English Lord, Ordinary Lady

‘You think they should move somewhere else?’

Quickly, she snapped her head round to look back at the plans. ‘Um…’

All the little shapes had gone blurry. She forced her eyes to co-operate.

‘At the moment that long, straight layout funnels the customers towards the till. People who only want a hot drink have to queue up behind customers ordering food. I’d always imagined it would be better like this…’

She reached over and picked up Hattie’s drawing pad and flicked to a clean page. There weren’t any pencils or felt-tips easy to hand, so she used a purple crayon. Will leaned in even closer—she could tell because all of a sudden she could smell his aftershave—as she drew a few ragged lines to indicate the shape of the tearoom.

Then she drew a horseshoe shape with breaks in it.

‘If we had separate areas for drinks and hot and cold food—and maybe even two tills—we’d have a better flow of people and it would feel more open and inviting.’

Will picked up the pad and looked at it closely. Then he nodded.

Josie bit her lip.

‘I’ll get to the architects to amend the plans. We’re starting work next week but these sorts of things are finishing touches. It shouldn’t hold the work up too much.’

Josie stood up, taking her coffee-cup with her, and retreated to a safe distance. ‘Good. Glad to be of help. Any time.’

The urge to babble was getting worse. Now was the time to put the brakes on.

‘I’m really excited about the renovations and I’ve got some great ideas for the styling and decorating. I was thinking of wooden chairs and white walls with large modern art canvases…’

Stop. Stop now!

Her hands had been wildly illustrating her ideas. She dropped them and shoved them in her pockets for safe-keeping. ‘Never mind. No need to discuss all that right this very second.’

‘OK.’ He folded the plans neatly away and dropped them back into the waiting briefcase. ‘I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.’

Her hand drifted to feel the damp tendrils. ‘Doing my roots.’

She fidgeted with the bangles on her wrist as he just stood there and looked at her. He opened his mouth, inhaled then shut it. He turned slightly, looking at the garden gate then focused on her once again.

‘What colour was it before?’

What? Oh, her hair! She reached up and touched the place where her hair parted.

‘I think it was white-blonde.’

‘No, before you started dying it strange—I mean, different—colours.’

She made a dismissive gesture, turning the corners of her mouth down. ‘Oh, you know. Nothing. Boring. Why do you want to know?’

Will stared over the top of her head. She was pretty sure he didn’t know why he’d asked. He had been a bit talkative for a man who was the dictionary definition of ‘the strong and silent type’.

The thump of little feet on the stairs behind her made her turn round. Hattie flew down the narrow cottage stairs and launched herself at Will, encircling his legs with her arms.

‘Bye, Will.’

He looked down at the child superglued to his legs and smiled. It was as if something about him had melted and softened. Just for a split-second.

‘Bye, Hattie.’

Something like electricity arced between the man and the little girl. Josie could swear she almost saw it. Not a bolt of lightning—more a slow, steady hum—but a strange kind of connection all the same.

All her life she’d wanted that to happen. That bolt from the blue, that sudden realisation that somebody ‘got’ her. She was still waiting.

It was unfair, that was what it was. And it was juvenile of her to be jealous of his instant rapport with Hattie.

She adored her daughter—really adored her—but if she hadn’t seen her arrive into the world and watched the wristband be attached then and there, she’d have thought her little girl had been swapped for another baby. Like those old wives’ tales about fairies leaving one of their own in place of a human child.

Mother and daughter were so totally different. And it wasn’t as if Hattie was anything like her father, either. She had none of his restless energy or extrovert tendencies.

Will attempted to untangle himself from Hattie.

‘Come on, Hattie. Let him go.’

Hattie obligingly dropped her arms and stepped away. See? There was another difference. If it were Josie, and she’d forged that kind of bond with someone at Hattie’s age, she’d have had to be prised away, yelling and screaming.

Will faced her again. The smile was gone. He looked about as comfortable as he had sitting in that old armchair.

‘Well, Josie. Thanks for your input.’

‘No problem.’

He looked down the path again. No doubt he was desperate to escape. Then she remembered something. ‘Oh, wait a minute. I’ve got something for you.’

She ran back into the living room and fished something out of a large bag beside the armchair. When she got back to the front door, she handed it to Will. ‘I crocheted this for you. Call it a peace offering.’

He turned it over once or twice. ‘What is it?’

Josie tried very hard not to be offended. ‘It’s a hat. March can still be quite cold in the country.’ What else did he think it was? A tea cosy?

‘Oh. Thank you. It’s very…colourful.’

He folded it in half and put it in his pocket.

‘Well, goodbye, then.’ And stupidly, as he turned to walk down the path, she added, ‘I’ll catch you next weekend, if I have any more ideas—if you’re down, that is.’

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. ‘The decorators have finished in the private apartments now. I’ve decided to stay around and keep an eye on things myself for a bit.’

He didn’t say anything else, just raised a hand in a half-wave and carried on down the path. Josie responded with an anaemic ‘Bye’ that lacked enough volume for him to hear, and closed the door.

‘Do I have to go to bed right this very second, Mummy?’

Hattie was peeping at her from behind the living-room door. It really was bedtime in five minutes.