The windscreen wipers had to work overtime to come anywhere close to clearing enough rain so she could actually see through her windscreen. The country lanes now resembled streams as the rain bounced high off the road. She was about five miles away from Holly Cross when she saw the figure of a jogger in the road dodging puddles. The outfit was familiar. Checking the road was clear Blythe slowed down alongside him and buzzed down the window.
A soaked and bedraggled Sam glared at the car but his expression changed when he recognised the driver.
‘You want a lift?’ she asked.
‘Thanks,’ he said, sounding quite exhausted. Maybe he wasn’t as fit as he looked. He got inside and she gave him a cursory look while he did up his seat belt. Rivulets of water were cascading from his hair, down his face onto his already soaked top.
‘Have you been out in this the whole time?’ she asked, setting off again. He made a noise as he sucked his teeth, and a quick glance told her he was mulling something over. ‘Is that a difficult question?’
‘I was trying out a new running app and my phone battery died. I improvised on the route.’ She could tell he was choosing his words carefully.
‘You got lost in the rain,’ she concluded.
‘Not exactly. I was obviously on the right road back to the village.’
‘But you must have been out for ages.’ She couldn’t help the snort that followed. At least she wasn’t the only one having a bad night.
Blythe changed gear and her coat pulled away to reveal her naked thigh. She instantly knew Sam was looking. She grabbed the edge and shoved it between her legs, making it quite hard to drive while she was squeezing her knees together.
It was Sam’s turn to splutter a laugh. ‘Are you naked under that coat?’
‘I am most certainly not!’ She was indignant.
‘French maid’s outfit or bunny girl? No, it’s okay – I don’t really want to know. Your boyfriend is a lucky man.’
She braked hard and her shoes made a wet fart sound. Not quite the statement she wanted to make. Blythe needed to explain and she couldn’t do it whilst concentrating on driving. She pulled over and put on her hazard lights.
‘I am not wearing some sex outfit under my coat.’ She realised what she was wearing was possibly worse. ‘I am wearing my underwear.’ Sam’s eyebrows jumped but she continued regardless. ‘Because my clothes got wet. They’re in a bag in the boot.’
‘Apologies,’ said Sam, although his grin implied he wasn’t taking his apology that seriously. ‘I didn’t realise you’d got caught in the rain too.’ He narrowed his eyes as he studied her fairly dry hair and dry coat.
‘It wasn’t the rain,’ she said, reluctant to give him anything further to laugh at. But he was waiting for more information. ‘I was showing a client around the garden of a property and I found the pond the hard way.’ He started to laugh, a deep throaty laugh, and much to her annoyance she found herself joining in.
18
1stNovember
Blythe found the pond story was far funnier after she’d had a hot bath and slung everything in the washing machine. Unfortunately she’d had to bin her shoes because they reeked of stagnant pond. Her parents were out with friends for the evening so she was enjoying a rare opportunity to curl up on the sofa with a cup of tea and watch whatever she fancied on Netflix without her stepdad insisting that there was something far better she’d enjoy on Dave.
Her mobile sprang into life and she glanced at it – if it was work it could go to answerphone and she’d deal with it during office hours. It was Sam. An image of him in his wet running top clinging to his chest popped into her mind.
‘Hi, Sam, you okay?’
‘Are you downstairs?’ he asked, in a hushed tone.
She glanced around her parents’ front room. ‘Yep. I’m watching Netflix. Why?’
‘Not at yours. I meant are you downstairs at my place. Which obviously you’re not. Never mind. It’s okay.’
She had no idea what he was going on about. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I can hear someone snooping about downstairs,’ he whispered. ‘I thought it might be you.’
She was about to get the hump that he’d implied she was a snooper when a more pressing issue jumped to the front of her mind. ‘If you think you’re being burgled you need to call the police not an estate agent.’
‘Helpful,’ hissed Sam. ‘If I put all the lights on perhaps they’ll just leave.’
‘Or they’ll be able to see better when they bang you over the head. Don’t be a hero. End this call and phone the police.’ He went quiet. ‘Why aren’t you ending the call?’
