Page 26 of Hearts Colliding
Ryan met Alex’s steady, watchful gaze. There was challenge in their cool depths, and his anger was rising to meet it.
“You people?Us dumb yokels, in other words?” Ryan pushed the words out through stiff lips.
“That’s not what I—”
“But it’s what you mean, though, isn’t it? Stupid locals who don’t know what’s good for them.”
“But the economic argument is undeniable. People — people with disposable incomes — are leaving the towns and cities, looking for places like this. It’s happening all over the country, you can’t push against the tide.” Alex sighed, and shook his head, and turned away as though it wasn’t worth pursuing any longer.
I’m in the man’s house, he’s giving me shelter from the storm…Ryan took deep breaths, but they were doing nothing to stop the anger pushing at the fracturing dam of his self restraint. His hands clenched, forming tight fists. Fuck restraint.
“You arrogant bastard.”
“Excuse me?” Alex swung around, his eyes wide with shock.
Satisfaction speared Ryan. That’d made a dent in Alex’s icy, superior façade.
“You’re right about one thing. People from outside have come to the village and made it their home. They’ve taken on and restored houses that were falling into decay, and are bolstering the local economy. You hit that nail on the head, at the meeting. But they’re not living in some separate, gated community. They’ve set up small businesses in the village, employing local people. And yeah, they drink in the pub so we have benefited. But they’ve also joined the parish council, and enrolled their kids in the infants’ school. Some of them even go to fucking Zumba with Mandy in the church hall.”
His voice was growing louder and more strident, but he couldn’t stop, not now.
“What they’ve done is integrate, become fully paid up members of the community — and they’re some of the strongest voices against your plan.”
Alex laughed, and it was all Ryan could do to not smack it off his face. Ryan’s fists clenched tighter, his nails digging hard into his palms.
“Of course they are. It’s classic NIMBYism.”
NIMBY… Not In My Back Yard. Maybe yes, maybe no, but whatever it was, it was a weapon in the village’s armoury to fight back against Alex’s attack.
“If it’s what keeps the village as a village, keeping its heart beating, then so what? We like it as it is, it works. We’re not going to roll over and take it without a fight — and you know that.”
“I don’t expect you to. But you talk about integration. Is that really the whole truth? Because don’t tell me most aren’t weekenders, dipping their toe into the rural idyll from Friday night to Sunday. Ryan, I know how this works.”
Ryan fell silent, Alex’s words stumping him. For everything he’d just said, therewereweekenders who’d bought into the village, those who showed up in their shiny cars on Friday evening, morphing from their city selves into their own vision of the countryside, with their clean Hunter wellies and spotless waxed jackets. But they were a minority, a tiny minority, yet if Alex had his way they would become the new face of the village.
“You asked what people are saying about you in the village. You can guess, ‘cause like you say you’ve probably heard it all before. But that’s not all. The people who have lived here for years, the older residents, those who knew the Love family from way back, shall I tell you what they’re saying, Alex? Shall I?”
In his corner of the sofa Alex didn’t move a muscle, he was so still he hardly seemed to be breathing. He was a statue, and just as cold, as he met and held Ryan’s hard stare. But there was a danger in Alex’s stillness, as though he were waiting only for the signal to attack. Ryan didn’t care. He didn’t care that the man had offered shelter from the storm, had fed him, had let him get dry and warm. He wished he’d driven past the stupid sports car and left Alex to the mercy of the worst storm to have hit for god knew how long.
“They’re saying it’s about more than money. A lot more. Nobody’s buying your shiny new vision for the village, because it's just a smokescreen.”
“I’ve told you—”
“You’ve told me and everybody else a story, and maybe you’re telling yourself one, too. Those older villagers who have long memories? They’re saying it’s all personal. They’re saying you’ve an axe to grind. They’re saying your dad was a hard and nasty bastard. That he was a bully. Is that why you ran away on your eighteenth birthday, without so much as a backwards glance? Is this what it’s really all about, Alex? You, taking all your daddy issues out on the village?”
Ryan’s breath was coming hard and fast. Alex had wanted to know what people were saying and in his anger he’d given it to him with both barrels.
All colour had drained from Alex’s face, leaving his lips a thin and bloodless line. His wide eyes were flat and lifeless, his hair stark against his pallid skin.
“How dare you say that to me.” Alex’s voice was little more than a croak. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his face, and he looked as though he were about to throw up. “You and the rest of them, you’ve no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
Ryan shoved his hands through his hair. Sickness churned in his guts. He’d gone too far, he’d been vicious, his anger goading him on. Jesus, what a mess.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—”
“Get out, Ryan. Get the fuck out of my house.”
Regret swamped and smothered the last vestiges of Ryan’s anger, snuffing out the flame. Tiredness overwhelmed him, but it couldn’t overwhelm how shitty he felt.
