‘Anything the lady wants.’ Paul grins, a gleam in his eye. ‘You look stunning, Mary.’ Mum chuckles as Paul pulls down a wine glass. ‘And for you, Eleanor?’
‘Same,’ I squeak, looking around the bar to avoid seeing them giving each other lusty eyes. The old English pub is bursting at the rafters, and surprisingly up-to-date music is blasting from the jukebox. Right now, ‘Giant’ by Calvin Harris and Rag’n’Bone Man is gracing the speakers, and there’s even a few people jigging in the clear space across the pub that serves as a dance floor.
A glass of wine slides across the bar, and I look up to find Paul smiling at me. ‘Thank you,’ I murmur.
‘I’ll be back.’ Mum jumps down from the stool and heads off, waving and smiling at a collection of women across the way. It’s a tactical move to leave me alone with Paul. Damn her.
He’s lingering behind the bar, waiting for me to say something. I take a sip of my drink, wondering what on earth I could say. And that guilt is rising, thoughts of my dad poking at my mind.
‘I understand it must be hard for you,’ Paul begins when it’s obvious I’m not going to initiate conversation. He pours more wine into my glass when I place it down, like he’s cottoned on to the fact that feeding me wine might loosen me up. ‘With your dad and all.’
My glass is back at my lips again, anything to keep my mouth busy with a lack of words coming to me. I really have no idea what to say.
‘He was highly thought of around town.’
I pause, holding some wine in my mouth as I look at Paul. Highly thought of? I swallow and clear my throat. ‘You mean highly thought of as a bit eccentric?’ I appreciate Paul is trying to be diplomatic, but it’s no big secret that most people around these parts thought my dad was a bit cray-cray.
Paul withdraws, a little embarrassed. ‘I just want you to know that I have the utmost respect for him.’
‘He was a good man,’ I reply quietly, glancing over at my mum, who’s developed a bit of a sway as she chats. If she starts dancing, I think I might pass out. ‘But he never really gave Mum the attention she deserved,’ I add thoughtfully.
‘She has my full attention,’ Paul replies, and I look to find him smiling as he backs away and serves someone else across the bar. But his interest is constantly straying to my mum’s arse. I want to dive across the bar and slap my palm over his wandering eyes. I definitely inherited my mother’s arse. Becker’s fondness for mine is suddenly all I can think of, and I shift on my stool, waiting for the familiar discomfort from a few good spanks to kick in. It doesn’t, and I admit to myself that I miss it. I miss him. For the first time today, I lose my battle to keep my thoughts in check. I may have closure on my dad’s store and even my ex, but I don’t think I will ever really have closure on Becker Hunt. He’s got too tight of a hold on my dumb heart.
An hour later, my mother is dancing, and I’m still propped on my stool coming to terms with it. I’ve declined her offers to join her on the dance floor and have spent the best part of my evening smiling sweetly and chatting with many of the locals. Feigning contentment and convincing them how amazing my new life is in London is exhausting me, and I’m just about done with it when I’m certain that I must have spoken to every single person in the Saracen’s Head.
Sliding from my stool, I slip past Mum on the dance floor, laughing when she grabs my hands and twirls me. ‘I’m just going to the toilet,’ I shout over Prince as he croons ‘Kiss’.
‘Spoilsport.’ She laughs, releasing me and shimmying on over to Paul, who promptly hands her another glass of wine.
I make my way to the ladies, and once I’ve used the loo, I lean into the mirror and brush at my pale cheeks. My brown eyes look a little heavy, and I can’t work out if it’s tipsiness or tiredness that’s the cause. ‘She’s happy,’ I say to my reflection, batting off the silly twang of disappointment the admission stirs. All of the time I spent worrying and making sure I called to check up on her seems like a bit of a waste. It’s both gratifying and a little wounding. Not to mention guilt-inducing. I never once considered the fact that she might move on. I never pictured her with anyone but Dad. What would he make of this? Of Mum and Paul?
I shake my head and those thoughts away as I collect my purse, square my shoulders, give my hair a quick ruffle, and then pivot, taking the handle of the door and pulling it open.
‘David,’ I screech, jumping back. ‘Jesus, you startled me.’
He shrugs sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’ And then he seems to turn a bit awkward, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Elle, can we talk?’
Something about the way he’s looking at me, like in apology, makes me wary. ‘What about?’
‘It was nice seeing you today.’
Oh no. ‘David—’
‘We had fun, right? Like old times?’
Oh Jesus. ‘Accepting your apology wasn’t an invitation,’ I say, standing firm. ‘I can forgive you, and, trust me, that’s for my own selfish reasons, not to make you feel better about what you did to me. But I won’t forget, David.’ I skirt past him, breathing in deeply.
‘Please, Elle.’
‘Please don’t, David.’ I fight my way through the crowds, not prepared to get into this. I’m done.
‘You were so distant,’ he calls, following behind. ‘It was like you weren’t really here any more.’
What? No. He doesn’t get to push this back on me. I swing around, livid. The confrontation that was avoided earlier in Dad’s store? It’s happening now. I don’t know why I’m feeling the need to suddenly rip a strip off him. Maybe because I’m tired. Or maybe because my earlier resolve has wavered this evening with Becker playing on my mind. ‘That’s your excuse?’ I ignore the fact that he’s right. I was in Helston in body, but my mind was elsewhere, dreaming of . . . my dreams.
He pulls to a stop, and I realise all of the attention is on us. The pub is quiet. No music either, like the jukebox has shut up and wants in on this, too. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs.
‘You already apologised and I already accepted. Let’s leave it there.’ I turn to leave but find myself swinging back around, suddenly full of words I want to unleash. I’m blaming the wine, too. ‘Actually, let’s not leave it there. You did me a favour, David. When you shagged my best friend, you did me a favour.’
Paul appears with a fresh glass of wine for me, and I take it gratefully with a smile.
And throw it in David’s face.
The collective gasps in the pub seem to stretch for ever as he stands with his mouth hanging open, stunned, blinking, wondering what the hell has gotten into me. Because little meek Eleanor Cole would never do such a thing. Yeah, well, Eleanor Cole has changed. Eleanor Cole won’t stand any shit any more. Eleanor Cole has fire in her belly.