelled. 'I asked you to keep an eye on Dora for five minutes but you're too busy texting Chloe. Go and check in the Wendy house.'
Dora was missing? Libby dried her eyes on her t-shirt, hoping she didn't look too Alice Cooper, and peeked out onto the yard. Dora sat in the sandpit, merrily upending a bucket to create a perfect little sandcastle. The cello music never stopped, so Libby reluctantly broke her promise to stay out of the way.
'Libby!' Dora leapt up, hugging her leg.
Libby took her hand, leading her to the garden. 'Rob? She's here.'
He sprinted over, his face pale as he picked up Dora, kissing her head over and over. He mumbled to his daughter that she wasn't to run off, his relief palpable but doing nothing to diminish his frown.
'Are you okay?' Libby asked, unused to seeing him with stubble or shadows under his eyes.
'Why are you here?' he snapped.
'I took Shakespeare out. You said... What's wrong?'
'Oh, piss off, Libby. It's nothing to do with you.'
He stalked away, leaving her stood with tears once again looming.
The first, distant rumble of thunder filled the valley as she plodded into the village. All she needed now was for god to smite her down with a thunderbolt. The humid air stifled her, like breathing through a hot rag. Robbie hated her. She'd interfered, over-stepped the boundary. He wasn't her friend; he was her boss. Why did she always over-step boundaries at work?
The first drops of rain fell as she walked into the Square. The odd, fat blob hit her bare arms, and then the deluge started, but she didn't have the energy to run. Why did Vanessa have to play the Verdi? She'd danced to it at Covent Garden. The Guardian had laid praise at her feet, promising a long, world-class career. But here she was, about to be sacked from the only job that had made her happy in three years.
Her t-shirt and jodhpurs were drenched by the time she'd reached the cottage, but she didn't care. Just another disaster to add to the shambles she called her life. Her tears mingled with the rain. A glass of wine. A vast glass of wine.
Hammering noises, greeted her, making her stomach churn. Jack was working, why? She'd successfully avoided him for five days. Zoe trotted down the stairs, in a scarlet linen shift, ready for a date with Greg. Why did Zoe find someone so easily and Libby's life was filled with unsuitable types?
'You're dripping on the new floorboards.' Zoe peered in the mirror, checking her immaculately straightened hair.
'I'm going to get fired.'
Zoe stopped her preening. 'Why?'
Libby explained, slumping against the wall.
'But he can't fire you for that. He should apologise.' Zoe applied a coat of scarlet lipstick, but didn't let up on the inquisitive frown. 'You really fancy him, don't you?'
'No.'
'Liar.'
Fancy him? Fancy him didn't begin to cover it. After the first summoning spell, or was it the grounding exercise, she'd stopped fantasising about him and everything was fine. All fine until he hugged her again. God, how could he hug her when they'd just watched Max and Cleo practically shagging? Since then, most nights involved utterly inappropriate dreams, including one of him as a fireman.
'What does it matter? He's married. I couldn't have him, even if he didn't hate me.'
'So move on.'
'Who with? The policeman who would rather be with his ex-wife or Jack who'd shag around the minute my back was turned?'
'Personally, I'd drag either of them to bed,' Zoe said, her eyes suddenly widening. 'Or both?'
'Don't be ridiculous. Why's Jack here anyway? It's Saturday.'
'Making up the time he missed on Monday.' Zoe checked her watch. 'I can't believe it's pissing down. My hair's going to frizz.'
'You can't look worse than me.'
'This is true.' Zoe frowned at her. 'Okay, for one, Robbie can't sack you because you've done nothing wrong. And two, there's a rather single, very fit joiner in the kitchen, dying to see you. I'm off.'
Libby glanced towards the kitchen, and sighed. 'Later 'gator.'
'While 'dile.' Grabbing her umbrella, handbag and a bottle of red, Zoe headed out into the rain.
Glass of wine time. Libby headed into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring Jack as she opened the fridge. No white wine. She glanced across to the new wine rack built into the island. No red wine.
She swore, pushing her hair off her face. 'Bloody Zoe. She's just taken the last of the wine.'
'Sorry.' Jack said, packing his tools away.
'Why? It's not your fault.' She regretted her snappy tone the second the words came out. 'Sorry, I mean, it's not your fault.'
But then was any of this Jack's fault? Had she unintentionally summoned him? Jack ticked her boxes: good looks, twenty-nine, green eyes, English, single and surprisingly honest.
'Libby-'
'I'm going for a shower.'
The thunder rolled in as she climbed out of the shower, now precluded by flashes of lightening, some lighting the sky, some forking down to the ground. She stood in her bedroom, wrapped in a towel, watching the storm, Hyssop on the dresser next to her. The black clouds seemed endless. The wrath of the Earth Goddess.
There was a knock at the door.
'You decent?' Jack said from the other side.
She tightened the towel. 'More or less.'
Jack came in, his eyes only glancing at hers before he focussed on the floor, his right hand offering a glass of wine. 'I nicked a bottle from Aunty Sheila's.'
'Sheila from next door is your aunt?'
He nodded. 'She wasn't in, so I left a note. It's her elderflower wine.'
Libby sat on the bed, pressing her lips together to hide her smile as she took the glass. 'Thank you.'
He sat down, a foot away, with his his elbows on his knees, looking up at the opposite wall. 'You didn't fancy starting a fire, to see me in the uniform?'
Libby swatted his arm, failing to stop her smile. 'Are there many fires around here? Or is it all dashing off to save kittens from trees?'
'I reckon I've cut more people from wrecked cars than I've carried from burning buildings but I've never rescued a kitten. There was a tortoise on the church roof though.'
Libby took a mouthful of the wine. The elderflower tasted so crisp and fresh, the acidity level perfect. 'Why on earth was there a tortoise on the church roof?'
'Well, it had gone up there for the tomatoes.'
'The tomatoes?'
He nodded. 'Mrs Barratt at number seven had a greenhouse, one of those plastic Wendy house things. The first decent wind and it ended up on the church roof, tomato plants and all. Stan fetched it down, but he didn't bring the plants.'
'But how did the tortoise-'
'Ah, well, Mrs Barratt won the tortoise in the school gala...'
The storm raged while Libby drank her wine, listening to Jack's tales, letting his easygoing charm obliterate her misery over Robbie. God, he was cute. And funny. Thunder boomed and her heart fluttered as she focussed on Jack's mouth, struggling to pay attention to his words. They were sitting on her bed and she was wearing nothing more than a towel.
With her glass emptied, her confidence boosted, she crossed her legs, trying not to smile as his latest story about rescuing old Mr Jenkins from a portaloo faded away, his eyes now focussed on her thigh. Slowly, he looked up, taking a deep breath.
'Look, I know you don't think too much of me, but I'm trying to do the right thing. I think you're... well, pretty fucking cool. So I told Grace because I've always been honest with her. I just want the chance to show you I'm not-'
Libby kissed him, her lips lingering against his. Jack's eyes widened, surprised, but as she kissed him again, he slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her closer. Robbie who?
Lightning cracked and they fell back onto the bed. A flicker of doubt flashed in her head, but with Jack kissing his way down her neck, along the edge of the towel, Libby ignored her nagging conscience. She grabbed Jack's t-shirt, pulling it over his head and Hyssop padded out, sending her a disapproving meow.
Jack tugged the towel free and Libby focussed on his sandy brown hair, suddenly seeing it two shades darker, his green eyes turning the colour of molten chocolate. God, she'd wanted this for so long. How many times had she imagined kissing her way down Robbie's chest - Jack's chest. She blinked, refocusing on Jack's perfect six-pack. Jack.
His hands trailed up her thigh as she ran her fingers through his hair, her tongue toying with his and as his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, she closed her eyes anticipating his touch. It didn’t disappoint. Bolts of pleasure shot through her, stronger than she’d ever known. She was as electrified as the storm outside. Every kiss, every caress, sent delicious shivers surging over her skin, making her beg for more. Somehow, in a blur of kissing, they stripped off his clothes and she somehow managed to find a condom in her bedside drawer.
'Your eyes...' He held his breath as she unrolled the condom. 'They've gone all dark and sexy as fuck.'
Libby knelt over him, feeling more alive than she had in years. She was about to have sex with Robbie Golding and he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
'Libby... wake up,' said a girl beside her. 'Libby?'
A sneeze startled Libby and the light in the room blinded her as she opened her eyes. God, her ears hummed with the blood rushing around her head.
'Libby, you need to drink this,' the girl said.
Libby blinked, struggling to comprehend why the girl looked so much like Grace. It was Grace. What was Grace doing? She held a mug to Libby's lips. Coffee, really strong coffee. 'I don't like coffee.'
'Libby, do as she says,' Jack said.
The coffee was warm, not hot, but the acrid flavour made her wince.
Jack. Oh god, she'd had sex with Jack. They hadn't even been out on a date, never mind five. She'd had sex with Jack so why the on earth was Grace in her bedroom? Libby gulped the coffee, hoping it'd help her think. Her brain was a mess.
'What's going on?' she asked, finally able to focus.
Jack sat on the bed, a frown creasing his forehead as he nibbled at his thumbnail.
Grace knelt by her side, urging her to drink more. 'The elderflower wine you had. It was laced with belladonna, you know, deadly nightshade.'
'You tried to poison me?' she said to Jack, wishing she had the energy to move away.
'No.' He sneezed.
'He might've saved your life.' Grace refilled the mug from a cafetiére. 'The more you have, the better you'll feel.'
'I don't understand.'
'Well, after you were done fucking my boyfriend-'
'Grace,' Jack snapped, 'not now.'
Grace sat pouting for a second.
'What happened?' Libby struggled to sit up, wrapping her still naked body in the duvet. 'Why was it poisoned?'
'Poison to one, is medicine to another,' Grace said. 'Maggie used to lace most of her drinks with belladonna to help with her migraines. I bet Sheila made that bottle especially for her. I doubt one glass would've killed you, though ironically shagging probably pumped it around your blood a lot quicker. That would've been an ironic way to go.'
'After...' Jack sneezed again. 'You went all weird, mumbling nonsense about work, and your pupils were huge so I got Grace.'
'Why?'
Grace glanced at Jack. 'Because I use it in my eyes sometimes. It looks good. And Maggie told me about her taking it, so that if anything happened, I'd know what it was and what it did. Lucky for you.'
'I rang Zoe. She's coming back.' Jack sneezed again, the noise sending another jolt of pain through Libby's head.
'What's the matter with you?' she asked him.
'That cat.' He shot a filthy look to Hyssop, who sat on the bed the other side of Libby. 'It's why I've never rescued any kittens. I'm allergic to the little horrors.'
Hyssop hissed. Jack glared back.
'Oh.' She frowned at him. Jack didn't like Hyssop? Or kittens? Who didn't like kittens?
The doorbell ringing broke the uncomfortable silence and Libby couldn't be more relieved when Jack went to answer it. He didn't like kittens. She watched Grace, who sat on the windowsill, fiddling with a charm bracelet. How could Grace, a vet's assistant love someone who didn't like kittens?
'Jack, thank the Lord, you haven't drank the wine,' Sheila said, her voice cracking.
Libby closed her eyes, unable to filter out Jack's response over the white noise filling her head. A minute later two sets of feet clattered up the stairs.
'Oh Libby,' Sheila said, as she sat by Libby's side, worry etched across her face. 'I'm so sorry. It was Maggie's and it had her belladonna in it. It could've killed you. I'm a silly sod. I should never have kept it, but Maggie swore it got rid of the worst headaches.'
'It's my fault, Aunty She,' Jack said. 'I shouldn't have helped myself.'
'Oh, poppy cock. You know well enough to make yourself at home.' Sheila stroked Libby's forehead. 'How are you feeling?'
Guilty. 'I'll live.'
'Sadly,' Grace mumbled.
Libby didn't fight back.
For the longest thirty minutes of Libby's life, the four of them sat in silence aside from Grace's occasional instruction to drink more coffee, have a glass of water. The purgatory finally ended when Zoe arrived home. Sheila dashed downstairs to tell her not to touch the wine and Grace prepared to leave.
'Thank you,' Libby whispered. 'For coming to help me.'
Grace paused on her way to the door. ‘Libby, my ex-boyfriend is sitting on your bed, there are two used condoms in your bin and I’ve just had to play nurse maid. I don’t think you can begin to imagine how I much I hate you right now.’
Two condoms? But they’d only had sex once. Hadn’t they? LIbby closed her eyes, fighting through the fog in her brain. She could see them, both facing the mirror. She was sitting astride his lap, her legs hooked over his as he ran a hand over her body, following hers. He’d whispered for her to touch herself, to tell him what she liked, what she wanted. She’d acted like a complete whore and to make things a whole lot worse, the man looking back from the mirror, his fingers sliding inside her, wasn’t Jack. It was Robbie. She’d had sex with Jack, but imagined he was Robbie. She’d done exactly what Andy had done.
Tears rolled down Libby’s cheeks as Grace left, but she braved facing Jack, as much to punish herself as him. At what point did he realise she was out of it and hallucinating? After the second time, or before?
'Thank you for asking her to help, that can't have been easy, but you should go now.'
'Lib...' His eyes implored her.
'Go, Jack.'
She rolled over, pulling Hyssop towards her, unaware if anyone had ever hated her before, or if she'd ever hated herself quite so much.
*
Michael Wray put down his knife to answer his phone, ignoring the disgruntled diners around him.
'Wray.'
'I've got her. Up to no good. Sex and drugs.'
'You ripper. Who with?' Michael Wray asked. 'Andy again?'
'No. Jack.'
Wray sighed. 'Not good enough, mate. I want someone that'll rock the local community. Try the blog.' He ended the call and topped up his glass.
'Who're you talking about?' asked Amber, picking at her salmon.
Wray grinned. 'The new you.'