Emma's Story Page 2

  ‘Since I got together with Kit?’

  ‘And said bye-bye to Arsehole Adrian.’

  ‘Two weeks, one day and …’ Tash glanced at her watch. ‘Three hours.’

  ‘Aw. So sweet. Still counting the hours,’ Emma teased. ‘Seriously, though, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, babe. You look as if you’ve won the Lottery.’

  Tash burst out laughing and Emma wondered why. ‘Something like that.’ She smiled, radiating joy. ‘I can’t believe I’ve only known Kit for a month or so. It feels like a lifetime.’

  ‘Hopefully in the right way.’

  ‘Oh yes. In absolutely the right way.’

  ‘Any news on the legal stuff?’ Tash’s ex-boyfriend had been accused of raping several women in Manchester and Emma knew the pending court case was hovering like a thundercloud over Tash’s new life with Kit. Because Adrian had abused Tash too, she might be called to give evidence.

  Tash shook her head. ‘Early days yet.’ She forced a bright smile. ‘Let’s not spoil a good evening at the book club with mention of any of that, shall we?’

  Emma put a finger to her lips. ‘Point taken, boss.’ In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, she added, ‘At least my hair won’t be quite as obvious this evening.’ She giggled as they sat down and she glanced around. ‘Everyone’s gone orange in this light.’

  Tash looked amused. ‘Why on earth did you want to dye it, Em? Your natural light brown is lovely.’

  ‘Mouse, you mean.’ Emma took a mouthful of wine. ‘Boring.’ She shrugged. ‘Just wanted a change. Be more Demelza.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Tash!’ Emma said, aghast. ‘Demelza. You know. Married Ross Poldark. “Be More Demelza” is my new mantra for life.’

  ‘Oh right. Poldark. Watched bits of the first series but never really got into it.’

  Emma watched as Tash’s eyes were drawn to where Kit was sitting talking to Biddy, another book group member.

  ‘And I don’t have time for TV now,’ Tash said. ‘We’re expecting another donkey this weekend. Had to get another stable ready.’

  ‘You and Kit really going ahead with this animal sanctuary idea, then?’

  ‘Think so. It seems a good way to use the land he’s bought and you wouldn’t believe how many need a safe home, especially horses. Kit’s so passionate about rescuing animals. He’s had yet another batch of battery chickens this week. He’s marvellous with them.’ Kit sensed he was being discussed and looked over. Tash blushed.

  Emma’s lips curled in amusement. ‘So loved-up,’ she teased.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘And you’re sure Arsehole Adrian hasn’t made contact? No more creepy stalkery stuff?’

  ‘Nope. Thank God.’

  Emma reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses, then grabbed a handful of kettle chips. She was munching a mouthful when a woman joined them.

  ‘Hello, Natasha – oh, and Emma too.’ It was Marti Cavendish, another book group member and an ex-neighbour of Tash’s. She slid herself down onto the sofa next to them and sipped her wine, one little finger cocked. ‘I hadn’t realized you were selling up?’

  ‘What do you mean, Marti?’

  Emma felt her friend go rigid and cursed Marti. Tash had had a rough time last month and, with the court case pending, she was finding it difficult to get closure over her life with Adrian. She didn’t need any reminders about her abusive ex-boyfriend and his executive four bed on the new estate on the edge of town.

  Marti made an innocent face. ‘Oh dear. Have I made a teeny faux pas? There’s a for sale sign outside where you lived with Adrian. Of course, I may have the wrong house but you are number forty-seven, aren’t you?’

  ‘Used to be. I moved out.’

  ‘I had wondered.’ Marti batted her eyelashes. ‘I hadn’t seen you or Adrian around recently. And there’s no Porsche on the drive.’

  ‘Well, thank you for letting me know. As the house was in Adrian’s name, it’s entirely up to him what he does with it,’ Tash said, through gritted teeth. ‘And, quite honestly, I couldn’t care less. As long as he stays away from me, that’s all I’m bothered about.’

  Marti sucked in a sly breath. She couldn’t resist digging further. ‘It’s such a shame he didn’t want to use Hughes and Widrow, though. Seeing as you work for them.’

  Emma had had enough. She knew Tash hated talking about her and Adrian splitting up. Swallowing the last crisp, she leaned forward and said sharply, ‘As he and Tash parted on less than friendly terms, it’s no loss to Hughes and Widrow that he didn’t want to sell with us. Besides, we’ve got more than enough work on at the moment. I doubt very much that we could have taken on another client.’

  Marti subsided in shock. Emma was known as the peacekeeper. She hardly ever raised her voice. Luckily, any further conversation was drowned out by Amy bringing the book group meeting to order and asking for suggestions for September’s choice.

  Emma couldn’t believe they agreed on Demelza, the second in Winston Graham’s series of Poldark books. Writer Patrick always seemed to suggest some obscure travelogue, while Biddy hankered after the classics, and Amy was keen on the latest Booker prizewinner. Millie summed up everyone’s enthusiasm when she said it would be great to read something more accessible than Wuthering Heights, the group’s last choice. ‘And it would be wonderful to read one of the books seeing as the new TV series is starting this month.’

  Emma nodded vigorously. ‘Of course, they’re way ahead on the telly but it would be ace to go back to the books themselves. And we all seem to have read the first book, so choosing the second is a no-brainer.’

  ‘Fine writer, Winston Graham,’ Biddy put in. Elvis, her deaf assistance poodle, snickered in agreement.

  ‘And Ross Poldark is such a hero,’ Emma replied.

  ‘Not so sure about that, child,’ Biddy barked. Pensioner Biddy was always forthcoming with her opinions. ‘He’s guilty of more than one sin. Reckon Demelza is the real hero of those books.’

  Emma was about to launch into a spirited defence when Amy cut her short. ‘Just as well we’re reading her book then, isn’t it? And a discussion about what makes a literary hero could be for the next meeting, I think.’ She turned to Millie hopefully. ‘Time for sandwiches and coffee?’

  ‘Just before we break,’ Patrick said. ‘Could I tell you all about something that my friend Joel is doing?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Millie exclaimed. ‘I meant to mention that before we began the meeting. Brain like a sieve at the moment. Please,’ she gestured to Patrick. ‘Go ahead. You know all the details anyway.’

  ‘Could we talk about it over food?’ Emma groaned. ‘I’m starving.’

  Everyone laughed. Emma was well-known for her bottomless stomach.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Biddy boomed. ‘Need to stretch the old pins.’

  As everyone began to move downstairs, to the bookshop’s café, Millie added on a laugh, ‘Can’t promise you crisp sandwiches, Em, even though know they’re your favourite.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re missing, Millie. Have you ever had ready-salted and tomato ketchup on a thickly buttered white slice?’ She watched in alarm as Millie turned green.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she said. ‘Amy, can you do the honours with the coffee and food? I’m really not feeling all that well.’

  Chapter 4

  Emma backed Patrick into a corner after he’d explained to the group what Joel had planned. ‘So, a four-week beginner’s literature course?’ she demanded, her face aglow with enthusiasm.

  ‘Are you interested then, Emma? Sure, I wouldn’t have had you down as someone who was interested in evening classes, especially in literature.’

  ‘Why not?’ Emma bridled. Leona’s smug university-educated face and her jibes over her lack of education swam into her vision. ‘I love books and reading. Otherwise, why would I be here, at the book club?’

  ‘But evening classes? Is that really for you? It’ll be
classic stuff, not Winston Graham.’

  ‘Oi Patrick, who was the only book group member who actually finished Wuthering Heights?’

  ‘Point taken.’ His blue eyes twinkled. He saluted her with his wine glass. ‘And didn’t you not only finish the book but defend our Mr Heathcliff with an informed passion, I seem to recall. I really shouldn’t be such a literary snob. It’s a bad habit.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Emma grinned at him smugly, enjoying how his Irish accent slipped out occasionally. ‘Or I’ll make you sit next to Marti Cavendish at the next meeting.’

  Patrick laughed in horror. ‘Don’t you be doing that! But evening classes? Is that really your thing?’

  Emma shrugged. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘I love my job and I love living in Berecombe, but sometimes it gets a bit boring round here. Especially out of season. I just want the old grey cells rattled a bit.’

  ‘I can appreciate that. It’s just …’ He paused. ‘Aw, how can I say this without insulting you further? Joel is quite highbrow. I love the man dearly but, if I’m honest, he’s the last person I would have expected to teach these outreach programmes. Don’t get me wrong,’ he added hastily, ‘I think they’re a great idea, so I do. Anything that gets people reading and appreciating literature has my vote. I’m just not sure he’ll be able to make it accessible enough. I wouldn’t want you to be put off your studies right at the beginning and I certainly wouldn’t want you to waste your money.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about the cost. Me and Ollie are trying to save for a place of our own, so money’s a bit tight,’ Emma said gloomily. ‘And I suppose this Joel bloke will be used to brainy undergrads. I messed about so much at school that college was never on the cards for me. Maybe I’ll give it a miss.’ Her face fell.

  Patrick looked at her intently. ‘And now I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve put you off?’ He chewed his lip, obviously thinking. ‘You know, I think I’ve underestimated you, Emma. You’re probably exactly the sort of person these courses are designed for.’ He grinned. ‘And, do you know, I’d quite like to see you take Joel on.’

  Emma preened a little. ‘Always up for a challenge, me.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that good. You know, Joel can get a bit esoteric sometimes. It would do him good to step out of his ivory tower for once. He tends to live in a pretty rarefied plane of existence most of the time.’

  ‘Who are you calling rarefied?’ A deep voice sounded behind them. Neither had seen the man come into the bookshop.

  Patrick laughed. ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear.’ He turned to Emma. ‘This is the man himself, so it is. Emma Tizzard, may I introduce you to my old mucker, Joel Dillon.’

  Emma blinked. The man in front of them was tall; as tall as Tash’s new boyfriend Kit. But, in contrast to Kit, he was lean and elegant. Sun-streaked brown hair flopped overlong onto the collar of his linen jacket. He smiled and the edges of his eyes crinkled in a very sexy Hugh Grant sort of a way.

  Clasping Emma’s hand, Joel stared into her eyes. ‘I can now quite see the appeal of your little book group, Patrick. Hello, Emma Tizzard. You appear to have stepped straight out from a Hardy novel. What wonderful hair. It’s alight.’ He dropped her hand and Emma felt as if the sun had suddenly gone in. ‘I’m early for our meal,’ he said to Patrick. ‘So I thought I’d drop in and see where I’m to be teaching.’

  ‘I’ll get you a glass of wine,’ Patrick said. ‘And then we can get off to have something to eat. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Emma here. She’s interested in doing your course but I’m not entirely sure you’ll be man enough for her.’ Patrick’s eyes flashed with humour.

  Joel turned his laser gaze back to her. ‘Now there’s a challenge,’ he said, softly. ‘How could I resist? Tell me why you want to learn great things, Emma.’

  Emma stared up at him, feeling hot. He was looking at her as if she was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. No one, not even Ollie, had ever looked at her with such fascination. His interest was incredibly exciting. Maybe this was someone who could actually encourage her to use her brain? Aware that Joel was waiting for her answer, she tried to put into words what she wanted. And failed. ‘I’ve looked at evening classes before but they’re all in Exeter or Bridport,’ she stuttered, aware she sounded trite. ‘Too far away. To have them here in Berecombe would be majorly cool.’ That wasn’t the real reason and she could see Joel didn’t believe it. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, like a lot of kids, I cocked up at school. Didn’t concentrate. Couldn’t wait to leave. Never thought of A levels or anything. Wanted some cash in my pocket, I suppose.’

  Joel edged nearer. ‘And you spent too long daydreaming and staring out of the window, I’ll wager. Too imaginative. Bored with some very boring teaching.’

  Emma blushed. How did he know?

  He smiled. ‘It happens so often. Agile minds let down by an unimpressive education system which treats its gentle charges as nothing more than sausages in a machine.’

  Emma wasn’t entirely sure what he meant but nodded vigorously. She could listen to his voice forever. It was smooth and cultured, with a sophisticated drawl.

  He waved a hand. ‘Sausage in. Pricked. Baked. Tested. Tested some more. Sent out into the world unsatisfied and dulled by the tedium of it all.’

  ‘I like sausages,’ Emma breathed and, to her horror, realized she’d said it out loud.

  Joel roared with laughter. ‘Patrick is right. You are perfect for me. And you will be a challenge. One I need.’

  ‘I need a challenge too. I want to find out if I’m up to it.’

  ‘And you want to be excited, I can tell.’ He put his head on one side. ‘And great literature can do that.’ He clapped his hands together in a way that should have been effeminate but just came across as enthusiastic. ‘Oh, Emma Tizzard, I can show you so much. Teach you so much. There are so many riches I can lead you to discover.’

  It was all getting a bit heady. ‘So you’ll teach the course here, in the bookshop?’ she asked, in an attempt to bring the conversation down to a more normal level.

  Joel spread his arms wide. ‘Where better? I think the idea is to hold them where the optimum number can attend. As you say, not everyone is capable of getting to Exeter.’ He paused and then went on importantly, ‘Should you want to, attendance can count towards a foundation course and then a degree. But we can talk more about that. I can bring some information to the first class. Do you think you’re up to it, Emma? And more saliently, do you think you’re up to me?’ He raised one eyebrow.

  Emma felt her face begin to burn with possibilities. ‘I don’t have any A levels and I haven’t really done anything like this before.’

  ‘But you read?’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘And love books? The worlds they offer? The escape from the tedium of everyday life?

  He understood. Somehow, he knew that was why she disappeared into reading. Books were a way out. A way of forgetting the dragging fear over her father’s job. The way her mother was worrying herself thin. The dull suburban life they led. She gazed up at him, enraptured. She’d never met anyone quite like him before.

  ‘I need you, Emma with the flaming hair. I need you on my course.’ He took her hand and looked mournful. ‘Say yes or I shall leave here a bitterly disappointed man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma said, her eyes shining. ‘Yes!’

  Joel nodded, satisfied. ‘And now, will you excuse me? I must away to find Patrick.’

  Emma watched him go. ‘Wowzers,’ she breathed. ‘What a hero.’ He was every teacher she’d ever dreamed of, rolled into one. It was a world away – and more – from her days at Berecombe Comp. Turning away and seeing the last rays of the sun dip into the sea, she murmured, ‘I could do this. I could actually do this!’

  Chapter 5

  ‘So, how was she today?’ Ollie drained his pint. He nodded to her empty glass. ‘Another?’

  They’d met, as usual, for a drink in the Old Harbour. As they were saving ever
y penny they could, their social life had become fairly limited. Tonight they were sitting outside in the balmy September air. The sun had long since disappeared but there were still streaks of blue and gold in the sky and it was warm. The sea lapped against the shore and one or two walkers strolled along the beach, dogs gambolling between their legs. It was an idyllic scene but one Emma had grown up with and took for granted. The only thing she could see was Joel’s finely drawn features and the passion for literature burning in his eyes.

  ‘Em? You’re miles away. I asked if you’d like another drink.’

  She nodded briefly and watched as Ollie got up and went into the bar, greeting one or two fellow volunteers from the RNLI as he went.

  On his return he put her half of cider and packet of crisps down on the rough wooden table. It occurred to her that he knew her so well he didn’t have to ask what she wanted. They’d met at school and had been going out ever since. Oliver Lacey had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Every now and again they’d split up, see other people, but had always drifted back to each other. Her family adored him and Emma treated his mum as her own. Then, last year, after another break up, they’d got back together and things had got more serious; they’d decided to start saving hard to buy their own house. The only problem being, in Berecombe, housing stock was limited and expensive. Emma couldn’t really see it ever happening. Renting would be nearly as expensive and in seasonal demand and she didn’t want to have to move out every April to make way for the holiday lets; she wanted her own place. Somewhere permanent. Preferably without the anaglypta wallpaper and neat flower beds of her parents’ house.