Page 27 of The Lottery Win
He narrows his eyes at me. ‘Who’s staying off the alcohol todrive us home? You, I hope.’
‘No, we’ll stay over. Does this pub have rooms?’
‘What exactly are you saying, Krystle Cartwright?’ He shootsme a mischievous glance. ‘That you want to have your wicked way with me?’
‘No!’I walked right into that one!A hot blush bloomsin my cheeks. ‘I just meant... well, you know what I meant.’
An odd atmosphere has sprung up between us as we set off,and we exchange a rather awkward smile.
It’s Adam who breaks the silence. ‘Foot on the gas, forheaven’s sake,’ he teases me. ‘You’re not a little old lady tootling out forher weekly groceries.’
I laugh, relieved we’re back on track. ‘Calm down. I’m stillgetting the hang of driving this beast.’
‘What do you mean? You’ve had it for three whole days.’
‘Yes, I know. But it’s harder to handle than the other one. Drivingmy old Fiat was easy. I knew how to pacify her when she was having a grump.’
‘Your old car was moody?’ He laughs. ‘You’re so weird. Now,come on – step on that gas and let’s see what this little beauty isreallycapable of.’
*****
We start the move soon after ten, and by two o’clock –after lots of ridiculous banter, a whole lot of laughs and much hard physicallifting – we’re lounging on a blanket on the back lawn, hot and sweaty, munchingravenously on ham salad sandwiches (which I made last night –uncharacteristically organised for me) and toasting each other with paper cupsof ice-cold water from the fancy fridge dispenser.
‘Thanks for this, Adam. I should have brought some colddrinks. Beers or something. There aren’t any shops in Cowslip Hollow.’ Setting myempty cup on the grass, I stretch out my aching back with a groan. ‘Where’s thenearest shop, do you think?’
He grins. ‘Probably about fifteen miles away, so you’dbetter get plenty of supplies in when you do go shopping.’
‘True.’ I look at him in mock alarm. ‘I’ve just had an awfulthought.’
‘What?’
‘If I run out of chocolate here, I’ll have to drive for literallymiles to satisfy my craving.’
‘Ah, yes. Just one of the many horrors of living in abeautiful cottage in the country.’ He grins. ‘I can see it’s going to be reallytough for you, Krystle.’
I sigh happily and lie back on the blanket, letting the sunwarm my face and my bare shoulders. ‘You can come over any time you like andshare the horrors with me.’ I roll onto my side and squint at him. ‘As long asyou bring the beers, of course.’
He laughs. ‘It’s a deal. And by the way, you have a wasp onyour head.’
‘What?’ Sitting up, I shake myself. I’m not great withflying insects. ‘Is it still there?’ I gaze at him anxiously. ‘Quick, has itgone?’
I realise a second later that he’s joking. ‘You horror.’ Laughing,I aim my empty paper cup at him and to my delight, manage to hit him squarely onthe nose.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
That first night, after Adam leaves, I potter aroundunpacking boxes and settling in, then I lie in bed, gazing at the night skybeyond the little balcony. The curtains are open so I can see the stars, and it’ssuch a lovely feeling knowing I can walk around naked if I want to, becausethere are no other properties overlooking mine. (Let’s face it, apart from afarm a couple of fields away, there are no other properties formilesaround.)It’s so private. And soquiet.
Apart from the occasional hoot of an owl or a sheep bleatingin the fields behind the cottage, the silence is awe-inspiring. I want tosavour it, my first night there, but I’m exhausted after our busy day and I fallasleep almost immediately.
A few days later Carrie and Ronan are coming over fordinner, so I go shopping and splash out on three big sirloin steaks and all thetrimmings, plus an extravagant-looking chocolate mousse cake for dessert. Itstill feels strange knowing I can buy practically anything I want, and I mustadmit, I’ve been going a bit mad and buying posh versions of the food Inormally buy. It’s fun, though. Except when I get to the check-out today andthere’s a woman in front of me in the queue with a toddler in the trolley seat,and I can see she’s harassed because she doesn’t have enough money and ishaving to choose something to leave behind.
I feel terrible for her, and instinct makes me tap her onthe shoulder and murmur, ‘Look, don’t worry. I’ll pay for that. It’s no problem.’
She looks taken aback and stares at me as if I’ve sprouted asecond head. Then she mutters, ‘No, it’s fine. But thank you.’ She leaves a tinof corned beef behind, pushes the cash into the hand of the girl behind thetill and makes a hasty exit.
The girl serving me smiles sadly. ‘That was nice of you.Some people feel too ashamed to accept help.’
I sigh. ‘I guess so. But it was just a tin of corned beef.’
