The next morning Laura awoke, still remembering the delicious taste of Tom’s lips on hers. It had been a magical evening, only ending when they’d reluctantly parted to go to their own tents, the bottle of wine half empty and re-corked to finish another night. She knew she wasn’t ready for a relationship; Tom had made it quite clear he didn’t want one either and that the kiss was just a kiss, and meant nothing. That suited her perfectly. Only after he’d gone did Laura look at her phone to check that latest text message. It was, as she’d expected, from Stuart. Saw your Gran today. She told me where you are. Am coming to see you. Give me another chance. Martine is moving out.
The words had sent a chill down Laura’s spine at the thought of Stuart going to her gran’s. Gran knew that Laura wanted nothing more to do with him, so for her to have told him where she was meant that he must have applied some pressure. And he was coming up to the Lake District to find her? She knew she needed to speak to him to make it clear it was all over and she would not take him back under any circumstances, but she did not want to be forced to have that conversation here, while she was on holiday. She fervently hoped he’d sent the text when drunk and was not really on his way.
This morning, however, she made herself put Stuart out of her mind and instead, think about the day’s plans. She and Tom had planned today to go back to the ruined village and start looking for this tea caddy Gran had been talking about. First, Laura needed to talk to Gran, and find out more details about exactly where it had been hidden. As soon as she was dressed and out of her tent, gazing around at yet another day that promised glorious sunshine and not a single cloud in the sky, she pulled out her phone and punched in Gran’s number. It rang and rang, and eventually the answerphone cut in.
‘Gran? If you get this, could you call me back? Or if one of the carers picks up this message, could you call me, it’s Laura – my number’s in the emergency contacts in Gran’s care folder. Just a bit worried I haven’t been able to get through to her yesterday or this morning. Hope all’s OK. Thanks.’
She frowned, and tried to console herself, again, with the thought that if there had been a real emergency and Gran had been taken to hospital, the care agency would have called her. Or texted if they had not been able to get through.
It was no good. She knew she would worry about it all day. She picked up her phone again and called the agency.
‘Stella Braithwaite?’ the administrator said, after Laura had explained why she was calling. ‘Yes, Sophia was there last night, all was well.’
‘What about this morning?’
‘Sophia’s on her rounds still. Don’t worry. We’ll call you if there’s a problem.’
There was nothing more she could do. She looked over to Tom’s tent. No sign of life there yet. She decided to go and fetch him a coffee from the campsite shop, but halfway there felt a pang of uncertainty. What if he was embarrassed about last night’s intimacy? If she turned up with a coffee for him he might think she was pushing to take it further. But no – surely bringing each other a coffee was simply a friendly thing to do. They were planning on spending the day together again, after all. She quickened her pace towards the shop. White coffee, no sugar, was his favourite. And a bacon butty.
‘Morning! Breakfast in bed, lazy lump,’ she said cheerfully, tapping on the top of his tent. Tom grunted and unzipped it, emerging blinking into the sunlight.
‘Cheers. This is a treat!’
‘How’s your head? Did we drink too much last night?’ That would give him a chance to say, yes, we did, and sorry etc., if he really was regretting things.
‘No, I think we drank the perfect amount. Don’t you?’ He smiled up at her. His hair was tousled and a thought flitted through her mind of crawling into the tent alongside him. She quickly dismissed it.
‘Oh yes, the perfect amount. Now then, are you coming out? Must be getting hot in there now, you’re in full sun.’
‘It is a bit,’ he said, and began wriggling out of his sleeping bag.
Laura blushed, suddenly wondering if he wore anything to sleep in, but thankfully he was in a pair of boxers. ‘I’ll leave your coffee and butty here, then, and fetch my deckchair while you sort yourself out.’
An hour later, they were at Brackendale Green, parking Tom’s car and preparing to walk across the cracked mud towards the remains of the village. Laura had still not heard from Stella, but she had no reception on her phone now, and knew there’d be none unless she went to the middle of the dried-up reservoir.
‘Was it this one, your Gran’s cottage?’ Tom asked, as they walked along the old village street.
Laura counted, remembering what Gran had said on the phone when they were here before. ‘Yes, think so. Now, where might a tin box have been hidden?’
‘Under the floorboards? Up the chimney? Buried in the garden?’
Laura stood in the middle of one of the rooms of the cottage and looked at the broken walls, the rubble-strewn floor. ‘There’s no chance, is there? Of finding it without knowing exactly where it was hidden?’
‘Well, we can look in the obvious places,’ Tom said. He was on his knees by the remains of the fireplace, reaching up what was left of the chimney, which reached to about chest height. ‘Can’t feel anything here.’ He stood and tried reaching down from the top. ‘Nope. But then if the fireplace was in use when it was hidden, I guess this wouldn’t be a good hiding place.’
‘Are there any nooks and crannies in the walls, I wonder?’ Laura said, inspecting the stonework. Some stones were dislodged from their original position but none seemed loose enough to conceal something behind. ‘Oh, this is useless. We could be here all day. I’ll try once more to phone Gran, if I can get some signal.’
She walked out towards the old stone bridge. She’d been able to get a mobile signal there that first day. But today her phone would not play ball, and the display continued to say ‘Emergency calls only’. Must be something to do with weather conditions, she thought, and found herself wanting more than anything to be within range of a signal and able to talk to Gran.
Tom was approaching her. ‘Any luck?’
‘No. Still no reception.’
‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’
‘A bit.’
‘Come on then. Let’s get out of this valley and find a phone signal. You need to set your mind at rest. Let’s go to Penrith, and find a nice café for lunch. You’ll feel better when you’ve spoken to her.’
He was right, and she followed him gratefully back to the car. As soon as they were past the dam and out of the valley her phone sprang into life, and before she had a chance to retry Gran’s number it rang.
‘Gran! Oh, thank goodness. I tried you last night and this morning and couldn’t get through.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I was invited out last night, would you believe it? My friend Margery asked me round for supper. The carers agreed to come to me last, so I would have plenty of time to spend out. And I’m afraid I slept in a little this morning, as they came to me last again this morning. I’ve been trying and trying you since I picked up your message.’
‘I’ve had no mobile reception since leaving the campsite this morning. So glad you’re all right! What a lovely idea to go round to Margery’s for supper.’ Laura gave a huge sigh of relief before continuing. ‘Listen, Gran, I have a couple of things I need to talk to you about. Firstly –’ Laura glanced at Tom, who was driving, but his concentration seemed to be all on the road ‘– did Stuart come to see you? I’ve had a few texts from him.’
‘Yes, he did, love. I must admit I was very surprised to see him. He turned on his charm, but you know, it doesn’t work on me. He said he had been trying to contact you and had no response, and I said that’s either because she doesn’t want to hear from you, or because her telephone isn’t properly connected.’
Laura smiled at the way Gran had put that. ‘Did you tell him where I was?’
There was a pause, and a sigh, which told her all she needed to know. ‘Well, I might have mentioned the Lake District. And camping. And then Brackendale. So it is possible he worked it out. Laura, love, I’m so sorry. I’m not very good at keeping secrets.’
‘It’s not a problem. I’m going to need to talk to him some time, to tell him to leave me alone. Don’t worry, Gran, you’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I hope not. What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?’
‘This tin box of yours. Can you remember where it was hidden in your cottage?’ Next to her, Laura was aware of Tom’s ears pricking up. She loved how he was as fascinated by this as she was.
‘Yes. My pa told me exactly where he’d put it. In the parlour – the front room – that became my grandpa’s bedroom when he moved in with us, there was a loose floorboard just to the right of the fireplace. You could pull it up and tuck something down there. That’s where he’d put it.’
‘Thanks, Gran. We’ll go and look for it.’
‘We?’
‘Um, yes. I’ve made a . . . friend. Someone staying in the same campsite as me.’
‘Gentleman friend?’
‘Ye-es.’ Laura let out an involuntary giggle.
‘Oh Laura, I’m so pleased! You need someone new, after that horrid Stuart. Sorry, love, but I never liked him. Too smooth for my taste. So what’s his name, this new chap?’
‘Tom. And he’s just a friend. Actually, Gran, he’s sitting right beside me, driving. So don’t ask me too much about him, OK?’
‘OK. My lips are sealed. But I am really happy for you, and your friend. I shall want to know everything about him when you come home.’
Laura tried, and failed, to imagine telling Gran about how it had felt when Tom had kissed her. Perhaps it was best to just end this conversation now. ‘Well, I’ll let you go, Gran. I’ll ring again tomorrow or when we’ve had a chance to go back to Brackendale again. I’m so glad you’re all right. Love you.’
‘Another pint?’ It was Laura’s round. They’d had a quiet lunch, a stroll around Penrith, in and out of the shops, and then had lazed around the campsite for the rest of the afternoon, eating ice-creams from the campsite shop, reading, chatting. As was becoming a habit, they’d gone to the nearby pub for dinner, and were sitting in the pub garden where, once the sun had gone down, the air was refreshingly cool.
‘Sure. The last one, though. If I keep drinking at this rate every night, I’ll lose all the fitness I’ve been building up from the walking.’
Laura nodded and went into the bar to order the drinks. There was quite a crowd, it being Saturday, and she had to wait to be served. At the other end of the bar, near the main entrance, there was some commotion.
‘You’re pissed, mate,’ she heard a barman say. ‘Can’t serve you, sorry.’
‘I’m not pissed,’ came the reply, noisy and slurred. ‘Just a bit loud, ha ha ha. So would you be if you’d driven as far as I have today, all in search of my girl. Need some refreshment before I see her.’
Laura froze. She recognised that voice. Stuart. She ducked behind the nearest person, thankfully a man who was as broad as he was tall.
‘All right, pet? You’re next to be served,’ said the man, stepping aside so that the other barman could see her.
‘It’s all right,’ she began to say, her first thoughts being to abandon the round and go back out to the pub garden to Tom. Maybe they could sneak round the side of the pub without seeing Stuart. But she was too late.
‘Lols! There you are! I’ve driven all the way up the country for you, and this tosser here won’t even sell me a pint.’
‘Hello, Stuart. I think you’d be better off with water, wouldn’t you?’ God, how she hated the way he called her Lols, as though she was some kind of a joke.
‘Nah. Give us a pint of lager. And a whisky chaser. Lols, they’ll serve you. Get it for me?’
‘No. And what are you doing here, anyway?’ People had moved aside, clearing the area between her and Stuart. He was unsteady on his feet, had clearly already drunk a large quantity of alcohol. Had he driven in this state?
‘On me holidays, aren’t I? Just like you. Come here, Lols. I’ve missed you.’ He made a lunge towards her and she stepped backwards. He stumbled against a couple of people sitting on bar stools, spilling someone’s pint.
‘Oy, watch it, mate,’ said the man whose beer was now soaking into his clothes.
The barman caught hold of Stuart’s arm. ‘That’s it. I want you outside.’
Stuart seemed to realise he was beaten. ‘All right, all right. I’ll come quietly, ha ha. Lols’ll come with me, won’t you, darling? She’s my girl, she is. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Bet you wouldn’t mind a bit of her, eh?’ He said this last to the man whose pint he’d spilled, who looked back at him with disgust.
‘Is he with you? Best get him home,’ said the barman to Laura, as he escorted him towards the front door of the pub.
‘He’s my ex,’ she said. ‘Not my responsibility.’
‘Aw, Lols, don’t say ex! I’m here to win you back. Come and talk to me.’ He called these last words over his shoulder as he was ejected from the pub.
‘You’d better go and talk to him,’ said the barman. ‘He can’t come back in here. If there’s any trouble, shout and I’ll come out if you need any help.’
She gave him a weak but grateful smile, and followed Stuart outside. Part of her wished Tom was beside her, supporting her, but the more rational part knew that would only inflame Stuart, and in this drunken haze he might then turn violent. She’d seen that happen before – like that time in a club in Ibiza, where he’d broken a lad’s nose for flirting with Martine. He’d spent a night in a police cell. Not for the first time since she’d come on holiday, she wondered what on earth she’d ever seen in him. His looks, his charm (when sober) and the idea of being in a stable long-term relationship – she supposed that was all she’d been attracted to. The thought crossed her mind that she and Tom had a much deeper connection, even though they’d only shared one kiss. Which had meant nothing.
‘Stuart. I think you need to sit down.’ She motioned to an unoccupied wooden bench in front of the pub.
‘Nah, I’m all right. Good to see you, Lols. I drove all the way up the fucking country to find you, you know?’
‘You didn’t need to do that. I’ll be home in a few days and we could have talked then.’ She was keeping her distance from his swaying frame, stepping backwards as he lurched forwards. A few cars were parked on the pub forecourt. One, she noticed, was Stuart’s, parked at an angle across two spaces.
‘I needed to see you now. Martine’s gone off with Bazza. She’s moved out. I’m free again. You can come back.’
‘Stuart, I don’t want to come back. You dumped me for Martine. She’s dumped you for – whoever it was you said. Doesn’t mean I’m coming back to you.’
‘But Lols, we were good together. And you’ve got no one. You must miss me.’
‘Who’s to say I’ve got no one?’ The words were out before she could stop herself.
‘What? You’ve got a new bloke? Who is he? I’ll smash his face in. Not that shit-for-brains you work with, is it? Ian or Ivan or something? What a dick he is. You up here on holiday with him? Where is he?’
‘For goodness’ sake Stuart, calm down. No, I am not seeing Ewan. No, he is not here. And you’re not going to smash anyone’s face in. Look, you need to drink some water and then sleep. I can call you a taxi. There are lots of bed-and-breakfast places in Penrith. Bound to be room in one of them.’
‘Aw, why can’t I sleep with you? Where are you staying, Lols?’
‘No room where I’m staying.’ She could only hope that he didn’t realise she was camping in the site just down the lane.
‘Laura? You OK?’ Tom had come through the pub, presumably wondering where she’d got to. Again Laura felt that mix of emotions – relief that she had some support but fear for how things might escalate. If Stuart thought there was something going on between her and Tom he might turn nasty.
‘Yeah. It’s all OK,’ she said cautiously.
‘Who’s this?’ Tom asked.
‘Um, this is Stuart. He’s . . . an old . . .’
‘I’m your fucking boyfriend, Lols. Who’s this dickhead?’
‘Hey, no need for the language,’ Tom said, stepping forward. He was taller than Stuart, broader, fitter, and Laura had no doubt who would come off worse in a fight, but she had no desire to see it come to that.
‘It’s all right, Tom. Stuart just needs to calm down a bit.’
‘It’s all right, Tom,’ Stuart repeated, in a fake high-pitched voice to mock Laura’s. ‘Who the fuck is Tom then? If this is your new bloke I don’t think much of him. Bit posh for you, isn’t he? Bit of a prick.’ He stepped forward, swaying, and gave Tom a push.
‘Watch it, mate.’ Tom spoke softly, but there was a definite warning in his voice although he didn’t retaliate physically. Laura guessed he’d seen how drunk Stuart was.
Stuart seemed to have picked up on the warning tone. His eyes flicked from Tom to Laura. ‘Come on, Lols. Take me home with you. Leave this arsehole here. You know you want to.’ He lunged for her again, trying to put his arms around her. She backed away, but was up against a car with nowhere to go. Her patience ran out.
‘Get off me, Stuart! Leave me alone. We’re over, get it? Over. I’m going. Don’t you dare follow me, or I’ll call the police.’ She tried to slide along the car, keeping her eye on Stuart, but he had an arm either side of her, resting on the car roof.
‘You wouldn’t do that. Kiss and make up, Lols? Sorry and all that about Martine. Won’t happen again, I promise. On me honour.’
He leaned in close to her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.
And then it all happened at once. Tom grabbed Stuart by the shoulder, trying to spin him round and away from Laura. Stuart lashed out, his arms flailing, and somehow caught Tom around the face. Tom’s nose began spurting blood. Laura screamed, and Stuart wheeled back towards her, his head whiplashed forward, making contact with her right between the eyes. There was a burst of pain and light, and then it all went black.