Chapter 23

‘Tom.' Her words are husky with sleep as I lift her. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Taking you to bed.' My lips graze her forehead. She dozed off during the film and I didn't have the heart to wake her; she looked so serene and cosy in the low light created by the wood burner. I didn't mean to be creepy, but I've been watching her for the last half hour, piecing everything together. Tonight she's given a lot away and it's made me even more … impressed, admiring, sad for her. It sounds like her parents were a nightmare and yet she's so steady, capable and resourceful. Her genuine delight at the silly presents and the cakes has brought light into a dark space within me. She's a revelation.

‘You don't need to carry me,' she says, blinking up at me.

‘And give up my Han-Solo-rescuing-Leia swash-buckling fantasy? I don't think so.' I like the idea of looking after her.

‘I think she rescued him just as often,' she mumbles. Her snuffly laugh as she buries her face in my chest tickles me, inside and out.

I think it's about time someone rescued Lydia for a change and treated her like a princess and I'm more than happy to look after her tonight. We're both buying into a fantasy here, away from the rest of the world. After tonight we'll be thrust back into reality and who knows what will happen? There's not going to be a fairy-tale ending, I'm sure of that. I could never give Lydia what she needs. She so self-sufficient, knows who she is and deserves better. I'm bound to let her down at some point, like I always do. I'm never quite good enough. I've not climbed the heady echelons of the insurance industry despite all the advantages my parents have given me. They're ‘let down' by the fact I'm not yet a board director. I can hardly bear to think of the row there'll be when I announce I'm giving it all up to make a film.

My hands tighten on Lydia's body inadvertently. I can already hear the disappointment in Dad and Mum's voices. Lydia leans up and kisses me on the neck. I close my eyes. She'll end up being disappointed with me, too. I won't be enough in the end. I'm not going to be the successful insurance guy that she probably wants. That's why it's always easier not to get involved and to keep my emotions in check. I don't like letting my guard down because I don't want anyone to expect too much of me. I've spent my life trying to live up to my parents' expectations and it's like being on a narrow path up a mountain, one small slip and you come tumbling down and have to start all over again.

‘Tom.' Lydia's fingers have slid up my nose and are stroking the lines that have formed between my eyebrows. ‘I can almost hear you thinking.'

I kiss her. I don't want to talk. I just want to make her come for me, hear those breathy moans of hers and sink into the heat of her body.

When I lower her to the bed, I stroke the hair back from her face, and the soft smile she gives me makes my heart go into free-fall. This is probably our last night. I want to make it special – so that when this interlude comes to a close, we both have good memories and regret nothing. As if she can read my mind, she reaches up and pulls my head down to hers and kisses me with what feels like soft, quiet hunger.

I think she feels it too – that we're-at-the-end-of-the-line desperation.

Tonight, the sex is slow and deliberate, as if we're both trying to wring every last bit of pleasure out of every move. When I've kissed every inch of her body and she, with infinite care and a wicked sparkle in her eyes, returns the favour, I guide myself into her, millimetre by millimetre, stopping to tease and eke out every last drop of sensation. Her hips buck but I hold her tight, controlling the pace.

‘Tom,' she pleads.

I shake my head. ‘Slowly,' I say.

‘Now,' she clutches my forearms. ‘I want you.'

I grin down at her and deliberately withdraw just a fraction.

She groans and captures my mouth with another deep open-mouthed kiss.

I hold still, savouring the hot tightness of her flesh wrapped around me. The urge to drive forward is killing me but the expression of soft lust in Lydia's eyes is a heady turn-on. It makes me feel invincible.

I feel myself losing control. I have to … I have to … With a half groan, half gasp I slide home and retreat, again and again, a relentless glide. I can't stop now, the friction between our bodies sending sparkler showers of sensation shooting through me as we make the climb. I can hardly bear the feelings gathering and I'm powerless to stop the moans that come with each slow sure thrust. Lydia breathes my name and I look down at her, my jaw clenched in exquisite pain as I try to drag out each move to savour every moment. I can feel my ejaculation building, swelling, the almost painful pinch of pleasure and then I stiffen as my orgasm bursts, as I let go, pulsing into her with a burst of white-hot pleasure. ‘Fuck, Lydie. Fuck. Oh fuck.'

Our eyes lock and hold with the force of a tractor beam, I can't look away even though I know I should break the connection, not make a false promise … but I can't. At this moment, Lydia is everything. The stars, the sun and everything in between and I can't have her. Swallowing regret, I kiss her on the corner of the mouth. ‘Happy Birthday.' It's a last gift to her. I'm not going to be the one to disappoint her. She deserves someone else. Someone that won't let her down. It's time for me to pull back.

* * *

I stand in the doorway unobserved and watch Lydia wrapping the chipped fridge magnet in her face cloth as if it's a precious jewel and then carefully tucking it into her toilet bag along with the hair bobble. My heart aches just a little. It's just a stupid fridge magnet. After that, she gives the chocolate bar a longing sniff before packing it into the front pocket on her rucksack. The whimsical gesture saddens and amuses me. I want to tell her she could have a piece now, if she wanted, but it wouldn't set the right tone. Today we're going back to reality, we need to be business-like and efficient, if we're going to get to Trafalgar Square by eight tonight.

Instead, I ask, ‘All set?'

She looks up, a little startled. ‘Morning.'

The calm greeting makes me feel like shit. I deliberately got out of bed before she woke this morning and showered and dressed. They say actions speak louder than words. I think I've made it clear that our time is over.

‘I've made some breakfast.'

While she goes downstairs to eat, I pack up my rucksack and give the room one last look – I'm sorry to leave our safe haven. With typical efficiency, Lydia has thoughtfully stripped the bed and piled the sheets and the towels in one corner.

I stand at the window looking out over the magnificent view. For once the weather is on our side and the only clouds are distant beyond the hills and mountains. Part of me wants to stay, not have to return to London, to the job – although now the prize is within grasping distance if Lydia's plan works. There's still a chance we could be caught but the odds are in our favour.

I cast my eye around the kitchen, one last check to make sure everything is as we found it. Lydia has wiped up all the crumbs from the Nutella sandwiches she insisted on making as a packed lunch and for once I didn't argue it. After last time, I'm quite happy to let her make all the preparations she needs – even though I'm tapping my foot just a little as she slices them in half and wraps them in clingfilm.

‘Let's go then.' I hold the back door open and catch a pained look on her face. I ignore it. This is how it has to be. We're a team and we're on a deadline. Despite my renewed focus, I give the house one last fond look. It's defined happiness for me as well as providing sanctuary and security for a brief spell, and with thumbscrews and pliers threatening my fingernails I might even admit it.

I am worried about Lydia's leg, which is well bandaged but she's limping. I don't say anything, namely because she hasn't, but I adapt my pace, even though I'm conscious of time. With fourteen hours to make it, every second really does count. From the Ordnance Survey map in the cottage, we've estimated that the haulage company depot is only a mile and a half away.

It"s six o'clock in the morning and as we walk down the drive, neither of us says anything.

A mile and half, when you're counting every minute, is considerably further than you think it is. When the A J Evans Haulage Contractor sign looms over a drystone wall, I could punch the air with relief. It's taken us forty-five minutes, which is very slow going. Unfortunately the buildings are down a long tarmacked road, which feels unnecessarily cruel of whoever is in charge up there.

‘Do you want to wait here?' I ask, nodding towards Lydia's leg. I want to run up the drive to save some time. If they say no, we're going to have to walk further.

‘I think the sob story will be better if they see me hobbling up the drive,' she says.

‘I still think you should see a doctor.'

She raises an eyebrow. ‘How would we factor that in? I'll see one when we get back to London. There isn't time now and it's probably too risky.'

‘And you don't think this is?'

‘Less risky than our original plan of trying to hitch from the motorway?'

I purse my lips and together we walk up to the offices.

‘Morning, you're up bright and early. Can I help you?' the woman in the portacabin greets us as she wheels her chair to the front desk, which is the closest thing to a reception desk in the somewhat shabby but immaculately tidy office. There are neat rows of filing cabinets lined up against one wall, some kind of laddered planner and a vast cork pinboard where every piece of paper is pinned in rows with orderly precision.

Suddenly, asking for a lift doesn't seem quite so straightforward now.

‘I hope so,' says Lydia with her usual guileless honesty.

I glance at the woman's spotless white shirt tucked into smart black trousers and the discreet but expensive gold bracelets on her wrist. My mother would approve wholeheartedly of her understated elegance. The outfit wouldn't wow anyone on the catwalk, but it says a lot about her. I bet she runs this office with maximum efficiency. I'm aware of our rain-stained, crumpled clothes and muddy boots.

‘Well, spit it out, love. I haven't got all day. I've got an empire to run.' Then she winks at Lydia. ‘Run off my feet, I am.' There's an air of quiet calm which belies the words.

I smile at her as she assesses Lydia, recognising their shared type. I bet she knows exactly where everything is, doesn't like unexpected surprises, always get the job done and doesn't suffer slackers. There's only one way to approach this. The truth, the whole truth and absolutely no bullshit, which is Lydia to a T.

‘I'm going to be honest with you. We're on a reality TV thing, I don't know if you've ever seen Hunted? It's a bit like that except we've got to get to London by 8pm tonight – we were trying to get to the M6 to hitch but I had an accident and I've hurt my leg. I can't walk that far and if we don't make it together, we're disqualified. I can't let my friend here down.'

She nods and assesses us both through shrewd eyes.

‘I expect you know it's against company policy for our drivers to stop and pick up hitchers.'

I nod. ‘Yes. We're both in loss adjusting and I've done a loss for a lorry hijacking. I'm well aware of the risks to drivers who make unplanned stops.'

She looks at me as if she's seeing me for the first time and nods as Lydia chips in.

‘That's if they stop but … what if they started with a passenger or two and dropped them off?'

The woman laughs and turns to me. ‘Got a sharp one here,' she says, and then huffs out a sigh and catches her lower lip between her teeth, giving Lydia another one of her penetrating looks.

‘Like I said, it's against company policy and I don't want to set a precedent but –' she flashes a grin ‘– I'm the boss, so I get to decide.'

‘You're A J Evans,' I state with a responding smile. Of course she is. I bet she could run an empire.

‘Aye. Antonia Jane Evans. I inherited the business from my old dad and I've doubled the fleet since then. My hubby is driving in a couple of hours and he's got an empty load, so he could take you. Only going as far as Leighton Buzzard, mind. He'll be leaving at nine. And I figure if you're wanting a favour, I could make you work for it.'

‘Of course,' Lydia says plunging us straight into who knows what. Admittedly we're in for a bit of a wait so I suppose we've got nothing better to do.

‘My admin lady has phoned in sick. We're doing a big presentation tomorrow and she was going to print, photocopy and bind all the documents.' She gives us a delighted grin. ‘Think you can handle it?'

‘Absolutely,' I say. I like her style. She's not one to take any crap and she's not above taking advantage of the situation for her own ends. Good for her. She could be Lydia's … no, not mother. Antonia has that same grab-things-by-the-scruff-of-the-neck approach. I get the impression that Lydia's parents weren't that organised. I'm intrigued by the admission that she doesn't keep in touch with them, although equally horrified that they trashed her house. I just can't imagine anyone's parents doing that. Maybe she means that they weren't able to manage the house and let it fall into disrepair, although that doesn't ring true. Knowing Lydia, she would sort things out if that were the case. Why did she let that happen to the house? It's a question I'll have to ask her later. Things are suddenly speeding up. It looks like this evening we'll be back in London. Leighton Buzzard isn't that far from London.

Two hours and a thousand photocopied pages later – or at least it feels like that – and some very nice tea and biscuits – thank you, Antonia – we're high up in the driver's cab looking down on the cars on the M6 with a very garrulous Mr Evans, who it appears is delighted to have company and is very proud of his missus.

‘Runs a tight ship, does our Antonia. A few raised eyebrows when she took over but –' his shy grin is full of mischief ‘– by God, she put 'em in their place. Competitors don't say owt now. She don't take any nonsense.'

It's a four-hour journey, throughout which Mr Evans talks and talks and talks. He has a lively interest in just about every subject in the known universe, from the essential role of ants in the ecosystem, how to get rid of dandruff and when to prune roses, through to why there are so many UFO sightings in Area 51. Apparently it's down to the confluence of cosmic ley lines that run through that particular part of Nevada. Who knew?

Every now and then Lydia's hand sneaks into mine and gives it a squeeze when he reveals yet another one of his very interesting facts.

I have a hard time not bursting out laughing when Lydia suddenly asks completely deadpan, ‘Have you ever thought about going on Mastermind?' Knowing Lydia, the question is kindly meant, and I feel a sudden warm glow inside. She's a really good person. When I've slept with people before I've never really worried about their character or what they're really like. Everything has been superficial. I never wanted it to be anything more. I suddenly realise that Lydia is a friend and I want her to like me as much as I like her. This revelation shakes me. Friends are friends, not lovers. Having feelings for someone gives them control. They'll only want me if I give them what they want. My parents have always been careful with their affection. It's always earned, when we passed exams, did well at school, got our first jobs, got promoted. I'd never understood until now just how conditional it is.

Lydia nudges me in the ribs. ‘That will be fine, won't it, Tom?'

I haven't heard a word of the most recent conversation, I've been too lost in the revelations suddenly exploding a bit like a volcano spewing rocks, smashing deeply held assumptions. My parents' love is based on me fulfilling their desires, not what makes me or my siblings happy.

It's a deeply sobering and depressing realisation.

Lydia repeats Mr Evans. ‘He's going to drop us off at the railway station.'

‘Here we go, then,' says Mr Evans as he pulls up outside Leighton Buzzard Station. ‘Did you know that the Great Train Robbery happened on this line? Between here and the next stop, Cheddington.'

‘Well I never,' says Lydia. ‘Thanks so much for the lift.'

‘No problem and give AJ Evans a shout out when you're on the telly. My missus will be made up.'

‘We will,' says Lydia as we climb down from the cab. We wave goodbye as he drives off and I think my ears might just be thanking me for the cessation of a constant stream of facts.

‘Do you think there's anything, he didn't know?' Lydia asks. ‘He's a very nice man but I think I have a headache.'

‘Hopefully next time we see him, he'll be on Who Wants to be a Millionaire?'

‘Yeah,' Lydia says with a giggle, ‘as the phone-a-friend guy.'

She starts to walk over to the station, which has the appearance of a Lego building, neat and symmetrical.

‘Er, Lydia. Small problem. We don't have any train fare.'

The expression on her face is suddenly sheepish. ‘Ah, well. About that… I might have a small confession,' she says, looking at the painted trim of the station as if it's the most fascinating thing to mankind.

‘What sort of confession?' I ask, a little amused by the pinkness of her face.

She tugs at her earlobe. It's not something I've seen her do before. She's so cute and un-Lydia-like at this moment in time, I want to kiss her.

‘Is it really so bad?' I ask.

‘Not really. I mean. Well. Actually…' Her eyes slide beyond me and suddenly she straightens. ‘Look! The train goes through Berkhamsted. Isn't that where your family lives?'

I nod.

She claps her hands in delight. ‘Perfect. You can go and see them. Isn't it your mum's birthday party today?'

‘How the hell did you remember that?'

She does one of her infamous shrugs. ‘I remember stuff. And didn't you say you were going to be in trouble if you miss it? Well, now you don't have to. It's serendipity. We can call in, stay for a few hours and still get to Trafalgar Square before 8pm.'

Her expression radiates delight. She honestly thinks she's doing me a favour.

‘Your mother will be so pleased to see you.' Her earnest look makes my heart hurt. ‘Do you think she'd mind one extra?'

Lydia has no idea. My mother will not be pleased to see us in this state. My presence and that of my siblings is purely so that our parents can show their friends how well their children are doing. I'm supposed to look smart and successful. I look down at our clothes. Even though we've showered and cleaned up some, our clothes are still creased and splotched with dried mud – our appearance is not saying ‘young professionals on the up'.

Then I notice the stain on Lydia's trousers. Her wound is obviously weeping through the dressing and the fabric of her trousers. Shit, she really needs to see a doctor.

‘No,' I lie blithely. ‘The more the merrier.' I wonder for a second if I'll be struck down with this blatant lie. My mother does not do spontaneity or uninvited guests, however my doctor cousin will be there. ‘And you can meet Annette, who helped put your shoulder back. She can take a proper look at that leg of yours.'

It's noticeable that Lydia neither rolls her eyes nor makes any comment. Previously she's been insistent her leg is fine.

Suddenly we're in front of the manned ticket office.

‘Two tickets to Berkhamsted,' says Lydia.

‘Lydia!' I watch as she produces a sock from her rucksack and from it pulls a roll of cash. There must be over two hundred pounds in her hand.

‘What the …'

She gives me a blithe smile as she hands over a couple of twenty pound notes.

I don't fucking believe it. She's had all this cash on her all this time.

‘Next train is platform four at fourteen minutes past.' As the ticket guy hands over the tickets, I'm speechless – shock or rage? I can't decide which. Whichever it is, I'm mute as I follow her to the platform.

Before I can say anything, because I'm too busy seething – it's rage, I've decided – she holds up a hand. ‘It was my emergency stash.'

I digest this for a couple of seconds. ‘And what… What exactly … constitutes an emergency?' Yeah, I'm still a little verbally constipated right now. After everything we've been through … We could have caught a train from Kendal the very first night, we could have paid for a cab to … to anywhere.

‘Well, we're so close now and we did do everything to this point under our own steam and we still could but I figured it's important for you to get to your mum's birthday celebration, so it's all right to cheat a bit. I mean if we hitched to London from here, we'd be there today. So if we spend a bit of money to do this, it's not really cheating, is it?'

I stare at her, my brain trying to catch up with her logic. Again she has that earnest look in her face, the one that suggests she's being totally honest and true to her own value system, which at this moment is totally impenetrable to me.

‘Look, I know how important this is to your mum. You can't let her down.'

Shit, she means it. I feel guilty. I should have been more honest about my relationship with my parents. My mother does not deserve this blind belief in her maternal wholesomeness. Lydia has absolutely no idea and if it weren't for the damp patch on the front of her trousers, I'd tell her that we're going straight to London, but I really want Annette to take a look and persuade her she needs to go to hospital. Hopefully Lydia will listen to a medical professional, because she's certainly not listening to me.

* * *

The treat of a flat white coffee restores some of my equilibrium, even though I say for the ninth or tenth time, ‘I can't believe you had all that money on you and never said anything.'

Lydia glares at me and huffs out a sigh. ‘I'm not going to apologise. So you can just suck it up.'

She has the most delightful petulant expression on her face and it makes me laugh. Stubborn, funny, principled, honest and resourceful – there's nothing about her I don't like. Even though I know I shouldn't, I enfold her in my arms and pull her in for a quick kiss before resting my forehead against hers. ‘You're amazing. How's that?'

‘About time you recognised it,' she says and put her arms around me and hugs me back. We stand like that on the platform until the restless movement of people around us signifies that the train is coming down the track.