“You will always have my support.” The way the sunset catches her features shows beauty not diminished by a hard life, but enhanced.
TWENTY-TWO
Elton
Lunch was perfect. Reilly was perfect, in her black jeans and a loose white cotton shirt. I wanted to run my fingers along her collarbones. I didn’t, though. I wanted to prove to her I was all in on this, that it’s not just about sex for me.
I nearly booked a private dining room at the SkyLounge restaurant, and had arranged for the tasting menu; it’s my go-to for dates. But this is Reilly, so I took her to the beachfront cafe near where Neive and I have been walking every day.
We had a table by the window and spent most of our time people-watching. Reilly had me enthralled as she narrated the lives of those we watched. She was never mean, negative or judgemental. It’s obvious her reaction to our first night together came from a place of genuine emotion. She isn’t usually hot-headed, unlike myself.
The conversation flowed easily. We shared our life experiences with each other. She told me all about meeting her friends and how close she is to her mum and Dorothy. Her loyalty is second to none and she clearly loves her family and friends, a shared value I appreciate.
It’s been a long time since I felt so calm while dating. Women are mostly after me for several things, mainly my money and position of power. Dating in the same social circles should keep that sort of behaviour at bay – but if anything, it’s worse. People rarely have to crawl through hell to get to the top, and those who do are few and far between.
Reilly knows hard work. Reilly knows pain. Reilly knows how to keep herself in check and continuously strives to be a better person. I couldn’t help but be drawn in by her. She calms me and makes me want to stop and take a moment … be present in what is happening. I ignored four work calls; I never ignore work calls. I even cancelled a meeting because Reilly suggested we have coffee outside, which took another forty-five minutes. I couldn’t drag myself away.
I’m back in my home office, finishing work waiting for Neive to finish with her tutor. Reilly will be round in an hour for the baking lessons, and I want to be done by then so I can join them.
I call Jeeves into the office. “Can you send Reilly flowers to arrive tomorrow? Maybe something big and bold. Purple.” I congratulate myself on a good choice. “Oh, and book us a table. Somewhere fancy.” He doesn’t move. Hands clasped behind his back. Head up, military stance. “What is it, Jeeves?”
“Can I be straight with you?”
“Would you like to tell me a time when you haven’t been?” I rely on him to be honest with me. Even when I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
“Fair point.” His posture relaxes. He still sometimes reacts to me as an authority figure. It takes him a second to come back and remember I’m his friend first and his boss second. “Reilly likes a personal touch. Me arranging your flowers and booking your tables is only going to show her how organised and well-staffed you are. Two things she doesn’t care about.”
Shit, he has a point. “So what do I do?”Get my head out of my bloody arse first?
“Hand deliver flowers. And ask her where she wants to go for dinner. This isn’t rocket science, Elton.”
“Yes. Okay, you’re right. Makes sense.” I am so out of my depth and so desperate to prove myself. “Remember when we were at school? Before all this. When we were two lads mucking about. Playing pranks. Going after girls. All we had was our smiles and our quick wit,” I reminisce.
“We are still full of smiles and quick wit,” Jeeves deadpans.
I laugh but sober when I realise. “I’m not that person anymore. My priorities have changed.”
“Your priorities may have changed. Butyoudon’t have to. I may now be your Jeeves, but that doesn’t mean I won’t put you in your place when you need me to.” And with that, he double taps my desk and heads towards the door, acting as if he hasn’t just dropped an uncharacteristic display of philosophy.
“Thanks, Clayton.” He flips me off over his shoulder as he leaves. I love that man. And he hates being called Clayton almost as much as he hates being called Jeeves.
~
During Neive’s lesson today – which I joined on a whim – they’ve been making macarons. I’m pretty sure I’ve mainly been a hindrance. I apparently over-mixed the mixture, making it split. Whatever that means. Neive said she could fix it, but itwould be extra sweet. Honestly, watching her flourish under Reilly’s guidance has been amazing. She’s obtained knowledge and skills I definitely wouldn’t have been able to teach her, but most of all, confidence. My strong, happy girl is back. She’s been struggling at school quite a bit so it’s nice to see her proud of herself.
We leave Neive to clean up, and I invite Reilly outside for a glass of wine. The perfect place to ask her on another date. The sun has set, and there is a slight chill in the air, so I light the chiminea. We sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the fresh air and soft sounds of waves against the cliffs below.
Her phone dings with a new message. She huffs and turns it upside down. Someone she is avoiding or someone she is hiding from me?Don’t start, Elton. I have no claim over her. Yet.
“Your mum’s nice,” I tell her. Breaking our comfortable silence.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t lie. She was rude. I’m sorry for her behaviour.”
“She’s protective of you.”
“Yep. She always has been. Always will be.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. A parent should be protective of their child.” That was something I would never go back on. She simply nods and takes another sip of her wine. The last sliver of sun is setting over the horizon, and lights have started to flicker along the cliff tops as people settle in outside for the evening. The people of Dorset don’t care how cold it gets at night. With the view over these cliffs, you make the effort to sit outside. Taking a blanket out of the wicker basket next to me, I place it over Reilly’s lap to help stop the slight shiver that creeps over her periodically.
