Connell was full of praise for Lucy’s breakfast. ‘That’s the best fry-up I can ever remember,’ he enthused. ‘But I feel bad, sitting here when you’re rushing about.’
‘This is my job,’ Lucy reminded him. ‘Anyway, remember how much clearing up you did for me last night. Just enjoy your coffee.’
‘Yes, you’re the guest here,’ Rikke added as she chivvied Marnie and Sam into their coats.
‘Did you know Connell’s coming to your school today?’ Lucy asked.
‘Why?’ Marnie asked.
‘There’s going to be an art project,’ she explained.
‘We’re going to turn the big window in the main hall into a work of art,’ Connell explained. ‘It’ll be made up of loads of pieces of stained glass, all designed by you guys …’
‘By us?’ Sam said, brightening.
‘Yeah.’ Connell nodded. ‘By all the pupils, I hope. I’d love as many kids as possible to take part.’
Yesterday, the children had been too full of excitement over Halloween to pay much attention to their guest. But now they were regarding him with interest. ‘Have you been to our school before?’ Marnie asked.
‘Nope, I’ve only seen pictures,’ Connell replied. ‘This’ll be my first time. Will you look after me?’
Marnie chuckled. ‘Yeah. Are you moving here?’
‘No, I’m just here for one more night. But I’ll be coming back before Christmas and there’ll be more visits until the project’s all done.’ He looked at Lucy. ‘And I’d love to stay here, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Of course it is,’ she said. ‘You’re always welcome.’
‘We’re heading off to school in a few minutes,’ Rikke added. ‘Would you like to walk over with us?’
‘Sure.’ Connell beamed at her. ‘I’ll just get my stuff together.’ Minutes later, they were all heading out, leaving the house suddenly quiet and Lucy alone and feeling somewhat fuzzy with her mild hangover.
As she hadn’t had one for so long, the sensation felt almost novel. In the early days, after losing Ivan, there had been several evenings when she had knocked back too much wine alone and woke up hours later, having napped on the sofa, feeling bleary and a little ashamed of herself. It had been all too tempting to lurch for a bottle the minute the children were tucked up in bed. So gradually, she had cut back on wine until she was hardly drinking at all, and only on social occasions. Last night had been fun, though – and as she headed out to the shops, she reflected upon how funny it was that James had popped up from her childhood, and now Connell from her student years too.
It was a cloudy morning with a heaviness in the air. Lucy did the rounds of the village shops, slightly regretting that text she’d sent to James last night, saying she was busy today – but it was too late to do anything about that now. She wasn’t about to mess him around by suddenly being available after all. Instead, she focused on selecting fresh vegetables with a plan to make soup, grateful for the easy chatter of the girls who worked in the greengrocer’s.
When they had first moved here, Ivan had remarked, in his bemused way, that buying something as simple as an apple generally involved a chat about the weather and children, and what did he think about the pub’s new lunchtime menu – had he tried it yet? ‘Everything takes a hundred years,’ he’d said, clearly still operating on city time. But Lucy had loved it then, and she was starting to love it again now. There was a feeling of generosity here – that people actually cared. And when Connell returned from his meeting just before lunch, she was keen to show him why she had fallen in love with Burley Bridge way back when she’d been a child.
As she often did when requested by guests, Lucy had made packed lunches in brown paper bags. ‘So Famous Five-ish,’ Connell said with a grin. ‘Are we off to find some smugglers?’
‘You never know what we’ll find,’ Lucy replied, catching the scent from the rosemary bush at the front door as they left the house.
The sky had darkened a little as they climbed away from the village and up into the hills. ‘The kids were so enthusiastic about the project,’ Connell was telling her. ‘The idea is, they’ll come up with ideas for the glass panels from nature around them. We talked about using the landscape as a starting point for ideas.’
‘There’s plenty of inspiration around here,’ Lucy said.
‘It’s stunning,’ he agreed. ‘I can see why you decided to settle here.’ He pulled out his phone and took panoramic photos of the valley. There were still patches of copper and gold in the distant forests, dulled now as the sky turned darker still. ‘What’s winter like here?’ he asked, which struck her as a naive question as they perched on a rock and delved into their brown paper bags. It was rural, yes – but hardly remote.
‘Last year was pretty mild,’ she replied, although in truth she had still barely been aware of much going on around her then. At least she wasn’t like that now. It was important to recognise that she was making progress, and to recognise how far she’d come. She caught Connell giving her a curious look.
‘Are you okay? Want to head back now?’
‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly. ‘I was just thinking, we never spent much time together back in the old days, did we?’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘You always seemed very focused and driven,’ he added, ‘and I assumed I was probably a bit flippant and stupid for you.’
‘Of course you weren’t! We just moved in different circles, that’s all. I suppose I was a bit of a swot. Maybe I should have kicked back more, not taken myself so seriously.’
‘And maybe I should have knuckled down and done some proper work.’ Connell chuckled and then bit into a sandwich.
‘You did really well, though,’ she added. ‘You sailed straight into a proper, grown-up job, as far as I heard.’
‘Yeah – the corporate world,’ he said dryly.
‘A design studio, wasn’t it? Hardly a bank or an insurance company.’
‘But a bit of a factory,’ he explained, ‘churning out work without having enough time to think things through properly. There was always way too much work and not enough people. I’m a lot happier now, doing this.’
‘And d’you have enough commissions to keep you going?’ She paused. ‘It seems very niche, doing stained glass.’
‘Oh, there’s plenty of work,’ he said. ‘There’s what you’d expect – church restorations, community projects and the odd commission for a house or a garden piece. And then a job like this one – at the school – comes along, and it’s a dream, really.’
‘You’re very lucky.’ She caught him glancing at her again.
Connell nodded, and she was aware of a stillness in the air now. ‘I suppose what I was trying to say,’ he added, ‘is that I was pretty in awe of you in college.’
‘You’re kidding,’ she said, genuinely amazed.
He smiled, looking almost bashful now. ‘No, I really was. And I, um … actually thought you were very cute.’
‘Did you?’ she exclaimed.
‘Well, yes. You were. You are, I mean …’ Her heart quickened as she studied his face. Was he flirting, or just teasing her, or what?
‘No one’s said anything like that to me in a long time,’ she said with an awkward laugh.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you …’ He pushed back his light brown hair.
‘You’re not. You’re not at all.’ Her heart was racing now, and his hand brushed against hers. She was keenly aware of something happening between them, something intensely disconcerting but somehow thrilling too. She held Connell’s gaze, feeling emboldened now and convinced that they were about to kiss.
Oh my God, she thought. I am going to kiss someone who’s not Ivan. She couldn’t even remember kissing anyone else, not really; it had been so long ago and seemed insignificant. They were the kisses from her distant youth, from way back in her twenties, and even her teens – on sofas, at parties and in beds, from the odd boyfriend here and there and even a one-night stand, once in a blue moon when she had been far wilder than she was now.
Her heart was still thumping as she realised that the thought of kissing Connell Davies, on whom her flatmate Jennie had nurtured a year-long crush, didn’t appal her at all. In fact, quite the opposite. She wanted his lips upon hers, his hands all over her body. She craved someone to touch her lovingly, to kiss her deeply and make her cry out in the throes of passion. And she feared that, if no one ever made her feel that way again, she might wither and die.