Yours Truly (25 page)

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Authors: Kirsty Greenwood

BOOK: Yours Truly
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We make our way to the kitchen.

He thinks I’m pretty.

 

 

When we get there,
t
he range is throwing out heat and fresh snow is stuck to the outside of the huge windows. It’s bright, cosy and smells of buttery thyme roasted potatoes. Perfect, really.

Apart from the hum of the lights and the soft flutter of the snow outside, it’s totally silent. So quiet that it’s hard to believe that there’s anyone else in the entire village, let alone the pub.

I take a seat at the huge table while Riley pulls open the fridge.


How about a sandwich? Let’s see… there’s some cold roast beef left? And some horseradish cream. Will that do? We’ve hot chocolate, if you’d like some of that? Or I can do you a cold drink?


Hot Chocolate would be lovely. It all sounds lovely. Thank you,

I say graciously.

He gives a single nod and pulls out the sandwich ingredients before slicing up thick doorstops of bread.

I notice that the bread is Hobbs Rye Bloomer bread.


I thought you hated Hobbs?

I say getting up from the table to warm some milk for the cocoa.


Nah. I don’t
hate
Hobbs; I'm no fan of Jasper Hobbs, though. The bread I have no problem with. It’s good bread. We get it at a discount.


Ohmigosh, lucky you!


Yeah. My mother was great friends with Alfred Hobbs. Jasper’s dad. He continues to honour the agreement that we get all of his products at a third of the price.


That’s nice of him,

I say, thinking that in fact it is more than nice. If someone offered me the entire Hobbs range at a third of the price I would eat nothing but toast for the rest of my life.


So,

I say, watching over the warming milk.

If Alfred Hobbs was such good friends with your mum… why is he letting Jasper get away with all this buying up the pub malarkey? Surely your mother wouldn’t have been happy about that?

I can see Riley’s shoulders tense and he lays out roast beef onto the bread.


Because Jasper is heir to the Hobbs throne. Alfred retired a couple of years back and while Jasper doesn’t actually do much
work
at Hobbs, he still has a majority say in every major decision. Alfred is kind of a recluse. I haven’t seen him in well over two years. Nobody has.


Is he dead?

Why did I say that? Oh God. Riley’s mum is dead. Why am I talking about people being dead? Total foot in mouth, Natalie.

But Riley laughs.

No. He’s not dead. People catch glimpses of him every now and then. It’s a running joke around here. Seeing Alfred Hobbs is akin to spotting Bigfoot.

I giggle at the thought of the locals taking binocula
rs and cameras up on the hills - Alfredw
atching.


Since my mother died, actually, he kind of dropped out of society. It’s funny. He has this helicopter. The Hobbscopter. He sends it out with his pilot, Carlos, all over the country so that he can still have access to everything he used to enjoy in the outside world.


How decadent! Like what kind of stuff?


According to Edna Grimes, meals from posh London restaurants, French champagne, tailors and barbers flown in. All sorts.


Sounds a bit excessive.


He's a very rich old man. He can afford it.

I finish making the hot chocolate and take it over to the table, where Riley joins me with a platter of delicious looking roast beef sandwiches.


So…

I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

If your mother and Alfred Hobbs were close, then surely you know Jasper quite well? Surely you can reason with him about The Old Whimsy? Talk to him and tell him how much this place means to you.

Riley doesn’t speak for a moment.


I’m sorry,

I say quickly.

I’m being nosy.


No. No, it’s fine. You’re right. I did know him well. We were friends. Not best friends, but I’ve had my fair share of pints with the guy.

I think of Riley, scruffy and boisterous looking, and then Jasper. The slick suited man I saw only briefly in the pub last week. They don’t look like two men who would ever be friends.

I bite into my sandwich. Oh man, it’s delicious. I sigh in delight.


Is that good?

Riley asks.


Orgasmic,

I say at once, the hypnotism doing its work.

You can’t cook but you make a mean sarnie.

In the space of a sentence I’ve talked about sex and insulted him again. I’m on fine form today.

Where are you, Brian Fernando? Come back and save me from this.


Orgasmic,

Riley repeats, a smile playing around his eyes.

I do like to please.

Argh! Is he just being friendly, or was that completely flirty? I try to shake off the dart of excitement that pierces my stomach.


So why did you stop having pints together, then?

I ask, desperate to move away from chatting about orgasms.

Was it because of him wanting to buy the pub for office space?


No,

Riley says biting into his sandwich.

Mmmn. Orgasmic indeed.

I blush.


No. Jasper and I don’t get along because I believe he’s the reason my mum died.

He says it so simply and without emotion. Like he’s just told me he’s nipping to the shops.

My eyes widen at this revelation.

What happened?

Riley takes a sip of his cocoa and shrugs.


She died in a car accident. It was two winters ago and snowing out. You’ll probably have already noticed
tha
t the roads around here aren’t the safest. Scrap that, it’s a death trap if there’s ice.

I nod in agreement. The roads here are skinny and winding. Not safe, especially in winter.


Mum was a careful driver. I used to make fun of her for how she always indicated early, never, ever exceeded the speed limit. The night it happened she was driving up the hills to see Alfred for dinner at Hobbs Manor when she full on collided with a speeding car. The driver of the other car was Jasper Hobbs.


Shit. What happened?


He’d just got a new sports car and thought it’d be a good idea to treat Little Trooley like his own personal racetrack. Showing off to some girl he’d picked up in London. Mum didn’t stand a chance.

Gosh. No wonder he doesn't like Jasper.

I think about the article I saw online. It mentioned nothing of Jasper Hobbs.


Was Jasper arrested?

I ask.


Yeah. But he was cleared of dangerous driving. The whole thing was blamed on the icy roads and his entire involvement was hushed up. It’s sickening what being rich can afford you. But I had been in cars with Jasper before; I knew how reckless he was. Growing up with money has led him to believe he can do exactly what he likes without any consequences. But then it cost my mother her life.


Jesus,

I say softly. Poor Riley.


And now he wants to take away my pub. My mum’s pub.


I’m sorry,

I say, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder.


Cheers,

Riley says blinking hard.

I can’t seem to let it go. I’ve tried, but. It’s fucking hard.


I know.

And then, as if that conversation never happened, he takes a deep breath and changes the subject.


So, Natalie Elspeth Butterworth. You know I’m actually rather glad you’re back here.

Wow. What does
that
mean?!


Your r
atatouille was a huge success.

Oh.

Pleasure warms my body despite my embarrassment at thinking that he might just have meant something else.


It was incredible. I’ve never seen people react that way to food before. They were sharing it with each other, asking for seconds and thirds, offering to pay for some to take home to their wives and husbands. It was mad.

His face lights up at the memory. It occurs to me that he may just be saying this stuff to be nice, but no, my ratatouille is that good, I’m sure of it.


That’s fantastic,

I laugh.

I’m so glad I could help.


You did,

he nods and drains the last of his hot chocolate.

But, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to
bend your ear some more. Your r
atatouille has made me rethink the whole menu. The whole focus of what I’m trying to do.


Of course I’ll help!

I say, covering an errant yawn with my hand.


Great. Tomorrow then, before you leave. It shouldn’t take long.

He gets up and takes the sandwich dishes over to the sink.


Right,

he says, once he’s rinsed them off.

Well, you should probably get some sleep.


Yep. Defo. Thanks for the food.


My pleasure.


Oh wait…
where are
you
going to sleep?

I’d forgotten I was taking over his room. I wonder if he’s going to stay in there with me. On the floor, of course.


Honey lives up the road. I’ll sleep there.


Oh yes. Obviously,

I say, not entirely comfortable with the jealous sensation that prickles me.


Well,

I say brightly.

Good night, Riley. Thanks for the song.


Good night, Miss Butterworth.

I do a stupid little wave. And without looking back, I plod off to bed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dionne is not happy. Really not happy. I haven’t seen her this angry since Adam Rickett left
Coronation Street
.

She storms into Riley’s room early the next morning; Jean-Paul Gaultier tucked under one arm, the other arm on her bony hip.


We’re fucking snowed in,

she fumes.

Snowed. Fucking. In!

I wipe away the sleepy dust from my eyes.


Pardon?


Did I stutter? It’s been snowing like a motherfucker all night
. And now we are stuck in this g
odforsaken village. I’ve had to phone work. They were not happy. I’m supposed to be seeing Bull tonight an’ all!

Oh no.

I scramble up on the bed and peer out of the window above the headboard.

Jesus Christ.

It’s like Narnia out there. Every inch of land is covered in a thick layer of snow. And it’s still falling.


I’m so sorry! Are you
absolutely
sure you can’t get the car out?

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