Back to the Farm Ch. 10

Gemma was silent for a moment. "You need to talk to Matt," she said eventually. "You need to hear the other side of the story."

"No." Melissa shook her head once more. "I don't want anything to do with him. I don't ever want to see him again.

"You don't mean that." Gemma's tone became brisk. "Besides, you're going to have to see him, whether you like it or not. What about the farm? I thought you still needed to decide whether or not you were going to build those houses?"

"Weren't you listening?" Melissa gave her another disbelieving look. "I told you, I don't want any part of it."

"You feel like that now, I know," Gemma said gently. "But—"

"I'm not going to change my mind!"

She frowned. "You can't avoid him for ever. He's going to come looking for you."

"Yeah well, I wish him luck with that." Melissa suddenly felt a rush of vicious satisfaction. "I never did tell him where I really live."

"What?" Gemma's frown deepened. "Oh, that's great. So he's going to come here, is he? Wonderful. What the hell am I supposed to tell him when he shows up?"

Right on cue, a loud buzzing came from the hall, the sound making both women start. Recognising the noise, Melissa gazed at Gemma in consternation. "Oh God, that's the door. You don't think...?"

Gemma groaned, already pushing herself up from her armchair. "Who else could it be? Of course it's him. Where else would he—?"

"Don't let him in!" Panic-stricken, Melissa leapt to her feet, flinging out her arms to block her friend's path. "Please?"

"Melissa!"

"We can pretend no one's here. He'll never know."

Gemma shook her head. "Come on," she cajoled. "I really don't think you should put this off. The sooner you get this sorted out, the better."

"But there's nothing to sort out," she protested as the buzzer sounded again. "It's simple, okay? I don't want to see him. Ever."

"Liss—" Gemma flinched as their would-be visitor began beating out an impatient tattoo on the call button downstairs. "I really don't think he's going to give up that easily."

"He'll have to," Melissa retorted, edging behind the settee as though she half-expected Matt to burst in at any moment. "Please, Gem? Don't let him—"

"For fuck's sake!" someone bellowed from the room next door. "Couldn't one of you girls open the bloody door?"

Melissa uttered a gasp, recognising the voice of Gemma's husband. "Steve's here?" she exclaimed, glaring at her friend. "You never said!"

"I didn't think I needed to," Gemma said, hastening towards the doorway. "I thought you knew he was home on leave this week. Oh shit—Steve! Wait!"

But it was too late. Having emerged from the bedroom, Steve was already striding down the hall to the entry phone by the door. "So much for having a lie-in," he grumbled as he snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Steve!" Catching up with him at last, Gemma gave his elbow a sharp tug. "No," she hissed, shaking her head, eyes wide. "Don't!"

"What?" Steve frowned, flapping a hand to silence her as he tried to listen to the phone. "Who?" His frown deepened. "Lissy? Oh... You mean Melissa?"

"No!" Gemma mouthed, frantically criss-crossing her arms in front of her chest. "No!"

But to Melissa's dismay, Steve took no heed. "Well, I guess you'd better come up then," he said gruffly. And before Gemma could do anything to stop him, he pressed the switch that released the door.

*

Astounded that gaining access had been that simple, Matt took the stairs two at a time, his heart racing. He still didn't have a clue what he was going to say, didn't know if she'd even give him a chance to explain. But he was going to try. He had to try.

He'd watched in silence as the taxi pulled away, remaining rooted to the spot long after it disappeared around the bend in the drive, long after the engine died away and the sound of birdsong returned, the wind rustling through the leaves of the huge copper beech. And for a few moments, it was though it hadn't happened. Lissy wasn't gone. Nothing had changed. He could turn around, walk back into the bungalow and find her waiting for him in the bedroom.

"So that's it?"

The utter incredulity in Jason's voice had been enough to shake him back to his senses. He hadn't even realised his friend had been standing behind him.

"You're just going to let her go?"

Matt swallowed, numbness finally giving way to a dull, nagging pain low in his stomach. "I don't think I have much choice. You heard her."

There was a pause before Jason spoke again. "I heard her, yes. I also heard what she didn't say."

Matt uttered a snort, swivelling to face him. "What she didn't say?"

"You really think she wanted to go?" Jason looked grim. "You really think she didn't want you to stop her?"

"Stop her?" Matt sent him a despairing glance. "How the fuck was I supposed to stop her? Jason—I screwed up. I screwed up big time."

"Yeah, you did," Jason shot back. "You're damned right you did. And if you don't go after her right now, you're gonna make the biggest mistake of your life."

Matt glared at him. "She doesn't want me to go after her!"

"You honestly believe that?" Jason shook his head in frank disbelief. "Matt, if you believe that, you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were. For fuck's sake, she loves you."

"No." Matt shook his head. "Not any more. And I don't blame her."

"What, you think you can fall out of love? Just like that?"

"She did before."

"Youare a bloody fool." Jason gave a groan of frustration. "She never stopped loving you. You never stopped loving her."

"Jason!"

"All right, tell me it isn't true. Give me the real reason why you've never settled down. Tell me why you've moved from one blonde bimbo to the next, deliberately picking women who look nothing at all like Lissy, never letting yourself get too attached, never staying with any of them for more than a few months."

"For God's sake!" Matt was beginning to feel uncomfortable, his friend unwittingly giving voice to the revelation he'd had himself the previous morning.

"No, tell me, Matt." Jason remained undeterred. "Go on. Tell me that you didn't give your heart to that girl twenty years ago. Maybe even longer ago than that."

Matt couldn't. He already knew it was true. It beggared belief it'd taken him so long to figure out. Or maybe it didn't. Maybe he'd always known, just never allowed himself to think about it. "It's too late," he'd said at last, with an air of resignation

"It will be, if you don't do something right now."

"I can't!" Matt had held up his phone. "I need to call Mike back. The fucking project's a disaster, the shit's hit the fan. My career's on the line—"

"Tough call," Jason had cut in, giving him a withering look. "The woman you've always loved or the job you've always hated. Hmm, which way to jump?"

It had, in the end, been a no-brainer. So he'd driven like a lunatic back to Mickleton, spent the whole journey on the phone, to Paula, Mike then Paula again. But there wasn't much time. He had four hours, tops, to persuade Lissy to listen to him. He could only pray it'd be enough.

Having bounded along the corridor, he drew to a halt outside flat number nine, and just as had happened the first time he'd visited, the door opened before he could lift a hand to knock. Only this time, it wasn't Gemma who greeted him.

As the wordsbuilt like a brick shit house swam through his head, he vaguely remembered Lissy using them to describe Gemma's husband. She hadn't been exaggerating.

"Hi," he said, doing his best not to be intimidated by the sheer bulk of the man facing him. "I need to talk to Lissy."

"She's not here," he heard Gemma say. And as the man obligingly shifted his right shoulder, he saw her standing behind him. "Hi Matt. Look, I'm really sorry. She was here, but she just left."

Her husband twisted round to shoot her a bewildered glance. "She did?"

"Yes." She fixed him with an icy glare. "You just missed her. But I'm sure she'll be back later—"

"Oh leave it out, Gemma," Matt interrupted irritably, realising there couldn't have been time for the couple to discuss Lissy's alibi. "I know she doesn't live here, okay? I've known all along. I drew up the plans for this bloody place, I know exactly how much these flats went for, for fuck's sake. Just cut the crap and tell me where she is."

"Excuse me?" Her husband gave Matt a menacing stare. "That's my wife you're talking to!"

"Steve!" she burst in, placing a placating hand on his muscular arm and throwing Matt an apologetic look. "It's okay, all right? I can handle this. Go and make some coffee or something."

Steve frowned, taking one last suspicious glance at Matt before he turned, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

"Sorry about that," Gemma said, grimacing slightly.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Where is she? I need to talk to her."

"Matt." She hesitated, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "I can't tell you that."

"Gemma, please? I haven't got much time here. I've got to go back to Singapore—today. I've got to be at the airport by two."

She winced, picking at a strand of her long blonde hair. "The thing is, she doesn't want to talk to you. I tried to tell her she should," she carried on in a much softer voice, almost a conspiratorial whisper. "I swear I did. But you know what she's like. Once she's made up her mind about something..."

Matt knew only too well. But just as his heart began to sink, some sixth sense suddenly kicked in. There was something about the words Gemma had chosen, the way she'd lowered her voice as though half-afraid she'd be overheard. "Right," he said slowly, deliberately lifting his own voice. "Then maybe you do me a favour? Could you give her a message for me?"

No, he wasn't wrong, he thought as he peered down the hall towards the partly closed living room door, only half-listening as Gemma acquiesced. Wasn't that Lissy's handbag beside the chair?

"Could you tell her that I'm truly sorry?" he began, still in that over-raised tone. "That I'm the idiot, not her? That I know I should've told her, that I should've told her years ago? That I was stupid to listen to Charlie, that I knew how upset she'd be when she found out. But he told me he loved her so much, he wouldn't have been able to bear seeing the look on her face when she found out."

Matt swallowed, closing his eyes as he remembered how many times he'd tried to persuade Charlie to change his mind. The stubborn old fool...

"I tried to tell him that you needed to know everything, Lissy," he went on, oblivious now to Gemma's presence. "But he was so ashamed. He knew how much you loved him, was sure it would change how you felt about him. I told him you were bound to be angry but that I was sure you'd get over it in time, once you knew the truth about what happened. But he wouldn't have it. Because he loved you, Lissy, okay? He might not have been your father, but he loved you just as much as he would a daughter. To have lost you would've broken his heart."

Behind Gemma's white leather sofa, Melissa hugged her knees to her chest, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.Matt knew she was there.

"So I kept the secrets. It was the wrong thing to do, but at the time it didn't feel as though I had much choice." He released a sigh. "Lissy, please. We need to talk. I haven't got much time. Paula's booked me on the next flight to Singapore and it looks like I'm going to be stuck out there for quite a while. So please? We need to do thisnow. Please talk to me?"

"Matt?"

He jumped when Gemma's tentative voice broke into the lengthy silence that greeted his plea. When he opened his eyes, he found her gazing at him in compassion.

"I'll tell her."

Maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe that wasn't Lissy's bag after all. Disappointment weighing heavy in his chest, he glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. "Damn it, I've got to go." And heaving another sigh, he turned towards the still open door. "She's already got my phone number. Please?" He gave Gemma an imploring look across his shoulder. "Get her to call me?"

She nodded. "I'll try," she said softly. "I promise I'll try."

Shooting her a half-smile of gratitude, he took three steps forward before stopping abruptly. "Wait," he began awkwardly, twisting back around. "One last thing. Would you tell her—just tell her—?"

Then his self-consciousness evaporated. What the hell. He had nothing to lose...

"I love you, Lissy Barton!" he called, leaning forward so that his voice would carry down the hallway. "Do you hear me? I've always loved you. So please—just phone me, okay?"

And ignoring Gemma's startled expression, Matt turned on his heel and slowly began walking towards the stairs.

*

"Right, I see. So do you have any idea when she's likely to be back?"

He grimaced into the phone as he listened to the reply. "Okay. Thanks a lot. I'll call back another time." And with a sigh, he ended the call and threw his mobile on to the passenger seat, swearing under his breath.

It had seemed a foolproof idea. There were, after all, only a handful of housing associations in the Mickleton area. Having looked up the numbers of all of them, he'd struck lucky at the third attempt, only to be told that Lissy was off sick. So much for hoping he'd be able to make an appointment to see her. Though she'd have probably refused to meet with him anyway. It might be better to use a fake name the next time he called.

Toying with the idea of going to buy a newspaper, he looked across at the shops on the other side of the road, doing a double take when he saw the name of the office he'd just called emblazoned above the last unit in the row. Nope, no mistake, there it was.Abbey Thorn Housing. How strange he'd parked opposite without even noticing.

Oh well, useful knowledge for the future, he thought, deciding against the newspaper and reaching forward to turn on the ignition. But just as his fingers met the keys, he froze. The red-headed woman emerging from the pharmacy next door to the housing association looked an awful lot like Lissy.

Because itwas Lissy. God... He blew out a low whistle. She certainly didn't look well. Head lowered and clutching a white paper bag in her left hand, her progress along the pavement seemed rather less than steady. Had she literally just been sent home when he called? Must've been, he reasoned, continuing to watch as she crossed the road in front of him and headed towards the bus stop.

Frowning, he glanced at the buff envelope beside his phone on the seat. He'd assured Archie he'd try to persuade her to change her mind, but to jump out of the car and confront her right here and now seemed inappropriate. Briefly, he considered offering her a ride before dismissing the idea out of hand. There wasn't a chance in hell she'd accept, even if this was to be the only opportunity he had. Then again, if this really was to be his only opportunity, shouldn't he grab it with both hands?

Before he had a chance to start deliberating his next move, a double-decker bus roared past then squealed to a halt alongside the bus stop. "Damn," he muttered, watching as she edged forward in anticipation of the doors opening. He was already out of time.

Unless...

Struck by a brainwave, he started the car. And as the bus moved away from the stop with Lissy aboard, he flipped on the indicator and pulled out into the traffic.

*

Having counted them many times, Melissa knew that between the communal entrance to the converted Victorian house she lived in and her studio flat on the top floor there were two flights of thirteen steps. But never before had it seemed so many, the physical effort required to haul herself up each one almost beyond her. As if feeling horribly sick wasn't enough to deal with in itself...

Reaching the top at last, she pressed her forehead against the coolness of the gloss-painted door, the loud thumping in her ears almost drowning out the sound of her laboured breathing. "Not good," she whispered, releasing a tiny moan. "Not good at all."

At first, she'd put the persistent sick feeling down to eating a sandwich made with ham one day past its 'use by' date. Too tired to face a trip to the supermarket on Saturday—though it felt as though she'd done nothing but sleep in her spare time lately—she'd persuaded herself it'd be fine. And it probably had been.

Three days later, the nausea unrelenting, it was beginning to seem unlikely a single slice of ham could be the cause. She'd made it into work only for Jonathan to take one look and turn her straight back out of the door. Forced to concede it was time to address the niggling doubt at the back of her mind, Melissa had refused his offer of a lift home. The thought of having her boss in tow when she popped into the pharmacy hadn't appealed.

But the bus ride home had been torture. What was usually a pleasant twenty-minute meander through the centre of Mickleton became an endurance test, one where she'd quite seriously feared she might throw up into the hood of the coat worn by the woman sitting in front of her. Somehow, she'd managed to hold off until the bus reached her stop. She wasn't too sure that Mr Andrews, the rather sweet elderly gentleman who lived three doors down, would appreciate her fertilising his rose bed in such an inventive manner, but it couldn't be helped.

The dizziness abating at last, she reached into her handbag and fumbled for her keys. At least she was home now, she thought gratefully, opening the door and practically falling into the hall. At least she could go to bed. Close her eyes. Sleep...

Shrugging off her jacket, she tried not to look at the watercolour hanging above the coat pegs, as usual failing miserably. She'd taken it down for a while in the vain hope that not being greeted by Matt's painting of the tree-house every time she came in the door would be less painful. Instead, the sight of the empty wall had only served to double her sense of loss and she'd put it back within hours. Somehow, it seemed better that it was there than not there; she couldn't even begin to fathom why.

"Lissy?"

"Oh God." The words leaving her throat in a breathy rush, she spun around to the open doorway, the sight of the tall man standing there sending a cold ripple of shock down her spine. "You?"

Jason looked apologetic. "I'm sorry," he began. "I know I'm the last person in the world you wanted to turn up at your door."

"What are you doing here?" She stared at him in agitation, a fresh wave of nausea compounding her discomfort. "How did you find out where I lived? And how the hell did you get up here? "

"I saw you in town, watched you get on the bus," he said simply. "Followed it. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy. I had no idea how many times those bloody things stop, it was a nightmare pulling in and out behind it every two minutes..." He trailed off beneath the open hostility of her glare, adding hastily, "Look, I wasn't going to bother you today, I know you're not well. I just wanted to know where you lived so that I could come back another time. But when I saw you being so ill, I got a bit worried. One of your neighbours was kind enough to let me in."

Wonderful. He'd seen her being sick? "I'm fine," she said, hearing the brittleness in her own tone. "So you can go now, okay?"

"Lissy—"

"Don't youdare call me that!" Her surroundings were beginning to spin again. Why wouldn't he just leave so that she could go and lie down? "You've no right. You hear me? No right. My name's Melissa."

"All right." He grimaced, holding up a hand. "Forgive me, I probably shouldn't have come—"

"Dead right you shouldn't!"

"—but seeing as I did, could we please talk for a few minutes? Not long, I promise. It's just I said I'd—" And then he stopped, his brow furrowing. "Lissy? Fuck, I mean,Melissa? Are you—are you okay?"