I steadily walked back along the beach and up the lane to the cottage. I trod lightly, feeling like I was taking the walk of shame, turning up on the doorstep in last night’s party gear, but I’d done nothing to be ashamed of, had I? After the classic painkiller, caffeine and dry toast combo, I took myself off to bed, barely registering when the letterbox rattled as my head hit the pillow and only coming back to life much later.
The letterbox had rattled courtesy of a note shoved through it from Joe. He said that he hoped everyone had enjoyed the party, that he was sorry to have missed it, that maybe he would be able to manage it next year if he was invited and then issued me with an invitation of my own.
With harvest waiting in the wings, I’m going to be around even less, so I was wondering if you would like to come to the farm for a tour of the place and then stay and have a meal with me, Charlie and Bruce after?
My curiosity about the farm had been piqued for ages, so I was keen to accept and, if I played my cards right, I might even be able to use my visit to work out how I could, discreetly of course, help Hope get Joe and Sam back on even friendlier terms. I didn’t know why, but I had the strangest feeling that I owed Hope a massive favour.
*
Later that day, when the world had stopped spinning and I had managed to cram enough carbs to stop my legs shaking, I walked slowly up to the pub.
‘Hey,’ I said, slowly raising my hand in greeting when I spotted Hope and Sam together behind the bar.
‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ Hope grinned, taking in my ashen complexion and Jackie O shades.
‘Don’t,’ I said, not daring to shake my head.
‘Feeling rough?’
‘Just a smidge,’ I told her, ‘and I’ve come to apologize.’
‘Oh,’ Hope giggled. ‘What for exactly?’
Sam was staring at me with the strangest expression on his face.
‘Yes, Tess,’ he said. ‘What for?’
Now he was looking at me like that, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was apologizing for, but I knew I needed to say sorry for not helping with the morning-after mess.
‘Well,’ I began, slowly removing my sunglasses now I was safely inside the pub which was always a little on the dark side. ‘Not helping with the tidy-up, for starters. As part of the party task force, I should have been around to help out, but instead I’ve been cowering under the duvet with the world’s worst hangover.’
Hope laughed but Sam didn’t look too impressed.
‘I had a feeling that’s where you were,’ she said. ‘I did knock on your door earlier, but when you didn’t answer I guessed you were still sleeping Mum’s punch off. And don’t worry,’ she kindly added, ‘there was hardly anything to tidy away. It was all sorted before the tide turned.’
She certainly sounded more forgiving than Sam looked. He had barely uttered a word and his frown was far from sympathetic.
‘Please don’t mention the word punch,’ I said to Hope. ‘It’s going to be a long time before I can drink another drop of that stuff. I think I had more than three, although . . . crikey, I can barely remember a thing . . .’
‘So, you don’t know if you got lucky then?’ Hope teased.
‘Hardly,’ I said, biting my lip and thinking it was no way for a grown woman to behave. ‘But perhaps . . . oh, I don’t know, but I woke alone this morning so not that lucky.’
The tiniest flicker of a sensuous sensation stirred, but focusing on it, while listening to Hope laugh, made my head pound and, as I was pretty certain it was my imagination playing tricks on me, rather than an actual memory from the night, I dismissed it.
‘I need to change a barrel,’ Sam muttered grumpily and walked off.
‘What’s with him?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t he enjoy himself?’
Hope’s eyes followed his back as he disappeared down the hatch to the cellar.
‘I’m not sure, to be honest,’ she sighed, but didn’t elaborate on why.
‘He’s probably still suffering from the after-effects of the p-u-n-c-h too,’ I suggested, spelling the word out to stop my stomach rolling over again.
Chapter 22
The week after the party, I threw myself back into the role of holidaymaker. I did all the things I had always loved to