The Fake Date Page 3

  Ella reluctantly passed Sarah the key and stepped away from the door. She looked up the road towards the farm and over the fields in the direction Bobby had gone on his tractor. Everything was as it should be. Nothing had altered and life had carried on without her. Only the season had changed. It was May, the start of summer; the trees were full of leaves and blossoms, and the garden was full of roses, peonies, geraniums and lilacs. The clocks had gone back over a month ago. The evenings had begun to stretch out just a little more each day and she looked forward to the nights when she could sit in the garden and watch the sun set late in the evenings.

  She walked back down the path to where Sarah was putting the last of the boxes in her hallway. ‘Well, I’d best leave you to it then,’ she said as she looked down at the floor. ‘If you have any trouble, if anyone upsets you or if that farmer man comes anywhere near, you phone me, right?’

  ‘He won’t, but right,’ Ella said as she felt herself being pulled into a bear hug. ‘Now, go on, go to work.’

  Sarah stepped back and smiled. ‘Fine, I know where I’m not wanted.’ She turned back to her car. ‘I’ll be off then, but my phone is on. If you call me, I’ll have a fleet of cops here within minutes, you got that?’

  Ella once again hugged Sarah. ‘I’ve got that, copper, I promise,’ she whispered before letting go. ‘And Sarah …’ She paused and caught her friend’s eye. ‘Love you, hun, thanks for today.’

  They walked together to the gate. Sarah gave her one last smile. ‘I love you too, Ella. Take care, sweetie.’ She wiped away a tear, and climbed into her car. And with one final wave, she was gone.

  Ella stood for a moment, not knowing what to do next. She looked up and down the road, taking in her surroundings and getting used to the thought of being alone.

  It was then that she realised that she really wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by people, and it could have been absolutely anyone that had hurt her. The other houses on the street showed signs of life; cars were either parked on drives, or drove up and down the road. Ella noticed an old man walking towards her. He had a walking stick in one hand, a fluffy white dog on its lead in the other. He raised his stick up above his head, waved it around in the air and shouted hello. The postman passing by on his bike also lifted his hand and waved at her. Then he jumped off his bike and began to push it along, leaning it on gateposts as he ran up and down the paths of the houses and posted letters through the doors. Patricia from the corner shop strolled down the road with her brood of five young boys; all looked to be under ten years old. They all seemed to cling to her legs like over excited baboons, apart from the eldest, who ran ahead with the dog. Ella wondered how Patricia ever managed to walk. The eldest child kicked a ball up and down, allowing the jet-black Labrador to chase it as it bounced off any wall or fence that it hit.

  ‘Peter, stop that,’ Patricia had shouted as she’d waved. ‘No one wants you bouncing the ball on their walls.’

  Patricia once again wore a maternity dress, which made Ella laugh and shake her head. ‘Oh, my goodness, for Patricia’s sake, please let this next one be a girl,’ she whispered to herself, before walking back down her drive and to the back door, which now stood wide open waiting for her to enter.

  Chapter Three

  Will Taylor swung his scythe to a stop. He dropped it to the ground and looked up at the morning sun which now hovered to the east of the copper birch, meaning that it must still be before midday, but he checked his watch, just to be sure.

  Picking up a bottle of water, he lifted it over his head and poured the water over his face. He then sipped at the remainder of the liquid, pulled his damp T-shirt over his head, wiped his face dry and laid it over the wooden bench that stood in the corner of the old, cracked and broken patio. The sun shone directly at the bench and Will knew that the T-shirt would dry within minutes. He turned away and looked back at the job in hand, picked up the scythe and began swinging it through the overgrown jungle that would soon become his new back garden.

  Every bush grew randomly, with branches striking out in multiple directions, along with every kind of weed and nettle that could possibly grow in between. Everything was overgrown and most of what once would have been someone’s pride and joy now towered high above his head. The bushes met somewhere in the middle of the garden, bowing together like a natural arch. The grass that had once lain down the centre of the garden as a lawn was now yellow, and so full of weeds that it would all have to be dug up and re-laid. Will sighed as he spied apple, cherry and pear trees, all of which he hoped he could save; he looked forward to the fresh produce each tree might bring later in the year.

  Will’s eyes searched between the overgrown bushes. Each swing of the scythe brought new excitement, along with a new view of what his garden might eventually look like, especially once he discovered what may or may not be salvageable and where the perimeter fences might start or end. The only view of the garden he’d had since buying the property had been from the upstairs back bedroom window. He’d noticed all the old broken fencing down one side and newish fencing down the other; he was under the impression that the garden was narrow and long, with what looked like a shed somewhere near the bottom. With every swing of the scythe, the number of overgrown bushes that still needed to be removed began to dwindle, though he still had no idea how much more there was to cut down before he’d finally get to the bottom or what condition the shed would be in when he finally found it.

  He looked up at his cottage. It was looking good. His new double-glazed windows had been fitted a couple of months before. The rendering had been renewed at the back and he’d painted it white. He’d hung flower baskets by the door to brighten up his mood. He smiled; he liked them. They made it look just a little homelier, but he knew he still had a lot more work to do before he could really call it home. The new kitchen still needed fitting and would be, just as soon as it arrived. Each day brought a new delivery date, just a few days later than the one he’d had before. It should have arrived weeks ago and with the delivery date having been confirmed, he’d torn the old kitchen out in anticipation. He now realised what a hasty mistake he’d made because the kitchen now lay in a hundred pieces, smashed and broken in a skip by the back door, and the room which had been his kitchen now stood empty of usable units.

  He glanced through the back door to where an old paste table was pushed under the two taps that hung from the wall. Their bare copper piping bent in an outward direction, to ensure that the taps hovered over an old plastic bowl that balanced precariously on top of the paste table. He laughed as he looked at his makeshift kitchen. It was a mess and very primitive, but he decided that in the grand scheme of things it hardly mattered.

  He’d already come to the conclusion that it was a good job his work often kept him away from home. He spent most of his time rushing from one job to the other and some days the chances of cooking and eating a full meal before being called back to work were slim.

  He looked over the newer fence to the house that was joined to his. It had been empty for the whole of the six months since he’d first looked at the house. He hadn’t seen the neighbour once, yet the gardens were obviously looked after; the grass was well maintained and new hanging baskets had been put up, making it obvious that someone had been there. Everything looked clean and tidy and he just wished that his house looked the same.

  He dropped the scythe, wiped his hands down the denim of his old cut-off jeans, lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the sun and once again reached for the bottle of water that he’d left perched on the arm of the bench, as he admired his handiwork in the garden. He’d been up since daybreak and hard at work for hours, so he sat down on the wooden bench, lifted his feet up and lay back to rest.

  Will closed his eyes for a brief moment. The golden glow of the sun reflected like rippling water behind his eyelids, shining through as deep orange, yellows and reds. The warmth made him sleepy; it reminded him of the Caribbean holiday he’d had just a few years before. He allowe
d himself to drift into a distant dream of white sand, rum punch, sugar cane and palm trees.

  The beautiful dream of waves lapping against the shore, the sound of crickets rubbing their wings together and the soft reggae music that taunted his mind was disturbed by a sudden noise. It woke him; he could hear footsteps as they crunched across a path. He took in a deep breath, brought himself back to reality and for a moment he lay there on the bench with his arms still hugging himself, his eyes half closed. Then there was the sound of metal on metal as a key entered a lock next door.

  Will sat bolt upright, shook his head and inhaled. He could hear voices. Female voices. ‘Fantastic, I have neighbours,’ he whispered to himself and moved off the bench. His mind still felt fuzzy, but the reporter in him was inquisitive. He wanted to know who was there, what they were doing and, what’s more, why after six months they were suddenly making an appearance. He crouched down beside the fence and tried to peer through a space where one of the panels had slipped.

  He was far enough down his own garden that he could see the two women as they walked from the front of the cottage down the drive and to the back. He gasped. ‘Well, helloooooo …!’ he whispered as he admired the view. He noticed one woman with long, dark auburn hair that hung just below her shoulders. She was dressed informally in a pair of torn jeans and a T-shirt, both of which looked too big for her petite frame. She turned and looked towards the fence. It was as though she knew someone was there; her eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she stared directly at where he was hiding, before turning back towards the door. He watched as she hesitated with the key, stepped back from the entrance and paused. But then, the other woman stood behind her, a box in her hands. She was taller than the first woman, with blonde hair that was tied up in a bun, and was dressed in a pristine white shirt and straight, jet-black trousers.

  Were these the neighbours he’d never met? What’s more, if they were his neighbours, he approved. In fact, he really approved. He weighed up the situation. He thought he’d seen both of them before but didn’t know where. For a moment he took notice of their interaction, wondering if they might be a couple.

  He watched as the auburn haired one appeared to leave her key in the door, step back and walk back towards the front gate, while the other woman walked back and forth with boxes. The woman with the long auburn hair stood deep in thought as she looked up and down the road. There was an exchange of words. ‘Love you, hun, thanks for today,’ he heard one say to the other and he pondered for a moment. They seemed grateful, almost dismissive and not really the words said between a couple. He then heard a car door open and close, a car engine started and the car drove away.

  Will felt relieved, but he didn’t know why. He just knew that two women had arrived, one had left and the really attractive one had stayed behind. He saw her lift her hand twice. She waved to a farmer and the postman. He noticed her laugh, a sweet amused look that lit up her face, as a woman and a group of children walked by. She then turned again and walked back down her drive and around the conservatory to a bench that stood in the corner of her back garden. Her hand stroked the bench in a gentle and compassionate way before stepping up and onto the grass. She seemed to stare at each bush, plant or tree in turn. She stroked the leaves as though saying hello for the very first time. Every movement, touch or step was taken with care. She walked, glanced and smiled, making every look one of wonderment, pleasure and appreciation. If Will hadn’t witnessed her familiarity with the neighbours, he’d have almost thought she’d never been there before. He felt guilty for spying and cringed at his own behaviour, but being a reporter made it his job to watch people. Besides, he was mesmerised by her and enjoyed watching the pleasure she took in the beauty of each and every little thing that she saw.

  Will looked back towards where his own car was parked on the drive, at the side of the house. He really should make his presence known, at least slam the car door and pretend he’d just come home; he knew that if he stood up now and introduced himself, he’d look bad for having hidden in the first place. He hovered in the same spot, barely daring to breathe.

  He felt nervous; his hands grew more and more clammy and his legs began to shake. Crouching behind the fence, he leaned against the apple tree. He tried to rationalise the situation and make sense of how he’d explain watching her, should she spot him. But each time he thought about it, the worse the situation seemed and the more he realised how creepy his actions would look.

  Should he give himself away? Should he try and explain why he’d been crouching in the mud? He waited quietly, deciding what to do. The sun now shone high above the copper birch and Will knew it was now easily after midday. He looked over at the bottle of water, which still stood beside the bench, and thought about reaching for it to take a drink, but he suspected that the water would now be almost boiled and he pulled a face, knowing how bad it would taste.

  Go on, neighbour. Go into your house, give me the opportunity to get indoors. It would make this so much easier for both of us.

  He continued to crouch, leaning against the tree. A small bush stood to his side and his hand went out to use it for balance, just as his calf began to cramp and he dropped onto his knees in an attempt to relieve the pain. He immediately cringed as an old twig broke beneath his knee. He knew she’d have heard and, just for a moment, he closed his eyes and held his breath as pain seared through his calf.

  ‘Who goes there?’ he heard her shout. The words made him snort and he began to wonder how much Shakespeare she must have had to endure as a child, or how many history books she must have read.

  He held his head in his hands, knowing that it would only be moments before she looked over the old, broken fence and discovered him crouching, hiding. ‘I could ask the same,’ he shouted back as he pulled himself back to his feet, stretched the cramp out of his calf, checked his knee for cuts and peered over the fence that stood between them.

  ‘You seem to be in my neighbour’s garden. Do they know that you’re here? Cause I haven’t seen them around lately and I was just about to call the police,’ he said, giving her a cheeky wink, but then he noticed the look of confusion on her face.

  ‘What? Why would you call the police? This is my house, I live here.’ He saw her look back at the house. She tipped her head to one side as though checking it to make sure that it really was the right house and that she really was in the right garden.

  ‘Excellent, I was just checking. For a moment, I thought you might be a burglar. I’m Will Taylor. Your neighbour.’ He watched as she took a step away, caught her foot on a stone fairy and fell backwards.

  ‘Argh,’ she screamed, grabbed at her wrist and squeezed her eyes shut as she appeared to grit her teeth.

  ‘Don’t move. I’m coming over,’ Will shouted and, using his hands for leverage as he placed a foot on his bench, he leapt over the fence without waiting for a response. A sharp tearing sound echoed around the garden as the cut-off jeans that he wore split in protest.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Ella shouted as she cowered beside the bench. ‘Don’t you know how to use a gate?’ Her eyes looked up to the tear in his jeans and then to his partially naked body. ‘And I think you might want to get dressed,’ she added as her finger pointed him up and down in a wand-like fashion. She swallowed hard. Her eyes and hands searched for a weapon just as the palpitations began; she gasped for breath and felt the tingling in her already painful fingers begin. She looked around her, grabbed at a piece of wood, began to panic and took in a deep breath.

  ‘Wow. Stop, I’m … I’m not going to hurt you. Are you okay?’ Will asked as he stepped forward. His hand shot out, making Ella swing her legs underneath her and she knelt before him, swinging the wood in his direction.

  ‘Come any closer and I swear …!’ she screamed and began to tremble as though waiting for an onslaught to begin.

  ‘Okay, okay, please, I thought you were hurt. I was trying to help.’ Ella watched as he jumped backward and away from where she knelt. ‘I … I�
�m so sorry.’ He grabbed at his torn jeans, looked back at the fence, and began to take steps back towards it. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped the fence, I see that now.’

  Ella opened her eyes, could see the shock on his face and began taking shallow, inward breaths that didn’t nearly fill her lungs. She felt faint as she watched him look up and down the garden; she thought he might be looking for a way to pole-vault himself back over the fence or make a simple escape from the crazy lady who appeared to think he might attack her. This had happened to her once before. She knew it was irrational, but couldn’t help the overwhelming fear. She tried to control her panic, staring at the floor and once again beginning to drag deep breaths into her lungs.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought … I thought … oh Jesus.’ She caught her breath and continued, ‘I thought you were going to hit me. I’m so sorry. I know it’s irrational.’

  ‘Why the hell would you think I’d do that? I kind of live here. Well, I do live here, well, actually, I live there.’ He pointed at his cottage next door, looked down and pulled the two halves of his shorts back together. ‘Err, sorry. I seem to have …’ He looked embarrassed and even though Ella had painfully slid herself off her knees and onto her bottom, managing to keep the bench firmly between them, she then looked up at his face and began to laugh.

  ‘Okay. Don’t just stand there looking at the crazy lady, help me up.’ She held out her hand to his. ‘Please.’ He looked tentative and she knew that he was probably waiting for her to freak out for a second time. She hesitated as he finally held his hand out to where she sat. The getting up and down still hurt and she held onto his hand for support as she pulled herself to her feet.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  Ella smiled and then nodded. ‘I am, but, Will, you know how to make a bloody entrance, don’t you?’ she said as she looked him up and down. ‘Couldn’t you have walked round, knocked on the door and introduced yourself properly like normal neighbours do?’ She raised both eyebrows. ‘Or is fence jumping a bit of a party trick?’