Pitch Imperfect (9 page)

The third Douglas son, Jamie, had died at eighteen. He’d been a year or so above her in school and had been a good friend, as sensitive and shy as Rob and Ben were confident and outspoken. But shortly after moving down to London for university, Jamie had fallen in with the wrong crowd. Anjuli would never forget the look on Rob’s face when he got the phone call that his brother had overdosed. The anniversary of his death was coming up, but this year she could take him his flowers herself, instead of sending them via courier.

Mac wiped the moisture from her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Look at me, crying my eyes out and this is a
happy
occasion.” She checked her watch. “We’ve got plenty of time, so tell me, how’d it go with Mrs. Spedding?”

“I’m notorious and unqualified.”
And desperate
.

“Never mind, I’m sure you’ll find another way to give something back to the community.”

Anjuli shifted uncomfortably. Pride, and their years apart, had kept her from admitting her dire financial straits. She’d told Mac she was bored being idle, and wanted a new job that would challenge her, a job which would involve her in the community. She hadn’t disabused her old friend of the idea she was rolling in it. Rolling in bull, more like, but who wants to go home and admit failure? When Mac had made assumptions about her job hunt she hadn’t put her straight.

“If you want to help the community you can donate to the hospital or the school fund. Our new vicar—that would be Martin Colton’s older brother, Adam, the quiet one—has just returned from heading a church in Oxford and has started an outreach program for troubled teenagers. A concert or two would be a huge help with funding.”

Oh God
,
not again.
Quickly, Anjuli flipped through the rumours circulating about her and chose one that Mac would immediately empathise with. “Please don’t tell anyone, but I’ve developed paralysing stage fright.”

Mac’s mouth popped open. “After all your concerts?”

“I freeze up and embarrass myself in front of a crowd. It’s horrible and painful, and my worst nightmare. My voice sounds like a frog’s and I couldn’t bear it if anybody found out. The thought of being asked to sing fills me with dread, but people keep insisting.”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s awful.” Mac gave her arm a pat, then she winked. “At least you made your mark before you croaked. A lot of people never do, y’know, and I’m glad I have one friend who’ll never have to worry about money. You made it big.”

The urge to tell Mac the truth was strong, but if she did then Rob would find out about her finances and be even less inclined to commit himself to her restoration project. Anjuli steered back to safer ground. “Are you going to apply for the interim Deputy Head position you mentioned?”

Mac peeked outside the window, where her class was running races. “I don’t know. It would only be during Alice Turnbull’s maternity leave, but I think I’d miss being a classroom teacher. My colleagues complain about the work load, but I love coming in every day.”

“The school looks like a great place to teach.”

“It has just the right amount of open space and has won several awards. Rather,” she said, pausing slightly. “Rob has earned them.”

“Well deserved,” Anjuli said.

“He worked tirelessly, juggling other jobs along with the school. Sheer willpower is something he’s never lacked.” She perked up and sighed theatrically. “All he’s lacking is somebody to settle down with.”

Anjuli flicked her arm. “Subtlety, thy name is not Mackenzie Scott. You promised we wouldn’t talk about it, remember? Rob and I are ancient history, so prehistoric we’re Big Bang.”

Mac flicked her back. “I never promised, I let you believe what you wanted. I’ll say my piece and then I’ll shut up—for a while anyway. I don’t know what happened in London but Rob said he’d bumped into you and that you had changed. A lot. And you’ve got that uptight look on your face that tells me I’m not going to get the full story.”

Anjuli looked at her nails. “Anything else?”

“He clammed up just like you, so I’d say you two are not ancient history, but you’re definitely Big Bang.”

“Oh, for...If you must know, we had sex. It didn’t even constitute a one-night stand because I...The thing is, he left straight afterwards. I thought I’d hurt him, but all he wanted was an easy lay. He got it. End of story.”

Mac’s jaw dropped. “He still cares about you.”

She might have believed that, once, before his crude proposition in the car. “He thinks I’m a nympho looking for sex via text.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t ask. It’s not like it matters anyway. In fact, I’m relieved Rob hasn’t held a torch for me all these years. That would be awkward.”

Mac looked like she was struggling with herself. Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she finally spoke. “It was hard on Rob, you know. Rumours floated through the village like stink bombs. I know you had your reasons. I read your note and I’m not judging you, but Rob was devastated. He loved you very much and he suffered when you left him. He missed you and—”

“Is that why he never answered my letters or phone calls?” Anjuli said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Why don’t you ask him? Preferably over drinks, dinner and romantic music. A sexy dress and candlelight do wonders for loosening a man’s tongue.”

“There will be no loosening of anything except my temper if you don’t stop talking about Rob. Why don’t you tell me about the other men in Heaverlock? I met the vet a few days ago...yum.”

Mac’s lips twisted. “Damien Mitchell thinks he’s Heaverlock’s David Beckham, God’s gift because he’s blond and perpetually tanned. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great vet. Understanding and sympathetic to the boys when our cat died, but he’s so full of himself there’s no room for anybody else. Rosie Barrett said he told her point blank he was only interested in sex.”

“Maybe I should text
him
.”

Mac planted her hands on her ample hips. “The village bins are full of the broken hearts he’s thrown away since he moved here.”

“So I gather you really like him.”

“I would hate it if you fell for such a womanising tosser.”

“Don’t worry Mac, the village man-whore won’t get his hands on me. Neither will anybody else.”

Mac gave Anjuli a long, intent look. “Rob said you’re divorced. If I had known I would have got in touch, but you never told me anything about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell. We met. We married. We divorced.”

“Maybe it was for the best,” Mac said, and then slapped her forehead. “Forget I said that. What would I know about it, anyway? Let’s rip him to shreds over a bottle of wine tomorrow night.”

“No need. The divorce was friendly. I’m just never going to get married again.”

“Never? What about love?”

“I think I covered that song at a concert once.”

“Okay, what about sex, then?”

“It makes my hair go frizzy.”

“Snuggling in front of the TV?”

“The surest way to make you fat.”

Mac looked at Anjuli admiringly. “You complained about your figure so much I thought I would see my old friend with saggy boobs and a stomach I could rub like a Buddha statue. Yet here you are, looking even better than you did eight years ago. It’s children that make you fat, but trust me, babies are the best thing in the world so it doesn’t matter. I can’t imagine life without my boys.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Of course, our home is noisy and the bills are as high as Ben Nevis. But it’s worth it because of them. There’s nothing like children to teach you what’s really important in life.”

Anjuli forced a smile onto her face and kept it there because
no
,
no and no
. She wasn’t going to feel jealous of the nicest, sweetest woman she knew. She wasn’t. She wasn’t going to think
why are you so lucky and why am I so unfortunate?
Or punch the wall because
her
child was gone forever. Mac deserved only happiness, not the envy that was twisting her gut, turning her greener than the walls and darker than the bitterest chocolate.

Mac’s eyes shone as she spoke of her children, and for the first time since Chloe’s death Anjuli felt like sharing that she had, once, also been a mother. She wanted to tell Mac about Chloe’s dark brown curls and her big green eyes; her stubborn refusal to stay seated and the way she was enchanted by birds. About the little spot at the top of her head that had always smelled like roses.

But if she did Mac would feel guilty for being so blessed. She would be sad, and Anjuli would never willingly gift anyone her sorrow. What’s more, Mac would cry again and she couldn’t watch her friend do something for Chloe that she herself couldn’t. Oh, she’d tried, in the beginning. Alone, in the flat they’d shared in France, and under a grey sky surrounded by strangers whose names were carved in stone. Violent, uncontrollable spasms had wrenched her gut, emptied her stomach and clenched her heart so tightly she couldn’t breathe. No, she couldn’t cry.

Mac’s animated face became sly. “It’s too bad the boys don’t have an auntie. Someone who could calm their boisterous natures with music instruction, perhaps on a Thursday evening? Rob takes them to rugby practice every week and he could drop them off and stay until the lesson finished. I could pick them up and then you two could...text each other.”

Anjuli threw her hands in the air. “You’re hell bent on matchmaking us, aren’t you?”

“Of course. It’s part of the younger sister job description. Neither of my brothers has provided my boys with aunties and that’s a career setback. Ben cares only about his job and he never tells me anything about his love life. How am I going to find him a wife if he won’t help me out? And Rob is just as tight-lipped.” Mac clucked her tongue in annoyance. “If I didn’t have dinner with the twins I’d know nothing about their lives.”

Anjuli scrambled for a topic Mac would feel as strongly about as matchmaking, before it could occur to her to enthuse over what a great idea it would be for her to come to dinner, rekindle her relationship with Rob, marry him and have his babies.

“Are you riding the perimeters during the Common Riding Festival?” Anjuli asked, hitting gold. “Don’t tell me you gave it up after we fought so hard to show them how it’s done.”

Mac brightened with a different kind of zeal. “I’m the Chairman of the Common Riding Committee this year and that means admin duties up to my eyeballs. We’re going to beat Halton, receive more visitors and have a finale that puts theirs to shame, I can feel it.”

“Et tu, Mac?” Anjuli teased. Although not a fierce as the older generation, Mac possessed strong loyalty to her Border village, and her competitive streak seemed healthy. Mostly.

Satisfied her ploy had worked, Anjuli settled back to hear Common Riding gossip and Mac’s plans to make the festival memorable. The wall clock chimed and reluctantly, she looked at her watch. Ash wouldn’t be pleased if she were late for her shift again. Her sister had a long memory and would list all the times she’d been left waiting at restaurants and cinemas from the age of ten. Worse, she might even dock her pay. Ash was a ruthless businesswoman and she’d been extra cranky of late. Today she had a doctor’s appointment and she had stressed the need to be on time.

“Another shift?” Mac said.

“Yep.” And as an afterthought, “There’s probably no better way to join the community again than working behind the bar.” Anjuli grabbed her handbag, pulled out a pen and notebook and bent over the meeting table. “Can you give me directions to the vet practice? I heard it’s somewhere near the turn off to Moordale.”

“What for?” Mac said suspiciously.

“Because I need a thorough checkup and large doses of that understanding and sympathy you mentioned, especially since Damien Mitchell is a hot blond with an Irish accent. Not to mention the David Beckham aspect of the whole package if he really knows how to use those golden balls and—”

“Hi, Rob,” Mac said, louder than loud.

Anjuli spun around. Rob was standing in the staffroom doorway, dressed in a charcoal grey suit with a black shirt. His thick hair had been combed back, accentuating his stone hard jaw and making him look far too dangerous to be standing in a primary school doorway.

Damn it! Why couldn’t she be one of those people who never blushed? She could feel the heat staining her face crimson. Mac looked delighted and Anjuli wanted to strangle her. Oh no, this wasn’t good. She was getting far too many urges to strangle people since moving back to Heaverlock. She’d never considered herself a violent woman; maybe it was time to reevaluate. The look Rob gave her, as if she were a cockroach he’d squash with his shoe, made her want to add him to her list of murder victims.

“Thanks for popping in at such short notice,” Mac said. “I was
sure
I’d left my house keys in the usual place until I saw them in here this morning.”

Anjuli shifted on her feet, trying not to look like she was listening while Mac and Rob discussed convoluted childcare arrangements.

“I’ll try to make it to the debate tonight if Craig gets back in time,” Mac said. “He can take care of the boys while
I
go out for a change. Are you chairing?’ Rob shook his head and, glancing at Anjuli, Mac explained. “Before the Scottish referendum on independence Rob was Heaverlock’s answer to
Braveheart
. Now it’s done and dusted he still chairs the debates on how we can work together moving forward.”

Her brows might as well take up permanent position at her hairline where Rob was concerned. “I never knew you cared.”

A flinty glance. “There’s a lot you never knew.”

Time to reread the notices. Before Rob left he paused, eyes lingering on her shirt. What the hell was wrong with it? Didn’t people wear clothing that showed more than an inch of skin in Heaverlock anymore?

“Mrs. P. told me you’re on my schedule for Friday, eleven a.m. sharp. Try not to be late.”

Anjuli made a face at his retreating back. Of course, he
would
have to remember her little problem with timekeeping. Speaking of which, Ash was going to kill her. “I really do need Damien’s details, Mac. I’ve got an appointment next week and I don’t want to be late. And can you please tell me what’s wrong with my shirt?”