Love is a Four Letter Word. Zara StoneleyЧитать онлайн книгу.
entitled to do that too.
Bugger.
“Georgie, Georgie.” The sharp elbow in her ribs brought her back down to earth with an ouch. “What was all that about then? And can you grab some of these sweets off me please, pretty please?”
“You do realise you’ll explode if you eat this lot?” Georgie put a handful of the sweets in her pocket and stared at Ella, determined to focus on her, and not an image of Jake on his motorbike, on Marsh Lane.
“Have you seen these—?”
“I don’t want to see. I put on pounds just looking. I’ll walk back with you, then I need to get the car.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Nope.” She shook her head slowly to make sure Ella got the message. This was a trip down memory lane she had to take on her own. Firstly, because it was Rowena’s place which could stir up feelings she was sure she didn’t want to acknowledge, second because she had a horrible feeling the only plan she had for the future was about to be cocked up in a terminal way, and thirdly … well, thirdly she didn’t quite know what to make of the bad biker boy any more.
“Spoilsport.”
“You got it.” Next time she laid eyed on Jake Harcourt she wanted to be on her own, because every time the thought of that bike entered her head, which was pretty often, she felt an indescribable urge to be bad. Very bad.
***
Georgie had ditched the high heels in favour of a pair of old wellingtons she’d found in the outhouse and she’d pulled on an old sweater, jeans and a beret to keep her warm. The thick long scarf was because she hadn’t got a baggy enough jacket to go over the rest. So not front-of-house.
She sauntered slowly up the lane feeling liberated in the flat boots. When was the last time she’d walked anywhere? When was the last time she’d pulled on scruffy old clothes and just relaxed? She couldn’t remember. Life wasn’t like that anymore.
One kick of the crisp brown mottled leaves in the air and she was thrown, instantly, painfully, back to being a child again. A laughing, joking Georgie being chased by her father down this lane. Thrown up in the air until she squealed.
Swallowing the pang of sadness down, she blinked hard to clear the mist from her eyes. It was too long ago, she shouldn’t let an autumn day and walking down this oh so familiar lane affect her like that. It was just a road. It could be anywhere. But when she glanced up, the white puff balls of cloud scudding across a clear blue sky made her ache inside. A lump that hadn’t been there for a long time clutched at her chest, tightened her throat until it was hard to swallow.
One day it had been normal. The next it was screaming and tears. She’d never heard her parents swear before, or even argue, but now they’d used up a lifetime’s quota over the explosive week that it lasted. Then nothing. One last door banging and the war was over. A ghostly quiet and a father who systematically, scarily, smashed every plate in the house.
She’d wanted to yell at him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she ran away. Hid at the bottom of the garden under the safe canopy of trees until he came to find her. The next day he packaged her up like some unwanted gift that needed returning to the store. Took her away from her home, from her school, from her friends. Installed her somewhere bright, shiny and new. With the man who overnight had changed from the laughing dad into the alien Alfie and, too soon after, she’d been introduced to his dotty wife-to-be Carol.
She’d never even said goodbye to anyone or anything. That day he’d walked down the steps and put their suitcases in the boot of the car, rattled the gate to check it was secure then driven away without a backwards glance. The house that was her home had been locked up, locked out. Forgotten.
Her mother had never meant to get pregnant again, if she hadn’t she probably would have never said she was leaving with her toy boy. The man who made her feel wanted. The man she bought a plane ticket with and never looked back.
But shit happens, and sometimes it keeps happening.
Georgie opened the eyes she hadn’t realised she’d shut and looked down at the leaves round her feet. She stooped, picked up one of the shiny brown conkers from the road and rolled it round, the still waxy surface tacky against her fingertips, then closed her hand tight around it and shoved both her fists in her pockets. Slowing down to think about things was bad, ploughing on into the unknown, every day a different challenge was good. Kicking her way out of the crap that had closed in around her. She gave a last kick at the leaves, but this time it was an angry jab, that sent a pain though her toe. Great, just what she needed, a broken toe. She hobbled a couple of steps, at least this was a proper pain. Kicked her boot off and wiggled the toes experimentally, they moved so they couldn’t be broken, could they? She pulled her wellie back on with a sigh. Dawdling was just putting off the moment when she’d get there. Have to face him again and work out how to get what she wanted. It was time to kick ass, if her foot was up to it.
“Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? Twice in one week after not seeing you for years.”
“How could I stay away?” Keep her tone light was one thing, keeping her eyes off him was something altogether different. No-one should be allowed to look like that, Georgie decided. But at least the dread in her stomach when she’d turned into the place had been replaced with little fingers of anticipation that were reaching down a bit lower.
From the shadow on his chin he couldn’t have shaved since she last saw him, and the curls on his forehead were damp with perspiration. So was the T-black T-shirt that was clinging to his torso, just like she wanted to. He was gazing at her through dark lashes and the quirk to the corner of his mouth could have been amusement or something her dirty mind had made up.
Bugger.
“Did you forget something?” He’d ignored her comment, obviously used to being lusted after. But she was more than happy to up her game if she needed to.
“Call me nosy. I wondered what you got up to these days, when you weren’t handing out rides.”
This time he half grinned. What she was after, she supposed, except those little fingers in her stomach were firming up into more and tugging at something deep down in her stomach. Promising.
“I don’t tend to hand out seconds.”
“Arrogant bugger.” She laughed and the other side of his mouth joined in with the grin.
“If you’ve got it, why deny it?” He held out his hands wide, as though in submission and chuckled. Lord that chuckle was dangerous, it was practically making her toes curl, and causing all kinds of other havoc on its way down there.
“So, what do you do?” She glanced around, so that she had an excuse not to carry on staring at him. Being lured in, she needed to control this. Not just jump the man. There were neat fields either side, a barn at the end of the track and not much else from what she could see. The same old place that she remembered from all those years ago, but tidier. The same post and rail fence, still with the teeth marks.
Exactly the same teeth marks. She stared. This was worse than she’d thought. Her fingers curled, tight in her pockets until her nails bit into the palms of her hands. He shouldn’t be here, in this field. He should be in the next one along, nearer to Rowena’s, further from her memories. This wasn’t his place, it was hers. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to stop looking at the stupid fence.
Looked at something new. A neat white line of electric tape around the gateway to stop it becoming a muddy morass. Not that mud had bothered her last time she was here.
“I fix horses.”
“Fix? Come on, you’re not a vet.” He didn’t even like horses, he’d never liked horses or she’d have noticed when they were kids. They’d been her whole life back then.
“Wow, as sharp as ever I see, Sherlock.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood square. Damn, she was back to staring at him. “I fix their