It Was You Read online

  My attacker cuddled me tight and we rolled once more, so that he again looked down on me. He pulled back his right arm and brought down his fist in the mud, about six inches to my left. ‘Aaagh!’ He yelled before performing yet another caress and roll manoeuvre.

  ‘Stop!’ I found my voice at last. ‘Stop! I’m not meant to be here!’ I cried, struggling to free myself from his determined embrace. I managed to extract my right arm and tugged at my plus fours. ‘My trousers will fall off!’

  Whether deafened by his sodden wig/hat combo, or simply too caught up in the moment to hear, I wasn’t certain. In any case, my words had no effect on him.

  ‘Die!’ he yelled. ‘Die!’ He reached up and tenderly placed his hands around my throat.

  I began to cry and, grabbing his wrists, tried frantically to pull his hands away; an action which, I was later told by a nearby marshal, made our battlefield encounter the most moving she had ever witnessed.

  And then, suddenly, I was flat on my back, lying motionless in the mud, sobbing gently, as my attacker ran off in the direction of the central melee, hurling indistinct 17th century abuse over his shoulder at me as he went.

  How long I lay there I wasn’t sure. But I stopped crying, as some sort of primeval survival instinct kicked in and told me that to remain as quiet and still as possible was the best course of action, lest another Royalist should see me as fair game for a second bout of cuddle-wrestling. In addition, after the physical and emotional trauma of someone pretending to kill me, the prospect of a little lie down, even in the mud, seemed rather welcome. And so, staring at the angry sky and feeling suddenly, and very strangely, disassociated from my surroundings, I simply lay there and began to review the day.

  On the plus side, I hadn’t stood anyone up, I had tried something new and I had, along the way, met some very lovely people.

  On the downside… I closed my eyes as brown trousers, outsized helmets, pikes, Portaloos and acrylic wigs danced across my consciousness like drunks at a disco. And, sauntering after them, with a scalpel in one hand and a bit of kidney dangling from the other, came Hugh. Hugh: the biggest, most boring, most inattentive downside of the day. I had been polite enough to accompany him, on the wettest day in April, to an event which held no allure whatsoever for me and what had he done? He had effectively left me to rot. Not once, not once, in over five hours had he bothered to find me for a chat or even a brief ‘hello’. That was, I decided, outrageous. The rain, the mud and my ill-fitting pants were unfortunate, but Hugh was boring, insensitive, self-centred and outrageous.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I opened my eyes and saw the outline of a bewigged man silhouetted against the sky. For a moment, I suffered a terrifying mud-cuddle flashback, before realising that this was a different wig-wearer and that my fellow corpses were now all up and walking towards the beer tent. The silhouette crouched down. ‘Are you OK?’ he repeated kindly and his gentle tone was just too much. I sat up, with the effect that my helmet immediately fell down over my eyes and, with my face half-concealed from view, I started to cry for the second time that day.

  ‘No, I’m not OK,’ I sobbed, as I felt a hand come to rest gently on my shoulder. ‘My clothes are ridiculous, I’m cold, I’m covered in mud and at one point I thought I was going to die. But,’ I paused pushing both hands up inside my helmet to wipe away the tears, ‘the worst thing is that after all that, I now have to spend the evening with someone I really don’t like and with whom I have absolutely nothing in common. And I don’t want to upset Abs but I’m just not sure I can manage it.’

  I slumped forward and felt the hand lift from my shoulder, as my companion began to unbuckle the chinstrap on my helmet.

  ‘Well,’ he said, removing my Pikeman’s pot and then extending a hand to help me to my feet, ‘that does all sound a bit grim but, looking on the bright side,’ I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the light and I saw Hugh smiling down at me, ‘I think we might at last have found several things we agree on, Alice.’

  Chapter 15

  It was 7pm by the time I finally walked into the cosy hotel bar and discovered Hugh already ensconced in a quiet corner, with his Kindle and an almost-empty pint glass on the table in front of him. He had clearly been there for some time.

  He looked up as I approached. ‘Feeling better?’

  I smiled. ‘Much, thanks. Sorry I’m so late down. It took quite a while to wash off all that mud.’ I pulled out a chair and looked around the room. ‘This is all so lovely,’ I smiled, sitting down.

  Hugh had booked us into The George, a very pretty local inn, complete with beams, lime-washed walls and huge open fireplaces. The hostelry dated back to the 14th century; one of a thousand facts regarding its history supplied to me by Hugh on our journey from Bristol. And despite my eye-rolling over his historical lecture, and detailing of the practical bases upon which he had selected The George as our accommodation, I couldn’t deny that his choice was a very good one. My room was comfortable, the staff were welcoming and the restaurant menu, over which I had already salivated online, held great promise.

  He followed my gaze around the bar and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said simply, before adding as an apparent afterthought, ‘I’m pleased that you like it.’

  I pointed at his glass. ‘Can I get you another?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’m fine. And there’s a glass of Sauvignon Blanc on its way for you.’ He raised a hand and I looked over my shoulder to see the barman nodding in acknowledgement.

  ‘Sauvignon Blanc?’ I asked.

  ‘You said you were gagging for one on the way here.’ He switched off the Kindle and pushed it away from him. ‘Just before you fell asleep across the back seat.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling my thanks at the barman, as he advanced towards me with a large glass of wine and placed it on the table in front of me, ‘it was lucky that you’d planned ahead and brought that roll of polythene with you, otherwise I would have ruined your leather interior. Thank you for this. And cheers.’ I raised my glass.

  He touched his glass against mine and then replaced it on the table, without taking another sip. ‘You find the fact that I brought polythene with me amusing, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘Not at all. I…’ I hesitated. Before I had fallen asleep in the car, Hugh and I had shared some good-natured, but extremely frank, opinions regarding our compatibility as a couple. I now decided that to lie, for whatever reason, would be a disservice to that honest exchange of views. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do find it funny.’

  ‘And I find it interesting that you find it amusing.’

  I smiled. ‘It’s been an interesting day all round, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It has,’ he said. ‘And I apologise for abandoning you.’

  ‘That’s OK. As you now know, I wasn’t overly desperate for your company. But only,’ I added quickly, ‘because Abs had said you were very keen and that made me anxious.’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, and, of course, she had told me exactly the same thing about you. And that was what was so perplexing about it all. I mean, it was apparent to me within the first ten minutes of our meeting for coffee, that there was no attraction between us.’

  Despite sharing this opinion entirely, I realised that the news was not entirely welcomed by my ego. ‘Within ten minutes?’

  He looked up. ‘When I mentioned forensic pathology, you physically recoiled and, I’m sorry, but I have no interest in cushions.’

  ‘Why on earth does everybody think that interior design is all about cushions?’ I exclaimed. ‘Interior design is about relationships – people with their environment, objects with other objects within an environment.’

  He nodded politely.

  ‘You’re not interested in those things either, are you?’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I’m not. But it’s not just that, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I asked, before immediately wishing I hadn’t. I was far from eager to hear my unattractive qualities listed like the faults on a car f
ailing its MOT.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘A shared professional interest isn’t essential for a successful relationship. And I find you interesting in other ways. But we don’t find each other attractive, do we?’

  I bit my lower lip as it jutted involuntarily. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘my friends think you’re very handsome and I can see—’

  ‘You don’t find me attractive,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s just difficult to separate—’

  ‘Exactly,’ he cut me short for a second time, ‘and it’s not something to concern yourself over. I don’t find you at all attractive either.’

  ‘Right…’ I could tell from his expression that he was simply stating fact and that there was no intention to hurt. But although I couldn’t disagree at all with his assessment of the situation, it did rather feel as if my self-esteem was being ground into the mud as completely as my torso had been just three hours earlier. ‘Er, Hugh…’

  ‘Yes?’ He looked up from his beer.

  ‘You’re quite right in what you’re saying…’ I hesitated. ‘But some women sometimes find it a little difficult to be told that they’re unattractive. In fact,’ I continued, ‘I’d go so far as to say that all women find it very difficult, pretty much all of the time.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, frowning. ‘I know I’m very direct. My sister tells me regularly that I’m on the spectrum.’

  I nodded. ‘I think she might have something there.’

  He maintained his frown, before suddenly smiling broadly. He pointed at me. ‘You’re being amusing again.’

  I laughed. ‘You know, Hugh, the thing is, I would value your sort of directness in a friend,’ I said. ‘Once I’d desensitised myself to it, of course.’

  ‘And I’d value your…’ it was his turn to hesitate, ‘…your sense of fun in a friend. Just not in a partner. And not every day.’ He sipped his beer. ‘Not day in, day out. Because I would find that extremely wearing.’

  ‘OK. You’ve made your point. Now,’ I put a finger to my lips, ‘shh.’

  He smiled again and raised his glass. ‘So, it’s friends we are, then?’ he said.

  I clinked my glass against his. ‘To friendship.’

  ‘To friendship.’

  ‘And now,’ I said, ‘are you going to tell Abs, or am I?’

  ‘I have no doubt she’ll call you first.’ He leaned back in his chair and sighed, as if giving the matter some thought. ‘And whilst I would have no difficulty explaining the situation to her, I suspect that my sister would advise that I should let you do it.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said, ‘I’m probably not much better at that kind of thing than you are. I really don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know. She’s so lovely.’

  He looked intrigued. ‘Is that why you agreed to come today?’

  I nodded. ‘Partly. But also because it had been suggested that I hadn’t really been giving anyone, including myself, much of a chance on the dating front lately.’

  ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘What I don’t see,’ I said, picking up my wine glass, ‘is why on earth you invited me. I would have expected you to give Abs a direct and flat “no”, on the basis that you found me completely unattractive.’

  He smiled. ‘You can blame my sister for that,’ he sighed. ‘When our first encounter didn’t go well, I didn’t feel I needed to go into detail with Abigail, because I was certain you felt the same way.’ He shrugged. ‘I was certain beyond doubt that neither of us would contact the other again. But then Abigail called to say you were keen to experience an historical re-enactment with me. I called Lorna, my sister, to gain a female perspective and, based upon the information provided, she suggested today’s event, reasoning that I might be pleasantly surprised and that, if not, we would at least have a chance to discuss things. However, the car journey here was enough to confirm to me that you weren’t…’ He checked himself, ‘that we were not ideal together.’

  ‘Not ideal,’ I laughed, ‘I like that. I might use it when I talk to Abs.’

  He saluted me with his beer. ‘Feel free.’

  I sipped my wine and began to relax. ‘So, what is your ideal?’ I asked, examining his face for any sign that he was uncomfortable with the question, but finding none.

  ‘I often wonder,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a number of relationships, most of which have ended amicably. Although, one ex was admittedly disgruntled.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She told Lorna that I had emotionally destroyed her.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure disgruntled quite covers that actually. But never mind, carry on.’

  ‘In Lorna’s opinion, I need someone intelligent, kind, passionate and unafraid.’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Not a bad shopping list.’

  ‘But quite a demanding one.’

  ‘It is and,’ I sighed, ‘I tick very few of those boxes.’

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I suspect you tick them all. The problem is that you also have one or two other traits with which I am simply not equipped to cope.’

  I held up my hand. ‘I don’t want to know what they are. So let’s just leave that topic of conversation right there.’

  ‘Before you’ve revealed your ideal?’ He looked at me questioningly.

  I opened my mouth to respond, before realising that I was totally floored by my own question. Not since being a teenager, and discussing boys with a gaggle of girls in my bedroom, had I described my perfect man. And for some reason, the idea of doing it now wasn’t an appealing one. I looked at Hugh to find him watching me with interest.

  ‘To be honest, it’s not something I’ve thought about recently. And I’m not sure I want to,’ I admitted. ‘Maybe in case he doesn’t exist.’

  He nodded. ‘Or isn’t available to you?’

  It was a theory which struck an unexpected chord. I toasted him with my glass. ‘Thank you for pointing out that second miserable possibility.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  I shook my head and smiled. ‘Not at all. You’ve just made me think, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I won’t force you to think any more,’ he said. ‘As it’s clearly not something you’re comfortable with.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re being amusing,’ I said.

  ‘I thought I’d give it a go,’ he smiled. ‘Just don’t expect me to keep it up for any length of time.’

  ‘Takes it out of you?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘well, how about you tell me about your favourite battle re-enactment instead? Or monologue on your best ever brain dissection? Something like that.’

  ‘Right,’ he nodded, ‘and what will you be doing whilst I’m talking?’

  ‘I’ll be thinking about how to break the bad news to Abs.’

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, placing his pint on the table, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. ‘Now, in 2010, I assisted in an autopsy of…’

  And while Hugh told his, actually rather interesting, tale of occipital and parietal lobes, I picked up my glass, drank my wine and decided that, all things considered, the day hadn’t been so bad after all.

  Chapter 16

  ‘Thanks so much for lending me this yet again.’ Miriam held up the pale blue silk wrap which she was borrowing to wear to a christening the following day. ‘It’s so beautiful and,’ she gazed at the wrap whilst squeezing her upper arm, ‘it hides all this flab.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ I sighed. ‘You’re so self-critical these days. Neither your arms, nor any other bit of you, is flabby.’

  Ignoring my exasperated reassurances, she put down the wrap on the kitchen chair in front of her and turned to pick up the two mugs of tea she had just made. She then placed one in front of me and, sipping the other, sat down next to me. ‘So, what time is Jon picking you up tonight?’ she asked, glancing at the clock above the door into the hallway.

  I groaned at the mention of Eleanor Black’s reveal party. ‘Quite early. Sophie doesn
’t think we should leave David for too long on his own,’ I sighed. ‘And Mrs Melons has him there from eight. It’s a pain really.’

  ‘Oh, shush. You know you and Jon will have a good time. But you weren’t tempted to call Hugh?’ She smirked and gave me a nudge.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, giving her a look, ‘I’d have been quite happy to go with Hugh. We got on fine in the end, last weekend. And we’re meeting for drinks next week.’

  Her eyes widened slightly. ‘You and Hugh?’

  ‘Not just us. Abs and Pete too. So, you know, if Jon hadn’t been around tonight, I could have asked Hugh.’ I picked up my tea. ‘But I’m pleased Jon is coming.’ I smiled at the thought of an evening with Jon after several weeks of relatively little communication. ‘Sophie told me he felt like he needed to get out a bit more.’

  ‘Really?’ Miriam looked puzzled.

  I nodded. ‘I know. I was surprised by that too.’

  ‘It just doesn’t sound like him,’ she said. ‘And, besides, I don’t think he’s short of invitations at the moment, is he?’ She frowned and pursed her lips.

  ‘Why the lemon lips?’ I put my tea down. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  She eyed me suspiciously. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I just wondered if Jon had confided in you about… anything.’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing. I’ve hardly heard from him. So, come on, what do you know?’

  She hesitated and lowered her voice. ‘If I tell you this, you tell no one. And I mean no one. Craig will kill me if he knows I’ve mentioned it.’

  I held up three fingers. ‘Dib dob wotnot.’

  ‘Well, on Monday—’

  ‘Monday?’ I was appalled. ‘You found out something interesting on Monday? It’s now Saturday! You mean you took a whole five days to tell me?’

  ‘Shh, Craig’ll hear,’ she whispered. ‘I haven’t seen you since Monday. Now, do you want to hear or don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I want to hear,’ I said. ‘Get on with it.’