‘Why was I slinking anyway?’ I asked Diana, one small(ish) glass of wine later. ‘I accidentally bumped his head, a 100 per cent non-erotic part of the body, with my knee. Which is, like, a 30 per cent erotic body part at most. And even if there’d been something more in the moment, I’m young and single. He’s not-too-old and single. I’m a not entirely hideous woman. He’s a pleasingly toned (all right, Diana, completely gorgeous) man with meltingly dreamy eyes and quite possibly a nice face hiding under the bushiness. I’m lonely… he’s lonely… what’s the harm in a little frisson?’
‘Thisis the harm,’ was my interpretation of Diana’s reply. ‘A brief millisecond of bodily contact with the nearest available male and you’re in imaginational hyperdrive. This is what got you into trouble last time, grasping at the first man who showed you any interest.’
‘Excuse me!’ I brandished the wine in indignation. ‘Richardwas the one doing all the grasping!’
‘Even so,’ Diana continued, nodding sagely (or, at least, she would have been if she had possessed a flexible neck), ‘you promised to stay away from romantic interactions with men. At least until you’re all straight and sorted. And isn’t there a saying about men and your own doorstep?’
‘I am staying away! I’m just being friendly. I’m not exactly swamped with friends. Or neighbours. I’m sat here talking to a mannequin!’
Diana got in a huff then and refused to talk any more. I finished my wine, read a few chapters of an appalling novel I’d unearthed about a grumpy, solitary cowboy falling in love with a feisty saloon owner, and went to bed. Of course, I barely thought about Mack.Didn’tdream about him, or listen out for the odd creak through the walls.Didn’timagine what he’d look like in a cowboy hat. Didn’tat allwonder if he lay, only a couple of feet away, thinking about me (and possibly not even in a bad way). Urgh! Tomorrow night I was going to read a detective story.
* * *
As it turned out, the next night I had something completely different on my mind…
That morning an invitation plopped through my letterbox.
Initially, the green and red design appeared to be a very late or even earlier Christmas card. And then I looked inside.
I had been cordially invited to a Christmas wedding. In July. Because, the card explained, ‘Our love makes us feel like it’s Christmas every day!’
Bleugh. As far as I was concerned Christmas once a year was one day too many. And now my twin and ex-lover had decided to extend it to July, and throw in their wedding just to add the icing on the fake-Christmas cake.
Acceptances and the name of my plus one needed to be sent to Richard’s PA by the end of April. No mention of declining. Which was one more reason to decline.
I put the invitation into a kitchen drawer and went to dig up some more brambles. Arrogant, selfish, man-stealing sisters and slimy, sneaky, double-crossing exes were like brambles. Even when you thought you’d dug them all out of your life, moved away, stopped searching for them on Google, given up hoping they’d contact you, they popped back up again with a presumptuous, sickening invitation.
The thought of going to that wedding made Old Jenny poke her head up out of her grave and scream in horror.
But maybe the way it caused my lungs to cramp meant Ishouldgo.
New Jenny isn’t a wimpy quitter!I shouted at Old Jenny, and got back to yanking up the weeds.
* * *
While huddled in my coat that evening, watching the blaze of burning brambles flickering orange and black, I heard a car pull up outside. A millisecond later, a huge, dark shadow appeared at the side of my deckchair.
I screamed, jumping so hard I would have toppled over if the shadow hadn’t grabbed the chair.
‘Sorry!’ Jamie stepped into the light of the bonfire, dressed head to toe in black. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘Try not creeping up on me, then.’ I gasped, clutching my pounding chest.
Mack’s back door whipped open and he stuck his head out. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yes. Fine.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know this guy?’
I understood his suspicion. Jamie looked beyond fierce in his black cap and military-style boots. I was impressed that Mack stepped out into the garden, rather than taking me at my word and disappearing back inside.
‘Jamie, this is Mack. Mack, Jamie.’ I waved my hand in a sort of introductory manner.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked this near-stranger who could probably snap my neck with his little toenail, while my neighbour hovered in the gloom.
‘Oh, no, I’m on my way to work.’ Ah, a perfectly reasonable explanation for the get-up. ‘But I brought you something.’
He picked up a large box and walked over to my back door. ‘Is this your kitchen?’
