No! No swoon. Green flags are so easily dyed red far too quickly.
Elton
I disconnect the call and turn around. Neive is practically standing on my toes.
“What did she say? Will she do it?” The excitement is making her eyes sparkle. Her long jet-black hair sways as she bounces from toe to toe. I will do anything for this girl. Even contact the first woman who has knocked me for six in a long time. I didn’t hate the idea of contacting Reilly again. I had thought about trying to prove my innocence to her and ask her out, but I kept replaying the look of distrust in her eyes. She was disgusted with me.
It’s been a long time since someone looked at me with such contempt, bringing back nasty feelings. It wasn’t easy being the poor kid; I was often dirty, and it was obvious I went without. Kids would make fun of me, and adults would keep a wide berth in case I tried to steal their bag. I’d stolen once, just a bag of pasta. MJ was hungry, and our parents hadn’t been home in three days. I felt bad about it, but no one else was going to feed us. I nearly got caught but managed to run out of there. I disappeared down the street, running away from the abuse. We were known as the scummy kids in town. It still hurts.
I’ve grown past that part of my life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone anymore. People do what I ask without question and no one doubts my character. Except, Reilly did. She overheard one side of a phone call and decided I was unworthy.
It pained me to even dial the number, but what Neive wants Neive gets, and she wants to learn to bake. The only acceptable teacher is the baker who apparently makes the best cupcakes she has ever tasted in her life. They were “the shit” according to Neive, and who could argue with that logic?
“You can have your baking lessons,” I inform her. Neive squeals at the news, and my heart beams. I love making her happy, she has been through so much and I would move the earth for her. My circle may be small but it is built for protection and Neive is right in the centre of it.
“Okay, this is good. Have we got everything she’ll need? What’s her name again? When is she coming? How many lessons can I have?” I cut her off from her excessive rambling, putting my hands on her shoulders. Even with every year she grows bigger, she’s still just a child who needs me.
“Neive, take a breath. I’ll sort all of it out. Reilly will be here on Tuesday. And I’ve asked her to give you ten lessons.” Neive jumps at me and squeezes her petit arms around me. She thanksme and runs off, telling me she’s got to set up a new Insta to post all her baking wins. I don’t love the idea of Neive posting so much online content, but it’s what they do these days and I don’t know how to manage it. This new role is all a bit out of my comfort zone.
The front door intercom beeps as the main gate is opened. Only a few people can access it without permission and everyone else is accounted for so I wait for Charles to let himself in. He has to jump out of the way as Neive scurries past him. “What’s got Squirt all excited?” Neive hates it when he calls her Squirt, so naturally, it stuck.
“I’m paying Reilly to give her baking lessons.” Her name slips out and I dart my eyes away, hoping he doesn’t recognise it. No such luck.
“Reilly? The Reilly from the bar who accused you of being married by storming out and calling you a wanker?” Why does he have to say it with such glee?
“Yes, that Reilly. And stop smiling at me like that.” He’s been telling me all week to go see her and explain.
“This is a business transaction, nothing more. She’s going to give Neive baking lessons, and then she’ll go on her way, and I’ll go mine.”
He’s laughing as he helps himself to a beer in the fridge and passes one to me. “Of course, mate. I one hundred per cent believe that you believe that’s how this is going to go down.”
I can’t lie. I like the idea of seeing Reilly again. Having her in my home, near me again. Will the spark still be there, or will it have been dulled by the accusations and mistrust.
I’ve replayed the night over and over, not just the horrible ending but every exhilarating moment before then. The thought of her naked in my bed or on her knees in the shower sends blood to all the wrong places. I need to keep my head on. I’vemade a promise to Neive: this is for her, not for me. No matter how much I want it. And I want it.
EIGHT
Reilly
The sun is setting over the horizon as I pray my car makes it up the hill. It’s been on the brink for a while, still making little beeping noises when I’m asking it to do things it doesn’t like.
I know this area but I have never set foot anywhere near these houses. This is where the insanely rich live. There is a lot of money in certain parts of Dorset, especially Sandbanks and Westbourne, but this road stands above them all. My little Fiat is clanking up the road along the cliff top, the pavement is clear of rubbish, and the hedges and trees are manicured and tended to. Not like around mine when you’re lucky if you’re not stepping over a used condom on a Sunday morning.
“This isn’t a date. He’s hired me to teach his niece to bake.” The girls are on a three-way call and adamant this is a set up. After much googling, we conceded Elton was single and had no children to speak of, but they weren’t convinced this wasn’ta way of getting me back into his bed. A place which is painfully tempting. After Tim, I promised myself I would never be put in that position again.
“There are plenty of bakers in Bournemouth. He’s picked you in hopes of getting a little extra sugar sprinkled on the side. You said it was great sex, he wants a repeat. Guarantee it!” Sarah’s mind, as always, is on sex.
“I think it’s romantic,” says Thea. “He’s come up with a reason to spend time with you. He probably knew you would turn down an actual date. And what’s more marriage-worthy than someone spending time and money on their niece.” Thea is heading more along the romance novel route.
“It’s neither. Neive liked my cakes, and she wants to learn to bake them. Elton knows I bake. That is all.” I am aggravated at having to defend my position on this. Again. “I’m hanging up. I can’t work out which ridiculously overpriced monstrosity of a house is his palace.”
You can’t even see the houses from the road; they are all gated and hiding behind shrubbery. This one even has lights in amongst its privacy trees. How rich are you if you feel the need to light your plants? And here I am working all the jobs under the sun and living with Mum trying to open a small business. Yes, okay so I’m the one insisting on it being in the centre of the most expensive area in Dorset, meaning rent rates are sky high. But if I don’t go all in, I’m setting myself up for failure. Which I guess is why I find myself somewhere I don’t belong, shoving my feelings in a tiny box, locking it up tight, to be dealt with another day.
I come all the way to the top of the hill. My old unreliable Fiat has made it. I’ll probably just let the brake off on the way down and let gravity do its thing. My nerves are on edge as I come to a set of large black iron gates, Number 17, making sure to double-check the address. I couldn’t cope with theembarrassment of being at the wrong house. Pulling up to a speaker box, I press a buzzer, and a little red light blinks, letting me know the camera is recording me.
“Erm, it’s Reilly.” There’s a hum of acknowledgement – this isn’t Elton on the other end. “I’m giving baking lessons to Neive. Elton’s expecting me.”
“Proceed.” A low voice comes through the speaker. So formal.
