Follow Me Home (21 page)

‘I don't care what you do. It's none of my business.' I recall, with a frisson of regret, the touch of his lips on mine.

‘When we kissed,' Lewis goes on, ‘I didn't plan that.
I thought I was in control. I thought I could hold back, but we were having such a good time and you were so close . . . I'm besotted with you.'

I gaze at him, my heart pounding and my throat dry.

‘Why are you looking at me like that? You can't tell me you don't feel the same.' Lewis steps back, kicks over one of Gran's pots and swears. ‘I'm sorry. I'll pay for a new .one.'

‘Don't bother,' I say, setting the clumps of tulips and yellow wallflowers upright and nudging the broken pieces of pot into a pile.

‘I have to.' He bends down to help. ‘I must.'

‘Lewis, I really think you should go now, before you do any more damage. I'm not sure why you came here this morning.'

‘Please listen.'

I've listened for long enough. I don't like liars.'

‘I've arranged to meet Jade on my way to Shropshire – I was going to finish with her properly, face to face, and then, when I came back, ask you out. You see, I've been planning to do the right thing all along.'

‘I'd be gutted if I was your girlfriend. That sounds so cold and calculating.'

‘It isn't like that.' Lewis's face is etched with desperation, but I can't tell if it's genuine. ‘As I've said, Jade and I have been on and off for ages. She's been out with other men, at least three that I know of.'

‘And you? How many other women have you been out with?'

‘I've had a couple of one-night stands when Jade and I were on a break.'

‘You think I'll believe that now?'

‘I don't see what the problem is. We were all consenting adults practising safe sex.'

‘You're what me and my friends call a sleazebag. If I'd known, I'd never have encouraged you, let alone let you kiss me. Goodbye, Lewis.'

‘Goodbye, Zara.' There's a catch in his throat. ‘Is there any chance—?'

‘Don't go there.' I hold my hand up.

‘If you want any advice about Frosty, you can call me, or text, anything . . .'

‘Thanks, but I won't.' I'm finding it difficult to dismiss him. He's certainly persistent, and it makes me think of Kev and how he wore Claire down until she agreed to go out with him – but that was different. Kev was a single man, and even if Lewis is telling the truth about his plan to finish with his girlfriend, how could I ever trust him? ‘Now, please go.' I turn to pick up the pieces of flowerpot and drop them into the bin, the clattering masking the sound of his footsteps as he walks away, and then I fall to my knees and hold Frosty tight. ‘I don't care if I never see that bastard again,' I tell her, and Frosty licks my nose.

‘Lewis seemed upset,' Gran says when I return to the shop.

‘I don't want to talk about it.'

‘And I don't want to see you on your own when I'm gone,'

She says it so matter-of-factly that I burst into tears.

‘It may have skipped your notice, but I am quite an elderly lady now. I'm not going to be around for ever.'

‘Gran, please don't talk like that.'

‘It's the truth. I'm tired, Zara. I have my good days and the not so good . . .'

It's as if Gran has opened the door into her future just a chink, and I take advantage of the opportunity to force it a little further.

‘You see, you really should retire so you can have a rest and enjoy life before you go, if you're really that intent on dying on me that soon,' I say darkly.

‘I do enjoy life. I make every day count and, as I've said before, why would I want to end up living in some old people's home? I don't think there's anywhere more lonely. I used to visit my friend in a home and she would sit in the lounge where no one spoke. The staff were all rushed off their feet so she didn't like to hold them up chatting, and the visitors fizzled out after a while. Anyway, what would happen to my customers? I'm a paper seller, shopkeeper and counsellor rolled into one.'

‘Someone else will take on the shop.'

‘You and Emily don't want it – you have your own lives. If I sell up, it will close. It will become a charity shop or computer repair place.' Gran clambers up the steps and brings down the jar of rainbow drops. Grunting with the effort, she unscrews the lid and pours out a generous heap onto the scales, before offering the bowl to me. We share them, taking fistfuls at a time.

‘If it's true love, it's worth risking your heart for.' Gran pours out a second measure. ‘Remember that.'

Regardless of what my grandmother says, I'm not prepared to risk my heart on Lewis, and one of her other
favourite sayings applies better to my situation as the days pass by: out of sight, out of mind. I keep myself busy with work and continuing Frosty's training, so I can't dwell on what might have been.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Call the Midwife

Claire's birthday is at the beginning of June, two weeks after Lewis left for Shropshire, and Emily and I decide to take her for a picnic to celebrate. Okay, we know how to have a good time, I think wryly, and Claire would have preferred a night out, but Kev's taking her away for the weekend and we wanted to do something on the day of her birthday, not afterwards.

We walk along the riverbank in the sunshine. Claire is wearing shades, shorts and flip-flops, Emily a vest top, jeans and sandals, while I'm in a fitted T-shirt with ‘Love Me, Love My Dog', across the front, jeans and trainers. As Gran said when the girls came to pick me and Frosty up, we are a motley crew.

I have Frosty on the lead, looking out as we go for other dogs. I've become an expert in tactical avoidance.

‘You're going to have to hide in the bushes again,' Claire laughs as we spot Aurora and her poodle
walking towards us. I make a beeline for the hedge alongside the old railway line, until we're down in a dip in the ground where Frosty can't see her. Claire and Emily join us.

‘We'll have our picnic here.' Emily unrolls the picnic blanket and checks for sheep droppings before spreading it across the grass. Frosty assumes it's for her and promptly lies down in the middle.

‘She's a bit of a princess,' Claire observes, sitting down and stroking her.

‘Cake first?' Emily unpacks the basket.

‘Why not?' I say. ‘Here, give me the candles.'

Emily and I assemble the chocolate cake and arrange the candles. Flight them and guard the flames from the breeze while we sing Happy Birthday.

‘Frosty has her paws over her ears – even though she can't hear a thing.' Claire giggles and blows the candles out.

‘You have made a wish, haven't you?' Emily says.

‘You don't believe in magic, do you, Em?' Claire says.

‘Poppy does,' she smiles, watching Claire take the knife and cut the cake into slices for practice for the wedding, of course.

‘You have remembered to order the cake?' Emily asks.

‘What a silly question, sis. I was there when we went to Jennie's to place the order and I know Claire's phoned to check on its progress at least three times since.'

‘It isn't so silly. I was supposed to contact Jennie
about the cake topper last week,' Claire starts to hyperventilate. ‘I know what I want now. What if she doesn't have time to organise it?'

‘Calm down,' I say. ‘You'll have a panic attack.'

‘I need to call her.' Claire unzips her bag, looking for her mobile. ‘I want a nurse and policeman, like me and Kev. You don't think that's too tacky, do you?'

‘One day,' Emily says, ‘when you've been married for as long as I have and you're changing nappies and reading endless bedtime stories, you'll hardly be able to remember the wedding ceremony, let alone the decorations on the cake. You'll look back and wonder what all the fuss was about.'

We eat all the wrong things in the wrong order, and soon the birthday girl is lying on her back in the sun and Emily is sitting against a tree stump while I lie on my front, propped up on my elbows, with Frosty belly-up alongside me.

The conversation inevitably drifts onto the topic of my love life, or lack of it, and Lewis.

‘He'll be back in a couple of weeks for the Country Show. Have you spoken to him at all?' Emily asks me.

‘He's texted me a couple of times about Frosty's training, and to tell me that the cows are sweet but not as endearing as the sheep.'

‘Endearing!' Claire sits up. ‘Is that what he said? You really are better off without him.'

‘Our orphan lambs are quite endearing,' Emily says wistfully ‘I've grown quite fond of them.'

‘That's because you're married to a sheep farmer,' Claire says.

‘Did Lewis say anything else? Did he finish with his girlfriend?'

‘He didn't – say anything, I mean.' I tear up a fistful of grass and throw it in the general direction of my troublesome twin. Subject closed.

‘Have you seen Paul again?' Emily asks.

‘He's dropped into the shop for bits and pieces, that's all.'

‘That's good,' Claire says. ‘It really wasn't wise of you to meet up with him that time.'

‘It was –' I search for the right word, but can only come up with – ‘nice.' We met at the leisure centre. Paul had just done a session in the gym. We sat in the cafe and chatted, and I asked him if his new girlfriend knew where he was and his eyes kind of widened and his pupils shrank. He stroked my hand and said he didn't want to upset her but, equally, he thought I could do with someone to talk to. ‘It was my fault – as I've said before, I texted him in a moment of weakness.'

‘Madness, more like,' Emily says. ‘I can't believe you did that when you have us.'

‘I know. It's ridiculous.' I imagined I'd pour my heart out to him, but when it came down to it, it felt wrong. I didn't stay for long, half an hour max. Paul said he wanted to see me again soon, but I said no. ‘He's texted me a few times since to ask me out for a coffee.'

‘Do you think he's worried that you're moving on?' Emily says.

‘I can imagine him not liking the idea,' Claire says. ‘Paul's always struck me as being quite controlling.
When you were married, it seemed as if he always wanted to know where you were and who you were with. We ended up seeing you less and less.'

‘That comes with marriage. You have to balance your time between your husband and friends,' Emily points out.

‘It doesn't matter now. I'm destined to remain single for the rest of my life. Cut me another piece of that cake, will you?'

‘I will if your dog's left us any,' Claire exclaims, as Emily makes a grab for her collar, pulling her back.

‘Oh, Frosty,' I scold, trying not to laugh at the same time because she's chomping on a mouthful of sponge, spilling crumbs. ‘No!' I say, throwing myself into giving Frosty the angry face, at which Claire and Emily start laughing too, while Frosty looks on, licking her lips and the tip of her nose, completely oblivious of the message I'm trying to convey to her. I wish Lewis was here with us now for moral support and reassurance that I'm training Frosty in the right way. I wish too that he hadn't behaved as he did, letting me down, rounding up my dreams like sheep and tipping them off a cliff one by one. He is one bad shepherd but, the truth is, though I'd never admit it to anyone, I still can't stop thinking about him.

I can't help worrying about how I will feel when I see Lewis again because, no matter how much I try to avoid him on his return to Talyton St George for the shearing, I'm bound to run into him, either up at the farm, or walking the dog, or at the Country Show. Will
I be able to look at him as if he's nothing to me, or will my traitorous heart skip a beat? I've dealt with the anger and the sense of being seriously let down, even though it was partly my fault for putting myself in that situation, but have I banished the feelings I had for him?

On the morning of the show, which is held every year on the third Saturday in June, I sneak across the landing to collect the dog shampoo and towels from the airing cupboard, hoping Frosty won't notice, but she must have been watching me because I find her with her tail between her legs. She jams herself under Gran's armchair.

‘Frosty,' I giggle. ‘Out from there.' I hold a liver treat just in front of her nose, but out of reach so she has to wriggle on her belly to get it. I offer her another until she's out far enough for me to grab her and pick her up. ‘Gotcha!'

When I stand her in the bath, she looks like the most depressed dog in the world, but under the hairdryer she lifts her lip in a lopsided smile, holds her tail in the air and arches her back for a scratch. I dry her, give her a brush and put on her smartest collar from her extensive wardrobe – she has almost as many collars now as I have shoes, and I put that down to Aurora's recent trick of displaying a model dog alongside the mannequin in her window and changing the dog's outfit and must-have collar every week or so.

I have given Frosty some intensive training sessions, involving the consumption of an inordinate number of
liver treats, and she's finally beginning to focus on my commands and follow my lead to such an extent that I have managed to walk her down to the Green and pass several dogs, including Aurora's poodle, without Frosty causing a scene. She isn't keen on Mrs Dyer's Great Dane, but she's much more manageable.

I let Frosty out in the garden for five minutes before we go. Mistake. She comes in covered in dust and twigs.

‘Have you been rolling in the grass?' She sits at my feet and gazes up at me as if to say, No. And I haven't got the heart to be cross with her. I attach her lead, pick up my bag and collect Gran's cake, which is in a tin on the counter in the shop.