eat Bifidus activertium, or whatever it’s called, every day? That. Only he didn’t need any props to lick.
He’d strode right up to us. Blimey, what confidence he seemed to have. It was a bluff. Best foot forward for an interview and all that. He’s no peacock, but a shy bird like me. ‘I’m Nick Parsons. I have an eleven o’clock interview?’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Sorry, I’m early. That’s annoying, isn’t it. I did wait outside for a bit, but it started raining.’
When he smiled apologetically, I wanted to hug him.
‘How long have you been out there?’ June asked. Nick’s hair was soaked. Even so, it was a thick wavy mop.
‘About an hour. Hour and a half, tops.’ Then he laughed at himself. ‘I nearly camped overnight in your garden. My own sad little Glastonbury, without the music.’
‘And not even Portaloos,’ I said. ‘I’m glad it didn’t come to that.’
‘I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late. I’m… keen for this job.’
June hired him in the interview. She got her perfect employee, and I got a blinding crush that I still haven’t recovered from.
Within about a week it seemed like Nick had always been here. He’s so easy-going that he’s doing everything in Max’s unreasonable job description, and then some. Aside from being the occupational therapist, Scrabble organiser, exercise and yoga instructor, he’s also the part-time gardener, driver and handyman. No matter what Max asks him to do, Nick throws himself into it without a grumble.
This is great for me, since we haven’t got a dedicated games table, therapy room or exercise studio. There are TVs in each of the two lounges, and woe betide anyone who disrupts the viewing schedules, so Nick uses the large dining room that’s just off my kitchen. Which means we spend most of our days together. Or at least separated by only a wall.
To say we don’t get much eye candy around here would be an understatement. Aside from our boss, Max (mid-fifties, not bad-looking if paunchy baldness turns you on), and his horrid father who lives in the cottage at the back of the property, and Davey, the Morrison’s delivery bloke, we’re all women here. Even the half-dozen carers who are on hand to help everyone with their day-to-day needs. The residents like it that way. That is why they live in a women-only home.
They love Nick, though. Who wouldn’t? He’s fifty per cent Greek and one hundred per cent Greek god. He is well over six feet tall and built like a swimmer, and somehow his features combine into the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen in real life. They shouldn’t, really. He might have a finely chiselled jaw and high cheekbones, with a smile that’s absolutely impossible not to return when you see it, plus heart-meltingly deep brown eyes. But his eyebrows are caterpillar-thick and his nose is definitely Grecian so, objectively, I know he’s not really perfect.
Just perfect to me.
What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through his silky-looking nearly black hair, preferably while we’re in a passionate clinch and he’s telling me how gorgeous I am.
If only he were dim, or mean or boring. Then my life would be loads easier.
But he’s not, and it isn’t. Nick hit me like a triple shot of ouzo, with all the fire in my tummy but none of the nasty after-effects… well, at least not right away. Let’s just say it was a delayed hangover.
The sad fact is, I love him and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about that.
‘You don’t really think she’s out here, do you?’ Nick says accusingly as he slows down for me to catch up.
Of course he knows this is just another attempt to be near him. ‘She could be.’
‘Uh-huh. When was the last time Laney went outside for anything other than tea on the lawn? Admit it, this is just an excuse.’
I’m admitting nothing. ‘Mmm?’ I should have expected this. I’ve been about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
‘It’s too nice to be inside,’ he goes on with a sly smile. ‘Look at that sky. How can we not want to enjoy it? You’ve got spring fever.’
‘This is August.’
‘It’s overdue, then. This is my favourite month.’
‘You said that in March when the clocks went forward. And in June when the roses came out.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m easy when it comes to my calendar affections. Let’s get outside for lunch today. Even for half an hour or so. It’s supposed to rain all weekend. What do you say? I don’t have yoga till two.’
I nearly laugh with the relief. ‘Right, yes, great idea. I’ll put together some bits. There’s leftover quiche, and I can do that smoked aubergine dip. It doesn’t take long. And the sourdough will be out of the oven in half an hour.’
When he grins, the laugh lines crinkle from the corners of his eyes. ‘You know the way to a man’s heart.’
If only that were true.
‘I’m sure Laney will turn up,’ I tell him as we near the greenhouse. ‘If she’s not in there, we can have another look through the house together.’
I told you I was shameless.
And just to show that no evil deed goes unpunished, my tummy twists as Nick opens the glass door.
‘Ooh.’ That hurts.
He turns back to me. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Just my tummy. I’ll be fine.’
Leave it to my ulcer to ruin the moment. Not that standing around in a dirty shed is much of a moment, but I’m working with what I can get. ‘She’s not in here,’ I say, peering at the compost bags like she could be hiding in one. ‘I think we should check inside again.’
What did I expect to happen here, anyway? That overcome with emotion and the smell of damp, Nick would leap over the strimmer and declare his love?
That ship sailed months ago.
June catches my eye as I hurtle down the hall towards the kitchen and my medicine. Her look is pure sympathy.
When it first started happening, I assumed it was just indigestion. That can be an occupational hazard as a cook. But eventually, when the pain went on and on, I had to look for another diagnosis.
I found it, but not before I’d humiliated myself in front of Nick and ruined any chance of him ever asking me out again.
‘Feeling better?’ June asks when I get back to find that Laney still hasn’t turned up. ‘Max left. He didn’t notice anything amiss.’
‘Fine, thanks.’ Or at least I will be in a few minutes, once the pain relief kicks in. To be fair to Mum, she didn’t really give me an ulcer, as much as I like to claim otherwise. Doctors used to think that stress and hot food cause them, but they don’t. They just aggravate ones that are already there thanks to too many anti-inflammatory drugs or, in my case, a weasely little bugger of a bacteria. Helicobacter pylori, to give it its official name. It’s supposed to clear up now that I’m on antibiotics.
‘Have we checked everyone’s room?’ I ask June. ‘Maybe Laney is upstairs.’
She nods. ‘I sent everyone back to their room to look for her. They’ve all come back now and still no sign.’
Nick had set up the Scrabble boards before we noticed Laney’s disappearance, and some of the residents have started their games.
As we scan the large dining room, June says, ‘What about Maggie?!’
Of course. Maggie’s not down here. Hers is the only room that hasn’t been checked. ‘I don’t suppose you want to go look?’ I ask June.
When she shakes her head, her blonde curls bob around her face. Growing up, I wanted her corkscrews.