She groaned at the delicious prospect of something thick and cold easing her throat. But the burn did leave her calves as she walked and even her knees firmed up. The stretches he made her do were more comprehensive than the ones she’d sketched at the bungalow but, at last, he let her lie down on the slope in the dappled shade of a tree whilst he went to the kiosk beside the play park.
Pressing an orange-and-passion-fruit smoothie into her hand, he dropped down beside her. ‘I really shouldn’t have let you run like that. I knew within about thirty seconds of leaving your place that you were unfit. I just wondered how long it would be before you admitted it.’
‘I hate you,’ she managed, taking tiny sips and trying to hold the liquid at the back of her throat to ease the burn. ‘Every time I found a rhythm, you ran me up steps or up a hill.’
He sucked his straw, his breathing almost even already. His hair blew back from his face and a morning shadow hollowed his cheeks. ‘Works on the glutes.’
Her chest was still heaving. ‘That’s how you got that butt, huh? I guess mine could use the work.’
A spark ignited in his eyes. ‘I think I would have noticed.’
She changed the subject. ‘How are your sisters?’
‘Zoë and Clarissa? They’re the ones you’ve met. I have Nicola and Beverley, too.’
‘Four sisters! Poor you. Any brothers?’
‘Nope. Mum just had girls until—’ He drank instead of completing his sentence, the dull orange liquid sinking slowly in the bottle.
‘So you were raised in a houseful of women?’
He laughed. ‘It made me strong. They were all so bloody bossy I had to stand up for myself.’
‘I thought Zoë was a little . . .decisive, when you called her for me but Clarissa . . . ! She takes “decisive” to a whole new level. Was your mom the same way?’
He grinned between sips. Then sighed. ‘I might as well tell you, as it might help you not to put your foot in it with your landlady. And there’s always somebody in Eastingdean ready to rake up ancient history because the Mayfairs are official gossip fodder. Thing is, those I call my sisters — well, none of them are.’
Honor levered herself on to her elbow. ‘Were you fostered?’
He shook his head. ‘It sounds really Catherine Cookson, but Clarissa’s my natural mother. She had me when she was sixteen so the other three are really my aunts and the person I’ve always called “Mum” was my grandmother. “Dad” was actually my grandfather.’
Honor hid her surprise. ‘I’ve heard about that situation. I guess that the arrangement made things . . . easier on Clarissa.’
‘Expect so. I tagged on to the end of the family and Clarissa carried on with her life, her education and her youth. It saved me being a complete embarrassment.’
Honor sensed he was waiting for her reaction. ‘Your Mum-Gran was pretty generous.’ She tried to say the English ‘Mum’ naturally but it sounded totally fake.
His eyes softened. ‘She was wonderful. She and Dad are gone now and I miss them. They didn’t want Clarissa to suffer for a moment’s wildness, the kind other girls got away with.’ He paused. ‘I remember the day that Mum explained it all to me. It was a hell of a shock — but then nothing seemed to change. Maybe there had been some idea that Clarissa would take me over at some unspecified future date, perhaps when she was in a settled relationship. But she didn’t get married until I was at uni.’
‘A new guy wouldn’t have wanted you, anyway. The new partner always wants a clean slate and their family to be all perfect and symmetrical.’ Honor rolled back down on the grass and watched a puff of white cloud sailing over the washed blue sky.
Sinking on to his stomach and elbows brought his face level with hers, making her aware of his proximity in a way that undid the cooling accomplished by the smoothie. ‘Maybe. Clarissa did eventually decide she wanted me, long before she married Duncan. But I liked living with comfy Mum rather than spiky Clarissa and so Clarissa was hurt.’
‘Fighting over you! Lucky guy.’
He laughed. His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘It didn’t feel lucky. First I was Clarissa’s “mistake”, but then, when her friends began to settle down and have babies, she looked around for me as if I was a handbag she’d put away until it came back into fashion.’
His hair hung around his face in quills. It wasjustlong enough, Honor decided. Long enough to be sexy and cool and swing almost in his eyes, not so long as to be surfer-dude. It lay just so. Women would kill for hair like that but guys didn’t even seem to notice their amazing good fortune. His eyes, apart from being dark, were full of intelligence and wry humour. And interest. It burned in his eyes and intrigued her. ‘So what did she come out of college as?’
‘A schoolteacher in drama and dance. But she didn’t have the understanding disposition for the schoolteacher bit, so now she gives dance classes privately. You know, the kind of thing adults do in the evening and at weekends and kids do after school.’
‘I certainly do know. I was one of those kids mad on tap and ballet, graduating on to street dancing. Maybe I’ll take a class with her.’
He closed one eye against the sun, as if he were winking. ‘Dancing would build up your stamina. And Clarissa would love it.
‘I get on with her OK, now,’ he went on. ‘Except for her incessant complaints about my life. When I dropped out of uni, we could hardly be in the same room because I asked Mum if I could live with her while I got on my feet and Clarissa wanted me to finish my degree and pick up a graduate’s salary. We had some shocking arguments.’
Honor remembered the explosions Clarissa had mentioned.
