Yours Truly Read online

  “You're the selfish one!” I cry out in anguish. “You say I'm a bad daughter. But you're a bad mum. You made me leave my life! Dad has gone Mum and you need to get to grips with it. You’re better off without him. I was happy at catering college and living with Meg, and you demanded that I come back and -”

  “I did not, Natalie.”

  “You did. You said that you were worried what you might do if you were alone. What was I supposed to do? What choice did I have? That’s so much to put all on one person.”

  “Watch your tone, young -”

  “No. I won't watch my tone. I'm twenty-seven years old. I'm a grown up. And I was happy to be there for you. Always. I love you. But all you do is get at me! You’ve got to understand that I have my own life to lead!”

  “I'm looking out for you! That’s all I’ve ever done. You ungrate-”

  “You're looking out for yourself.” I yell into the wind. “Making sure we're all as fucking miserable as you are.”

  Silence for a moment.

  “Right,” Mum whispers. “Of course.”

  And ever so gently she clicks the phone down.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  What have I done? I go to ring her back immediately to apologise, but then stop myself before I’ve finished dialling the number.

  No.

  I will not feel guilty. I will not. She can't keep treating people like that. She can’t treat me like this.

  But you didn't have to be so harsh.

  Whatever.

  I shake my shoulders and concentrate on ignoring the annoying guilt voice that pipes up in my head.

  I'll just phone her later, when I've calmed down. It'll be fine.

  Close to hypothermia I finally reach the gates of Hobbs Manor. It's the grandest house I've ever seen. The same caramel coloured bricks as the rest of the village houses, but these bricks are massive, each one about half the size of the door. And it's an enormous door. Black and shiny. I knock on it and almost laugh when it creaks open at my touch. It's like something off a scary movie.

  “Hello?” I shout popping my head in. “Um, Jasper? Meg? I'm here. I mean, it's Natalie. I'm coming in!”

  I tentatively take a few steps in and gasp at the huge entrance surrounding me. Directly in front of me lies a gorgeously ostentatious staircase that separates into two more staircases at the top. I look up towards the highest ceiling I've ever seen. Wow. This really is like something out of a film! I step further in, wondering where everyone is. Shouldn't there be an old butler or something? I'm not quite sure what to do. If I go any further into the house I'm technically breaking in. But... the door is open… Oh Gosh, what if the door is open because someone is robbing the place, or someone is in here murdering Alfred Hobbs for his shitload of money? Oh man, what if Meg has gotten caught up in the crime and is tied up with lengths of thick rope in the drawing room?

  I click the door shut behind me and venture past the staircase and down a red carpeted corridor. I pause when I hear voices. Or is it one voice? I walk in the direction of the voice and stop when I reach the room it's coming from. It sounds like Jasper. I'm about to knock on the door when I realise that his low voice sounds highly agitated and so completely different to the smooth, calm composure I heard at the barn dance. The nosy cow in me puts an ear against the door and listens hard.

  “You should have left it alone. You're going to ruin it all!”

  Ooh, this sounds interesting. Who is he talking about?

  “That idiot wasn't supposed to...”

  Who is he talking about? I listen more closely.

  “...Yes, well now we're going to have to go on with Plan B. But that means that we cannot afford for anyone to find out. I know. Dionne...”

  Did he just say Dionne? Or is he talking to Dionne? And what does she have to do with Jasper and Riley? I can't hear properly. It's not clear enough. I sigh in frustration. What is he saying? I read somewhere once that one's senses are more powerful when other senses are compromised. So I compromise my sight by squeezing my eyes tightly shut, and my smell, by holding my nose. Then I press my ear up even closer to the door. I knew there was something fishy about Jasper Hobbs.

  “I've just hidden it. He won't be coming back...”

  Oh my gosh! Who won't be coming back? What is he planning? What did he hide?

  I jump out of my skin when someone stands right behind me and does a gentle cough. “Ballbags!” I cry frightfully.

  My shriek echoes around the gigantic building.

  Ballbags, ballbags, ballbags.

  I turn around and see a tall thin old man with a long white beard, dressed in a maroon smoking jacket and slacks. He looks like Dumbledore! Maybe this is the butler.

  “Hello dear. Welcome to my home. Who are you and how can I help you?” He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

  Oh God. This isn't a butler. This is the reclusive, mega rich Alfred Hobbs. The man in charge of all the Hobbs bread in the world! I don't get time to ponder what it must be like to have access to all that bread because his question sparks off the truth-telling -

  “Hello. Yes, I think you can help me. I'm looking for my friend, Meg. She should be here recording music with your son, um Jasper. I'm Natalie and I'm having the worst week of my entire life.”

  Alfred chuckles and holds out his hand. “I'm Alfred Hobbs, dear.”

  As he touches my hand he shivers. “My my! You're colder than a witch’s tit!”

  I blink. Did he just say witch’s... tit?

  “What on earth have you been doing?” he continues, frowning.

  “I've walked up from The Old Whimsy.”

  “Dear child, you'll catch your death. Come to the den. The fire is alight. I'll prepare us some tea and then we can address your problem.” I nod emphatically, quite scared to disagree with this imposing and eccentric looking old man.

  At that very moment Jasper appears.

  “Father,” he says irritably. “What are you doing now? I thought I told you…” He stops abruptly when he spots me and arranges his face into an expression less annoyed.

  “Natalie Butterworth!” he says kissing me on each cheek. “Whatever brings you here?” He scratches his perfectly straight nose.

  “I'm looking for Meg,” I answer.

  “Yes, of course. Meg's not here, I'm afraid.”

  “Oh!” I say. “But she told me she was coming here to record some music?”

  “Yes she was. Robbie came for her about an hour ago.”

  Robbie? Oh yes. I totally forgot. She said she was going to Jam with him.

  “How long have you been here?” he asks, coughing. He looks twitchy.

  “Long enough to hear you talking on the phone, though I didn't hear everything you said.”

  Oh gosh, how embarrassing. Stupid truth-telling. I can't hide anything! Jasper frowns for a moment before snapping himself out of it.

  “I'm sorry for your trouble. I can walk you back if you'd like?”

  “Nonsense,” Alfred Hobbs hollers. “The girl will not be going back out into the cold until at least she's had a cup of tea.”

  Jasper nods reluctantly. “Yes... yes, I suppose you're right, father.”

  “Take her to the den, Jasper. I shall prepare the tea.”

  Jasper sighs before gesturing that I should follow him back across the hall and into what must be the den. It's another huge room with high ceilings; den isn't really appropriate for it, though. It's still completely grand. The sofas are old and worn, but clearly expensive. Hanging from the ceiling is a gigantic antique crystal chandelier. Completely at odds with the fifty billion inch wide screen telly set up in the corner. At the centre of the room is a huge fireplace, with a fire blazing brightly inside the hearth, I head straight for it.

  “I'm freezing!” I explain. Kneeling in front of the fire and putting out my hands to warm them. Jasper doesn't answer. After a few moments he comes up close behind me. He's so close that I can feel the heat of his breath on the back of my neck.
I shudder and move away. Talk about invasion of personal space!

  “What exactly did you hear out there?” he says, running a tanned hand through his foppish black hair.

  Jeez. Paranoid or what! But of course the truth-telling does its work.

  “I heard you say that you'd hidden something and that you wanted to go to Plan B. Did you mention my sister's name? I'm sure I heard you say Dionne. You sounded angry.”

  “You are mistaken.” He swallows hard. “It's bad manners to listen in on other people's private conversations.”

  I lower my eyes, ashamed. He's right. Ear wigging is totally bad manners.

  “My father would like you to stay for a cup of tea, but as soon as you are done I will walk you back to the village. In the meantime, I would quite appreciate it if you didn't mention anything about business.”

  I raise my eyebrows questioningly. Why the bloody hell would I talk to Alfred Hobbs about business?

  Jasper huffs. “I mean about the business with The Old Whimsy. I prefer not to bother him with small troubles.” His tone is abrupt.

  There's no reason why it should unsettle me, it's not like he's really a baddie or anything, but he definitely makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “Tea!” Alfred Hobbs announces, hobbling in and carrying a silver tray through into the den.

  “Let me know when you are done and I shall take you back,” Jasper says, not quite looking me in the eye.

  “You're not staying for tea?” Mr Hobbs asks his son. “But we have a guest, Jasper.”

  “I'm busy, father.” And with that he walks out of the room.

  Okay, this is weird. This is one weird arse village.

  Mr Hobbs carefully pours out the tea into two delicate white china teacups. There's no milk or sugar on the tray. Maybe this is how posh people have their tea.

  “Thank you.” I smile at him as he hands over a cup.

  Taking a sip, I try my best to hide the splutter that follows. This tea has got brandy in it!

  I cough, my cheeks burning with the heat of the alcohol.

  Alfred Hobbs chuckles. “A little medicinal brandy to prevent a cold, dear.”

  I smile weakly. He watches, nodding at me to take another sip. I'm too polite not to. Ick.

  “Please excuse my son's behaviour,” Alfred says, handing me an icing sugar dusted chocolate from a little glass bowl on a side table by his armchair. “Champagne truffle - my favourite. He's a busy man. I'm sure he doesn't mean to be impolite.”

  “Oh, it's okay. I understand.”

  Alfred smiles.

  “So you're young Megan's friend then, her mentally unwell friend?”

  I almost choke. “No. Not mentally ill. But yes Megan's - Meg's friend.”

  “Dear girl. Very pretty.”

  I smile. “Yes. Gorgeous, and lovely with it.”

  Alfred sips from his own tea and sighs with pleasure. “And you! You are less... gorgeous. And far more beautiful. What a wonderful plump mouth you have!”

  “Um - thank you,” I say, fighting the urge to laugh. Of course I don't tell him about the accidental lip injections. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't understand.

  “Yes, yes,” he says, slowly looking over my face as if I'm a painting to be studied. “You remind me of an old love of mine. Mary was her name.”

  Mary? As in Riley's mother Mary?

  “Are you talking about Mary Harrington?” I ask.

  “Well yes, dear, I am! You have the same... kindness about you as she did. Serenity. An inner radiance.”

  Me? Serene? Radiant. Gosh this man is nuts. Sweet, and very good with the flattery, but totally nuts.

  “So you were friends with Mary, then?”

  “Friends? Oh we were more than friends. My dear, we were at it like rabbits!”

  I choke again. Drinking tea around this man is a constant choking hazard. I put down the cup.

  “That sounds... fun.”

  Alfred chuckles, topping up my tea cup and handing me another chocolate.

  “Oh, it was such a lot of fun. Just a shame it had to end.”

  What? He was having an affair with Riley's mother before she died? Wow.

  “I'm sorry for your loss,” I say, patting him sympathetically on the arm.

  “Oh you are an adorable creature,” he drawls. “But rather mistaken. My dalliance with Mary ended long before that. Edna made quite sure of it.”

  Edna? I'm sure I know of an Edna. I rifle through my brain trying to place the name.

  Edna. I have a flashback to the barn dance. Edna is what Riley was calling Mrs Grimes!

  “You mean Mrs Grimes?”

  Alfred nods.

  “Oh gosh, that makes her sound ever so old. But I suppose you would know her as Mrs Grimes. Yes, I was also having a rendezvous with her. They were both such beautiful women but in such different ways. I could hardly choose between them.”

  He shrugs, his blue eyes twinkling. He's handsome for an old guy. I can imagine him playing the womaniser as a lad.

  “It was quite the scandal. But then we were quite a scandalous group of friends.”

  Friends? I ask intrigued.

  “Edna and I, Mary Harrington, her brother Alan, Barney and Morag and Joe...” He looks off into the distance as if remembering some cracking nights out.

  Man alive! Talking to Alfred Hobbs is better than an episode of Eastenders!

  Needing to zone out for a bit, enjoying the heat of the fire and the heat of the brandy and Alfred's company, I lean back into my chair and tuck my cold feet up underneath me.

  “Tell me more, Mr Hobbs.”

  “And then the police came and we had to make a run for it. Alan lost his trousers. It was a very good job it was dark, I say!”

  “No ways!” I laugh as Alfred Hobbs tells me another one of his stories of his youth. It turns out that him, Mrs Grimes, Alan, Barney and Morag Braithwaite and Riley's mother Mary were a real gang in their younger days. Alfred Hobbs was the rich kid in a small village and the aforementioned were the only ones not intimidated or envious by his wealth and his family name. Alfred and Alan were even pilots in the RAF together during their twenties. They were best friends. It seems so sad that they haven't spoken in two years.

  Jasper has been in a number of times, itching to walk me back to Little Trooley. Each time Alfred has waved him away with a stern telling off.

  I really should get back though, not least to find out where Meg is. But I'm having rather a brilliant time, plus as much Hobbs toast as I want, which is just what I need after the day I've had. By the fifth time Jasper comes in looking at his watch and declaring that he has to go to the village so I need to go with him now or else I'll have to walk back on my own and the cold weather means it might be icy and I might slip and die, Alfred suggests that I stay the night instead. He has plenty of spare rooms and it means we can continue with our chat and perhaps have some dinner together.

  Jasper is wary. He sighs and looks at me suspiciously as if he thinks I'm going to rifle through his underwear draw or something.

  I nod my agreement eagerly. I can easily call Meg from here and I really don't want to go back to The Old Whimsy tonight. I don't want to see any of them right now.

  “I'd really like to stay if I may,” I say. “To be honest with you, I haven't really another place to go.”

  “Well then it's decided,” Alfred declares, clapping his hands together gleefully.

  “But father, I think -”

  “It's decided Jasper. Don't you have business to attend to?”

  Jasper rolls his eyes and leaves the room.

  After a tour of the extensive and beautiful Hobbs gardens, Alfred's purpose built gymnasium and - oh my gosh - his personal aircraft hangar in which he stores his OWN helicopter, we settle down to a slightly unorthodox but lovely dinner of fancy cheddar cheese on Hobbs toast with the most wonderful vintage champagne. When we have finished eating Alfred pats his napkin to his lips and says:

  “I seem to have monopolised our en
tire conversation. Now tell me dear, why are you so sad?”

  Do I look sad? Is it so obvious? It's such a grand question, it takes my brain about thirty seconds to gather all of the information I need to answer this request. Of course the need to tell all is a strong as ever and the answers float on out.

  I tell Alfred all of the things that have happened. He listens attentively and when I'm done he nods and simply says, “It will be okay, my dear.”

  The knowledge that it probably won't be and the hope that it will bring a surge of tears to my eyes.

  “Why are you so sad?” I ask, the champagne loosening my tongue “And why are you a recluse?”

  As soon as I've said it I feel bad. Way to be tactful, Stupidhead. Why are you a fricking recluse? My cheeks colour.

  Alfred looks sad for a moment and shrugs. “I enjoy my own companionship, I suppose.”

  “But you've enjoyed mine,” I say. “I'm sure your old friends in the village would love to see you.”

  He frowns. “I know that to be untrue my dear.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a lot of bad blood after Mary's death. I'm not welcome there.”

  “But that was so long ago.”

  “It's quite all right, dear. I'm happy here. Most of the time.”

  Poor Alfred. He doesn't look happy at all.

  I'm about to say that he's not really helping matters by trying to turn The Old Whimsy into offices, but then I remember what Jasper had said. Business is a no go topic because of Alfred's blood pressure.

  “Time for bed, I think,” Alfred says kindly patting my arm.

  “Yes,” I agree. “Where should I go?”

  “It's at the top of the stairs, fourth door on the right.”

  “Thank you,” I say standing up from the table.

  We smile at each other, and in spite of the disappointments of the day, I feel like I've made a new friend.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I'm having the weirdest dream. I'm at a wedding. Dionne's wedding. She's getting married to a snowman and Amazing Brian is the vicar, only his jumper doesn't have AB on it. It says HA! instead. I'm a bridesmaid but I've eaten too much bread and my dress won't button up. I'm sumo wrestling with Honey who is wearing a fur coat and singing Duran Duran songs. And someone is laughing; tinkling little giggles that are as irritating as a tap that won't stop dripping. I wake up with a start. Sitting up in the vast guest bed in Hobbs Manor I swivel round and look at the old fashioned alarm clock beside me. It's two in the morning. I sigh. I hate it when that happens. You full on wake up thinking it's the morning and it turns out to be ages until morning and you've got to try to force yourself back to sleep. It never works.