‘I can’t impose on you again.’
‘It’s only leftovers, and I’m guessing you’ve not got much on,’ her eyes involuntarily shot to his bare thighs, ‘I meanin. Food-wise.’ She felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the faux pas. ‘Not got much food in,’ she repeated just to be clear.
‘You’re right; I haven’t.’ Joe seemed to realise he wasn’t wearing much on his lower half and scooted round to the other side of the table. ‘So, yeah, that’d be great. See you at the race.’
Angie appeared in the doorway. ‘Have you seen what that dog has done in there?’
‘No, that was entirely Aunt Nicola’s doing,’ said Lottie and she heard Joe splutter a laugh behind her.
‘Aunt Nicola did that?! What are you talking about?’ Lottie and Joe began giggling like school children.
Everyone else seemed to come downstairs at the same time, so she told them all that she wasn’t clearing up the mess in the drawing room. She countered all of Aunt Nicola’s arguments with the simple phrase, ‘Your robovac.’ Eventually Aunt Nicola went in search of cleaning materials and Lottie went off for a long soak in the bath. Hopefully, if the start of it was anything to go by, Boxing Day was going to be a doddle compared to the stress of Christmas Day.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lottie was waiting for her bath to fill. She was watching the masses of bubbles multiply, idly wondering whether she’d maybe added too much bubble bath, when there was a tap on the door. Typical. Why did someone always need the loo when you were about to have a bath?
‘Use the one downstairs,’ she called.
‘Lottie, it’s me,’ said Joe, through the door. ‘I don’t need the loo.’
She thought he’d already left. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Can you open the door please?’
Lottie looked down at her naked self. ‘Er, no, not really.’
‘I take it that’s your handiwork all over the back of my Land Rover?’
Lottie had almost forgotten her secret mission of yesterday afternoon. While Uncle Daniel and Rhys had been chatting, she had been busy painting a variety of animal footprints over the back of Joe’s Land Rover, as well as carefully adding ‘local vet’ on both doors. She couldn’t tell from his voice if he was happy or not; although he didn’t sound furious, which was something. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself and opened the door a fraction.
‘It might have been me.’ She gave him her best cheesy grin. ‘I didn’t like you not having a Christmas present.’
‘That’s kind. I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘Do you like it?’ she asked. She wanted to see his reaction.
‘I love it. You are really talented. You know, I always imagined that you’d made a career out of your drawing.’
It was odd looking at him through the crack in the door, but it also acted like a shield. ‘I kind of lost the desire for it. I think you really need that to make a success of being an artist.’
She could tell by his expression that he didn’t want to ask what had triggered her to lose her interest in something she had been so passionate about. ‘I had better head off. I’ll catch you later. Thanks again, I love it.’ Joe broke eye contact.
‘Okay, bye.’ She went to shut the door and suddenly remembered something she needed to say. ‘Joe!’ She pulled the door open swiftly and lost her grip on the towel. He spun around as the towel hit the floor. She quickly snatched it up and tried to cover herself with it, but it kept bunching up and it took her too long to hide her nakedness.
‘Yes?’ She could hear the mirth in his voice. He was studying his car keys. She was grateful to him for pretending he hadn’t seen her naked.
‘I can paint on your mobile number if you like? Just let me know what it is.’ She said it all in a hurry, flung herself back into the bathroom and shut the door quickly. Had she just flashed him and then asked for his phone number? She threw the towel on the radiator and smacked her palm to her forehead.
The Boxing Day duck race was a tradition Joe remembered fondly, although images of his parents in happier times danced through his mind, tingeing his memories with melancholy. He strolled up the hill with Dave trotting alongside him. He could picture his last duck race like it was yesterday: the contrast of the brightly coloured toy ducks against the stark winter outfit of the village; Zach, Lottie and the other village kids all excitedly racing along the banks of the stream shouting the numbers of the front-runners. The race started in Henbourne and the stream wove its way down the hill in a roundabout fashion until it reached Dumbleford, where the finish line was the ford across the road.
He reached the top of Henbourne Hill and carried Dave over the stile towards the bridge where the race would start. There had been a sharp frost and the drop in temperature meant it was still crisp underfoot. He’d missed the cold. He hadn’t realised it when he’d been enjoying year-round sunshine, but there was a lot to be said for proper seasons. He joined the crowd of locals already amassing near the tiny bridge made of Cotswold stone. A waft of something delicious sparked a memory of Lottie’s Nana’s sausage rolls, and he turned to see Lottie opening a foil packet and offering some round. She saw him looking and came over. The frost between them seemed to be thawing and he was grateful.
‘Sausage roll?’
‘Please. I was just thinking about these.’ He took one and bit into it. It was a bit burned on the bottom and the filling was spilling out at both ends, but otherwise it wasn’t bad at all. ‘They’re good,’ he said, and Lottie gave him her look that said she knew he was lying but she didn’t call him on it. ‘Each time I see you I’m surprised that your hair colour is the same,’ he said, thinking out loud.
‘I don’t dye it any more, Joe. That was all a long time ago.’ He felt the sadness connect them. All the time lost. All the things they’d shared, trapped in the past. She adjusted today’s sparkly hair clip and walked away. He watched her disappear into the crowd to be greeted warmly by locals and visitors alike. Something about Lottie drew people to her. She was the kindest soul he’d ever known: completely unique and so very special.
