his stock but really because we can’t resist the exhilaration of the chase. Tom’s two border collies bounding along behind us, we all have a brilliant time, whooping and screaming and scaring the wildlife—and I’m hoping that the powers that be at the Rock and Heifer never find out about our scandalous behavior or that’ll be me barred as well as Tom and Nathan.
Eventually we cruise sedately into Tom’s stone-flagged farm yard as dusk is falling. We stroll companionably into the house, dropping our coats onto the backs of kitchen chairs before Tom holds out his hand to me, a silent invitation to go upstairs with him. I smile and take his hand.
Tomorrow, I meet with Abbie.
* * * *
Abigail Delaney turns out to be not at all what I expected. I suppose I had in mind some sort of femme fatale in a slinky black dress and six inch fuck-me heels. Or maybe a plain, Sunday school type, all puritan in buttoned-up blouse and sensible lace ups. Instead, the woman waiting for me by the automatic ticket machine at York station is fresh and sporty, her light brown hair pulled back in a bouncing pony tail. She’s wearing khaki chinos and a bright yellow padded jacket, her Nike trainers tapping to the beat of whatever’s coming out of the tiny little buds pushed in her ears. She whips out the earphones as she sees me approaching, her smile wide and welcoming.
“Hi. You’d be Ashley?” I nod and she leans forward to hug me and briefly kisses my cheek. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Abbie, obviously. I’d have recognized you anywhere, you look just like Nathan described.” The lively stream of chatter just bubbles from her as she links her arm through mine.
“Where do you fancy going? Pizza? Italian? Indian? I’m starving. Eating for two, actually…” She pats her still flat stomach and winks at me. “Don’t look so horrified. Me and Mike have eased up on the canings since I found out I was pregnant.”
Painful memories well up of the way Kenny did anything but ease up on his beatings when I was pregnant, but I say nothing. I gulp, pushing those memories back where they can do no harm, for now, and just say the first thing that pops into my head.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me, to talk to me. It’s very—kind—of you.”
“Not at all, any friend of Nathan’s and all that.”
“I’m not sure I’d call him a friend exactly…” I pull myself up short. However inauspicious our early relationship, Nathan Darke certainly treats me like a friend now. And I know it’s not just for Tom’s sake.
“No? Well he seems to like you. Are you and Nathan thinking of…?”
“No!” I interrupt her, perhaps a little too quickly. But bloody hell, what a thought! “No, not that. Not him. It’s, well it’s his friend, Tom, actually. Tom Shore?”
“Ah, yes, Tom. I remember Tom. Tall bloke, blond hair. Very good-looking. And very good with a whip.”
Shit! Talk about going straight for the jugular.
“Er, right. So I’m beginning to understand.”
“I’m guessing, from your face, and the fact that you’re here wanting to talk to me, that you’ve not taken the plunge yet. Not bottomed for him yet.”
I blush furiously and shake my head.
“Okay. But he’s asked you to and you’re thinking about it, yes?”
This time I nod, just once, slowly. “Yes, I must be mad.”
“Do you think I’m mad?”
Her tone is mild, matter-of-fact. The casual question stops me in my tracks. I turn to look at her, embarrassed.
“God, no. No, I didn’t mean that. Christ, I’m sorry.”
She laughs, pats my arm. “Chill, Ashley, we’re cool. Our lifestyle seems strange to you, I get that. I just wanted to make the point that lots of very ordinary, very boring people love these funny little ways of ours.” She grins and takes my arm again, marching me out of the station. “There’s a lot of it about, chuck.”
Our conversation stays with the mundane as we stroll across the dual carriageway in front of the station
Eventually we cruise sedately into Tom’s stone-flagged farm yard as dusk is falling. We stroll companionably into the house, dropping our coats onto the backs of kitchen chairs before Tom holds out his hand to me, a silent invitation to go upstairs with him. I smile and take his hand.
Tomorrow, I meet with Abbie.
* * * *
Abigail Delaney turns out to be not at all what I expected. I suppose I had in mind some sort of femme fatale in a slinky black dress and six inch fuck-me heels. Or maybe a plain, Sunday school type, all puritan in buttoned-up blouse and sensible lace ups. Instead, the woman waiting for me by the automatic ticket machine at York station is fresh and sporty, her light brown hair pulled back in a bouncing pony tail. She’s wearing khaki chinos and a bright yellow padded jacket, her Nike trainers tapping to the beat of whatever’s coming out of the tiny little buds pushed in her ears. She whips out the earphones as she sees me approaching, her smile wide and welcoming.
“Hi. You’d be Ashley?” I nod and she leans forward to hug me and briefly kisses my cheek. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Abbie, obviously. I’d have recognized you anywhere, you look just like Nathan described.” The lively stream of chatter just bubbles from her as she links her arm through mine.
“Where do you fancy going? Pizza? Italian? Indian? I’m starving. Eating for two, actually…” She pats her still flat stomach and winks at me. “Don’t look so horrified. Me and Mike have eased up on the canings since I found out I was pregnant.”
Painful memories well up of the way Kenny did anything but ease up on his beatings when I was pregnant, but I say nothing. I gulp, pushing those memories back where they can do no harm, for now, and just say the first thing that pops into my head.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me, to talk to me. It’s very—kind—of you.”
“Not at all, any friend of Nathan’s and all that.”
“I’m not sure I’d call him a friend exactly…” I pull myself up short. However inauspicious our early relationship, Nathan Darke certainly treats me like a friend now. And I know it’s not just for Tom’s sake.
“No? Well he seems to like you. Are you and Nathan thinking of…?”
“No!” I interrupt her, perhaps a little too quickly. But bloody hell, what a thought! “No, not that. Not him. It’s, well it’s his friend, Tom, actually. Tom Shore?”
“Ah, yes, Tom. I remember Tom. Tall bloke, blond hair. Very good-looking. And very good with a whip.”
Shit! Talk about going straight for the jugular.
“Er, right. So I’m beginning to understand.”
“I’m guessing, from your face, and the fact that you’re here wanting to talk to me, that you’ve not taken the plunge yet. Not bottomed for him yet.”
I blush furiously and shake my head.
“Okay. But he’s asked you to and you’re thinking about it, yes?”
This time I nod, just once, slowly. “Yes, I must be mad.”
“Do you think I’m mad?”
Her tone is mild, matter-of-fact. The casual question stops me in my tracks. I turn to look at her, embarrassed.
“God, no. No, I didn’t mean that. Christ, I’m sorry.”
She laughs, pats my arm. “Chill, Ashley, we’re cool. Our lifestyle seems strange to you, I get that. I just wanted to make the point that lots of very ordinary, very boring people love these funny little ways of ours.” She grins and takes my arm again, marching me out of the station. “There’s a lot of it about, chuck.”
Our conversation stays with the mundane as we stroll across the dual carriageway in front of the station
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