Читать книгу The Wish: The most heart-warming feel-good read you need in 2018 - Alex Brown - Страница 12

‘You make me feel so young, you make me feel as though spring has sprung …’ Jude twirled her auburn curls up into a big bun and secured it with a hairband as she sang along heartily with Frank Sinatra on her Spotify playlist. She really was happy to be back in lovely Tindledale with Dad and her friends, relishing the earthiness and realness here, but she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t also come as a bit of a shock. Back down to earth with a bump after all the fakery and full-on fast lane of her life in LA … And she really missed her mum’s cousin, Maggie. They had spoken on the phone last night and she could tell that Maggie was putting on a brave face, being stoic and selfless in telling her she slept well at night knowing Tony was happy having his daughter back. Dad had called Maggie shortly after she’d got home, to thank her for everything she had done for Jude, and especially for bringing Mum’s memory alive. Also for the keepsake box that Maggie had entrusted Jude to give to him. The box had been her mum’s, and inside were notes and cards that Dad had given her when they’d first started courting. A pressed rose secreted between the pages of a pamphlet advertising the first dance he took her to in the old ballroom in Market Briar. Even a faded old photograph of them both cuddled together under a tree on the village green. It had near taken his breath away, he had said, when he saw it all.

Jude wandered across the shop and rearranged the scented candle display for the trillionth time. Business had been slow for the first week since she’d opened and she had spent most of her time either knitting yet another square to add to the pile waiting to be stitched together to make a blanket, as that was the extent of her knitting skills. Or moving cushions and candles from one side of the shop to the other. But, in contrast to the last few days’ weather, the sun was shining today, bathing the narrow, cobbled lanes and surrounding fields full of springy white lambs in a warm, golden glow. So the lovely villagers of Tindledale were either supping ice-cold beer in the Duck & Puddle pub garden, or on the village green paddling in the pond and not bothering themselves with shopping of any kind.

Just as Jude wondered if she’d made a mistake in opening the shop here, and maybe should have focused on selling antiques online, as that part of the business was thriving as it always had done, the phone rang.

‘Darling Antiques and Interiors,’ she answered cheerfully, practically falling on the phone, such was the novelty of it actually ringing during business hours. It often rang shortly after five when she had turned the sign on the door to CLOSED, but typically it was her dad, Tony, asking if she wanted a lift home, or Chrissie to see if she fancied a glass of Prosecco and a catch-up. Which reminded her, she wanted to call in on Chrissie later to see how things had gone with Sam. Chrissie had told her that he was coming back and that they were going to be seeing each other for the first time in ages. Jude wished she could understand where things had gone wrong between Chrissie and Sam. They had so much going for them. Of course, no marriage was perfect, and they were quite different people. Chrissie was much steadier than Sam, who Jude secretly thought was a bit of a dreamer; a carefree, creative, surfer type, if they’d lived near the sea. She could see him now in a pair of shades, sliders on his feet, a MacBook under his arm and lots of ideas. He was an accomplished architect, but had always been a bit unfocused. That was until the last few years when he’d really thrown himself into work, especially after Holly’s diabetes was diagnosed. Jude wondered if that was where the connection was? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to have your thirteen-year-old daughter with a serious condition like diabetes; it was hardly surprising that it had put a strain on their marriage.

Jude let out a long breath and shook her head, as if to create a feeling of equilibrium once more.

‘What?’ A gruff male voice asked to open the conversation, bringing her back to the moment and the telephone call.

‘Pardon?’ she replied, taken aback.

‘Is that the antique shop?’ the man demanded in a London accent.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Err, yes, quite sure,’ Jude confirmed, wondering if this was some kind of prank call.

‘But you just called me darling—’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘Darling is my name and I sell antiques and … things for interiors such as—’

‘What kind of a name is that?’ the man cut in rudely. ‘Are you having me on?’ He sounded as if he might be laughing at her. Jude contemplated hanging up, but before she could decide, he added, ‘Can you come and see me? I might have some work for you.’

‘Depends,’ she said, not missing a beat.

‘Depends! What sort of way is that to talk to a potential customer?’

‘The sort of way that means … I don’t know who you are, or what work you would like me to do. So, until I have that information, I can’t decide if I want to come and see you.’

Silence followed. Jude caught sight of her face in the gilt-framed mirror on the wall near the little desk where the phone was and mouthed ‘idiot’ to herself. He might be cocky and rude and making fun of her name, but here was a potential customer. That’s what he had said, and she was being flippant. ‘Err, what I actually meant was,’ she quickly pulled back the conversation, ‘how can I help you?’

‘That’s better!’ And he actually laughed again. A big belly laugh this time. Jude hated him immediately. ‘So will you come or not?’ She looked again at her face, her cheeks all flushed and florid like two bruised tomatoes. How dared he? Who the hell did he think he was? And then, as if telepathically accessing her mind, he announced, ‘I’m Myles King. Rock legend! Will that do you?’

A short silence followed. ‘You’ve probably heard of me …’ More silence. Jude’s jaw dropped. There had been a rumour going around in the village. Her dad had told her last night over drinks in the pub that the megastar of the Noughties, albeit faded now, had bought the old Blackwood Farm Estate. Lord Lucan (not the infamous one who disappeared all those years ago, of course) and his wife, Marigold, had sold the estate and retired into the lodge house at the edge of the wildflower meadow, for a slower pace of life.

‘Can’t say I have,’ she said nonchalantly, unable to resist. Of course she’d heard of Myles King. Everyone had. And here he was on the end of her phone proclaiming to be a ‘potential customer’. But she’d seen it all before in LA. The obnoxious behaviour and oversized egos.

‘Where have you been then? Living in a cave?’ Myles chortled at his own joke. ‘Or, oh don’t tell me … you haven’t been banged up, have you? But then again, I thought they let you have radios and tellies in there for good behaviour.’

Jude exhaled, willing herself to get a grip. ‘Namaste. Namaste,’ she chanted over and over inside her head, as she been taught to do by her yoga teacher back in LA, for when dealing with unexpected ‘moments of heightened stress’. But, feeling like an utter arse, she promptly stopped, balling her free hand into a boxer’s fist instead, perfectly poised to land a right hook.

‘When would you like me to come and see you?’ She almost choked on the words, before adding, ‘Mr King,’ as sweetly as she could muster.

‘Now. See you in ten.’ And the line went dead. Jude stared at the receiver, just like they do in films when somebody hangs up unexpectedly, as she got her head around what had just happened. Is he for real? Talk about rude. And entitled. And pleased with himself. She’d never heard anything like it. And she had met some very high-maintenance characters in her time, travelling around the world working with exceedingly wealthy clients, some of whom seriously thought manners were just for the minions and not something that they needed to be bothered with at all.

But she had to admit that her curiosity had been well and truly piqued. Plus, she really couldn’t afford to pass by an opportunity to get her fledging business off the ground. So, she reluctantly blew out the fabulously fragranced candle, slipped her handbag over her shoulder and scooped Lulu off an armchair and into her arms.

After putting the Be Back Soon sign in place and locking the shop door behind her, she headed over to the Duck & Puddle pub to track down Tony. He was bound to be in there with his best mate, Barry, owner of the locksmith and hardware shop, with it being a Saturday afternoon. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t have started on his second pint, so would be in a position to give her a lift in his van down the lane to the Blackwood Farm Estate. But she knew she would need to be quick – Tony and Barry had been friends since school, in other words, donkeys’ years. So when they got going in the pub, there was no stopping them from reminiscing about the much-feted ‘good old days’, when nothing bad ever happened in Tindledale. Or so their respective memories seemed utterly convinced of. When, in actual reality, those days were most likely pretty much the same as – or similar to – how they were now. Tindledale was hardly a buzzing metropolis at the sharp edge of popular culture, always one step ahead of the current trends.

An hour later, and Jude had just got off the bus at the nearest stop to the entrance of the estate. Tony hadn’t been in the pub. ‘Got called away to sort out a potential leaky pipe over in the village hall,’ Cher, the pub landlady, had told Jude as she put his silver tankard back behind the bar for later. So, after trekking back across the village green, and past the paddlers by the duck pond, Jude had just missed the bus. On the hour every hour. She cursed herself for forgetting this important reality of growing up in the countryside, whilst marvelling at how some things never change, especially in the sleepy, rural idyll of Tindledale. She’d then had to wait for the next bus, all the while vowing to buy a car as soon as possible, which wouldn’t be any time soon, seeing as she had sunk all her cash into getting the shop up and running.

She gingerly went to push open the mildew-covered old wooden gates at the entrance to the estate, then thought better of it on seeing how dilapidated they were. The gate on the right-hand side was half hanging off the hinges. So she stepped through the little arched side entrance that was barely bigger than a Hobbit’s front door and went to put Lulu down on the soft grass. But the pampered pooch sniffed around disapprovingly, probably getting a whiff of the crusty, dried-up cowpats dotted around, and promptly went to scrabble her way back up Jude’s jean-clad legs in a bid not to get her carefully groomed paws dirty.

‘Oh, come on then, you spoilt madam,’ Jude laughed as she helped Lulu up and under her arm. ‘I’m going to have to get you one of those pet carriers if you keep on like this.’

‘What are you doing?’ A blowsy woman appeared from behind a hedge and stood squarely in front of Jude, making her jump. Lulu growled and bared her little teeth. Wearing a tweed skirt and a navy padded waistcoat, with a peacock print headscarf over a thatch of static grey hair, the woman struck a formidable pose. And with her ruddy complexion as she clasped a clipboard to her ample bosom, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of a Thelwell cartoon.

‘I’m here to see Myles,’ Jude smiled keenly as she batted a persistent bumblebee from her face.

‘What’s your name?’ the woman demanded, consulting her clipboard.

‘Jude Darling.’

A short silence ensued.

‘Are you sure?’ The Thelwell woman stared for a second, before frowning.

‘Err, yes. Quite sure.’ Jude sighed inwardly, wondering if Dad had a point after all. But back in LA nobody had ever batted an eyelid over her unusual surname, so she had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest. ‘So adorable. Quaint. And like totally British,’ is what they had said over there.

‘Well then, that’s a nice name. Very jolly.’ And the woman actually smiled, which momentarily threw Jude, given her sudden switch in temperament.

‘Oh, thank you.’

But the thaw was short-lived when the woman snapped, ‘Sorry, you’re not down here, I haven’t had any notification of your visit,’ and tapped the clipboard. ‘I can’t let you anywhere near the house if you haven’t been booked in. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’ The woman gestured with her hand for Jude to go back the way she had come, in through the Hobbit door.

‘But, Myles …’ Jude’s voice came out way too high, so she paused, swallowed, and then continued calmly, ‘Mr King just called me and asked me to come to see him. I’m a bit late. I was going to get my dad to give me a lift down here, but he couldn’t and then I missed the bus and … well, I’m here now.’

‘Hmm, sure he did,’ the woman smiled dismissively, reverting back to her frosty setting. ‘Come on now, my dear, you really do need to leave.’

‘It’s true!’ Jude folded her arms, irritated that she seemed to have wasted her time on quite frankly the rudest man she had ever spoken to. And no guesses as to who this woman was – his mother, no doubt, must be, given that she was just as rude. It was clearly a family trait.

‘My dear, if I had a penny for every time a girl like you had tried that one on just to get inside and up close to Mr King, then I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, dodging the cowpats, talking to you. Certainly not. I would be sipping a Dubonnet and gin cocktail on the deck of a yacht moored somewhere on the banks of an Italian hideaway. Good day to you!’ And the woman went to walk away. How bizarre. Jude stared after her, slack-jawed and furious. Then, after swiftly reuniting her chin with the rest of her face, she hoisted Lulu firmly under her arm and dashed after the woman, determined to salvage something from the trip. She had paid out for the bus fare, not to mention her time spent away from the shop, which could quite possibly have consequences for her fledgling business – like losing paying customers if she wasn’t there to actually serve them. Well, maybe … if she was really lucky, but that wasn’t the point. She had come here in good faith, and was damn well going to see Myles King, even if meant fighting this tedious woman right here in the garden.

‘Wait,’ Jude said, and the woman turned. ‘Please, check again. He really did call. I’m Jude Darling from Darling Antiques and Interiors in the village. My shop is in the High Street … Tindledale High Street.’ Jude tried to get a look at the clipboard, but it was no use, the woman was having none of it and immediately pulled a walkie-talkie from the pocket of her padded waistcoat. ‘Yes, please do call him, I’m sure Myles will be able to clear up this misunderstanding.’

Jude pressed her spare hand around Lulu’s little chest, inwardly cursing herself for forgetting to bring her shades or indeed slather herself in SPF cream as she always did back in LA. But she had forgotten how changeable the British weather could be and the sun was dazzling out here in the open grounds of the estate. Her fair, freckly complexion was already starting to warm up. And Lulu was panting over-dramatically, as if she was about to keel over from dehydration. Plus Jude could feel a dampness on the arm she had underneath Lulu’s bottom, which felt suspiciously like she had relieved herself. Oh no. That was all Jude needed. To turn up to her first potential commission with an incontinent dog in tow.

‘Security?’ the woman bellowed into the walkie-talkie and Jude’s heart sank. Not only had Myles King wasted her time, but she was now also about to be arrested, or whatever it was security personnel did to intruders on private estates.

‘OK. I’ll go,’ Jude conceded, plonking Lulu on the ground, and holding up the palms of her hands before trudging towards the Hobbit door. Then she stopped and turned, ‘But you can tell Myles King to expect an invoice for my time … which he has wasted!’ She nodded, pleased with herself for remaining professional, but then ruined it all by adding, ‘and the bus fare. Both ways!’ She cringed as she pointed a sweaty index finger at the woman, before quickly shoving it inside the pocket of her jeans to mask the ominous whiff of dog wee that was now permeating the air between them.

Jude had just stepped back out through the Hobbit door, when she bumped right into Sam.

‘Hey, Jude!’ Jude could immediately see, despite his face lighting up when he saw her, that he was tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked gaunt, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Which he did, of course, with his marriage in tatters. Chrissie said they had talked but it hadn’t gone that well. He’d accused her of seeing someone and that things had been tense. Jude wondered if she should say something to him about it. But what? She wasn’t sure if she should – not here, when he was coming to work – Chrissie had said he told her a few weeks ago that his next contract was back in Tindledale on the estate, but she had also told Jude that she would need to see it to believe it. And it was his personal business, after all. And what if it opened the floodgates? But they had known each other a long time and were friends. Maybe she could help; perhaps she could do something to try to repair their marriage. Mediate somehow. Anything to bring her dearest and oldest friends back together again.

‘Sam!’ Jude gave him an enormous hug, being careful to keep the damp patch on her arm from touching him, just in case. ‘It’s so good to see you. And I’m really pleased that you’re back. How are you?’ she asked, figuring positivity was best, and she certainly didn’t want Sam thinking she blamed him or was taking Chrissie’s side. No, she was here for both of them, Holly too. And would do whatever she could to see a once-happy family put back together again.

‘Not too bad, been better. But, it’s good to be back … to sort things out, with a bit of luck.’ He didn’t elaborate, but Jude knew exactly what he meant. Sam never had been one for long, emotional conversations, and now certainly wasn’t an appropriate moment to discuss things further in any case.

‘I know, Sam,’ Jude said softly, placing her hand on his arm. ‘But you’re home now.’

‘You’re right. And thanks, Jude. It’s great to have you here too. It’ll make a massive difference to Chrissie, and to Holly. You’re just what they need right now.’

‘Anytime.’ Jude looked at the grass, and then back up at Sam. ‘And you. We’re friends as well, remember.’

She loved Sam. With Chrissie being like the sister she never had, she had always seen Sam in a similar way, a bit like a brother. And so she cared about him too. Plus, she knew how good he was for Chrissie – they had been so happy together for a long time, before their marriage came apart at the seams. If she could help them stitch it back together again, then she would do it. Whatever it took.

‘Thanks.’ He nodded. They had known each other since primary school, and her dad, Tony, had been friends with Sam’s dad, Rob, before he died. Tony was still close to Rob’s mum, Dolly, and had always looked out for Sam, her grandson, sometimes stepping in for Rob when Dolly had thought a dad’s influence had been required over the years. Jude remembered when Sam had got roaring drunk in the Duck & Puddle pub on his eighteenth birthday, and had ended up nearly drowning in the village pond after larking about in a makeshift boat made out of an old dustbin. Dolly had called Tony in to have a proper chat with Sam about responsible drinking. And how not to make an absolute idiot of yourself in front of the whole village, who had turned out to see him staggering and gasping for air, as he battled the bin off his head and waded back to the pond’s bank, before collapsing on the grass and throwing up all over the place. So Jude felt it important to try to keep as much of an open mind as she could regarding Chrissie and Sam’s marriage difficulties. She’d been around long enough to know that there were always two sides to everything, plus nobody really ever knows what other people’s personal relationships are like.

Sam reached down to give Lulu a stroke. Surprisingly, she let him, and then even rewarded him with a quick lick on the back of his hand.

‘Ooh, she likes you. Lulu mostly growls at people, or simply ignores them.’ Jude rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation.

‘In that case, I’m flattered,’ Sam said with a small smile. ‘So, what are you doing here?’

‘Well, I had come to see Myles King, but …’ Jude lowered her voice in case the woman was still within earshot, ‘that battle-axe of a gatekeeper won’t let me in.’

‘Ahh, yes, so he called you then?’ He smiled and nodded.

‘He did! But how do you know?’

‘I recommended you. Dolly told me all about your new venture in the High Street, and Myles is looking for some help with furnishings, artwork, interiors stuff and suchlike, so … well, here you are.’

‘Ahh, thanks Sam. That’s really kind of you.’

‘You’re welcome. Always happy to help out a mate if I can. Talking of which, here … take these, you’re squinting.’ And Sam pulled a pair of shades from his breast pocket and went to hand them to her.

‘Oh, no, I can’t take your sunglasses,’ Jude said, thinking, typical Sam, generous as always, he’d give you the shirt off his back if you let him. Just a shame he didn’t equate his time as being as important as material things … Chrissie had often said that Sam loved spoiling her and Holly, but when it came to just turning up or being there, being present in the moment, which he invariably wasn’t, he didn’t seem to think that was such a big deal.

‘OK, if you’re sure.’ Sam reluctantly pushed the shades back inside his pocket. ‘So, how come she won’t let you in?’

‘Must think I’m a fangirl or a gold-digger.’ Jude shrugged, and Sam laughed.

‘Come on, I’ll sort it out.’ He motioned for Jude to step back though the Hobbit door.

‘I thought I’d told you to go!’ The woman practically pounced on Jude.

‘Sylvia.’ Sam swiftly took control. ‘This is Jude, from Darling Antiques and Interiors. I recommended her to Myles, and he called her this afternoon …’

‘It’s true, Sylvia. He did, just like I said.’ Jude sidestepped around Sam and grinned.

‘Hmm. Well, if no one gives me her name then I can’t let her in.’ Sylvia eyed Jude up and down, as if seeing her properly for the first time. She then turned back to Sam. ‘You do understand, don’t you, Sam? You see, it’s more than my job is worth … Myles is very fastidious about me apprehending …’ Sylvia coughed and stepped in a little closer before adding, ‘groupies!’ Jude inhaled sharply, thinking what a charmer Myles must be. Not.

‘I assure you I’m not a groupie. In fact, I’ve never hassled a pop star for a selfie in my entire life, thank you ver—’

‘Look, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,’ Sam cut in. ‘Why don’t you call Myles, or better still let’s go to the house and find him, and I’ll explain. I can introduce Jude properly then.’

‘Stay there.’ Sylvia whipped out the walkie-talkie again, pressed a button, and within a few seconds Myles was on the line and she had asked him about Jude.

‘Yes, that’s right. Bring her in.’ A short crackly silence followed.

‘Right you are.’ Sylvia snapped the button to end the call. After stowing the walkie-talkie back inside her pocket, she muttered, ‘He really is quite hopeless sometimes!’ before marching off towards the main house, her sturdy brown brogues snapping furiously through the crusty, cowpat-covered grass. Jude scooped up Lulu and scarpered after Sylvia, eager to get inside to take a look at the most obnoxious man on the planet.