Just The Way You Are(94)

‘He must have only been interested in a potential hook-up all along,’ I bemoaned to Steph, who was surely fed up with this topic of conversation by now, but was kind enough to act like this was the first time she’d heard me droning on about it. ‘Did he just want the challenge of getting me to crack? Like, as some sort of ego boost.’

‘What if that whole story about his ex, and how he’s a sworn singleton is all a line to reel you in?’ she suggested, causing my innards to shrivel like slugs in salt. ‘Maybe he didn’t leave the family firm because he hated it and had a nervous breakdown, he was just crap so they kicked him out. It’s all part of the sob-story to get you into bed.’

‘Ugh, don’t even say that!’ I cried. ‘Firstly, why would someone go to all that effort to get me of all people into bed? And secondly, if I’m still that vulnerable to being manipulated then all my fears about moving out have come true, and I might as well go back home where at least I know what’s happening.’

‘Alternatively, you chalk it up to experience, then congratulate yourself for communicating a clear boundary, meaning that whatever his reason for backing off, you’ve no horrible regrets. This proves that you are, in fact, the kick-ass woman I knew you were all along. Plus, you can breathe a big sigh of relief that he’s got the message and moved on.’ Steph huffed noisily down the phone. ‘This was a win, Ollie.’

‘Unless, of course, none of what he said was a lie. He is the loveliest man I’ve ever met, and once he got to know me he just realised that I’m a boring, pathetic person with a mountain of issues and he decided he doesn’t want to be friends with me after all.’

‘Okay, I’m not listening to this any more. This is getting so boring and pathetic that I’m wondering why I’ve bothered to be friends with you for so long. You met a man who seemed nice and then maybe revealed himself to be a jerk, boohoo. Or here’s a wild idea – perhaps he’s genuinely busy. Maybe September is the busy season for forest rangers. Either way, no big deal. Can we please talk about your party now?’

I knew Steph was teasing but she was also smart enough to know when I was sinking into pitiful wallowing.

Not that it stopped the wallowing altogether, of course. I still felt confused and hurt by Sam’s change in demeanour. I spent far too many hours wondering what would have happened if I’d gone ahead and kissed him. I might still be feeling lonely and rejected, but at least I’d have got to enjoy a kiss.

Early one mid-September morning, a week or so before the party, I decided that I couldn’t bear to lie there and wait for the birds to start cheeping for another miserable second. Getting up, I shrugged into leggings and a hoodie, put on my flip-flops and slipped outside, Nesbit padding behind me. There was a narrow streak of blue where the sky met the roofline of the cottages, the moon above it a mere sliver of silver. Icy dewdrops brushed against my feet, and as I breathed in the crisp air, it was ripe with the scent of autumn.

I was startled by a sudden cough, even though I’d come out here hoping to find him. Swivelling around, I saw Ebenezer crouched on a tiny stool, offering me a garden fork. Accepting it gratefully, I knelt down beside him and got to work.

‘Tomorrow, wear proper shoes,’ Ebenezer instructed when he finally rose from the stool with a wheeze.

Nodding, I went inside for a hot shower, a mug of tea and three hours of the best sleep I’d had in months.

After several days of party-induced panic, driven by relentless overthinking, I decided that the party was going to be a celebration of the completed Dream List – although apart from Steph, no one would know that’s what it was.

Initially, I wasn’t quite sure how that would translate into food and décor and entertainment, but on an extra-long walk in the opposite direction to Sam’s house, I decided it simply meant that instead of stressing out about everyone else, I was going to cram my party full of things that made me happy. Once I’d figured out what they were, of course.





The day before the big day, however, something even bigger happened. I came home from work to find a van outside New Cottage, and a man staggering under the weight of a giant cardboard box as he carried it up to the front door.

‘Do you need a hand?’ I asked.

The man dropped the box with a thud onto the pavement, revealing a pale face with startling blue eyes, floppy black hair and an overall air of dishevelment. He wasn’t exactly handsome… more like interesting. There was something about his face that made it hard not to stare.

‘It would appear so,’ he replied, with a sardonic twitch of one eyebrow.

‘I’m Ollie,’ I replied, realising that for all he knew I was a random woman who happened to be walking past. Not that he seemed fazed by that. ‘I live next door but one. In End Cottage.’

‘Ah, okay.’ The man nodded. ‘Leon.’

We spent half an hour hefting the remaining boxes and other items from the van into the cottage. At some point in the past few weeks the landlord had repainted the ugly beige walls in a crisp white and removed the disgusting lino, leaving freshly sanded floorboards. Instead of the scratched and stained furniture, there was a black leather sofa and a wall of metal bookcases. I couldn’t help bristling at the new kitchen appliances that Leanne would have found so helpful.

Leon was an English teacher; he’d started at the local secondary school earlier in the month, but had been in a short-term let until New Cottage became available. Slender and slouchy, wearing ripped black jeans and a wristful of beaded bracelets, his piercing gaze and slightly sarcastic manner made him seem like the kind of English teacher who had tatty notebooks full of bleak and complicated poetry, probably inspired by some doomed romance.