Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (9 page)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

Am I fifteen or something? This is crazy, my head is in a mess. I can’t do up my shirt buttons, I’ve fallen over putting my trousers on, and there’s a nick on my cheek from shaving too fiercely. Maybe I should forget the whole thing. I’m meeting Jess at her office at seven-thirty. It is only a thirty-minute drive away, but it’s only five o’clock and I am all ready. I need something to take my mind off things. I filled up the car with petrol yesterday, but it could do with topping up again. After all, I must have driven over eighty miles yesterday by the time I got home. I cannot risk getting petrol on my clothes, so I’ll change back into jeans and a tee shirt.

Six-fifteen. I have run out of delaying tactics. I am going to drive over to her office block now, but take the long route, maybe stop at a pub for drink. That is a ridiculous idea, Danny. Just chill. Why not drive down to the coast, take a quick look at the channel, and then on to her place? Actually, time-wise that should work out perfectly.

***

Jess has tried on three different outfits in less than ten minutes. She spends less time than this when she is addressing a conference of three hundred people. Madness, absolute madness. Why should she care one jot what Danny thinks? They are going for dinner, that’s all, a dinner that she has booked. Maybe he is really useless and not capable of organising a date, or did she just take over? The grey outfit is best. It’s not too formal and has classic lines, but the shoes are too clumpy. With her nice legs, higher heels would be better, but if she has higher heels then the red dress is far better. Although it is quite short and she doesn’t want to look too tarty.
All right, let’s start again
, she thinks. Crikey, it’s already gone seven.

***

How utterly farcical! What in the hell is a tractor doing waddling down country lanes on a Saturday night? HAVE YOU GOT NO SOCIAL LIFE TO GO TO? Actually, probably not, when I think about it. Seven-fifteen. I’m going to be late. Unbelievable. I’ve been ready for nearly three hours and I’ve managed to make myself late. Genius, Danny. Pure genius.

***

Seven-forty—he obviously thinks it’s very cool to keep a girl waiting. Smart-arse. Another five minutes and he can have dinner on his own.

***

“Your destination is 100 metres on the left-hand side…you have reached your destination.”

Fifteen minutes late. Is that bad? Is it bad—of course it is, you idiot, you clown, you joke of a human being. I bet she’s given up and gone home.

***

So he’s finally made it! Jess is tempted to hide and let him drive off, but he does look rather flustered. She decides to hear his excuses before blowing him off.

***

“Jess, I am so sorry. The crazy thing is…the only reason I’m late is because I was ready so early. I could have been here by five-thirty. I feel so bad.”

“No problem. I have only just got here myself. The taxi only dropped me off a minute ago.” She looks over my shoulder. “I like your car.”

“Thanks. I only picked it up yesterday.” I remember I am a gentleman and open the passenger door for her. “Are you ready? Silly question. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let me introduce you to my new best friend, Stan. Stan, this is Jess—now shut up.”

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Jane and I never had chats, not real ones. We would spend time just talking drivel, catching up on useless gossip about people the other barely knew, talking about TV programmes that we hardly ever watched, disagreeing about what films not to see. I can scarcely remember the details of anything we ever spoke about.

I will remember every word Jess has said tonight. She is so interesting to listen to, and funny? She has a wicked sense of humour. We seem to be laughing more than talking. People keep glancing over at us, but as I said once before, I don’t care because I know we make a great-looking couple. At times, I am scared to look into her eyes because they suck my head into a place that frightens me to death. I feel so close to her, genuinely close to the real person at her core. The meal is almost over before Jess starts digging into my past.

“So tell me all about your wife…or ex-wife is it?”

“I’m not sure what to say. It would be very easy to sit here and slag her off, but I made a choice, a bad one, and it would sound wrong of me to cast her as an evil bitch.”

“She wasn’t one then?”

“Oh yes, she was that. The very worst kind of evil bitch.”

She smiles at me, but I’m getting a feel for her now, and I am aware that she is spending most of her time deflecting questions I ask by countering with questions aimed at me. It is my turn to delve.

“Have you ever been married?” I ask.

Her eyes drop to the tablecloth. “Yes, when I was younger.”

I refrain from making a joke about her wording. “What happened?”

“He died in a motorbike accident.”

“Oh God, I am so sorry. That is awful.”

“It was eight years ago, I’ve moved on.”

“Even if it was eighty years ago, it is still a terrible thing to happen. Honestly, I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you, but in the end it was not the best marriage in the world; not in the last year or so, anyway.”

I feel bad, but internally I am delighted with that piece of information. However, I get the feeling it is for the best if I change the direction of our conversation.

“How long have you worked at Avionix?”

“Seven years or so.”

“Not long after your husband…”

“Yes, not long afterwards.” I’m not sure if that is the end of that part of the conversation, but then she elaborates. “I had lost contact with my father, but after Thomas died I went back to stay with him and we coped with each other’s company.” She drifts off for a while. “Then an opportunity became available in one of his companies, which he believed I could fill. I surprised myself at how good I was at it. I like to feel I got where I am today on my own merits.”

“But you still work for your father?”

“No, he sold out his business interests to an international corporation based in France.”

“So he’s retired. Do you still see him?”

She chuckles at my question. “Every day. I live with him, although strangely, we see very little of each other.”

“That sounds good—all the home comforts, but no rent to pay.” Her visual response is quite alarming. “I’m sorry—don’t take that the wrong way. In no way was it a criticism.”

“No problem. I didn’t take it as a criticism.”

“Jess, your eyes can say a hundred words in a split second. You did take exception, and I do apologise.”

I think that was the point when Jess might have fallen a tiny little bit in love with me.

By the time we finish dessert, I’m feeling pretty good. I have had the best meal in my life with the most beautiful woman I have ever spent time with. The night is young, and the bill is paid. Could life get any better?

The head waiter wanders over to our table and leans in to speak to Jess.

“Your taxi is here, Miss Roberts.”

What…! I cannot find a suitably descriptive word that describes the situation. I am gob-smacked, and Jess can see it.

“I’m sorry, Danny, but I booked the taxi yesterday and forgot all about it.”

“Well, that’s okay. I can still take you home.”

“No, there’s no need.”

Is she kidding me? I’ve been thinking about that goodnight kiss for the last five days. I’m desperate.

“So when shall I see you again?”
Never.
She is going to say never, and my life is over. I have never felt so bad in my entire life. Wait, did she say something?

“Pardon?”

“I said I’m free all day tomorrow. I have a report to finish in the evening, but I’ve got the whole day free.”

“Brilliant. Fantastic. Oh damn, I’ve just remembered. Would you mind coming along to look at a property I’m thinking of renting first? I would have to pick you up before eleven if I’m going to make the appointment in time.”

“Sounds perfect.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse and writes down her address. As she goes to put her pen away, she adds, “Oh, and the postcode for Stan.”

I think she might just get me. Very early days, but I’m sure Stan will be pleased to have been of some help in my love life.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Leigh House, South Road. It does not sound much, does it? Maybe one of those mid-terrace Victorian properties you see in the city suburbs.

Leigh House is nothing like that. South Road itself is about half a mile long with the poshest and most expensive-looking properties I have seen in my life, and Leigh House is smack bang in the middle. It has not got the largest frontage, and because of all the bushes and shrubbery, there is only enough parking for three or four cars. But the house itself is magnificent, Edwardian red brick and upon counting the windows, contains at least seven bedrooms. Even though it is a Sunday, there is a gardener trimming the bushes and a woman walking around the side of the house carrying a laundry basket. Daniel Pearson, you are so out of your depth. Whatever was I thinking of? I am about to drive off, seriously, I am about to drive off when Jess comes out of the front door…and she looks stunning. I have only ever seen in her in smart formal clothes; today she is wearing denim-coloured leggings and a custard-yellow top. She looks like the sexiest woman on the planet. She cannot seriously be considering going out for the day with a warehouse manager.

“Morning, Danny.”

“Morning, Jess. You look beautiful. I can hardly breathe looking at you.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No, seriously. I might not be able to look at you for a few minutes while I catch my breath.” She laughs, but I absolutely mean it. She gets into the car and says,

“So tell me about this house we are going to see, and why you fancy it.”

“I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve decided to say nothing. I would rather not describe it; I want your opinion to be honest without any prompting from me one way or the other.”

“Are you used to house-hunting?”

“Not really. When I was young, we used to move around all the time, but we were never involved in any of the decision-making. We would leave at the end of a school day and be taken to a new flat or whatever, and that was it. No discussion—no reasons.”

“‘We’—that’s Chantelle and you?”

“Yes, but get used to calling her Chan—there is no way in the world the name Chantelle suits her.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” Slow down, dear heart, slow down or I’m going to crash the car.
I’m looking forward to meeting her
. OH, MY GOD!

“You will—but don’t expect too much.”

“Don’t be silly. And what about after you were married? You must have looked at houses together.”

“We looked at dozens. In the end, I just lost interest in taking an interest. She was far more concerned with her mother’s opinion than mine. In the end, we bought a soulless box. The only clue I will give you about today is that I want to find something with character.”

“Fair enough. Does Stan know where’s he’s going?”

Ha, ha, very funny.

***

I am actually quite nervous about Jess’s reaction. In my mind, if she does not feel something for Cotswold Lodge, we might well be very different people in our make-up. I do not need her to fall in love with the place, just to understand why it should appeal to me.

“So you’ve only seen the outside. Interesting. What are you hoping to find on an internal inspection?”

“Not that much. Two bedrooms, a decent shower and a modern central heating system.”

“Sounds straightforward enough.”

“Maybe not, maybe not.”

“What about the landlords? Are they respectable?”

“You’re digging too deep. We are only ten minutes away. I am through with being cross-examined.” She squeezes my knee. She should not do that!

As we get closer to Cotswold Lodge, I start to question my judgement. Maybe on second inspection, the house might not be anywhere as near special as I first thought. I pull the car up outside the house, anxious for Jess’s opinion.

“Oh, my God! This is it? It’s wonderful. I love it. I love it.”

I think I have now firmly established beyond any doubt that Jess and I have similar tastes.

When I stopped outside the lodge yesterday, dusk was beginning to settle; today it is one of those wonderful early autumn days when everything still carries a summer freshness about it. The little house looks terrific. I am almost scared to go inside and break the spell.

“Shall we?” I ask.

She is out of the car before me and waits until I join her. “After you, Mr. Pearson.”

There is a bell on a chain instead of a door knocker. We smile at each other as I yank on the chain. There is quite a long delay before this hundred-year-old hobbit answers the door. I apologise—that is terribly ageist of me. An
old man
answers the door. He is wizened and cannot stand erect.

“Hello, my name is Mr. Pearson. I have an appointment to look at Cotswold Lodge.”

“Just a second.” He picks up a piece of paper, which he brings up close to his face. “Mr. Pearson, yes, that is right. Eleven-thirty on the dot. Well done, young man. Come on in and bring your wife with you.”

I turn to Jess and she makes a frowny face but then smiles. I’m happy.

Upon entering the house, it is smaller than I expected. A tiny hallway leads straight into the square lounge, big enough for a small three-piece suite, a dining table, and a television. On the other side of the hallway is a small room that I could use as office space, and around the corner is a compact kitchen that seems to be almost brand new, with every appliance I should ever need. Beyond that is a utility room, which at present is full of flower pots.

“Do you mind if I ask you to go upstairs on your own?” The old man asks apologetically. “I don’t find it that easy nowadays.”

Jess and I proceed up the narrow stairs to find a small bathroom at the top with a bedroom either side. It looks like the bathroom has been refitted quite recently. There’s no proper shower, but a glass screen over the bath. I’m only slightly disappointed, but that feeling disappears as we walk into the larger bedroom.

“Wow, what a view.” Jess squeezes my arm. This is getting ridiculous; I need to tell her she should not do that sort of thing to a man in a bedroom, especially not one who has spent the last six months sleeping on his own. But she is right; the views are spectacular from both bedrooms.

“How much is the rent?”

I tell her.

She shakes her head. “You have to move heaven and earth to get this place. Even if you have to move on again in six months. What a great place to recharge your batteries.”

If she touches me once again, I reckon that my batteries are going to explode.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” comes a voice from downstairs.

I make a questioning face at Jess. Is she getting bored? Does she want to leave? However she nods her head quite violently.

“Yes please. We’re coming down now.”

He is bustling about in the kitchen when we get down.

“Mr…” Ugh. I do not know his name.

“Call me Bill.”

“Bill, this is such a lovely home. Have you lived here long?”

“Oh, Mary and I have been here for, let me see…forty-three years and two months.”

Behind me I hear Jess audibly gasp.

“Is Mary, is she…”

“Still alive? Yes. But she cannot make the stairs any more. Lord Brabham is moving us to a flat on the ground floor of the big house, so we can stay together.”

Forty-three years! I am struggling to grasp the magnitude of the mixed feelings there must be for Bill and Mary. I find myself being rather overcome with emotion, and I turn my back because I can feel a tear welling up inside me.

Jess looks pale and mumbles, “I have left something in the car,” and disappears.

To try and make small talk seems abusive. I feel terrible, like a trespasser trampling all over a special place.

Bill, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have had on us, points me back along the corridor.

“Go on through to the lounge. Mary baked some biscuits last week; I will bring some through with me.” I am sure he will find it a struggle carrying the tray, but it would be insulting to take that duty away from him.

“Can I sit here?”

“Anywhere you want, young man. I spend most of my life sat at the dining table.”

I notice a nearly completed jigsaw takes up most of the table’s space.

“It must be a wrench to leave this place, this home after all this time.”

“It is that, but we have a treasury of memories of living here.”

“A treasury of memories, what a lovely expression.” Jess has come back in. She has been crying and her make-up is rather smeared.

“Come in, my dear. Oh dearie me, have I upset you?”

“Not at all. It just seems so sad that you and your wife have to leave this house after all this time. It made me feel incredibly sad.”

“Not at all, my dear. They have been wonderful years, and we are not finished yet. We still get around.”

That did not help Jess whatsoever and she is working hard to keep a sob away, so she tries to explain why she feels so emotional.

“It’s just that my parents’ marriage was a sham, and my first marriage ended up as a disaster. You make me want to believe in happy ever after again.”

“There’s a lot of luck involved as well, my dear, and patience, plenty of patience.”

I feel I need to change the direction of the conversation. It is not because I am unsympathetic; I just do not want to intrude on Bill’s positivity.

“Well, all I can say, Bill, is that I hope Lord Brabham decides to rent the property to someone who appreciates that your home is something special—something more than just bricks and mortar.”

Bill returns me a gentle smile.

“That will not be a problem. Lord Brabham has left it with me to decide on the new tenant. He knows that I will be the best judge of who will continue to look after the lodge.”

“I think that is a wonderful gesture. He must be a good man.”

“Yes, he is that. Hard but fair, that is how I would describe him. Would you like another cup of tea or a biscuit?”

I look over at Jess, who nods enthusiastically.

“That would be good, Bill, as long as we are not taking up too much of your time.”

He rises slowly and starts to carry the laden tray back to the kitchen. I try to catch his ear as he walks out of the door.

“How long before your next appointment?” I cannot catch what he says as he carries on into the kitchen. I follow him. “I’m sorry, Bill, I didn’t catch what you said.”

“Oh, I said no worries. The lodge is yours and your wife’s if you want it.”

I am staggered. Not sure of the correct response, I walk over to Jess, who frowns deeply at me. She is right; I have some hard thinking and soul-searching to do before Bill returns.

“Here we are, a nice fresh pot.”

“Bill, I need to make something clear.” I hesitate. “I love this house, this home, but I do not want it through deception.” I look over to Jess. “Jessica and I are not married. In fact, this is only our second date—that is, if you can call house-hunting a date. I am head over heels in love with her, but I would not want to deceive you into thinking we are married or even a couple.”

He looks at me very seriously, from head to toe, before he responds,

“So do you think I should wait until you get married?”

What!

“Only joking, young man.” Then it was his turn to speak to Jess. “Jessica, do you think this young man deserves this house?”

“Do you know what, Bill? I think he does; I genuinely think he does.”

“Fair enough. I will let Lord Brabham know tomorrow. Oh, and if there is a wedding, make sure Mary and I are invited. My wife loves a wedding.” There still lurked a little twinkle in the old man’s eyes. I could understand why Mary had stayed with him all this time.

We get back into the car, wave our goodbyes to Bill, and I manage to last half a mile before I find a lay-by and pull over.

“YES! YESSS!” I punch my fist in the air, and without thinking, lean over and give Jess a big hug. The vaguest musk of her perfume brings me to my senses. “I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to be so…so…”

“Forward?”

Yes, that was the word I was looking for. I had just hoped she would not have found it quite so easily. With that, Jess leans over and kisses me softly, on my lips, and lingers there for a while.

“Congratulations, Danny. That is going to make a lovely home. I am sure you will be very happy there.”

I struggle for the right words; “thank you” seems inappropriate. Maybe a change of direction whilst I get my thoughts together?

“And what a nice guy that Bill is, as well.”

“A lovely man. Don’t you dare let him down.” Her voice sounds rather raspy.