A Year of New Adventures. Maddie Please

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СКАЧАТЬ listen to him. He looked very uncomfortable. ‘Well where do you get your ideas?’ he fired back.

      Oliver for some reason then had second thoughts about leaving, pulled his chair back to the table and unfortunately began to focus on the cheese in front of him. ‘Nice Stilton,’ he said. ‘Well aired.’

      I hoped he wasn’t going to eat too much of it if it made him grouchy and sleepy as Pippa had suggested. He was bad enough already.

      We all started talking at once to cover the difficult pause in the conversation. Elaine and Nancy liked to scour local papers for ideas. Vivienne liked daytime TV shows where unappealing people aired their dirty laundry to whoops and cheers from the audience.

      Nick liked the broadsheets. Helena listened to the children who came into the after-school reading club she had started at her library.

      ‘And what do you like to do?’ Oliver said, turning his laser gaze in my direction.

      My mouth went dry. I took a sip of water. ‘I don’t know. Go for walks. Visit old houses,’ I said at last, sounding rather dull even to myself.

      ‘Go for walks,’ Oliver said thoughtfully. ‘Visit old houses. Hmm, wouldn’t you like to do something more exciting?’

      He looked at me again and I swear I could sense him reading my thoughts or certainly seeing through my noisy bravado to the insecure specimen underneath. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

      ‘Or maybe do something more daring?’ he added.

      I could feel a blush starting, so I began to gather the dirty plates together to cover my confusion.

      ‘Don’t you ever do anything thrilling? Don’t you have crazy moments?’ Oliver continued, waggling jazz hands.

      I thought about it.

      The craziest thing I had done recently was having XX Hot Sauce at Nando’s for a dare instead of my usual choice of Mango and Lime. And I won’t be doing that again in a hurry, I can tell you.

      Exciting moments? Exciting moments?

      I tried to think of an exciting moment I was prepared to share with the group. One not involving last summer’s final reductions at L. K. Bennett.

      ‘I don’t think I do,’ I said at last.

      Elaine gasped. ‘What, never?’

      Vivienne sighed. ‘That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard. How old are you, Billie? Thirty-four, thirty-five?’

      ‘Twenty-nine,’ I muttered standing up a bit straighter and trying to look younger.

      ‘Well you should be doing exciting things on a regular basis. Daily or hourly if at all possible,’ Vivienne said with a knowing look.

      Nancy chimed in. ‘Let’s think of something exciting for Billie to do.’

      This was terrible. Everyone was looking at me. I suddenly felt like the most pathetic, most boring person in the universe. My hands weren’t working properly and I dropped a couple of spoons onto the floor. Bending to pick them up I was sure my arse must have looked the size of Pluto.

      When I stood up I saw the smallest of smiles flickering across Oliver’s face. I realized he had done what he wanted: changed the focus of the conversation from himself to me. He hadn’t finished yet either.

      ‘So you don’t ever do anything crazy or exciting? I wonder why not. Perhaps you should? Take some chances. Have some adventures. Do something wild and irresponsible before you’re thirty.’ Oliver gave a broad white smile, changing his face from brooding Mr Rochester into something rather glorious. ‘I mean, have you travelled much?’

      I began to stammer a bit, a childhood habit I thought I’d grown out of.

      ‘I’ve been here and there, you know G-Greece. And- and- and the Isle of Wight. I can’t afford to go too far.’

      ‘You could have come to India with me. I did ask you to, several times,’ Helena muttered. ‘It was really cheap.’

      ‘Could we talk about something else?’ I said rather heatedly. I began collecting more plates and bowls, making a lot of noise and clatter in the process.

      I went over to the sink, still blushing furiously, and ran some hot water over the plates before stacking them in the dishwasher.

      Helena followed me. ‘OK?’

      ‘Fine.’

      Oliver stood up, collected his stick, and made his way back to his room. ‘Right then I’d better get on with some work. That’s why we’re here after all isn’t it?’

      The others watched in silence until he had gone into his room and closed the door, then an excited whispering began between Elaine, Nancy, and Vivienne while Nick sat looking thoughtful, gnawing at his thumbnail.

      ‘I must have met him somewhere because his face is so familiar. But I can’t have gone to school with him because I’ve never been to Scotland,’ Nick said at last.

      He stood up and started collecting the water glasses until Helena came across with a tray and stopped him.

      ‘There will be cake and tea at four-thirty,’ I said. ‘You’re all free to do what you like. Do some writing or editing or plotting or just have a sleep.’

      ‘Well if you’re sure?’ Nick said. ‘Although I like the idea of a quick walk into the village later if you don’t mind company, Helena?’

      Helena fidgeted a bit and the glasses on her tray rattled. ‘No, super! I mean it would be nice. In about an hour?’

      ‘Perfect.’

      Nick darted off upstairs and we encouraged the others towards the sitting room where the wood burner was throwing out an immense amount of heat. I would have opened a couple of windows, but they seemed quite contented. Elaine went to her nook under the stairs and was soon tapping away on her laptop while Nancy and Vivienne picked their places on the sofas and settled down to spend the rest of the afternoon dozing and chatting, hopefully with a bit of writing thrown in at some point.

      I finished the coffee preparations and made Helena take the next eight-cup cafetière in to Oliver. She reported back that he was standing looking out of his window into the garden and didn’t say much except a vague thank you.

      I can only assume he suffered from raging insomnia with so much caffeine inside him on a daily basis. Still, in the immortal words of my long-gone boyfriend, writing was after all only making stuff up and drinking coffee. Oliver must be writing a lot – that’s all I can say.

       Chapter Four

      I spent the afternoon chopping yet more vegetables ready for the beef in red wine casserole we were going to have that evening. I made sure I did all I could to keep the noise to a minimum and didn’t slam a single cupboard door. I even turned the radio off; usually I sing along. I have an unusual СКАЧАТЬ