Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (10 page)

“He got to you, didn’t he?”

She turns away from me and I reach over and hold her hand. I can tell she is crying, but I allow her the space to work things out in her head. I have never carried a box of tissues with me in anything I have ever driven, but this is a brand new car and it is mine, so last night I bought a smelly to dangle on the heater control, and a small box of tissues. I feel rather suave as I ease open the glove box and pass Jess the tissues.

I know that feeling of wanting some time to shut the world out, and so for the best part of an hour, I drive the car aimlessly until Jess spots a sign.

“Bradford on Avon. Do you know it?”

“Not really. I was only doing my best to avoid Bath.”

“You don’t like Bath?”

“Yes, I know. I must be some kind of heathen. The place seems kind of soulless to me. Take away the American and Japanese tourists, and an acre or two around the Abbey, and…I don’t know. I just find the place depressing. Sorry.”

“Danny,” she says with a giggle, “that is so funny because I can’t stand the place either. On reflection, I think there is every chance you might enjoy Bradford on Avon, and I am dying for a cup of coffee. Are you a cake fancier?”

“Not really. Don’t bother much. Six or seven a day maximum, unless it’s a special occasion, of course.” This time it is my hand that gets squeezed.

Jess is right. The country town suits me and upon checking in with Stan, I discover it is only fifteen miles from Cotswold Lodge.

“Do you think he will change his mind?” The nagging worry is niggling away at me.

“What, Bill? Of course not; he is a gentleman.” She tilts her head slightly as she says this, so it feels like she is passing me a compliment. The weather is good enough to be sitting outside and a nice, cuddly lady brings us our coffee and cakes. As she walks back, I say something asinine about her sampling all the cakes. Jess is not well pleased.

“Don’t be so horrible; she cannot help being large.”

And Jess is right; not only was it rather nasty, it was also totally unnecessary. I get a feeling that Jess is one of those people who champions the underdog. One minute she makes me feel like I’m a very good, special person, and the next, like I’m a worthless waste of space. I apologise.

“You are right. That was horrible and uncalled for. You make me nervous, but that is no excuse.”

Jess looks at me and I can tell she is making some sort of decision in her head. Is she going to ask me to drive her home?

“My mother was stunningly beautiful. She married my father when she was only nineteen. Father was eighteen years older, nearly twice her age. Even by then, Father was successful. He owned seven various companies by the time he was thirty. He was never a good-looking man, even in his prime. There is no doubt whatsoever she married him for his money.”

I nod slightly. Jess needs to get something out of her system, and I’m not being facetious, but I could happily listen to her voice for hours.

“I would guess that father must have pressured my mother into starting a family. He would never openly admit it, but I think it is—
was
a son he wanted more than anything in the world. A child of any sort was the last thing in the world my mother wanted. All I can ever remember about her is her constant moaning and criticism. She was always locking me in the bedroom, starving me of food overnight until breakfast the next day. I was seven when father divorced her. It was nothing to do with how she was with me; in fact, for twenty years I think father in some way blamed me for the break-up. Which was crazy, because when I checked the divorce papers he filed, he named an adulterous relationship with some RAF pilot.” She drains her coffee cup and breaks off a piece of carrot cake.

I let her nibble in peace, believing she has more to say.

“So I know the damage words can do. I know what it feels like to have my confidence undermined, to be told my hair is horrible, my nose too long, my teeth too crooked. I do my best to look for the positive; it is so very easy to point out the negative.”

I know all this stuff, of course I do, but just listening to her makes me want to be a better person. I am not that good at discussing deeply personal stuff and Jess is opening up herself to me. Even though I know I should not, I try and lighten the moment.

“Yeah, of course I have always been aware of your ghastly hair and that awful nose, but you’re right, your teeth are horrendous, all over the place.” God, if I could freeze-frame her face like this forever—she is beautiful.

“You are such a charmer.” She takes a breath and then her eyes lock onto mine. “You’re not good with this sort of thing, are you? Being open about personal stuff.”

No, not usually, but here goes—let us see what Jessica Roberts is made of.

“My father is a con. A serial criminal. A Jack the Lad who has spent at least six years of my life locked up in prison. My mother is away with the fairies; she is fifty-one years old and believes she is nineteen. She is shacked up with some bloke at the moment who is at least ten years younger than me. My sister’s name is Joan but she insists on being called Chantelle. She is beyond crazy. She has a son called Jeremiah, who at this point in time has purple highlights in his hair to match his mother’s. But if you said one negative word against my sister and my nephew we would fall out, because for some mad, utterly crazy reason I love them to pieces. Oh and Derek, her husband, he is a top bloke, although he totally misses the point that he is married to a lunatic.” I do not give her a chance to break the flow of my confession. “I married the first girl I ever went out with properly. She is the only person I have ever had sex with, and over a period of five or six years she completely killed every bit of self-confidence that I had built up since I left school.” That should be enough to prove I can talk about “personal stuff.” To summarise, I add, “You want your head examined just for sharing a cup of coffee with me.” I think I have overcooked it—she is looking at me very, very seriously. I think this whole thing is over. I wait for the official dumping statement.

She speaks thoughtfully.

“When we met that time, you said that your father was weird, but your mother was wonderful. Or have I remembered that all wrong?”

Crikey, how sharp is this girl?

“When Dad was locked up, which was most of the time, my mother was fantastic. Looking back, the sacrifices she made to feed, clothe, and care for Chan and me must have been monumental. So no, she was wonderful—
is
wonderful, in her way. Thinking about it, everything changed when Chan and I both left school. I’ve never put the pieces together before, but she must have spent the last dozen or so years of her life making up for all the time she lost looking after us when she was in her prime.” I’m the one who is choking up now.

Jess does a Danny and says nothing. I may have found something in my history that needs unlocking. Still, I may as well finish something I have started.

“I haven’t seen my dad for years. He’s a lost cause, always on the lookout for the quick buck, the biggest chunk of money available for the least amount of effort. He was done for his part in an armed robbery. All he did was drive the getaway car. No real effort needed in that, was there? But the thing is, he is such great company. Full of jokes, always the centre of attention, brilliant sense of humour, but always loving, loves to cuddle and hug. Calls around to see Jeremiah every chance he gets. And after all these years—and they’ve been divorced for donkey’s years—he still will turn up at Mum’s with a wad of cash, or a new microwave or something. A complex man, an out-and-out villain, but as good as gold.” Shit—I’m drained. I have tried to paint a picturesque landscape and it has come out like a picture of Dickensian squalor.

Jess stands up. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Yes, she is right, walking is a far better idea than talking. Let’s see if I can do that without falling over and breaking my leg. What a fool I am. We reach a long rectangle of single-storey shops: gift shops, galleries, glass blowers, and candle makers. The place has a lovely relaxed feel to it. I had no prior thoughts to go shopping, but wandering around this place is a nice bit of therapy. After we leave the candle makers’ shop, I make a big decision, a massive decision. I reach out to hold Jess’s hand. I am prepared for her to flinch or maybe even scream, but she glances over at me and gently squeezes my hand. I have arrived in heaven!

There are only two more shops to browse around when we walk into another gift shop that turns out to be much quirkier than all the others. The owner is a massive woman wearing a bright, multicoloured kaftan-type of dress. She has an orange face, pink feathers in her hair, and the largest pair of sunglasses I have ever seen in my life. As we walk in the door, she places her hands together and bows ever so slightly. “Good afternoon. Feel free to browse and touch anything you want to. There is no obligation.” Good marketing—now she has said that I’m terrified to touch anything.

“Oh, look, Danny.” I turn. Jess is holding what I imagine to be a soft and cuddly version of a jaguar. It is sitting upright on a chair as if it should be reading the
Daily Mail
. I turn my back on her, feeling inside my pockets, and take a furtive look—I have forty-five pounds left. Okay, I have a plan. But no sooner than I make a plan when my eye is taken. I think better skills than mine are needed to get across what has caught my attention. It is a crow. I think it is a crow. I think it is meant to remind one of a crow. I think…No, I will stop there. It’s about eighteen inches tall, it has long pale yellow legs and a very long pale yellow beak, a dark grey body and two beady black and white eyes, which look guilty. I love him. Corky. It is an instant decision. Corky the Crow. Classy. I am actually holding him when I feel Jess’s breath on the back of my neck. At least, I hope it’s Jess’s because the shop owner scares me half to death.

“Oh, he’s cute.”

How discerning. How did she know he was a boy crow?

“He’s great, isn’t he? I think he would look brilliant on the windowsill in the lodge.”

“Perfect.” She turns to the scary lady. “How much for this, please?”

“It’s £15.95, but just give me fifteen if you’re paying cash.”

I’m thinking
don’t go wild with the discounts, you crazy woman,
whilst Jess strides up to the counter and open up her purse. Which is lovely of her, but it is not in reality, because I was going to buy her the fluffy jaguar and if I do that now it will look like I only did because she bought me a gift. To say I feel miffed is a major understatement.

“Here you are, Danny—the first new item for your new home.” What a bitch! We stroll back to the car, but all the time I’m seething with anger. How dare she steal my thunder? I open the car door for her and then decide I can’t let her win.

“Hang on. I will be back in a minute.” I jog back to the shop and the woman clasps her hands together and bows towards me once more. I take the fluffy jaguar from the shelf, ooh, and it is incredibly fluffy. The price tag says £35.95. I pull two twenty-pound notes out of my pocket.

“That will be £35.95, please.”

What?

“Thirty-five pounds with cash?”

“Oh no, we don’t discount—the price is thirty-five pounds ninety-five.”

Obviously part of me wants to say “you know where you can shove your jaguar,” but she is not up for negotiation. She laboriously counts out the change, almost as if she is expecting me to offer her a tip.

“Would you like a bag?”

Too damn true I would like a bag.

“Yes, please.”

She reaches under the counter and passes me a bag with the shop’s name emblazoned on it.

“That will be five pence, please.” I give her back the five-pence piece she gave me a few seconds earlier and then do an impression of someone storming out of a shop.

“Come back soon,” she calls cheerfully at my disappearing back. My stormy departures need some work.

Jess is sitting in the passenger seat with the door open. I drop down on my haunches so we meet at eye level. I pass her the bag.

“I had decided to buy this for you as soon as I saw you holding it, but when you bought me Corky, I felt all weird, as if I was only buying it to, I don’t know…balance the books?”

She opens the bag and squeals with delight.

“You do believe me, don’t you?” I ask her. This is such an important question.

“Will you ever lie to me?” she replies.

Wow, what a massive, massive question, but so easy for me to answer.

“No, Jess. I can promise you here and now, on Corky’s life, I will never, ever lie to you.”

“Fair enough. I accept your gift in the spirit that it is given. Only one thing.”

“Yes?”

“It is never having a name. Only fools give names to inanimate objects.”

I look over her shoulder. “Shh! Stan might hear you.”

She leans forward and kisses me. The kisses are getting longer and the quality of them is constantly improving.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

I only drive a few miles when I spot a large, attractive pub with an almost-empty car park. Not a good indicator, but in fairness it has only just turned six o’clock. Outside there is a large sign:
‘
Famous for our Food’
.
Which in my cynical mind could mean that the food is either famously diabolical or, at the best, reasonably okay. But I am feeling famished, and if we eat early enough and there is a food poisoning problem, I reckon we can still make the Bath Hospital Casualty Department before the evening rush hour.

Well, I certainly got that one wrong—the food is fabulous, and the service is slow and personal. Before we know it, it has gone eight-thirty and is gathering dark outside. There has not been one break in our conversation, which has been relaxed and interesting but without going in as deeply to our personal lives as we did earlier. We have drunk a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I have risked drinking a glass and a half; Jess has helped out by draining the rest of the bottle. Before the bill comes, I ask the question which has been at the back of my mind for hours.

“Jess, I don’t want to be pushy and I will totally understand if you say no”—she is intrigued, so I go for it—“I know it’s a bank holiday, but is there any chance you’d fancy going out again tomorrow?”
Why do I take these risks? What is the point in torturing myself?”

“Yes, why not?”

Pardon. I think I missed that.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry. I drifted off for a second. Brilliant, what do you fancy doing?” The bill comes and we fight over who is paying, and agree that fifty-fifty is only fair. We throw ideas at each other for a way to spend a Bank Holiday Monday (not all day because Jess has to be home before six).

We haven’t got very far when Jess suddenly shouts, “I’ve got it!” Heads around us turn in our direction.

“How about Weston-super-Mare? I have not been there since I was a little girl. We could go on the pier, ride the donkeys, that sort of thing.”

“If you are going to be riding a donkey, I am taking my camera.”

“Yes, of course not, but you know what I mean. Just a fun day.”

“Sounds absolutely perfect to me. What time would you want me to pick you up?”

“I need to finish off that report before I leave. Say elevenish?”

“It’s a date.” It most certainly is a date—a third date. I pinch my thigh quite severely under the table. That hurt, but she is still there. I love this dream.

Jess links arms with me as we walk back to the car. I think this might well be the best day of my life. Now, if I can get her back home all in one piece I feel I should get a slap on the back. Maybe not physically, but a word of praise from Rob would go down very well.

I put the car into cruise control and it purrs along as slowly as I can drive without the car actually stopping. I want the day to last.

We are stopped at traffic lights when my phone rings. This is tremendously exciting, as I spent an hour or so earlier today setting up the hands-free system in the car. This is my very first phone call on it. I try to sound business-like when I answer, as if I get calls all the time from the four corners of the globe.

“Daniel Pearson speaking.”

“Danny?”

It is Chan and I do not like the tone of her voice. She sounds shaken.

“Yes, Chan, what do you want?”

“Danny, I need your help.”

“Yeah, sure. What do you want?”

“Could you look after Jeremiah tomorrow?”

What the…! Of course not.

“Well, not really, Chan. Tomorrow is a bit awkward. Any other day.”

“Oh, sod it! The thing is, Derek has fallen off a ladder working up near Birmingham and he has broken his ankle. I need to go up to the hospital and bring him back. I don’t think I could cope with looking after Jeremiah as well.”

The thing is, Chan never asks me for help. Derek is one of those blokes who sorts everything out. He is a rock for her, and I love him for that. I cannot turn her down. I cannot imagine Jess is going to be impressed at being cast aside, but blood and water and all that stuff. I pull the car over and give Jess my most appealing look before catching sight of my face in the rearview mirror. I look like a hippo going into labour. I do not have to say anything.

Jess whispers, “Of course, you must help her out.”

I am about to speak to Chan when Jess tugs on my arm and whispers again, “He could come with us. Kids love the beach, the pier and all that palaver.”

This girl is a saint.

“Of course I will help. Do you want me to pick him up tonight?”

“No, he’s asleep, but if you could get here before nine, that would be brilliant.”

“No problem, Chan. Is there anything else you need?”

“No thanks. I can sleep easy now. I love you, big bruv.”

How embarrassing.

“I love you too, little sis. Don’t hesitate to give me a call if you need anything.” I turn the car engine off. “That was kind of you. Are you sure you don’t mind walking around a busy seaside resort with a five-year-old boy with purple highlights?”

“I’m going to have to walk around with you all day; the kid is no problem whatsoever.”

She kills me.

We are back at Leigh House by nine-thirty, and I am not one hundred percent certain how to end this date.

“I have had the greatest day and…” We kiss long, and if you do not mind my saying, tenderly. It’s a loving kiss; sensual, not sexual. Perfect.

I go around to the other side of the car and open the door for her. She kisses my cheek and walks up to her front door, turns and waves before she goes inside. It must be several minutes before I realise I have not moved from the spot. I get back into the car and drive home. Jess meets Jeremiah tomorrow—what could possibly go wrong?