His smile dropped when he saw that a text had just come in from Ella. Guilt was never a welcome emotion. And he so often felt guilty when it came to her.
Hi James. How’s Maine? Early, I know, but we’re just thinking about Christmas. Would you like to come to us? We’d love to see you! The girls are well. They loved the alpaca pictures!
Christmas. Seriously. Ella’s invitation wasn’t as early as last year’s, granted, because it was already early August now and last year she’d asked him about Christmas in June, but it was still ridiculous. Although he couldn’t criticise her; clearly it was just a different manifestation of the urge they both obviously had, to make their adult lives as organised and unchaotic as possible; as different as possible from their childhoods, basically.
He wasn’t going to go. There’d be too much niceness and thinly veiled concern from Ella and her husband, and the worry on his part the whole time that the conversation would turn to their mother and Leonie. It would be much better to join a group of single friends skiing or go to Matt’s.
He swung himself up onto a sturdy branch of one of the big trees in the field and took a couple of photos of the alpacas from above, and sent them to Ella with a message.
Hey. Here are a couple more alpaca photos for the girls. Thanks so much for the Christmas invite. Would have loved to come but already agreed to go to friends. Sending more chicken photos in a minute.
The photos might distract them all from the fact that he’d turned down yet another invitation. And the girls would like them.
Love the photos. No worries about Christmas. Offer’s always open if you change your mind.
More guilt.
* * *
Fishing wasn’t the best activity for when you didn’t want to spend too much time with your own thoughts, and Don Brown, James’s now-regular fishing companion, wasn’t the best company when you’d like to be distracted. Don hardly ever ventured beyond a grunt in response to any conversation opener.
It had just occurred to James that one day Ella might stop asking him over. He never went any more, but he still wanted her to keep asking. Just in case one day he wanted to accept one of her invitations. Shit. He’d reflexively jerked his fishing rod. If Don’s wisdom was right, he wasn’t going to be catching anything for hours now.
‘Why don’t you join us at our poker evening on Tuesday?’ Woah. Don had spoken when he didn’t have to.
James opened his mouth to say no and then clocked Don’s rare smile. He was a nice man. James didn’t think he issued invitations that often. Couldn’t do, given how infrequently he spoke.
It wouldn’t hurt him to go. It wasn’t a big deal like Christmas with Ella and it wasn’t like he had other stuff to do in the evenings this week. He’d been down to Boston several times recently but he didn’t need to go again for a while. Although, a poker night. Really? Was he that desperate? Don was smiling again. Okay, fine, he’d go once.
* * *
James looked around the room. Laura, Dina, Don and Isla Brown, and two other men, Harvyn Jones and Bax Marley. Harvyn was probably mid-fifties, and Bax a little younger than James. James was hazy on the actual rules of the game, but he was pretty sure that he was going to smash this out of the park. For a start, he’d be outstanding on the poker-face front. Years of high-stakes business meetings had to have been an excellent training. None of the others would have had the life experience that he’d had.
‘Raise.’ Laura was a different woman with a handful of playing cards and a pile of chips in front of her. Her eyes were fired up but they were the only mobile part about pretty much her entire body. She had the poker-face thing down to a tee.
Or did she? James leaned in very slightly. He was sure her eyes had flickered to the furthest left of her cards. Did that mean something?
Three rounds later, and a lot of chips down, mainly in Laura’s direction, he was sure of two things. One, he’d under-estimated the likely skill level of the others. And two, Laura couldn’t help sneaking too many little peeks at her hand when she knew she held a winning card. Now James just had to get on top of the rules.
So close. So bloody close.
‘I nearly won that round,’ he told everyone, in case they hadn’t noticed.
Laura patted his hand. ‘You did very well, sweetie,’ she said. ‘For a beginner.’ What? He was being patronised by an eighty-year-old Jessica Fletcher-lookalike?
James narrowed his eyes. ‘When’s the next poker evening?’
‘Tuesday next week,’ Bax said. ‘You got the bug?’
James considered. He was supposed to be going down to New York on Tuesday afternoon but he could switch it to Wednesday. ‘I wouldn’t say I have the bug. But Iwillbe beating you all and I willnotstop until I do.’ He was going to look forward to next week.
* * *
‘I hear you’ve taken up poker,’ Cassie said the next time he called her. The gardener had told him there was a glut of greengages in the orchard part of the field and he had no idea what to do with them. Cassie had suggested either making jam and chutney, or freezing them for when she got back. ‘And that you think you’re going to beat Laura. That will never happen.’ James shook his head. Not because of the gossip factor – he was used to that now – but because she was wrong. He’d totally beat Laura. He wasn’t going to admit it to a living soul but he’d been practising online – thank God, for many reasons, that the Wi-Fi worked now – and he was definitely improving.
‘We’ll see,’ he said.
‘Have you been practising?’
