Libby checked her cheek in the hall mirror. The grazing wasn't too bad and an icepack had taken the swelling down, but even copious layers of concealer couldn't hide the bruise. Not exactly the best look for a non-date. She glanced down at her multitude of bangles and pushed them off, not wanting Patrick to think she'd made an effort. Bugger, why was she so worried?
Okay, she'd admit Patrick was good-looking, not at Robbie's supermodel level, but certainly an eight out of ten. What was he, about thirty? God, he was a vet and being a vet made him good with animals. To cap it all he didn't have brown eyes. Hazel eyes couldn't be classed as brown, could they? But was he single and was he honest with decent morals?
'Is it me,' Zoe said, pausing as she painted her toenails her usual scarlet, 'or are you a little nervous about your date with the vet?'
'It's not a date. It's a custody battle.'
'There's no battle. He can have the flea bag.'
Libby stroked Hyssop's head. 'Don't listen to her.'
'I'm allergic to him. I have to take Clarityn every bloody day.'
'You get hay fever. You'd take it anyway.' Libby checked her watch.
'Why are you so twitchy? Worried he'll stand you up?'
'No. He wants Hyssop too much.' Libby kissed the cat's head. But he's not having you, mister.
'I can't believe you're going on a date with Patrick McBride. I must've been ten when I saw him last. He was always nicking Maggie's weed and she used to call him the Wee Scots Beastie. I used to fancy him, of course. God knows why. He was this gangly sixteen year-old. What's he like now?'
'Oh, you know... fit.' She'd forgotten the Scottish accent. 'And it's not a date.'
'Fit, as in mountain biker fit, or fit as in...'
'You would.'
'Miss Wilde, is that why you're so twitchy? Wow, what if he's the one?' Zoe turned to her, wide-eyed. 'The one you summoned.'
Libby shook her head. 'He's not.'
'But it could be him.'
'It's not. He's Scottish.' And to avoid summoning Paolo, she'd added English to her list of desired traits. 'Bugger, he's here. You sure I don't look too try-hard?'
Zoe frowned at her. 'You're wearing a denim mini-skirt and black t-shirt. You're as bland as can be.'
Bland wasn't good. Libby pushed several bangles back on and hopped to the door.
'Hi,' she said.
'Christ, it's good to see you.'
Libby blinked in surprise, but Patrick wasn't speaking to her. He crouched down, reaching out to pick up Hyssop. After a thorough examination, accompanied by several chin rubs, Patrick set Hyssop down, then slowly straightened. He fought a smile as his gaze travelled up her legs, but when he reached Libby's face, his eyes widened and he recoiled, laughing.
'Wow,' he said. 'Didn't expect-'
'What?' She folded her arms.
'Seventeen year-old trailer trash. Aren't you a little old to be dressing like a teenage rebel?' He headed back down the garden path. 'You coming?'
Seventeen year-old trailer-trash? Libby straightened her back a little more. This wasn't a date. It was a custody battle. Grabbing her bag, she followed Patrick, deliberately hobbling slowly. If she'd aimed not to look too try-hard, he'd outdone her. His jeans looked threadbare through use, not some designer's whim and that faded t-shirt would be rejected by the homeless. But crikey, he looked good. Stop it.
Patrick slowed, glancing back at her. 'Hyssop looks well.'
'He said, begrudgingly.'
'His eye's been okay?'
'I got Zoe to get the drops from Grace.' Oh god, the Alfred. Please don't let Grace, or worse Jack be inside.
For the first time, Patrick gave her a smile. 'Don't look so worried. Yes, Grace will be in there, but honestly, she won't dare say anything in front of me. Grab the table in the window.'
'Can't we sit outside?'
'I'd prefer to sit inside.' He held the door open for her.
'I might want a cigarette.'
'Feel free to go outside for one. It's a disgusting habit. Drink?'
'The white Rioja,' she said, already wishing she hadn't agreed to the non-date.
Grace didn't hide her displeasure at Libby's arrival and Jack sat at the bar, staring straight ahead. Why had she let Patrick boss her around? She didn't want to sit inside. She didn't want to be sat in the same pub as Jack or Grace.
She darted to the left, taking refuge in the window seat hidden from the view of the bar. Her ankle started throbbing again. She could be getting ready to go and see Robbie. What had she been thinking? She could just leave. Walk out. Longingly, she glanced across to the cottage. Hyssop was sitting on the war memorial, in the middle of the square, watching her. Keeping an eye on her?
Her chance to flee passed as Patrick sat opposite, pushing a bath-sized glass of wine towards her.
'Sorry for almost killing you this morning.'
'Apology accepted.' She took the wine, trying to force a polite smile.
'You really don't want to be here, do you?'
'Nope.' She took a mouthful of the wine. 'So you've been away. Nice tan.'
'My brother has a practice out in Spain.'
'Practice?'
'He's a vet too, family thing.' He had his head tipped slightly, studying her. 'My dad's a vet, my mum's a vet, my big brother's a vet. Why was Xander hugging you?'
'Trying to find unearth a little scandal you can use in the custody battle?'
'Maybe. You didn't answer me.'
'He's my running buddy. Well, he was. Thanks to Grace we can't run together any more. Daisy put her foot down.'
'And he was hugging you because...'
'He's nice like that.'
He sipped his beer, leaning further back in his seat. 'Why'd you come here?'
'The irresistible lure of a free drink.'
He glanced out of the window, trying not to smile. 'To Gosthwaite, I meant.'
'Zoe and I were sharing a flat in Manchester. She inherited the cottage, decided to renovate it. I came too.'
'What really happened with Xander?'
'We're just friends.'
'Can I have the cat back?' he asked, looking her in the eye.
'His name is Hyssop. And no, you can't. He's settled.'
'He's not yours.'
'He's not yours either.' She kept up eye contact, fascinated by the odd mix of green and brown in his irises.
'Maggie said that if anything happened to her, I should look after him.'
'I've seen her Will. Your name wasn't mentioned.'
'He was happy with me.'
'What, until you buggered off and left him? He needs a home, not someone who lets him down.'
'And you're going stick around forever? Grace said you and Zoe were planning to move on when the renovations are done. At least I own my house.' He glanced up to his right.
'Liar,' she said, without thinking.
'What?'
'You don't own that house, you're lying.'
He frowned at her for a second, before shaking his head, clearly irritated but his eyes twinkled. 'Okay, okay, so my parents own it. That's not the point.'
She sipped her wine, trying not to smile. 'Ding, ding, end of round one.'
'Bitch.' He gently kicked her ankle under the table.
Libby winced. 'Ow.'
He sat up, his eyes wide. 'Christ, sorry.'
She couldn't stop her huge smile. 'It's okay. It was the other ankle.'
'I'm really starting to dislike you.' He threw a beer mat at her, his smile growing.
'Careful, some might call that flirting, like pigtail pulling in the playground.'
'Don't flatter yourself. You look like seventeen year-old trailer trash.'
'Crikey, you know how to charm a girl out of her cat.'
He knocked back several mouthfuls of beer, never taking his eyes off her. Robbie had some serious competition for the sexiest bloke she'd ever met.
This isn't a date. Don't get carried away. He only wants Hyssop.
'I hear you used to pinch Maggie's weed,' she said, trying to keep things a little less flirty.
'She gave me permission to help myself when I was eighteen. Can I still?'
'You just said smoking was a disgusting habit.'
'Weed's different.'
'Hypocrite. I don't think being a regular drug-user is going to help your custody case.'
'And inflicting second-hand smoke on Hyssop is helping yours, is it? Ding, ding, end of round two.'
Libby pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. 'What was she like?'
'Maggie?' He turned to the cottage. 'She used to be ferocious. Christ, the amount of times she whacked me with her walking stick. She changed though, softened up in her old age. I liked her.'
He still stared at the cottage, his frown growing. Libby could feel his sadness. She wanted to comfort him, hold his hand. Hold his hand? Run her fingers through his hair, more like. She gently nudged his ankle.
He turned to her, smiling. 'Ow.'
She smiled back, glancing up at the tiny cut peeking from under his curls. 'How's your head, by the way?'
'Fine, but my helmet's knackered and my bike's scratched to hell.'
'That was the scariest twenty minutes of my life.'
He laughed, leaning forwards, his elbows on the table. 'You were hilarious. I can't believe you had your eyes closed.'
Libby blushed as he smiled and his legs stretched out under the table, accidently brushing against hers. He did fancy her. A bit at least.
'Isn't he a bit single for you, Libby?' Grace said as she wiped down a nearby table. 'You want to watch yourself, Patrick. Her reputation's worse than yours.'
Libby clutched her glass, mentally screaming at Grace's departing back.
'Turns out, you were wrong,' she said, looking up at Patrick, hoping for some reassurance, willing him to reprimand Grace.
He didn't. He stared back. 'I've got to go, sorry.'
'You are not walking out on me in front of her.'
He stood up, abandoning the last quarter of his pint. 'I'll try not to run you over again.'
Her cheeks burned with mortification and anger. 'Damn right. That was a public footpath, not a bloody cycle route.'
He left.
Libby downed her wine before hobbling to the bar and where Grace stood with her arms crossed, grinning.
'You want a war?' Libby said, keeping her voice low. 'You've got one. You have no idea what I can do. I will take you on in the fell race and I'm going to win.'
Grace blew her a kiss and Libby strode off across the Square, refusing to limp. She wouldn't give Grace or Mr McBride the satisfaction of watching her suffer.
'Matilda, can't you play in the bloody house?' Libby manoeuvred the wheelbarrow around the collection of teddies having a picnic in the middle of the yard.
'Tilly, take the bears nearer the sandpit, please.' Robbie waited until Matilda was out of earshot. 'And you're in a bad mood because?'
'None of your business.'
'Oh, so we're back to that are we?'
Libby dragged a half-full bag of shavings to Max's box.
'Libby?'
She stopped, looking up at him.
'Don't ever take your bad fucking mood out on my daughter again.'
He headed back to the house and she kicked the shavings bag, sending a bolt of agony into her ankle.
'I went for a drink with Patrick the vet last night,' she said, flopping onto the bench. 'I shouldn't have said yes. I feel bad.'
Robbie looked up at the sky for a moment before joining her on the bench. 'Lib, if you want to go out with someone... Not that I want you to, but under the circumstances, it's not fair to stop you.'
'I lied. I'm sorry.'
'You did. Why?'
She shrugged.
'And what happened when you went out with Patrick the vet last night?
'The utter bastard walked out on me.' She pulled a face then braved looking up at him. You're ten times the person he is.
'Sounds like you got off lightly.' Robbie ran a hand though his hair. 'He's my best-friend but-'
'What?'
'You didn't realise? Have I not mentioned him?' He laughed. 'I suppose there's some irony there. Look, I wouldn't trust my sister with him, if I had a sister.'
'Why on earth are you friends with him?'
'I've known him since I was nine and... he reminds me of who I used to be.'
Oh. 'I am sorry.'
'It's okay.' He glanced across to the girls who were merrily feeding the teddies sand, before dropping a kiss on her head. 'Just promise me, if you do meet someone else, don't lie.'
She nodded.
'And stay away from Patrick.'
Happily.
*
Zoe sipped her tea, watching as Libby walked up the garden path. 'She's not going to be happy.'
Patrick didn't respond. He rubbed Hyssop's head, showing no emotion.
'Is it wine o'clock yet?' Libby called. She stopped and stared when she stepped into the living room but then turned, glaring to Zoe. 'What's he doing here?'
'I've come to take my cat-'
'He's not your cat,' Libby said, her voice a vicious hiss.
Zoe sat back, nursing her mug, intrigued by the drama unfolding in front of her. Patrick had rocked up, casual, confident and utterly persuasive. Not that he needed to persuade her. Hyssop had trotted down the stairs to meet him, hissing at Zoe along the way. The cat hated her and she pretty much hated the mangy fleabag. She hadn't said as much to Patrick, but she'd already decided it made sense for Hyssop to move next door.
What she hadn't appreciated was just how attached to the furry lump, Libby was. Hyssop jumped off Patrick's knee, sidling up to Libby, purring away, and Libby's eyes filled with tears. She was crying over something that wasn't ballet. How very interesting. And even more interesting, Patrick had sat forward, frowning, his casual confidence crumbling. But was he concerned over Hyssop's defection, or Libby's tears?
Libby scooped Hyssop up, kissing him. 'Can't you get another cat?'
'Look,' he said, taking a deep breath. 'I know you like him, but he means a lot to me-'
'He does to me too.' She looked at Patrick, tears pooling again. 'Hyssop's my friend.'
Zoe almost choked on her tea. Patrick and Libby both glared at her. 'Sorry, but it's just a cat.'
Patrick shook his head before turning back to Libby. 'He's not just a cat.'
'No, he's not.' Libby shook her hair back, composing herself. 'But anyway, he's Zoe's cat officially and she'll let me keep him. Won't you?'
No. I don't want the bloody cat here.
'Zo, come on.' Patrick turned to her, flashing that terrific, flirty smile. 'We've known each other for years. We used to go blackberry picking. Remember when your tutu got stuck in the brambles?'
'And for mentioning that, Libby gets full custody.'
Patrick swore, taking a few moments to stare at the floorboards but finally, he stood up, towering over Libby to say goodbye to Hyssop. Libby looked up at him, her eyes apologetic and Zoe again struggled not to laugh. These two were bonding over a stupid cat.
'Look after him,' he said, his voice quiet.
'I promise,' Libby whispered.
Oh, this was fabulous. Patrick's jaw twitched away, but he spent more time gazing into Libby's big blue eyes, now framed by smudged mascara, than he did looking at the cat he so desperately wanted back. He was as smitten with Libby as Libby was with him. Priceless.
He headed for the door, glancing one last time at Libby.
'But...' Zoe said, stopping him. 'You can have visitation rights.'
'What?' Patrick and Libby asked.
'Feel free to visit on weekends and evenings. You know, to make sure he's okay.' And let's see what develops between you two. Zoe pottered through to the kitchen, leaving them to it, but hovered outside the closed door, listening in.
'I might take her up on that,' he said.
'I hate you. Get out.'
'You won, princess. I'm not too fond of you right now.'
Zoe grinned. A match made in heaven. And if she wasn't mistaken, Patrick fulfilled every single one of Libby's Summoning Spell criteria. But she'd let Libby discover that for herself.
*
Annoyed, irritated, and coming home to an empty house, Patrick slammed the door, cursing girls who cried. How could he fight back and persuade Zoe when Libby had got all... weepy. Christ, why did girls cry so much?
His phone rang. Robbie. Thank you. It was Saturday night. He could go round there, drown his misery. 'Hi Rob-'
'Stay away from Libby.'
'Fucking hell. Droit du seigneur?'
Robbie hung up.
Jesus. He'd lost Hyssop and now Robbie was pissed off with him. Libby Wilde was quickly ruining his life.