This Could Change Everything(37)

Oh well, couldn’t be helped. Scarlett blew herself a kiss in the mirror, because she still liked herself, and luckily there were plenty of men who didn’t shrink away in horror at the sight of her. She was popular, she was lively and the fact that she loved having her photo taken wasn’t as much of a massive turn-off for them as it evidently had been for Conor.

Pfft, his loss. She ran her fingers through her purple hair to spike up the ends and left the bathroom. On her way along the landing, she paused at the window overlooking the back of the house. Earlier this evening there’d been plenty of noise and activity out there and now, at close to midnight, it was still going on.

Peering out, Scarlett saw that the storm was still going strong too, as was the chainsaw. Two doors along, a huge tree had been blown down, demolishing a wooden fence. In the darkness, a small figure in an oversized coat stood clutching an umbrella in one hand and a torch in the other. The torch lit up a larger figure, who was wielding the chainsaw, methodically carving through a mountain of branches, stopping every so often to gather them up and pile them at the far end of the garden.

Scarlett watched as rain and sawdust swirled in clouds around the larger figure. What a task, and what a rotten way to spend a Saturday night. For a moment she wondered whether to take them out a couple of mugs of hot chocolate with a splash of cognac to warm them up. Except it was probably a bit frowned upon to give alcohol to people in charge of a chainsaw.

‘Hi, what are you looking at?’ Carrie, whose party it was, came up the stairs and joined her at the window. ‘Are they still out there chopping up that tree? You know, we only have to breathe a bit loudly in this house and Geraldine’s on the doorstep lecturing us about noise pollution.’ She pointed. ‘That’s her, under the umbrella. I can’t wait to complain about the racket they’re making. That woman might seem meek and mild on the outside, but on the inside she’s a witch.’

‘You can’t help feeling sorry for them, though.’ Scarlett winced as a particularly vicious gust of wind almost turned Geraldine’s umbrella inside out. ‘I was wondering whether to make some hot chocolate and take it out to them.’

‘Hmm, can I tell you something? After we moved in here last year, I invited Geraldine over for tea one afternoon. Just to show her I was a nice neighbour.’ Carrie pulled a face at the memory. ‘She complained that I didn’t have any almond milk, then went through my entire fridge and gave me a thirty-minute lecture because I’d bought things that weren’t organic. If you made her a mug of hot chocolate, she’d tip it away.’

‘Oh,’ said Scarlett.

‘Come on.’ Carrie gave her a friendly nudge. ‘Don’t waste your time feeling sorry for that old bat. Let’s go back downstairs and have another dance instead.’





Chapter 17


The following Saturday was a whole lot better, at least as far as the weather was concerned. Having spent the afternoon exploring Bath and photographing people in the street, Conor arrived back at Percival Square to see that a beautiful handwritten letter had arrived in the post from John, whose beloved wife Elizabeth had died on 28 December. He wanted to thank them for making their last Christmas together so special, and to let them know that his favourite of the photos Conor had sent him of their vows being renewed had taken pride of place at Elizabeth’s funeral service.

Poor John. Conor hoped he’d be all right during the difficult months that lay ahead; his wife had clearly meant the world to him. How lucky they’d been to find each other all those years ago.

At seven forty-five, Conor found himself casually making his way across the square because he felt he deserved a drink. It wasn’t anything to do with the thought that maybe his blind date hadn’t turned up last Saturday because the weather had been so dreadful, but she could, just possibly, be there tonight instead.

Definitely nothing to do with that.

Which was just as well, seeing as there was no sign of the bossy woman who was her friend. Nor was there anyone in the bar who could be her.

Conor had one more drink and waited until nine, just to be completely sure she wasn’t turning up. Of course she didn’t; why would she?

Then he waved goodbye to Essie, working behind the bar, and headed back home.

At least he’d tried.

Essie was in the cellar changing one of the barrels when she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket.

Since she wasn’t in front of customers, and seeing as the call was from her brother, she answered it.

‘Ess, I’m in Bath! Where are you? Want to meet up for a drink?’

‘Well I’m working, but you can come over to the Red House and see me anyway. We can chat between customers.’

‘Oh, right. Is your boss there? Luke?’

‘Lucas. Sorry, no, he’s out for the evening. But I’m here,’ said Essie, ‘so that’s even better.’

‘Of course it is. OK, I’ll be over in a bit. And try not to gasp with amazement when you see me,’ Jay warned, ‘because I’m telling you now, I’ve got even better-looking.’

Essie smiled, because he was her brother and she loved him. ‘Not to mention even more modest.’

‘I’m just saying, so you can warn the other barmaids in advance.’

Twenty minutes later, the doors opened and Jay made his entrance. Typically, Essie saw at once that he’d been right: his fortnight in Austria had left him with the kind of spectacular tan that was so much more noticeable in January when hardly anyone else had one. His teeth and the whites of his eyes were dazzling by comparison. Plus, he was a strikingly handsome man in his prime who’d always exuded charm and bonhomie. No wonder he and Lucas had hit it off so well at that party back in early December. They were kindred spirits.