Page 3 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
The stranger holds out his hand. ‘I’m Noah Jackson, by theway.’
‘Jenny Wilkes.’ His handshake is cool and firm.
His dark brows rise. ‘Are you one of the guests?’
I shake my head. ‘My company will be doing the catering. I’mdue for a meeting at the house, but I heard the screams and I – um – thoughtsomeone was in trouble.’I feel such an idiot now!
‘Ah. Right. The screamer would be Melanie up there.’ Hepoints, a hint of a smile on his face, and a girl with long curly blonde hairshouts hello and waves cheerfully. ‘She’s never been on a zip wire before. Shewas…um…really getting into it and letting rip with the sound effects.’
‘Ah, right. I thought I’d stumbled onto aMidsomerMurdersfilm set,’ I joke, feeling myself blushing under his penetratinggaze. ‘That someone was being strangled by the Wicked Woodland Witch of localfolklore or something.’
He laughs. ‘Who would obviously turn out to be a Midsomervillager in cunning disguise.’
‘Well, yes. But only after a lot more bodies had piled up.Obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ He grins, studying me. ‘I like a good Scandinoir myself.’
‘Me, too. I had a gruesome fascination with Cluedo when Iwas a kid. I used to make up all sorts of horrible ways for the victims todie.’
‘Nice. Colonel Mustard in the library with the dagger,digging out the entrails one by one?’
‘Exactly.’ I return his smile, trying to think of somethingwitty to say, but finding myself distracted by the shape of his slightly fullerlower lip. I tear my eyes away and look up at Melanie, who I can see chattingand laughing with a guy in jeans and a dark winter jacket. ‘So are you allguests here?’
‘Yes. The three of us are old university friends ofRichard’s?’ he says, and I nod. Richard is Fen’s older brother. He turns.‘That’s Fergus up there. With Melanie, the screaming zip wire novice.’
‘Everything okay?’ calls Melanie, leaning over the woodenframe at the top of the ride. And as Noah holds up his thumb and shouts, ‘Couldhave been worse, but I think we’re all right,’ my eyes wander over his tallframe. Broad shoulders that fill out his jacket…long strong legs…greatbumin jeans that hug him in just the right way…’
He turns back and catches my eyes at hip level, and I feelthe colour whoosh into my cheeks.
‘Perhaps you should try it yourself,’ he says, nodding backat Melanie, a hint of a challenge in his eyes.
I’m still wincing inside at being caught checking him out,and at first my brain struggles to compute what he’s saying. Then I realise.He’s daring me to have a go. ‘Oh, no. I’m not really a zip wire sort of aperson.’
Actually, I’d quite like to have a go. But not in frontof Noah Jackson…
He folds his arms and eyes me with a hint of a smile.
‘I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground,’ I add. Feelingoddly self-conscious, I grab some ferns from the ground and start trying toscrape the mud off my skirt.Why did I say that?It makes me sound soboring. Although why I should be worried about what Noah Jackson thinks of me,I’ve no idea…
‘Sensible,’ he says, as I lean round to brush the back of myskirt. ‘Although it can be good to let yourself go sometimes.’
‘You think so?’ I swallow hard, avoiding his eye. ‘In myexperience, letting yourself go only leads you to places you wish you’d nevergone.’ I look down awkwardly at my scruffy shoes.
It’s true that the last time I ‘let go’ and tried to be thelife and soul of the party (fuelled by a few pints of wine), it was a minordisaster, and my whole world came crashing down around me soon afterwards. Theevents of last Christmas will haunt me forever, however much I try to block itfrom my mind.
The minor disaster in question happened at Harvey’s companyChristmas party. As usual, I was dreading it…the thought of mingling with lotsof high-flying bankers and their other halves, who always seemed to havefascinating lives and be able to chat knowledgably about current events andpolitics. (I could just about remember, on a good day, which party were inpower.)
I’d been feeling for months that Harvey was losing interestin me, so in order to give me the confidence to appear more interesting andwitty at the party, and make him proud of me, I decided to have a few drinks athome before we left. The trouble is, drink and I don’t really mix, and afteranother few vodkas at the party, I was starting to see double and talking topot plants. I have a vague recollection of having an amusing conversation withone of Harvey’s male colleagues about the benefits of stockings over tights,before Harvey made his apologies to everyone and led me firmly away. I rememberprotesting that I was really enjoying myself and that I really loved all of hisfriends. Then I threw up in the taxi on the way home and woke up next day withthe hangover from hell, made a hundred times worse because I was feeling sowretched about my behaviour at the party.
Harvey’s attitude towards me after that night slipped fromcool to sub-zero. And for a long time, I couldn’t think about that awful nightwithout flushing bright red, even if it was just me in the room. But over thepast year, I’ve gradually realised I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I’m agood person, loyal and kind. I’m never going to set the world on fire with mydazzling personality or my devastating charisma. Harvey was one of those peoplewho could light up a room just by walking into it. That will never be me, butit’s okay.
The world needs ordinary people.
Ordinary is good…
‘Are you okay?’
Noah is watching me, and I manage a nod.
