“‘Lo?” he croaked into the phone without checking the display.
“Hi, baby. How are you doing?”
Jaymes. If not for the deep sexy tone and warm familiarity, Nathan might have been pissed off. Instead, he turned his yawn into a smile.
“Jaymes, it’s two-thirty in the morning.”
“Oh shit, sorry. I got the time zones mixed up again, didn’t I? I’ll call back.”
“No, no, love. Don’t do that. I need to hear your voice. And I’m going to be ridiculously busy all day. Talk to me. I’m awake now, anyway.”
A fortnight ago, Polly’s bombshell for Nathan had been that Clifton had given her a call and asked her private opinion about whether she thought Nathan might be interested in selling the shop to the Hogmore family. Nathan told her he would jump at the offer but had sworn her to secrecy, a confidence she had managed to keep for all of twenty-four hours. Although Jaymes had loved and fully supported the idea, he’d half-jokingly wondered if Clifton had any other demands, such as getting into Nathan’s pants. Nathan reassured Jaymes that only one person on the planet had that right, after which the conversation had devolved into a booty call. Apart from feeling too tired even to consider the idea that morning, Jaymes was clearly calling from his shared office because Nathan could hear voices in the background.
“Everything teed up and ready for the big day?”
“Usual dramas. Ironically, the look-a-like Gordon Ramsey is down with food poisoning and had to cancel, but Arlene says there’s a backup plan. Raul had to fly back to the States. His sister has gone into labour and he wants to be there. Clifton should really be with him, but they agreed that one of them needs to honour their commitment to the fête. Clifton’s now co-hosting with the co-star ofCandlelight, Helen Monash. Apparently, a few of the cast members are turning up in support.”
Clifton’s manager, Giorgio, had called Nathan about Raul being called away. He’d then updated him about a couple of other things, including getting Helen Monash to step into his shoes and being granted permission to display banners for the charities Clifton supported around the stage, especially the one concerning domestic abuse, considering the poor boy’s recent ordeal. Nathan suspected that Giorgio had stage-managed the whole stunt. At some point that day, Nathan would pull Clifton aside for a chat.
“And are you still doing the team auction date thing? Torturing me while some lucky so-and-so wins a date with Crumbington’s mouth-wateringly gorgeous owner of the village baker’s shop?”
Jaymes had singled out and joked about the team auction event a couple of times, and Nathan wondered if Jaymes was entirely happy about the idea.
“Would you prefer me to back out, Jay? Because I will. I don’t have to do this. And there’s only you for me. Doesn’t matter who bids the highest, even if it’s five hundred quid. All they’ll be getting is a loaf of freshly baked sourdough, a nice meal and polite conversation. I promise you that with all my heart.”
“Nathan, baby. You know I trust you. And you’re doing this for a worthwhile cause. As long as nobody insults you by bidding anything less than five hundred pounds, then I'm all for the idea. In fact, say you already have a bidder who will pay five hundred but who is currently working in Asia, and if anyone bids any less, I’ll make sure Arlene Killjoy—”
“Killroy.”
“Uh, yeah, her too. I’ll make sure she gets paid in full.”
While Nathan had been hogging the conversation, he heard urgent voices at the other end, which sounded like someone trying to get Jaymes’ attention.
“Sorry, love. Are you busy?” asked Nathan.
“It’s fine. A lot’s going on. I’m out of the office this afternoon, which is why I wanted to call you now. Have a great day, lover. I’ll video call you tomorrow to find out how everything went.”
“But not at two in the morning, please.”
Jaymes laughed heartily, a sound that made Nathan’s heart do a little flip.
“Okay, baby. Not at two in the morning. I promise. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Nathan tried to go back to sleep but tossed and turned. Eventually he got up and made himself a cup of tea. At just before four, with little sign of daylight making an appearance through his window, he put on his tracksuit and trainers and decided to go for a run. Tying his trainers, he planned to take his usual route out past the church, then down through the empty village high street. Glittery stars and an unobscured third-quarter moon met him outside the front door, producing a ghostly glaze over the cobbled street. If he had expected to be alone at that hour, he was mistaken. Stretching up the road towards the village square, small steel-framed stalls had been erected, a few already weatherproofed in canvass coverings, many still skeletal structures. Intermittently, silhouettes of figures moved around stalls, using camping lamps or flashlights to guide their work. All nodded with happy camaraderie as he jogged past, most he knew by name.
As he moved through the village, an odd emotion overcame him, something unexpected, taking him completely unaware. For all his grumblings, he loved Crumbington. Always had. Villagers had stubbornly refused to conform to the modern world with no cars or buses or trams clogging up the pedestrianised high street, no stainless steel office blocks towering above rooftops and breaking up rows of pretty, pristinely maintained shopfronts. They worked tirelessly together to preserve the traditions of the past, a people who genuinely cared about one another’s lives and well-being. Crumbington brought out the best in people.
When he reached the centre of the village, the sky had transitioned from black to plum to violet, bathing the streets in first light. At the village green, he realised people had been working overnight. When he sought out his bakery stall, he found the bijoux antique fairground for children already erected in the middle of the grass. A tiny merry-go-round with horses and unicorns painted in glossy blue, yellow and pink pastels sat next to a mini helter-skelter, no higher than a double-decker bus, and decorated in red and white stripes like a stick of rock. A cup and saucer ride stood in front of a mini Ferris wheel. According to Arlene, families would pay a nominal amount for a ticket, then the kids could go on whatever they wanted for as long as they wanted.
Crumbington shop stalls surrounded the spectacle, interspersed with game stalls such as the coconut shy, hoopla, spin the wheel of fortune and, of course, the ducking stool—a cushioned seat hovering above a large, currently empty Perspex container. Nathan shuddered at the thought of dropping into cold water, even on a warm summer’s day like the one promised. At the far end, space had been left for the stage, where other entertainment would take place.
“A sight to warm the coldest of hearts,” came a familiar voice.
Father Mulligan stood there, togged out in Wellington boots, a long black woollen coat and a black bobble hat on his head.
“Absolutely beautiful,” said Nathan.
