Page 42 of Me and Mr. Darcy

‘Very funny,’ I reply and continue chewing.

‘I’m not joking.’ He shrugs, yawning loudly without covering his mouth. He’s even more dishevelled than usual. He’s wearing a crumpled sweatshirt with some kind of stain on it, and there are dark rings under his bloodshot eyes. ‘You can ask Rose if you don’t believe me.’

‘OK, I will.’ Calling his bluff, I look across the table. ‘Rose, would you believe it, a certain someone just told me that this . . .’ I wave the piece of black pudding that’s speared on my fork. ‘. . . is made of cow’s blood!’ I give a little sarcastic snort.

Rose purses her scarlet lips. ‘Nonsense,’ she tuts, shaking her raven bob dismissively. ‘It’s not made of cow’s blood!’

I knew it. I throw Spike a triumphant glance. Cow’s blood indeed! As if I was going to fall for that! Defiantly popping the rest in mouth, I make lots of smug chewing noises: ‘Mmmmm . . . mmmmm . . .’

Then Rose has to go and say something I really don’t want to hear.

‘It’s made of pig’s.’

Urgggh.

I’ve cleaned my teeth twice, flossed and gargled with mouthwash, and I can still taste that . . . that stuff. OK, so I admit it’s delicious, but still. Dried pig’s blood? That has to be the most revolting thing I’ve heard. It’s like eating scabs.

Taking a glug of Diet Coke, I slosh it around my mouth and stare out of the coach window. We’re on our way to Winchester to visit the cathedral where Jane Austen is buried, and as we weave through the narrow streets I try to concentrate on the scenery and not my dodgy stomach.

The seat next to me is empty, Maeve is sitting somewhere towards the back, being interviewed by Spike for his article. I bristle at the very thought. No doubt he’s still cracking up about breakfast, but I’ve made a resolution. I’m not going to waste any more time getting annoyed about Spike. He’s so not worth it. From now on I’m going to Etch-a-Sketch him from my mind and concentrate on my trip.

‘We’ll be spending the next couple of hours exploring Winchester Cathedral, so if you’d like to gather your things together . . .’ our tour guide’s shrill voice fizzes over the microphone as we pull into the parking lot and come to a standstill.

Cricking my neck, I stare out of the window and up at the impressive piece of architecture with its intricately carved stonework and elaborate stained-glass windows.

Wow, this looks amazing. As the door swings open I eagerly grab my coat and stand up. I see Maeve making her way down the aisle towards me. For a moment I think she’s going to walk right past me. She mustn’t have seen me.

‘Hey.’ I smile as I shuffle into the aisle next to her. ‘How’s it going?’

She doesn’t turn round and for a split second I almost think she’s going to ignore me, but then she turns and nods. ‘Oh, Emily, hello.’ She seems a little flustered, but I ignore it. Maeve often seems flustered.

‘So, how did you and Ernie get along last night?’ I ask, leaning closer to make sure no one hears. I’ve been dying to ask her, but I haven’t been able to get her on her own. When we got back to the hotel after the pub I left her and Ernie chatting in the foyer and went to bed, and then this morning she’s been with Spike the whole journey.

‘Oh . . . um . . . all right,’ she says warily.

‘Just all right?’ I tease, giving her a little nudge. ‘I think you two make a lovely couple.’

‘Yes, well, I’d appreciate it if you kept thoughts like that to yourself,’ she snaps.

I look at her in disbelief. I don’t know who’s more shocked that she’s snapped, me or her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Maeve. It was a joke. I didn’t mean—’ I break off as I notice that her eyes look suspiciously moist behind her glasses. ‘Hey, are you OK?’ I ask quietly.

There’s a pause as she swallows hard. We’re at the front of the coach now about to disembark, and I see her glance anxiously towards Ernie, who’s sitting behind the wheel. For a brief second I think she’s going to tell me something, but then she looks quickly away before he sees her.

‘I’m sorry. I’m just a bit under the weather. I think I’ve got a cold coming,’ she mumbles, rushing down the steps and into the parking lot to join Rupinda and Rose.

Puzzled, I follow her. I see no evidence of a runny nose or as much as a sneeze. Something’s definitely up. But what? Walking home from the pub last night she seemed relaxed and in really good spirits. I was so drunk it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, but I remember her laughing at Ernie’s jokes and talking glowingly about her nieces and nephews. What could have happened between then and now?

I glance across the parking lot and see a familiar figure pulling out a packet of Marlboros from his breast pocket. Suddenly it dawns on me: Spike is what happened between then and now.

Hands dug deep in my pockets, I stride across the blustery asphalt. Spike’s standing apart from everyone, head bent into his cupped hands, trying to light a cigarette. ‘Hey, have you said something to Maeve?’ I hiss angrily.

So much for my resolution.

‘Excuse me?’ He looks up, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

‘Oh, please, don’t act all innocent with me,’ I snap, and I see him flinch a little. ‘What were you two talking about on the coach?’