One Christmas Morning & One Summer's Afternoon (21 page)

He scuttled off. Penny realized in that moment with absolute certainly that, whatever her future held, it did not involve Piers Renton-Chambers. Oddly, she felt quite glowing with relief.

*****

Ten minutes later the crowds roared as Fittlescombe came out to bat. Will Nutley and Dylan Pritchard Jones were the opening pair, with Johnny Usbourne bowling the first overs for Brockhurst. Presumably, the idea was to wheel out Santiago de la Cruz later, once Will and his partner had begun to tire, and let the annihilation begin. No one, least of all the event’s organizers, wanted to short-change the press by having the home team bowled out before tea. But few doubted the end result would be a whitewash, with a comfortable victory for Brockhurst.

Ignoring the cheers, a grim-faced Will walked out of the pavilion like a World War One soldier about to go over the top. Passing Emma and Penny as he walked onto the field, he was about to acknowledge Emma when he heard her turning on her mother, hissing like a rattlesnake.

‘You make me sick!’ Emma was snarling. ‘You’re just an ugly, desperate old slapper. No wonder Dad left. He couldn’t stand the sight of you, and nor can I.’

Both her language and her tone were so ugly and violent, Will felt the hairs on his forearms stand on end. As he walked towards his crease, he looked over his shoulder and caught sight of poor Penny Harwich’s face. Stricken, mortified and close to tears, she was trying to reason with Emma. But the latter shrieked back at her, her beautiful features contorted with hatred and rage.

For the first time in his life, Will Nutley looked at Emma Harwich and thought, ‘
You’re ugly
.’
It was a bizarre feeling, and not a pleasant one, but there was no time to dwell on it. Before Will knew what was happening, Brockhurst estate agent and former number-one bowler Johnny Usbourne was running towards him, hand shielding the ball, eyes narrowed in concentration. Will had caught Johnny out earlier, second ball. It was clear from the bowler’s face that he was intent on revenge.

Will gripped the handle of his bat tightly. The battle had recommenced.

Years later, it would be remembered as the most exciting Swell Valley cricket match on record. Fittlescombe’s opening pair, Will Nutley and Dylan Pritchard Jones, scored ninety-eight in only ten overs before Dylan was run out controversially just before they reached their century partnership. Will’s next three partners, George Blythe, Tim Wright and young Seb Harwich, all went quite cheaply, when the arthritic Frank Bannister, the St Hilda’s Church organist, was brought in to bat. There were gasps from the crowd when Brockhurst announced that Frank would be the first Fittlescombe batsman to face the mighty bowling arm of the great Santiago de la Cruz. But, miraculously, the old man survived the two de la Cruz overs he faced before tea, keeping Fittlescombe in the game.

‘How do you feel, Santiago?’ The press swarmed down on Brockhurst’s star bowler like flies on a cowpat before the first cup of Earl Grey was poured. ‘Are you embarrassed to be outplayed by a seventy-year-old?’

‘Not at all.’ Santiago smiled smoothly, affording the reporters an excellent view of his perfectly straight white teeth. ‘This is what village cricket is all about. I’m honoured to be a part of it.’

‘And what about Will Nutley? How long before you expect his wicket to fall?’

‘I have no idea. Let’s wait and see, shall we?’

‘Do you still anticipate a win?’

Out of the corner of his eye, Santiago saw Penny walking out of the tent. She looked as if she’d been crying.

‘Excuse me. I have to go.’

Leaving the press standing open-mouthed by the cucumber sandwiches, Santiago hurried outside after her. ‘Are you OK?’

Penny bit her lip, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’m fine.’

‘That’s not true,’ Santiago said gently. Walking up behind her, he pulled a perfectly pressed handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. Penny took it, blowing her nose loudly before stuffing it into her own pocket. ‘Is it Emma? You shouldn’t let her walk all over you, you know.’

Penny turned on him. ‘Oh? And what should I do? Play hard to get, like you do? Toy with her emotions? Use her?’

Santiago looked at her blankly. ‘I’m not playing hard to get.’

‘No? Well what
are
you playing at?’ Penny sounded utterly exasperated. ‘Do you know what she accused me of this afternoon?’

Santiago shook his head.

‘Of chasing after
you
. She thinks the reason you stood her up for dinner is because you and I are having an affair! I mean, have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous?’

Santiago looked at the ground. ‘This is my fault,’ he said quietly.

‘At least we can agree on something,’ Penny shot back.

‘I saw Emma earlier. I told her that she had misunderstood me. That I have no romantic interest in her. She didn’t take it well.’

Penny hesitated. This was good news, but she wasn’t entirely sure how to react to it.

‘Why did you flirt with her when she came over to your cottage the other day?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Santiago bluntly. ‘She flirted with me. I tried to shut her down.’

‘Well, why did you ask her out for dinner the other night? After the hospital?’

‘To talk about you.’

‘Me?’ Penny looked incredulous.

‘Yes. I knew how badly she was treating you, how hurt you were. I called to see how you were doing, and Emma answered. I thought maybe if I talked to Emma privately, I could get through to her. But then, afterwards, I realized how she might misconstrue it as a date. So I made up an excuse and cancelled.’

Penny took this in silently

‘So, all this business with Emma … was out of concern for me?’

Santiago nodded. ‘Concern and … something more.’ He looked Penny in the eyes. ‘Emma got angry with you today because she’s jealous. She knows how I feel about you. Of course, you find the idea of the two of us being together ridiculous. It is not so for me. You are very beautiful.’

‘I … but, I …’ Penny seemed to have temporarily lost the power of speech. ‘I’m far too old for you!’ she blurted eventually.

‘Nonsense,’ said Santiago. ‘You are thirty-nine. I am thirty-two.’

‘I’m a housewife.’

‘So?’

‘You’re a playboy.’

‘Maybe I’m growing up.’

‘I can’t risk any more maybes,’ said Penny, wiping the smile off Santiago’s face. ‘Not after what happened with Paul. I need certainties.’

Santiago looked at her for a long time. ‘There are no certainties. Not with love.’

Kissing her softly on the hand, he walked away.

For at least five minutes, Penny stood rooted to the spot.

Santiago de la Cruz likes me.

He’s attracted to me.

He might even be in love with me.

Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile any of the above statements with reality. Wandering aimlessly back towards the cricket pitch, her mind still in a fog of bewildered … something …
happiness?
– the feeling was so unfamiliar she found it hard to name – she saw Piers Renton-Chambers with Emma, deep in conversation. Then, to her horror, like watching a car crash in slow motion, she saw Piers lean forward and grab her daughter, kissing her forcefully on the lips. Penny opened her mouth to scream, call out, anything, but no sound came out. Instead she watched in silent shock as Emma drew back her leg and kneed Piers hard in the groin. Piers yelped in pain like a castrated dog, before collapsing in a heap on the grass.

‘Disgusting old letch,’ said Emma, storming off. She walked right past Penny without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, into the open arms of a Channel 4 camera crew, who wanted to interview her about her summer fashion choices.

So that’s why Piers spent so much time hanging around the house
, thought Penny, the scales at last falling from her eyes.
It wasn’t me he was interested in. It was Emma
.

Had Seb realized it? Was that why he’d been so rude to Piers, so on edge whenever he came over?

And why was it that she, Penny, had no intuition? Never in a million years had it occurred to her that Piers might be after Emma, any more than it had crossed her mind that Santiago de la Cruz might be interested in
her
. Then again, her own husband had been as gay as a maypole for most of his adult life and she’d had no idea about that, either …

A voice over the Tannoy announced that play would resume in five minutes. There were only ten overs left, an hour’s play at most. Penny longed to go home, lock her bedroom door and lie in a dark room until
any
of this afternoon’s events and revelations made sense. But she couldn’t leave before the match was over. Seb would never forgive her.

Leaving Piers still writhing around on the grass like a turned-over beetle, she walked back to the side of the pitch in a daze.

Frank Bannister was bowled out the moment play resumed, but after that Santiago de la Cruz’s form seemed to crumble utterly. It was bizarre, as if an invisible blindfold had been tied across his eyes, or some awful sudden-onset lethargy had taken over his limbs.

Meanwhile, Will Nutley was playing the game of his life, batting like a man possessed; not for Emma Harwich – after the ugliness he had seen at lunch, Will would never play for Emma again – but for himself. It was a joy to watch. Before long, Penny found herself swept up in the drama of the match, forgetting about Piers and Emma and everything else as she silently willed the home team to win.

The last over of the match began just as the sun was starting its long, slow slide towards the horizon. At 268 for 8, Fittlescombe needed 15 runs to win off the final 6 balls. Gabe Baxter was in to bat, but it was still Will Nutley, exhausted at more than 150 not out, on whom all Fittlescombe’s hopes rested.

You could have heard a pin drop around the pitch as Santiago began the run-up for the first ball. Suddenly, at long last, there it was, the pace and form and pinpoint accuracy that had made him famous. Bringing his right arm down to his side in one perfectly straight, smooth stroke, he released the ball. Bouncing just a few feet from Will and with a lethal top spin, it came within millimetres of the top of his wicket, so fast that Will barely saw a flash of red before it was over.

No run.

The second ball was slower but equally difficult. Will played a straight bat to it, but there was no chance of a run.

At the third ball, desperate to score, he swung out wildly, coming
this
close to taking out his own stumps. Miraculously, however, his bat caught the ball at the right angle, and with enough force to send it high into the air towards the crowd. Aware of Brockhurst fielders running wildly for the catch, Will roared at Gabe and both men started to run. They were still sprinting for dear life when Harry Hotham called, ‘Six!’

The crowd were now on their feet. Nine runs to win from three balls. Could they do it?

Gabe was now at the crease, panting like a dog in heat, which didn’t help their chances. Laura Tiverton’s lone voice shouting, ‘Go on, darling!’ could be heard as Santiago sprinted towards Gabe. When he thought back on it later, Gabe was pretty sure he had actually closed his eyes as the ball hurtled towards his wicket. But again he heard the glorious sound of leather on willow as he played a beautiful shot, followed by Will’s voice. ‘Go!’ as they scampered three runs.

With two balls to go, Will once again faced Santiago. There was no time to breathe or think or strategize. The great Argentine was running, part ballet dancer, part sprinter, firing off another fast ball like a shell from a cannon. It was in the wicketkeeper’s hands before Will had so much as glanced at it.

No run.

The crowd began to stir. Fittlescombe supporters made commiserative noises. Clearly this was going to be Brockhurst’s day in the end, but what a close match it had been. Fittlescombe, and Will Nutley in particular, should feel proud.

Santiago prepared to bowl the final ball of the match. Rubbing the ball against his trouser leg, he searched the crowd for Penny Harwich. He’d avoided looking at her up till now, too scared of what he might read in her face.

Penny wanted certainty. Santiago could give her many things, but not that.

He caught her eye and smiled. And, like the sun emerging from the clouds after a dark night of storms, or the snow finally melting after a long cold winter, Penny smiled back.

It was ridiculous, he knew that, but he felt quite delirious with happiness. Practically skipping towards the wicket, he bowled a single, gentle gift of a ball to Will. For a split second confusion registered on Will’s face. He couldn’t quite believe that de la Cruz had let him off so easily. But then he lifted his bat and swung it wide, a beautiful, graceful arc of a shot that sent the ball pirouetting into the blue sky for a perfect six.

Watching from the pavilion, George Blythe and Tim Wright leaped into each other’s arms.

‘That’s it!’ George screamed. ‘He’s done it! He’s bloody done it!’

As crowds of well-wishers surged onto the pitch, Gabe Baxter shook Will’s hand. ‘Well done, mate. Amazing,’ he beamed. ‘Emma’ll be all over you like a rash now, you wait and see.’

Will looked at him blankly, like a man waking up from a long and confusing dream.

‘See?’ Gabe winked. ‘What did I tell you?’

Will looked up. There was Emma, walking towards him, smiling a confident, knowing, proprietorial smile. Will Nutley was the hero of the hour. And he was hers for the taking. Santiago de la Cruz had sloped off somewhere, to lick his wounds no doubt, but every eye, every camera, was now on Will.

‘Darling!’ she said, throwing her arms wide and triggering a frenzy of clicking from the paparazzi cameras. But, just as she was about to reach Will’s side, another young woman in a smart business suit stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

‘Hi, Will. I’m Lisa Dasani from IMG Sports Management. Do you have a moment?’

Will looked at the sports agent. She had red hair, freckles and pale-blue eyes, like a china doll’s, and a curvaceous figure practically begging for release from her formal jacket and skirt. She also had the sort of mischievous, one-of-the-boys smile that put him instantly at his ease.