A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) Page 5

  The lady lowers her eyes back to the cellophane.

  “I do,” she replies. “The village church, plot forty-nine.”

  I nod as she hands me a pad and pen. I take the pen from her and quickly sign my name.

  “Hopefully,” I add, “you won’t have another wasted journey tomorrow.”

  I pass her back the flowers.

  “He can’t be that bad,” she says. “I’d love my partner to buy me flowers every day, and at the cost of these he can’t be short of a bob or two.”

  “He’s not my partner,” I’m quick to reply, and I raise my brows. “Yeah he’s got money alright, he’s a millionaire.”

  I see a sudden interest in her eyes.

  “But he thinks he can buy anyone or anything he wants. He treats people like possessions; he takes what he wants and then throws them away.”

  “Oh…” the woman says.

  “No matter how many flowers he buys, I can never get back the one thing he’s taken from me.”

  She shakes her head. “I wasn’t lucky enough to find a millionaire, but the bloke I did find was a bastard too.”

  “Amen.” I chuckle.

  She nods in reply. “Well, there’s plenty of them out there, it’s just our luck to find them, eh?”

  She searches through the budded roses and chooses an open flower, snapping it from its stem.

  “Here,” she says, giving me a half smile.

  She leans towards me, reaching up with her hand, and I automatically crouch. She lifts my hair from the side of my face and weaves the stem through the thick strands towards my ear, where she leaves the pretty petals sitting at the side of my face.

  “Thank you,” I utter as she clasps the bouquet against her chest and turns away from me.

  I call out as she reaches the van, and her head shoots round.

  “Did you ever find Mr Right?”

  “Afraid not,” she chuckles, “they were all assholes.” She pauses. “Well, the ones I ended up with were. I found my Mrs Right, though,” she added, pulling herself up into the driver’s seat.

  “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” I add with a knowing smirk.

  I hear the rev of the engine, then I pick up Hooper’s lead and walk down the driveway.

  How fortunate I am to live in the countryside, surrounded by all this beauty. I glimpse up, and watch the sun dance its golden patterns in front of my eyes as I saunter from one tree-lined country lane to the next.

  I can’t get Snow out of my mind. It’s so annoying, because I know I mean nothing to him; I literally feel my heart drop in my chest. He sends me flowers, but why? I made a right fool of myself, practically throwing myself into his arms. Services rendered, he left me feeling like no more than a hooker.

  When he left, I showered for hours under water as hot as I could bear, but still I couldn’t wash the feeling of his hands from my body, or his presence out of my mind. How could I have fallen in love with such a jerk? I kick at a clump of sprouting bluebells. Maybe he thinks he’s keeping me sweet by sending me flowers; a girl in every country, and I’m his next lay when he flies over to England. Somehow I don’t think so. Hooper’s lead pulls taut behind me; I’m slightly out of breath.

  “Sorry, boy,” I apologise, stopping for a moment to catch my breath.

  I bend down and ruffle his wiry fur between my fingers. I hadn’t realised I was dragging him.

  I glance around; the trees, the broken fence we used to climb over, nothing had changed, nothing at all; it was all exactly the same ten years on. Snow loved racing off in front of me on his Raleigh bike, his gears allowing him to go far faster than me. I remember my own dilapidated excuse for a bike; I’d call after him at the top of my voice to slow down as I pedalled behind, losing him from sight. Not forgetting Hooper, he’d sit in the little white basket perched between my handlebars with his tongue hanging out to the side.

  A glint of sunlight filters through the trees, catching the water of the small lake. I smile, then quickly shake my head and my smile away; during those six weeks we came here every day without fail. I edge towards the knotted rope with the worn tyre that still hangs from the old horse chestnut. Crouching down, I run my fingers through the crisp leaves as Hooper, now lead free, forages between the bushes before dipping his front paws in the slow-flowing stream. I watch him with a smile, then squint and look far deeper. His head is tilted to one side; thinking back, it has been like that for the last few weeks, but I hadn’t really given it a second thought.

  “Hooper!” I shout, and he walks back to me unsteadily. “Come here, boy.”

  I hold his head between my hands, but his eyes don’t focus on mine, flickering back and forth at speed, unable to focus on anything.

  “God, Hooper, no, not now, I can’t lose you as well.”

  I can hardly breathe as I reach for my phone. He’s not insured; with everything that had happened, I’d forgotten to renew the policy.

  I’ve got no money; how can I afford vet bills? In a panic, I scroll down my contacts. Sam’s name pops up—he was an old flame of mine. He’s at university, studying veterinary something or other; that will do. I press my finger on his name and listen as it rings.

  “Darcy?” I hear his deep voice on the other end. “How’s things?”

  “Sam, it’s Hooper.” As quick as my words allow, I spit out his symptoms. “Please, Sam, tell me what I should do.”

  “Well, calm down for one, it’s probably nothing; often when dogs hold their head to one side it’s an obstruction or ear infection. Stop worrying. I’m home for the summer, so I can come and take a look at him if you like?”

  “Oh yes, yes please. He’s old, he’s my baby…” My voice breaks. “He’s all I’ve got left.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, I know how much you love him. Erm…” The line goes quiet for a moment. “I’m dropping my nephew off at football, so give me a few hours. I’ll probably get to you around six.”

  “Thank you so much. Say hello to Riley for me; guess he’s in goal?” I do the best I can to show a little interest, since I’d hate him to think I was just using him.

  “No, he’s not in goal any more, he plays mid-field.”

  “No way! He always hated running.”

  “Well, people change…”

  The line falls quiet. Not knowing quite what to say, I swallow.

  “You could see for yourself if you like?” he says. “Maybe you could come along to one of his matches?”

  I can tell by the way he speaks and by the softening of his voice that he still has feelings for me. But it wouldn’t be fair; I couldn’t imagine standing next to him cheering Riley on, and I know Sam would read far too much into it. He’s great as a friend, but on the intimacy side, it would never happen.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “Yeah maybe, thanks,” I say, ending the call.

  I lie back as the sun casts its shadows through the trees.

  “What say we head home, old fella? We’ll do our usual walk tomorrow.”

  He rests his head across my stomach, and I almost crush his little body under my arm I am holding him so tightly. I look down at his little face until he closes his eyes, and I lower my lids for a few moments.

  My body jerks forwards; I feel the rose slip from my hair. My eyes shoot open as Hooper barks at some cyclists riding past. Blinking myself awake, I check the time on my phone: four-thirty.

  “Damn it!” I curse; the house viewing was at three o’clock. Jenny will kill me.

  I jump to my feet and bundle Hooper up in my arms; he’s not walking any further today. I amble back to the house with his head resting against mine. I lower him onto the porch, pop my key into the lock and turn. I frown; the door is already unlocked.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The hall carpet and stairs are littered with hundreds of rose petals in every shade imaginable. Snow, he must be here. I take a sideways glance into the square mirror on the wall to my left, ruffle my hair in my hand
s, pout and quickly shake my head. What am I doing?

  “Hooper, don’t run!” I call after him as he darts into the kitchen.

  I really don’t want to see Snow, not now, yet I can’t fight the way I feel. They’re not strides but tentative steps I take through the arched doorway into the kitchen.

  My heart is pounding. Jolting backwards, I bang into the wall-mounted shelves. Hearing a crashing sound, I look down. Mum’s chef ornament, the one holding the corkscrew, lies shattered on the floor.

  “Fuck’s sake!” I throw my hands over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I quickly add. But why am I apologising? And who the hell is this man in my house? “Now look what you’ve made me do!”

  I can feel my face reddening as I scoop up numerous jagged pieces in the hope I might be able to glue them back together. I let out a loud sigh, then gaze up from under my lashes and scowl at the red-headed man looking quite relaxed on a chair with his feet crossed and leaning on the table top.

  “Well, I’m waiting,” I hiss, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor. “Who the hell are you, and how’d you get in?”

  My eyes whizz round to check everything’s still in its place. I guess he must sense my thoughts.

  “Hey, I’m not a burglar, I’ve not come here to rob you.”

  Distrusting, I continue to look around. How did I manage to miss the baskets of flowers that had taken over the kitchen, their sweet scent having a rather bitter undertone. Hooper stands on his back legs, his front paws running up the stranger’s bare thighs. The man reaches down, patting him on the head.

  “Do you work at the florist?” I quiz, to which he shakes his head. “An explanation would be nice.”

  His white teeth glisten as he smiles.

  My eyes narrow. “No, actually forget it, I’m ringing the police.”

  I turn my back on him.

  “Snow sent me.” His words stop me dead.

  I turn back and again I ask him, “How did you get in?”

  “The front of the porch, the red gnome holding the fishing rod.”

  “Rodney?” That’s a family secret; nobody knows the way his head screws off.

  He chuckles. “Nice! Do you name all your ornaments?”

  I frown, not entertaining his humour.

  “God, lighten up, will ya? Snow told me where the key was kept.” His voice has suddenly lost its jovial edge.

  “How long have you been here?” I snap. “I had people coming to view the house; my sister is going to kill me.”

  Holding Hooper’s front legs in his hands, he lowers him to the floor and stands up, straightening the creases from his white shorts. “Here, this might explain.”

  He steps towards me, and I move away.

  “I don’t bite,” he tells me, holding out an envelope, which tentatively I take from his hand.

  “I’m Chase.” He bows. “There, introductions over.”

  I roll my eyes. Sarcastic git. He’s a fair bit taller than me, and his skin is red and blotchy. His freckles seem to merge together on his wide cheeks.

  I open my mouth to respond. “I’m…”

  He holds up his forefinger and wags it.

  “You don’t need to tell me your name, I know who you are, and don’t worry about the house viewing you had at three o’clock; that was me.”

  I scratch my head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Open the letter, then you will.”

  I slit the seal with my finger, pull out the note and read: ‘If flowers can’t buy my lady maybe a house can. Compliments of Snow’.

  I feel sick. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, Darcy, this is no joke. The offer’s been made and accepted.”

  I throw the letter across the floor.

  “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  He laughs, showing his teeth.

  “Well, I can assure you it’s all kosher.”

  “If that’s the case, where is he?”

  I turn, expecting Snow to appear round the door, walk in or gaze through a window.

  “I wouldn’t bother if I were you, he’s in Mexico on business. I’m his personal assistant; a better word for it is his bitch.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He clicks his fingers, I jump. Joking apart, he’s a sound guy.”

  I’m lost for words, and for a moment it appears he is too.

  “I’m not being funny.” His face straightens. “I’m jet lagged after a ten-hour flight, and starving. Have you got any food in this place? I’ve raided the fridge and enjoyed the chicken, but there wasn’t much else.”

  I struggle to keep my face straight; the chicken was Hooper’s dinner and about a week old.

  “I’ve ordered the shopping online, but it isn’t being delivered till tomorrow. I can order a takeaway if you like?” What am I saying? Why am I being so nice, making him feel at home? To hell with this.

  I open my mouth, about to tell him to get out.

  “That’s very kind, thank you so much.”

  I glance towards Hooper, who’s lying stretched out with his head buried between his front paws. I think of Sam, and consider this the perfect excuse to get rid of him later.

  “You must be gone for six.”

  “Seriously? I’ve flown over here to deliver the good news in person, and I’m knackered and hungry. All I’m asking is to have something to eat and the couch to kip on for a night or two. Is that really too much to ask?”

  “Well yes, it is really. I don’t normally invite strange men into my house.”

  “You didn’t invite me,” he said with a smirk.

  I bite down on my lip, quashing a smile, then turn and rip the pizza flyer from the pin-board next to the fridge.

  “I’ll think about it,” I mumble, tossing the laminated menu his way and then leaning back against the work surface, crossing my arms.

  “Snow wasn’t joking when he said you were a looker. I must give him his due, he’s got good taste in women.”

  I feel my face redden, but turn away towards the window, not wanting him to see.

  “What else did he say?” I ask, placing my chin on my left shoulder.

  I feel my heart flutter; I can’t help but probe.

  “Not a lot, just that you intrigue him.”

  “And?” I spin round on my toes and raise my hand, prompting him to continue.

  “And nothing. That’s good going for Snow, coz he keeps his feelings close to his chest.” He takes a long breath in. “Pineapple?”

  “You what?”

  “The pizza topping?”

  “Yeah, order whatever,” I say, tossing him my phone. “I’ve got twenty pounds in the kitty.”

  Intrigue him? What’s that supposed to mean? He calls me kidda, then treats me like a prostitute, the next minute buys me flowers, and now a house! My heart, my head, nothing can settle, there are so many questions I need to ask him, yet I’m here with his pal while he’s on the other side of the world.

  I flick the switch on the kettle.

  “Tea?” I ask.

  With his ear pressed to my phone, Chase nods.

  “Black, one sugar,” he mutters between ordering dinner.

  Steam rises up into my face as I pour boiling water from the kettle into a mug. Or am I the mug? I stir it, watching the teabag swirl round and round. Where’s the proof of the house sale? There’s no phone call from the estate agent, no phone call from my sister; what game is Snow playing? Mum always told me that if something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

  Chase hangs up the phone, sliding it across the table towards me.

  I pass him his mug of tea, and a white crock sugar bowl. I scratch the top of my arm.

  “I want to speak to Snow,” I say, looking into his amber eyes.

  I’m waiting for an excuse, a reason why not. Chase doesn’t reply, though his stare doesn’t deviate from me as pulls his own phone from his pocket and presses the screen.

  “Here, be my guest.”

  My mouth f
eels dry, and I hold my breath upon hearing his voice on the other end.

  “S’up, mate, everything going through okay?” The volume is turned up, and his voice booms into my ear.

  “Snow…” My reply is no more than a whisper.

  “Darc, is that you?” There’s now a softer edge to his tone.

  I can hear Chase swallowing as he takes large gulps of tea.

  “Why?” is the only word I can muster.

  “You know why. I’ve had you once and I liked it; I liked the way you felt.”

  There’s a pause. With my index finger I feel for the volume switch to turn it down. But I’m not quick enough, and hear him continue.

  “I’m holding my dick in my hand; I’m in need of my next fix.”

  “That’s disgusting,” I hiss.

  “Darcy… I’m licking my lips; I can still taste you.”

  I glance up at Chase, who is choking on his tea. I clamp my knees together, though my heart almost misses its next beat; I can’t bear to hear any more, so hang up.

  An uncomfortable heat rushes through my body; I can feel my cheeks reddening and tilt my head slightly so that Chase can’t see. He tries to stymie his sniggers but I catch the grin he wears so smugly. I feel the colour drain from my cheeks and look up, my eyebrows almost fastened together as my face falls into a frown.

  “You heard every word, didn’t you?”

  Chase unfolds his arms from his lap and lifts his hands, palms face up.

  “Hey, I’m not here to judge,” he says with a shake of the head. “But you and Snow, this shit’s fucked up.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about…” My very core trembles with rage. “I’ve had just about enough of you and Snow. He can’t buy the house and think he owns me, and as for the flowers…”

  I gaze from one wicker basket to another, then look down at the dying rose petals around my feet.

  “I’m sick of the sight of them, and then there’s you.”

  I shoot him an icy stare, the anger growing in my voice.

  “Me?” he said sarcastically.

  “Yes,” I bite back. “He sends his gopher to do his dirty work.”

  A short burst of laughter leaves Chase’s lips, and he rolls his eyes as he leans back in the chair, tipping it on two legs as his eyes make their way up and down my body.