Forfeit (Original Edit)

Chapter Seven

Days went by and I didn't hear anything from Xander. I rang but got no answer. I sent are you mad at me texts but got nothing back. To fill my time, I rode Nikita who was all the fun Tara never had been. She'd shy at random hedges, eagerly galloping over the common or happily dozing with her head rested on my shoulder. But where was Xander? Clara was most unhelpful when I mentioned his absence.

'When we went out, I bet you wanted to shag him again, didn't you?' She saw the look on my face. 'And he walked away? Again? Daisy, be careful or don't see him anymore.'

'Once upon a time you were on my side.' I sulked.

Under the pretence of dropping off the contract for Tara, I popped in to see Robbie, hoping Xander might be there. Annoyingly, neither were. Robbie was climbing in the Alps.

'I can't abide it, Daisy,' Vanessa said, simultaneously heating baby milk, stir-frying vegetables and filling out a tax form. 'What if he falls and dies? I know it's unlikely but it has me a bag of nerves. There are women working for that holiday company who've spent more time with my husband than I have and they're all far too pretty. Have you ever seen a brochure?'

I let her twitter on for another ten minutes before I decided to be blunt. 'Where's Xander?'

'Getting wasted with James, I expect.' She chewed her pen. 'He does this every now and then, I'm afraid. Gets all grumpy and fed up. It's been going on since he was nineteen. The whole Lucy Errington thing was a bit of a mess.' She gave the stir-fry a shake. 'We sort of thought he hadn't got over her and needed someone new, but clearly... anyway, he's an adult and there's not much we can do about it.'

The following Saturday, beyond bored, I rang Xander, expecting his answering machine again. To my surprise, he answered.

'Fitzgerald, how the hell are you?' He had to shout over the music in the background.

'Bored.'

'Booty call?'

'No. Where are you?'

'Out.'

'Oh.'

'With James. Jealous?'

'Piss off. Where have you been?'

'Avoiding you.'

'At least you're honest.' I sighed. 'Have a nice night.'

'When are you moving?'

'Thursday.'

'I'll see you then.' He hung up.

Oh God, no. My mum and dad would be there.

   

The keys to my new house sat on the passenger seat, the first of my paltry possessions were stuffed in the TT and I couldn't stop smiling. I'd left my parents filling their Prius, with a warning to behave if Xander rocked up. A hundred metres before the Miller's Arms, I turned left and there it was: Lum Cottage, my new home.

In the eighties, the owners had modernised the traditional Lakeland cottage and extended into the attached barn. The front door was sheltered with a sweet slate-roofed porch that even had roses growing around it. The cute cottage potential was there - sadly, it was hiding behind grey pebble-dashing and monstrous white plastic windows. Why would anyone put uPVC windows in a house like this?

The facade wasn't the only eyesore. The kitchen was an ornate, dark oak horror with a stained and scratched faux-marble worktop. The avocado and aubergine bathrooms demanded to be ripped out, and the decor? Horrendous ivy stencilling wound its way around most of the walls. But every bit of eighties tastelessness made me super-excited - I had a house to renovate. I had bathrooms to tile. I had something to do.