‘And, cut!’ Mike Briarson’s distinctive Brummie accent rang out through the barn. ‘That was lovely, everyone. Well done. Let’s break for lunch.’
Jennifer Lee wiped the sweat off her forehead with her T-shirt and took a swig from her bottle of water. De-horning the spring-born calves was a backbreaking job. She’d done it last year at Wraggsbottom, and the year before on the Yorkshire hill farm where she’d done her placement at veterinary college. But the animals’ distress still bothered her. Combined with the unseasonal heat and the pressure of having cameras following your every move, it made for an unpleasant and exhausting morning.
Walking off towards the orchard, so she could eat her sandwiches in peace, Jen caught a snatch of Gabe and Macy’s conversation as she passed.
‘What time are you meeting him?’ Gabe’s question was casual, but there was an edge to his tone.
‘He’s picking me up at seven.’ Macy was almost gloating.
Trying to make him jealous?
Jen walked on. She’d grown fond of just about everyone she worked with on Valley Farm, but sometimes the personal dramas could get draining. Jen felt bad for Laura, but even so she’d been relieved when Laura and the boys had moved to London and Mike Briarson had taken over as director. Compared to Laura’s increasingly strained, dictatorial style, Mike’s gentle, cheerful presence had made a huge difference to the atmosphere on set. Mike was the calm after the storms of last winter’s scandals. But, even now, it occurred to Jennifer that just about everybody on Valley Farm was involved in some sort of romantic drama except for her. While Macy’s and Gabe’s and Eddie’s sex lives had been splashed all over the tabloids in the past year, her own had remained pathetically non-existent. So much for TV stardom getting you laid.
It was depressing, watching Gabe and Macy dance around one another on set like a pair of nervously courting birds of paradise. There was obviously an attraction there, but Gabe remained firmly in denial about the reality of his divorce. Macy, tired of waiting, had a date with a rich banker tonight and had made sure the whole world (but especially Gabe) knew about it. Meanwhile, Jen was looking at another night at home in her cottage in Brockhurst, watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory and eating more Haribos washed down with red wine than was probably medically advisable.
Just as she was indulging in this little moment of self-pity, she caught sight of Bill Clempson running down the lane. Jen hadn’t seen Fittlescombe’s vicar since last Christmas, when she’d presented him with her peace offering bottle of sloe gin. They’d talked about getting together in the New Year, but it had never happened. Now that the local protests against Valley Farm had faded to a whimper, there was no reason for their paths to cross. Unless Jen were to suddenly become a churchgoer, and things hadn’t got that desperate – yet.
Looking at Bill now, it was hard not to laugh. To say he was not naturally athletic would be an understatement. Watching him run reminded Jen sharply of Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory attempting the same feat. The way his knees turned in and his arms flapped about gave him the look of a particularly camp penguin.
‘Hello!’ She waved. ‘You look like you’re in a hurry.’
Bill stopped and walked over to the hedge, panting, but clearly thrilled to see her.
‘Jennifer!’ His face was a deep, crimson red. Jen couldn’t tell if this was pure exertion, or whether he was blushing. ‘How are you? You never came for that drink.’
‘No.’ Jen looked down. ‘Sorry.’
Now she was blushing. It was odd. He really wasn’t attractive. And yet, standing still at least, there was something very endearing about him. Possibly it was the way he looked at her as if she were Angelina Jolie on an especially good hair day, and didn’t seem to notice her filthy T-shirt, the spot on her forehead or the sweat patches under her arms.
‘Maybe we could try again,’ Bill said shyly.
‘Do you still have any left?’ asked Jen.
The vicar looked confused.
‘The sloe gin.’
‘Ah! Er, no. I drank it all ages ago, I’m afraid. It was delicious. But I’ve got plenty of other things I can offer you.’
Jen raised an eyebrow teasingly.
‘Oh, no! Oh dear, I didn’t mean …’ Poor Bill looked as if he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. ‘Actually,’ he composed himself, ‘I’m glad I ran into you. I was hoping to pick your brains about something work-related.’
Now it was Jen’s turn to look confused. Work-related? Wasn’t his work being a vicar? She wasn’t sure how much she could contribute in terms of baptizing babies or hearing confessions or whatever else it was that Bill did.
‘I’ll explain when I see you. How about Saturday?’ He looked at his watch, in a hurry again suddenly. ‘I’m sorry to rush, but Brett Cranley’s in the village, you’ve probably heard.’
Jen hadn’t.
‘He’s staying up at Furlings. I’m hoping to catch him before he leaves for London, to see if I can’t wangle a donation for St Hilda’s benevolent fund.’
‘Is Brett Cranley terribly benevolent?’ Jen asked sceptically.
‘Probably not!’ Bill said cheerfully. ‘But the Lord helps those who help themselves. I’m hoping if I turn up there in person and ask him in front of Angela and Max, he’ll be shamed into giving something.’
Jen laughed. ‘That’s not very ethical!’
‘Nor’s dumping silage all over somebody’s car,’ said the vicar with a wink. ‘Let she who is without sin, and all that … See you Saturday, I hope.’
He flapped off.
Jen watched him go, feeling suddenly, stupidly happy.
Not a rich banker, perhaps. But it was nice to have a little romantic drama of her own for a change.
Macy swept taupe shadow over her eyelids and brushed a single coat of true black mascara through her long lashes.
It felt odd, going through the motions of getting dolled up for a date. Truth be told, she had about as much interest in Warren Hansen, the über-wealthy banker taking her out tonight, as she did in beginning a course on bee-keeping. Possibly less, as bees at least produced honey and didn’t expect you to waste an evening making small talk or to wash and blow-dry your hair when you could be watching E! news on your computer or fantasizing about Gabe.
On the other hand, Macy knew she was spending too much time fantasizing about Gabe. If things were ever going to move forward between them, she needed to jolt him out of his complacency, to make him jealous – hence her acceptance of Warren’s dinner invitation. And if they weren’t going to move forward, then she needed to start meeting new men.
Of course the problem was that she didn’t fancy anyone. She and James had had a great sex life, but even that had been tainted by the shadow of Gabe. The only other man Macy could remember being attracted to since she’d met Gabe was Austin Jamet, her father’s lawyer back in LA. Her dinner date with Austin had ended on a tense note, but things had improved between them since then, and over the past few months they’d become friends of a sort over email.
Since she’d forbidden Austin to contact her about her father, he’d taken to sending her funny snippets about LA life or gossip or current affairs instead. Macy responded in kind, and their on-line banter had become one of the highlights of her day. She liked the way they competed with one another. It was similar to the on-screen relationship she had with Gabe, except that this was private, and real, not for any audience. There was also something American about her relationship with Austin, something that made her feel at home in a way that Gabe never quite could. Not that Macy was remotely in love with Austin Jamet. She’d only met the man once, and besides, Gabe Baxter was the love of her life.
Thinking about Austin reminded her. She owed him a response to his last email, which had made her laugh out loud last night.
Pulling on a red cocktail dress that would send Warren all the right signals, none of which Macy had any intention of following through on, and spritzing herself with Chanel No. 19, she pulled out her phone and read Austin’s latest note again. God, he was funny. It was lovely to have a fellow American to share a laugh with every now and then.
Warren’s American, Macy reminded herself, as she tapped out a suitably pithy one-line response to Austin’s note and hit send. Perhaps she should give Warren a chance?
Gabe peeled back the clingfilm on the bowl of leftover lasagne and wrinkled his nose. It looked like something the dog had thrown up. In fairness, it hadn’t been particularly appetizing the first time around. Like everything else Gabe had eaten since Laura left, it had come out of a Tesco box. If there were an Olympic team for ‘piercing the film lid several times’, Gabe would have been a shoo-in. Not that the standard of cuisine had been much to write home about when Laura had lived here, he reminded himself ruefully. Thrusting the lasagne into the microwave, he heated it up anyway and opened a cheap bottle of wine. It was either the dog-sick lasagne or a bowl of Frosties, and he’d had Frosties for breakfast. I really must sign up for an Ocado delivery, he thought for the millionth time.
Laying the kitchen table for one, he wondered idly what Macy would be having tonight with this tosser from Morgan Stanley. Oysters and osso buco, probably. Warren Hansen. What the fuck kind of a name was that?
Gabe didn’t want to be with Macy. But it still irked him to think of her throwing herself away on someone so obviously unworthy of her. He imagined Warren as a typical lantern-jawed, white-toothed American wearing an expensive suit and too much aftershave, boring on about Harvard Business School.
On balance, a night on his own eating dog-sick lasagne seemed preferable.
Actually, once he’d smothered it in ketchup and washed it down with plonk, the lasagne wasn’t that bad. Flipping through Horse & Hound as he ate, Gabe was actually starting to enjoy his evening when a lawyer’s letter fluttered out from between the magazine’s pages. Norma, the current cleaner, must have slipped it in there by mistake when she was tidying up the kitchen table.
‘Leigh & Graylings, Solicitors.’
How Gabe had come to hate that letterhead! A date had been set for the divorce hearing. Gabe’s lawyers had done all they could to delay things. But with Gabe’s unwillingness to fight with Laura over either custody or finances, he hadn’t left them much wiggle room.
In a few weeks, they’d be in court. In a few months at most, the divorce would be finalized. No going back.
It still didn’t feel real. But it was. The letter in front of him spelled out that fact in ugly black letters.
The ringing phone jolted him momentarily out of his dark mood. As always when the phone rang, a part of him hoped it might be Laura. But saying what? That she’d changed her mind? It’s not going to happen, you moron, Gabe scolded himself.
‘Hello?’
‘Gabe. It’s Brett.’
Brett Cranley’s deep, gravelly Australian voice boomed out of the receiver, as punchily confident as ever.
‘Brett! I heard you were in town. How are you?’
‘Oh, you know. Better than you, I guess. Sorry to hear about Laura.’
Gabe liked the easy way Brett talked, as if the two of them spoke all the time. In fact, Gabe hadn’t heard from Brett in well over a year.
‘Look, mate, are you busy?’
‘Busy?’ Gabe looked down at his sorry supper and the lawyer’s letter. ‘No. Not remotely. You?’
‘I’m going stir-crazy up at Furlings,’ Brett confided. ‘I’ve only been here a day and already I feel like the walls are closing in. I need to escape. You don’t fancy a pint, do you?’
In the bar at The Fox ten minutes later, Gabe and Brett sat nursing pints of Guinness and sharing a side of chips.
Brett looked older than Gabe remembered him. The grey that had once dusted his temples had now spread everywhere, and the fan of lines around his eyes had become deep grooves. Then again, he was older. Gabe calculated that he must be in his early to mid-sixties. But he still had that incredible dynamism; that raw, masculine energy that was part ambition, part testosterone and that had always drawn women to him like waves to the shore.
‘How’s Tati?’ Gabe asked. ‘Is she here?’
‘No, not this time, thank God.’
Gabe raised an eyebrow. ‘Are things not good with you two?’
Brett took a long, deep draught of his beer. ‘Things are fine. You know us. We still fight like two cats in a bag.’ He grinned. ‘But I love her.’
It struck Gabe that the old Brett Cranley would never have made such an admission openly, despite its obvious truth. Tatiana Flint-Hamilton had tamed him. Or perhaps age had done that?
‘I just hate bringing her back to Furlings,’ Brett went on. ‘It’s the same every time: “You stole my house.” “If you loved me, you’d get Furlings back.”’ He rolled his eyes. ‘The truth is, Tati’s really happy in the States. But she’d rather die than admit it.’
‘And what brings you back this time?’ asked Gabe.
‘The usual. Work,’ said Brett, greedily stuffing chips into his mouth. The Fox’s chips were the best in the world, bar none: salty and fatty and perfect. ‘And some family stuff. Jason and George are adopting another kid.’
‘That’s great,’ said Gabe. Then, seeing Brett’s frown added, ‘Isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brett.
Brett had had a tough time when his son came out as gay, and an even tougher one when Jason got married. Perhaps he was still struggling with it?
‘It’s not about them being nancies,’ said Brett, reading Gabe’s thoughts. ‘I just think George is too old. Tati still talks about us adopting, but at my age I think it’s crazy. Still. Jason’s a good father. A thousand times better than I was.’
Brett noticed that Gabe had turned away slightly, lost in his own thoughts.
‘How are your boys?’ he asked.
‘They’re good.’ Gabe forced a smile. ‘They’re in London with Laura during the week. I get them weekends and holidays. But I think they’re happy.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m OK.’
Brett gave him a look that clearly said he wasn’t buying it.
Gabe sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. ‘All right then. I’m shit. Life is shit. And, the worst part is, it’s all my fault.’
He poured out the whole story to Brett. How he and Laura had been arguing for months. How Laura felt that Valley Farm’s success and Gabe’s small taste of fame had turned his head.
‘And had they?’ asked Brett.
Gabe shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I could be a bit of a knob.’
Brett laughed.
‘But then, you know, I was a bit of a knob when she married me. It seems harsh to suddenly start using it against me now.’
Brett laughed again. ‘And Macy Johanssen? Gorgeous girl, by the way.’
‘Macy was there,’ said Gabe. ‘I know it sounds awful to say it like that, but it’s the truth. We were in LA, we were pissed as farts, Laura and I had had another barney on the phone. It happened.’
‘So you don’t have any feelings for her? For Macy?’
Gabe stared into his Guinness, as if the swirling black liquid might hold the answer to Brett’s question. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he said softly.
And then he started to talk to Brett about Macy. Thoughts and feelings he didn’t know he had until he started saying them out loud. How she’d been a great friend through a terrible time. How he always had so much fun in her company, while he and Laura always seemed to be at odds. How attractive she was. And how he was pretty sure she was in love with him.
‘How was the sex?’ Brett asked bluntly.
‘It was great,’ Gabe replied, equally bluntly.
‘Have you done it again?’
‘No,’ said Gabe. The ‘Not yet’ hung heavily in the air between them. ‘The thing is, I still love Laura. I don’t know how to stop loving her. I don’t think I want to stop.’
‘You don’t have to stop,’ said Brett. ‘And you won’t. I still love Ange.’
‘Really?’ Gabe sounded astonished.
‘Of course. She’s the mother of my children. We were married for twenty years – twenty good years. She’s family. Even if she weren’t, she’s the loveliest woman on earth. Always has been.’
‘So why did you get divorced?’
‘Well, firstly, she divorced me. A bit like you and Laura. I fought it in the beginning. I was miserable. I didn’t want to lose my family – nobody does. I was scared shitless, if you want the truth.’
‘But you loved Tatiana?’
Brett nodded. ‘I did, yes. But if you think that takes away the pain, you’re wrong.’
‘What does take away the pain?’ Gabe asked despairingly.
‘Time,’ said Brett, with reassuring confidence. ‘I’m staying up at Furlings now, under my ex-roof, with my ex-wife and her fella. And it’s fine. I’m happy, she’s happy, everybody’s happy. Life moves on, and it should move on. My marriage with Ange was a wonderful chapter in my life and a long one. But being with Tatiana is a new chapter, and that’s great too. Do you want my advice?’
‘Not really,’ said Gabe. ‘I want my life back.’
‘Well you can’t have it,’ said Brett. ‘Not your old life, anyway. Let it go, and give things a shot with Macy.’
Gabe shook his head. Hearing Brett say it out loud like that was shocking.
‘I can’t. I’m still in love with my wife.’
Brett looked him in the eye. ‘I’m saying this as a friend, mate. But she’s not coming back. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can all get on with your lives.’
They ordered more drinks, and Brett dragged the conversation back to less emotive topics. He quizzed him in detail on the ongoing negotiations with Fox, and the complicated finances of syndication. After that they got back to Swell Valley gossip. Before long Gabe had Brett laughing again, filling him in on all the salacious Valley Farm rumours, the latest with the Wellesley family soap opera, and hilarious stories about the vicar, ‘Call-me-Bill’ Clempson.
‘I think Jen, the young vet on our show, fancies him,’ Gabe told Brett, through tears of laughter. ‘Can you imagine? If I sleep with anyone it really ought to be her. Purely as an act of public service. She clearly needs saving from herself.’
‘I need saving!’ said Brett. ‘The vicar was round at Furlings today, hitting me up for money before I’d got my suitcase upstairs! I don’t even bloody live here any more.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m not sleeping with you.’ Gabe downed the last of his drink.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Brett.
The bell rang for last orders.
‘One more for the road?’ said Gabe. He was already happily drunk and saw no reason to stop now.
‘Nah,’ said Brett, getting to his feet. ‘Hell hath no fury like an ex-wife woken up by her drunk former husband. Good to see you, though, mate. And good luck.’
Weaving his way home along the dark lane ten minutes later, Gabe thought about everything Brett had said. His deep, gravelly voice drifted back to Gabe now, ringing in his ears in the stillness.
You can be happy again. And you will.
All you have to do is let go …