Page 17 of Loving Netta Wilde

Her eyes shot to Liza. ‘We have?’

Liza nodded. ‘Yep. Plan B.’

‘Plan B?’

Before Liza could answer, Netta’s mum appeared in the doorway. ‘Colin’s moving in with Frank. He’ll be close enough for us to help him but he won’t be staying here. Not ideal from Will’s perspective but he’s agreed to try and make it work.’

Netta turned to Will. ‘Are you sure? Even if he stayed at Frank’s and didn’t eat with us, you might bump into him outside.’

‘I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen. It won’t be for long anyway. Me and Belle are going away with her family in a few weeks. I’m gonna stay at hers tonight.’

‘Good idea, love. That’ll give us a chance to get Colin moved over and lay down a few ground rules,’ said her mum.

‘I’ll drop you over there,’ said Netta.

Will gave her a weak smile. ‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know. I want to.’

‘I understand why you said he could stay. It was Liza, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to let her down,’ said Will, as they drove away.

‘Yes. But in doing so, I’ve let you down.’

‘No you haven’t. Don’t feel bad. It’ll work out.’

That was the second time she’d been told that today. Netta hoped it was true. ‘Are things okay with you and Belle now?’

He smiled properly for the first time. ‘Yeah, we’re good. We’re going to try to get jobs in the same town. We want to get our own place.’

‘Oh Will, that’s wonderful news. I’m so happy for you.’ She genuinely was. For a while last year, it looked like he’d madea silly mistake that had all but finished their relationship, but they’d agreed to give it another try.

‘Do you think Frank will be all right having him there?’ said Will.

God, yes, Frank. She hadn’t thought about him in all of this. She wondered whatever happened to Plan A. Perhaps her dad had put his foot down about having Colin in his house as well as on his allotment. If so, who had come up with Plan B? Probably not Frank. Come to think of it, there’d been no sign of Frank when she got home. So where was he?

12

WEREN’T THERE ALWAYS CONDITIONS?

Colin stopped digging and stretched his back. It was aching but the strange thing was, he didn’t care, because he’d just realised something. He hadn’t given any real thought to Arianne since he’d left Netta’s that morning. She’d popped up in his mind every now and then, but he’d been too busy breaking soil and banishing weeds to stop and think about her. He hated to admit it but the Victorians might have been on to something with their hard labour theories. He hadn’t enjoyed a single minute of it. That went without saying. But, and it was a tiny but, there was something very, very slightly satisfying about tidying up a plot of land. Obviously, it was nowhere near on a par with painting. At least it wouldn’t have been, once upon a time.

He reminded himself again to get in touch with the clients who were waiting for him to finish their commissions. Maybe if he asked Arianne nicely, she’d let him have the ones he’d already started, along with his brushes and paints. Now that she’d blocked him, he’d have to go to the house. He could do that. He could face her. Absolutely he could. But why put himself through all that torture when he already knew what the answer would be? She was punishing him, and she couldn’t do that by givinghim the only thing he poured his heart and soul into. Not quite the only thing he loved, but definitely the only thing he loved doing. Once, anyway. He’d lost it. He couldn’t say when exactly. One thing was certain though. It had already started long before Arianne had tricked him out of his home. So even if he did pluck up the courage to ask her and in a rare moment of common decency she said yes, he doubted very much if he’d actually be able to lay paint down on the canvas.

‘Brew’s up.’ Arthur called him over and handed him a cup of tea. He’d brought a camping stove and kettle down from his allotment shed along with some fold up chairs when they’d stopped for lunch. Geraldine seemed to have made enough sandwiches for everyone on the allotments. Clearly, she knew Clyde would be helping to eat them. Although it had to be said, it had been so long since Colin had eaten proper food, he’d made quite a pig of himself. In fact, since he’d moved in with Netta, his stomach had come out of hibernation and become something of a bottomless barrel.

He took a sip of tea and winced. It was so full-bodied you could stand a spoon up in it.

Clyde laughed. ‘Arthur does like his tea strong. I’m more of an Earl Grey man myself. I like it delicate. I would say just like my women but there was nothing delicate about my wife, except her heart.’

‘Clyde’s wife died of a heart attack,’ said Arthur.

‘Yes, I got that Arthur, thank you.’ For Christ’s sake, there was no need to spell it out. Did the man think he was an idiot?

Arthur snapped open a plastic container. ‘Geraldine’s made us some cake. Fruit.’

Clyde rubbed his hands together. ‘You’re a lucky man, Arthur. Married to a beautiful woman who can cook like an angel. Isn’t that right, Colin?’

Colin forced a smile, aware that it would look as forced as it truly was. He had never thought of Geraldine as anything other than an awkward old bitch and he was loathe to change that opinion. Although he had to admit, she did make good cakes.

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