It's Raining Men Part 24

'Here,' said Gene. 'Have this before you flood the place.'

Lara blurted out a bubble of laughter. 'Thank you,' she said meekly.

Gene pinned the bandage and stood up.

'You should have a cup of tea or something. For the shock,' he said.

'I wouldn't mind one if you're asking.'

He turned away from her and put the kettle on. His head almost reached the ceiling beams over by the window, but Lara noticed that the beams were lower there than in the rest of the room. The cottage walls were all out of square. La Mer was probably hundreds of years old.

She studied the back of him and compared him to James but found there was not much similiarity. Gene Hathersage's shoulders were twice the width, his waist was thicker and his b.u.m a fine chunk. Once again she thought of the last time she had seen James's b.u.m, white, skinny and stuck up in the air. Lara's cheeks were rivers of water. The tea towel was drenched.

'Don't know how you take it, so here, help yourself.' Gene thumped a milk carton and a bag of sugar down on the table before placing a steaming-hot mug of tea in front of her. 'So, why were you looking for me?'

'Someone was on our roof in the middle of the night, bolting a big metal aerial thing to it. It scared us to death. We can't watch the TV any more. And the phone isn't working either.'

'Uncle Milton.' Gene shook his head. 'I'll sort it. Sorry about that. It's my great-uncle. On my mother's side. The Birds are all flaming loop the loop. He's over ninety and shouldn't be climbing ladders, especially in his stupid slippery pumps. He's a Bird by surname, I mean, not by species.'

'I gathered that's what you meant. What is it? Why did he do it? And why did he do it at two o'clock in the morning?' Lara poured a little milk into her cup.

'He . . . er m . . . probably thought he was improving the television reception. He invents things,' Gene explained.

'I think you mean he's trying to make our stay worse so we'll leave early.'

Gene conceded a nod. 'Yeah, most likely.' He shrugged his shoulders and quickly changed the subject. 'Not a good week for you, then, you were saying.'

'c.r.a.p, actually,' said Lara, lifting the cup to her lips. 'Pants, s.h.i.t, b.o.l.l.o.c.ks doesn't even cover it.'

'Homeless? You said you were homeless.' He pushed a packet of chocolate fingers towards her.

Lara held up her hand to refuse and then said, 'Oh sod it,' and took one.

'I rented out my flat when I moved in with my boyfriend. The night we drove here I found him in bed with his ex.' Lara couldn't believe the words were coming out of her mouth when she hadn't even told her best friends all this. She was sitting with her face covered in mud, her foot covered in goo, having tea with the rudest man in the world and yet it was to him she was baring her soul.

'Will you go back to him?'

'I'll have to meet him to get all my stuff. But, no, how can I? I can't get what I saw out of my head. It would always be in the way. The trust has gone. There is nothing he can say or do to put it right. But it hurts. So. Much.' She gulped, not wanting to embarra.s.s herself any more. Although she doubted that was possible. Her dignity was in the gutter keeping her ego company.

'Sounds like you needed a holiday.'

'd.a.m.ned right I did.'

'In a nice spa.'

Lara looked at him and saw a twinkle in his wild dark eyes.

'It would have been good. But Wellem Spa is fully booked now. Plus, Clare found the lagoon underneath the house and, well, there's no chance of dragging her away from that.'

'Yes, I know she found it. I saw the evidence of the torn wallpaper,' Gene grumbled.

'We will make sure it's fixed before we leave. She's not in the habit of ripping off wallpaper looking for secret doors, you know. She discovered it by accident.'

'I know. You told me before. Are your friends Yorkshire women too?' asked Gene, eating his third biscuit.

'Yep. Clare's from York, May's from Leeds.'

'Yet you live down south?'

'Plenty of women from the north live down south, you know,' huffed Lara, flicking a blonde curl out of her eye. Did he think it was tantamount to emigration?

'And what do you do? Not journalists, are you?' He topped up her tea from a giant red teapot. Anyone would think he was enjoying her company and wanted her to stay.

'Journos?' Lara let loose a bark of laughter. Is that what the latest rumour about them was? 'No. We all work together, at a company called Cole and Craw Finance. Clare, the one with the eyes, she's an accountant. May helps to set up new businesses and gives people advice. They're both brilliant at what they do. I help ailing, more established businesses turn themselves around, or wind them down if they can't be rescued. Our jobs are quite similar really we're all involved in trying to help people help themselves.'

'Are you any good?'

The cheek of him.

'I'd like to think so.'

'You must be bored rigid in Ren Dullem without your computers and mobile phones.'

Lara shook her head. 'I haven't been bored for a minute.' And she only realized once she had said it how much she meant it.

Then Lara noticed that a small fish had been carved into a corner on the table.

'That's pretty,' she said.

'It's my signature,' Gene replied. 'Like the Mouseman. Except I'm the Fishman.' He smiled, and Lara was reluctant to admit how much his eyes lit up when he did so.

'You made the table then?'

'Yep.'

Lara stroked the smooth back of the fish. 'You could be the Soleman. That would be cool,' she said, smiling back at him. 'You're very good. Do you sell much?'

'I'm doing okay, could do better. I'm just starting to make a name for myself, after years of trying. I was eventually able to drop the day job last year.'

'What was that?'

'Nosey, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'The village odd-job man, if you must know.'

'So now you make a living from wood?'

Gene blew out two big cheekfuls of air.

'Ren Dullem is hardly the enterprise capital of the world. But, yes, I'm building up a nice order book. A shop in Whitby takes a lot of stuff.' Gene proffered her the packet of biscuits again, but she waved it away.

'One last question: why is such a pretty place so hostile to strangers?'

Gene stood up. 'I'd better get you back home.'

One question too far, thought Lara. She levered herself to her good foot and then gasped as Gene pushed her firmly against the wall. Without saying a word he lifted her arm and marked a place on the wall with a nearby pencil. It was like a bizarre height chart for armpits. He didn't explain and Lara didn't have a chance to ask before he bent over to pick her up.

'I can walk. I'm fine,' she said, hopping away.

'Suit yourself,' he said, holding out a crooked arm. 'You might need to lean on me, though.'

'Thank you.'

He walked at her pace out to his van and opened the door for her. It was a working van, spartan inside but surprisingly clean, though it smelled of dog. They were back at the cottage within minutes.

'I'll bring some more comfrey round later when I come to take that down,' and he flicked a finger at Milton's metal monstrosity. 'As soon as I've said goodbye to my lad.'

He helped her out of the van and she saw the shine of moisture in his eyes as he turned from her to drive back home.

Chapter 53.

May and Clare were awake when Lara crashed into the cottage. They had both just dragged the mattresses back onto the beds.

'How did you get o- b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, what happened to you?' said Clare.

Lara hopped over to the sofa. 'I fell into a dog grave and sprained my ankle.'

May's hand shot to her mouth. 'Oh, Lara.'

'Don't try to pretend you don't think it's funny.'

'Let me get you a cloth. Your face is covered in mud.' May went into the bathroom and brought out a face cloth which she had rinsed in warm water. 'I won't get you a mirror; you wouldn't want to see. It's not pretty,' she said. 'So come on, then, what happened?'

'Which bit do you want first?'

'Start slowly and build up to the most exciting part.' May was almost crying with the effort of trying not to laugh.

'I went over to Gene Hathersage's place to tell him about the aerial, saw him in the distance and walked off towards him. I didn't look down, fell into a b.l.o.o.d.y hole that he'd just dug and knackered my ankle. He carried me and I so want to die about that into his house and put this poultice on it. He's coming back later to take off that thing on the roof, which he says was put up by his great-uncle Milton Bird. Apparently he invents things.'

'Things to ward off us offc.u.mdens, perchance?' asked Clare, going over to put the kettle on.

'Got it in one.'

'Is Great-Uncle Milton responsible for the clouds as well? Did you ask?'

'I didn't, but I'd put money on it. Though G.o.d knows why.'

'So . . .' May raised her eyebrows. 'You've been dancing with the devil then?'

Lara shrugged. 'I'd hardly call it dancing. There was nothing remotely Strictly about what I've just done in front of him. Anyway, he isn't that bad when you . . .' She was going to say 'get to know him'. She amended it, though, to: 'fall down a hole and he has to come to your a.s.sistance. His dog died yesterday. He's burying him now.'

May's laughter dried up. 'Ah, that's sad.'

'Apparently when I went storming around there on the first morning, the vet had just told him that the old chap was near the end. No wonder he was half-rabid.'

'We'll forgive him, then,' Clare said with a smile. There was so much back-biting and politics in their day jobs that it was always like a gust of fresh air when things were smooth and friendly between people. 'Let's draw a line and start again.'

Lara huffed. 'I'll forgive him when he refunds us for the luxury hamper.' But secretly she felt that a little bit of her heart already had forgiven Gene Hathersage.

Chapter 54.

Just before midday Clare insisted on going to the village to bring back something nice to eat, even though the fridge was well stocked. She took a slow walk down the hill, peering into Spice Wood for signs of Val. Her heart fluttered when she saw a figure moving between the trees, but when she looked more closely her spirits dropped to see that it was actually a portly lady with her hair in a high bun. She wore a black coat and was carrying a basket. Clare walked on to the shops. It was Sunday so most of them were shut. Hubbard's Cupboard was open, though. The shopkeeper, Mr Hubbard, was very pleasant to her now. She wondered if they thought she might be a relation of Raine's. If that was the case, she would let them. It was much better to be received with a smile than with a grimace.

She thought she might make a nice tasty pasta dish. Lud loved Italian food and she had made him a tiramisu cake for his birthday in March. As, once again, her thoughts touched on him, she wondered how he was getting on, if he was missing her, if he'd had s.e.x with anyone else. That thought hurt.

She filled her basket with ingredients and took a slow stroll up the hill. When she reached the fallen tree trunk at the edge of the woods she sat and waited, antic.i.p.ation tripping through her veins. At one o'clock, she admitted to herself that Val Hathersage would not be meeting her today. Her heart was a wild mixture of angry, disappointed and sad when she rose reluctantly to her feet and went back to the cottage.

'Where the heck have you been, Clare?' asked May. 'We nearly sent out a search party.'

'Sorry. Most of the shops were shut. I had to hunt around.'

'It's me who should be sorry,' said Lara. 'I know we were going to drive into Whitby today and find a nice pub for Sunday lunch. Once again I've c.o.c.ked up.'

'Don't be daft,' said May. 'I'm happy staying here.'

'Anyway, it's nice to defy convention and have pasta instead of roast beef,' said Clare, putting on a big smile to cheer up poor Lara.

'You're both too nice,' said Lara.

'I know,' replied Clare. 'May, open that tin of olives for me, would you? Do you and James and the children all go out for Sunday lunch at home or do you don an ap.r.o.n and cook? I love doing a roast. Mind you, you've got an au pair, haven't you, Lars? You are so lucky.'

'Kristina has Sunday off. I . . . er . . . usually do the lunch.'

I roast it and no one eats it. The children push it around their plates pretending it's horrible. James, when he's not at work or s.h.a.gging behind my back doesn't even acknowledge it as he chews.