‘Are you up to anything tonight?’ I ask as we’re finishing for the day and wandering back to the workers’ cottages.
My mood has improved from this morning, but my blood still simmers and I know that if I think about Ash too hard it’ll be back at boiling point.
‘Nope,’ she replies.
‘Is there a local pub somewhere? I quite fancy a pint in a beer garden. Would you be up for that?’
There’s no way I can handle seeing Ash yet. I’ll lose it. I want to be anywhere but the cottage come seven o’clock.
‘Absolutely, and there’s one in the village,’ she replies.
‘Where’s the village?’
‘Down the farm track behind the workshops. It’s about a twenty-minute walk.’
Perfect.
Evan and Harri are keen too, and when the four of us are showered and dressed in casual clothes, we set off out the back, but not before I’ve scribbled my own note to Ash and stuck it on my front door.
A couple of the guys I met at Evan’s barbecue are sitting on deckchairs, further along the lawn. They live together in the second to last cottage – Dylan is a ranger and Jac is employed by the workshop.
‘Where are you lot off to?’ Dylan calls.
‘Pub,’ Harri calls back.
‘The more the merrier?’ I say it as if it’s a question.
They glance at each other and nod, and then Celyn comes out of the fifth and final cottage in the row with his girlfriend, Catrin, and they decide to join us too.
I’m on a bit of a high as the eight of us traipse down the country lane in the early-evening sunshine. Catrin is warm and friendly and Bethan is funny, a total goofball.
Just as we’re arriving at the pub, Harri remembers that it’s fish-and-chip Tuesday and I actually laugh at how happy everyone is.
We stay out until closing time and then wander back along the pitch-black lane, stumbling over holes made by tractor treads.
I’ve had a surprisingly good time, even if Ash has been on my mind. How long did he stick around when he realised I wasn’t at the cottage? I suddenly have a vivid mental image of him still waiting and a thrill rips through my body.
We all go into our respective cottages through the backdoors, but as soon as I’m inside, I hurry to the front door and nervously crack it open.
‘Hello?’ I call quietly into the darkness.
Silence.
My note is exactly where I pinned it earlier and my chest constricts at the sight.
Did he even come by?
I pull out the tack and take the envelope back inside, opening it.
My heart jumps at the sight of fresh handwriting.
I’d drawn a line through his plea to talk and underneath I’d scrawled:FUCK OFF.
But below this, he’s written:Not happening.
I can hear the way he’s said it and I can picture him staring at me, determined, and also a little bit playful.
I could kick myself as I walk upstairs, because I’m trying not to smile.
