As Phil turned to add a dash of gin to a glass, a surge of bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it down before whisking back round. ‘Er, just about. A few loose ends to tie up, then I’ll be off.’
‘You’ll be a big miss. This place won’t be the same without you.’
And I won’t be the same without this place, Phil almost added. But he didn’t. It would sound pathetic. After all, how many people would love the chance to experience a new life in Brisbane? Would kill to have the Great Barrier Reef on their doorstep? Endless sunshine, golden beaches, and barbecues where you didn’t have to huddle in the garage because the heavens had opened?
Millions of people, he’d wager. It was just a shame he wasn’t one of them.
When Rachel had first mentioned emigrating, Phil had thought it nothing but a pipe dream. Didn’t everyone at some point fantasise about packing it all in and jetting off on an exotic adventure? But he should’ve known better. Rachel was a doer not a dreamer, and when she set her mind to something, that was it. After five years together, no one knew that better than Phil. He’d even featured on her list of goals at one stage. Years later, she admitted that the first time she’d seen him, whilst in the pub with a group of nursing friends, she’d decided she had to have him. Completely unbeknown to Phil, subtle enquiries as to his marital status had been made, followed by a dramatic increase in her visits to the pub, despite her residing in Harrogate at the time. One particular Saturday night, just after Phil had waved off the last customer and locked up, he’d been stacking glasses in the dishwasher when there’d been a rattle on the door.
‘I’m really sorry but I think I’ve left my sheepskin gloves here,’ Rachel purred, gazing up at him through dark, lowered, impossibly long lashes.
Phil furrowed his forehead. ‘Sheepskin gloves? But it’s the middle of July.’
Her bright red lips stretched into a mischievous smile. And that, of course, had been it. Lashes, lips, lustrous dark curls and a killer bod barely covered in a tiny mini-skirt and plunging top meant he hadn’t stood a chance. He’d taken her upstairs to his flat. Three hours and two bottles of Prosecco later, she’d been in his bed. And rarely out of it for the next few months.
Not that Phil made a habit of bedding all the attractive women who flirted with him. If he did, he’d rarely be out of bed. He could never quite fathom what it was about him that women found so attractive. He was of average height, average build – although regular runs ensured he kept in shape – and his features, although pleasant, were anything but startling.
‘It’s that twinkle in those cornflower-blue eyes,’ Rachel insisted, after observing Lydia Pemberton, one of the village’s randy middle-aged women, flirting with him. ‘And your gorgeous hair.’
Phil had to admit that if he’d been forced to name his best feature, he would’ve said his hair. Not that he spent much time on it. He couldn’t be bothered with all that gel, and mousse, and spiking and highlighting palaver. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. His shaggy mane of blond curls fell defiantly into the “surfer dude” category – a completely fortuitous coincidence, which appeared to sit well with the opposite sex.
‘I should make you shave it off before I leave for Oz tomorrow,’ Rachel said, running her hands through it as they’d lain in bed during their last evening together.
Phil’s stomach lurched. He wasn’t particularly vain, but well … his curls were part of him.
‘I’m only joking,’ she said, obviously sensing his distress. Then, she’d sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest. And the tears had begun. ‘It’s just that I’m scared you’ll forget about me, or find someone else while I’m away.’
Phil balked inwardly. He really didn’t do the whole tears thing. ‘Don’t be daft,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Of course I won’t.’
Rachel wrenched a tissue from the box on the bedside table. ‘I really wanted us to start our new life together. But now this job has come up, I’d be stupid to turn it down.’
‘It’s a brilliant job. You had to take it,’ he assured her. And it was. A fantastic job. After going straight into nursing from school, Rachel had gone on to train as a midwife. And Brisbane’s biggest hospital had offered her her dream job – as manager of the unit.
She heaved a quivering sigh. ‘I know. But it just means things are happening much quicker than I’d planned. It could be months before you’re able to sort everything out here and join me.’
‘I’ll tie everything up as soon as I can.’
As promptly as they’d started, the tears stopped. ‘So you’ll sell the pub to the brewery?’
Phil’s heart stuttered. That hadn’t been what he’d meant at all. He’d had countless offers for the pub over the years but he wanted to sell it to someone like him. Someone who cared. Not some massive faceless corporation who’d rip out all the character to bring it in line with their “corporate branding”.
‘You know it makes sense,’ Rachel continued, the tearful scene obviously having finished as she began trailing kisses down his bare chest. ‘They’re offering you much more than anyone else would. And just think what we could do with all that dosh.’
Phil sighed. Of course she was right. The ridiculous sum the brewery had tossed on the table would enable them to buy a house outright in Brisbane, and still leave a decent sum for him to set up some kind of business. That was one stipulation he definitely was sticking to. Other than his parents, he’d never worked for anyone else. Nor did he intend to.
‘Okay,’ he huffed, as Rachel’s kissing stopped just short of his groin. ‘I’ll sell to the brewery.’
‘Good move, baby,’ she cooed, her head disappearing under the duvet. At which point Phil forgot all about pubs and breweries, and anything that did not involve Rachel’s luscious lips.
But that moment, as delectable as it had been, had been fleeting. As soon as the reality of what he’d promised had sunk in, Phil’s innards had been on a constant churning cycle. The rate of which had increased significantly following Rachel’s announcement last night.
‘I’ve found just the thing for you,’ her voice gushed across the ten thousand dividing miles. ‘A little pizza shop in the centre of town. They do wraps and everything.’
Phil couldn’t have cared less if they sold deep-fried caviar on silver platters. He could picture it now: a gleaming white soulless space with red posters dotted about the walls advertising “a tempting range of toppings”. It was hardly likely to be at the heart of Brisbane society, unlike the Duck – the backbone of Buttersley.
‘I’ll send you the link and all the pictures I’ve taken,’ she enthused.
‘Great,’ muttered Phil, unable to inject so much as a smidgeon of enthusiasm into his tone. Rachel appeared not to notice.
‘I’m on nights for the next week, babe, so I’ll call when I can.’
‘No problem,’ said Phil on a sigh of relief. Thank God he had a bit of a reprieve. With her constantly in touch, he felt like he’d lost track of his own opinions.
At least he had a bit of breathing space now.
But space to do what, he had absolutely no idea.
The first thing Amelia noticed when she awoke was her fuzzy head. The second was a strange sense of bewilderment. She couldn’t recall another Monday morning when she’d had nothing to do. In fact, she’d be hard pushed to think of any morning when she’d had nothing to do. Even on holiday she had a schedule: a swim before breakfast, a jog along the beach, a session in the gym. But this morning she had neither the energy nor the motivation to even slide out of bed. Perhaps she should just give into the urge and burrow