Page 40 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“We close on Sundays during the low season. Once it starts to pick up, around the middle of June, we open every day. But it’s nice to get a day off.”
“So instead you’ve set up shop down here. A busman’s holiday!”
“Oh, I enjoy it.” That was clear from the glow in her eyes. “Anyway, I can watch the cricket.”
“Is Bill playing?” Vicky asked, all bland innocence.
“Yes.” A vivid blush. “He’s the wicketkeeper.”
Vicky smiled. “You really do like him, don’t you?”
Debbie couldn’t even look at her. “Yes,” she admitted in a small voice.
“Well?”
A long hesitation as Debbie fiddled with rearranging the scones on the plate. “I’m... thinking about it.”
“Good.”
Someone else had come to ask for two cups of tea and some cupcakes. Vicky moved away — she wasn’t going to push the subject anymore today. And how ironic, that she was trying to matchmake for her friend when her own love life had gone down the tubes. No fiancé, and attracted to a man who was married.
Ah, well.
She took her cup of tea, strolled over to an empty deckchair and sat down. She had never really understood the joys of cricket, even when Jeremy had tried to explain it to her. ‘Short leg’... ‘silly mid-off’ — it all seemed so arcane.
But there was something very relaxing in watching a village match. The warm sunshine on the green grass, the soft rustle of the breeze in the trees, the thwack of leather on willow. The occasional shouts of protest or approval, the smattering of applause for a good hit or a good stop.
She let her gaze wander lazily around the spectators. The age range was as diverse as the players on the field — it seemed the match was a family day out for the locals. Bright summer dresses and rolled-up shirt-sleeves were the predominant fashion.
Which one was Tom’s wife? The petite blonde in a yellow sundress? The attractive redhead chatting to a middle-aged woman over to the left?
A group of children were playing with a bat and ball under the trees, mimicking the adults’ cricket. She wasn’t sure, without his Wyatt Earp outfit, but she thought the little dark-haired lad who was bowling was Tom’s son.
Apparently she had been wrong with both guesses about Tom’s wife. As the children’s game broke up, the junior Wyatt Earp ran to the young woman who was helping the scorekeeper, hugging her leg and begging for something from her bag. She ruffled his hair and produced a packet of crisps. He took it and ran off again to share with his friends.
Vicky studied the woman from behind her sunglasses. Tall, with dark hair in a neat French plait — Vicky envied her the ability to do that; she’d never been able to manage it. Not really beautiful, but there was something very attractive about her smile.
And she was heavily pregnant.
Oh.
Girl Code:
Rule #1: You never mess with another woman’s man.
Rule #2: YouNEVERmess with another woman’s husband.
Rule #3: You never everEVERmess with another woman’s husband when she’s pregnant.
So that was it. Tom Cullen couldn’t be more off limits if he’d had a barbed-wire fence, a minefield and a few radioactive warning signs around him.
Resolutely she focussed her attention on the match again. The away team’s top batsman was still at the crease, clocking up the runs. And then he took a wild swipe, and the ball soared towards the outfield.
There was a collective holding of breath all round the pitch as Tom ran, his eye on the ball as it arced across the sky. He reached out, dived sideways, rolled... and came back to his feet with the ball held high in his hand.
Vicky leaped up, joining in the cheering. So much for a smattering of polite applause! A little embarrassed and hoping Tom hadn’t noticed her slight overreaction, she sat down again. The elderly man in the next deckchair was chuckling.
“Good catch. That’s our Tom! He could have played for the county if he’d stuck with it.”
