Pillow Talk Part 25

'Sod off!'

'I'll phone you first thing tomorrow sweet dreams, Petra, sleep well.'

Arlo always said, 'Sleep well,' he always asked her how she'd slept. She loved that. She thought him most intuitive.

'You're not a normal bloke, Arlo. Normal blokes don't usually do chatting by phone they mostly grunt, in my experience.'

'Am I abnormal, then?'

'No. No. Actually you're lovely, Arlo, really lovely. In my experience.'

'You're not so bad yourself, honeychild.'

At first Kitty, Eric and Gina had kept Petra's bench clean and empty, as if she might walk into the studio at any moment and pick up her tools. But there again, she'd taken her tools with her and though they certainly would not entertain working at her bench, it did quite quickly become a useful extra surface. Initially, Petra had been a daily topic of conversation, talked about if she had been in touch, worried about if she hadn't. But their growing sense of Petra being quite able to look after herself came directly from Yorks.h.i.+re, from the type and frequency of her contact. Strangely, it was that she phoned and texted less and less that helped them miss her less and less. Now, when she phoned them it was like Lucy phoning her a friend who lives far away, always a pleasure to hear from them, to catch up and chat. Petra hadn't inundated them with the ins and outs of her first weekend with Arlo that was for her texts to Hong Kong. But Petra had sent a text to Gina, Eric and Kitty straight after, saying bingo! me happy bunny! ;) Px.x.xx Hurrah! Gina replied.

Gory details required ... Eric texted back.

If he hurts u I'll kill him sent Kitty.

Petra loved her mobile phone. Life was good when one could stroll around miles from home with a pocketful of friends.

Fone u 15 mins Lx.x.x beamed through to Petra's phone when she was in the queue at the Co-op, giving her just enough time to finish her shopping and return home, make a cup of tea, before her phone rang.

'Hong Kong calling,' Lucy said, sounding as though she was around the corner.

'Stokesley answering,' said Petra, feeling as though she might as well be in Hong Kong.

'How are things? How's the boyf?'

'Wonderful it's all wonderful.'

'You have to sneak a photo of him you said he's a techno-phobe so just point your moby at him and pretend you're looking for a signal or something but take a picture. He won't know. But I need visual evidence. I need it!'

'OK, I'll try. He's lovely, Lucy. He really is. Am I mad for saying that out loud? Will I jinx it if I do?'

'How lovely? Lovely for the moment? Lovely for the time being? Lovely after Rob though anyone would seem lovely after that?'

'I think he may well be lovely in a forever kind of way,' Petra said quietly. Lucy heard it the first time but pretended she hadn't and made her repeat it.

'Petra!' And the way Lucy cooed her name, with such affection and joy, made Petra surge.

'It is love,' Petra said, 'and I'm really happy, Luce.' And she told her old friend about holding hands on a three-hour walk, about kissing in a moonlit garden, about candlelight and hot chocolate, about phone calls first and last thing, about sitting by a river while the weir tumbled and the ducks chattered.

's.e.x, Petra you have to tell me that there's been lots of good squelchy s.e.x alongside all this romantic guff.'

Petra paused. 'Not just lots of it, las.h.i.+ngs of it.'

'Thank Christ for that. And you have to tell me that you don't permanently wax lyrical in purple prose and only make love by candlelight. Is it real? Do you talk and walk and joke and jest and hump and s.h.a.g?'

'Well it's early days. But we're certainly on that path. And we spend ages nattering about b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. And of course we walk this is North Yorks.h.i.+re.'

'Has he introduced you to the headmaster?'

'Don't be daft.'

'His friends?'

'Give him a chance.'

'His mother?'

'Sod off! Anyway, she's down south.'

'Down south! Down south? Listen to you, Yorks.h.i.+re la.s.s!'

'Oh, but I love it here, Luce.'

'That's because it's all a bit of a fairy-tale honeymoon at the moment you need to do a winter, Petra. You need to see Arlo when he's in a strop, you have to allow yourself to get on his nerves you need to weather a few down times, even bad times, before you can truly say that.'

'Don't pop my bubble, Lucy.'

'I'm not honestly, I'm not. I'm so happy for you I have a really good vibe, too. But I know how you can be easily swept along so it's my duty, as your friend, to be a voice of reason.'

'OK. OK. I hear you. I do.'

'Good. Now tell me everything, and not about the ducks and the moors and the hand-holding I want the other stuff, girl. The rude bits. In glorious Technicolor. With sound effects.'

'I so want you to meet him.'

'Have a great big wedding then I'll be your bridesmaid.' And Lucy thought that her friend would probably take this as a sign to spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about such an event. If she knew Petra, she wouldn't be practising her signature with Arlo's surname replacing hers, she'd be in the studio designing her wedding ring. But there again, from what Lucy deduced, maybe it wasn't so farfetched after all.

Actually, Petra didn't daydream the afternoon away. She didn't practise Petra Savidge and she didn't design any ring. Not because she feared she might jinx anything, but because Arlo was simply so real. He really was. He wasn't an idea. She didn't have to dream up scenarios or imagine his personality for him. She felt she knew him pretty well already and, day by day, she was enjoying coming to know him even better.

Arlo was due to spend the weekend with Petra as soon as his duties were done on Friday evening. Petra worked productively from the crack of dawn so that she could pack up by lunch-time and prepare. Fresh chicken. Veg. Flowers and fancy bubble bath. Nice cheese. Her list was long and she was fairly confident she'd be able to find everything in Stokesley. It was truly T-s.h.i.+rt weather at last, which just served to increase her good mood.

'Hiya!'

Petra was just about to go into the homewares boutique, telling herself that she wouldn't linger, let alone buy anything else, if they didn't have fancy bath oil. She turned at the greeting. At first, she didn't recognize the woman. About her own age, smart in a great suit, killer heels, blonde hair slicked back into a cla.s.sy chignon.

'Hiya!' the woman approached. 'Imagine jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt and a pony-tail? But I'm not shaking my hair out I'll never get it back.'

Petra clicked. It was the girlfriend of Arlo's colleague. Jenn. Last seen, and briefly at that, in the ice-cream queue, in jeans, T-s.h.i.+rt and a pony-tail. 'Hullo.'

'Thought I recognized you Petra, isn't it?'

'Yes. Great to see you Jenn. You look fantastic.'

'Thank you I like to think I scrub up well. Do you work around here, then?'

'I do in a studio,' said Petra, moving away from the steps of the shop.

'I like the sound of that are you an artist?'

'A jeweller.'

'Oh my G.o.d, I like the sound of that even more you can be my new best friend! Oh as long as we're talking proper jewellery and not hippy beads or friends.h.i.+p bracelets?'

'Fine jewellery,' Petra laughed. 'Platinum, gold, silver precious gems.'

'Oh. My. G.o.d.' Jenn clasped her hands to her heart. 'Am I loving you.'

Petra laughed. She sensed she was going to like Jenn a lot.

'Did you make this?' and Jenn touched Petra's necklace. Petra nodded. 'It's gorgeous.'

'Thank you. Do you work here, then, too?'

'I do over there.' Jenn chucked her thumb towards a Georgian townhouse as if she was. .h.i.tchhiking. A florist on street level, a solicitors occupying the two storeys above, the firm's name in staid gold lettering on the windows. 'Now you're thinking to yourself, Does she arrange flowers or does she press the law?'

'I am,' Petra laughed, 'but I think I can guess by how soil-free your manicure is.'

'Yeah, I'm the florist,' Jenn said, then she grinned, 'or I would be if I could tell a lily from a lisianthus. I'm a boring old lawyer, I'm afraid.'

Petra regarded Jenn, thought for a split second before she spoke. 'Are you just popping out I mean if you are, shall we get a quick coffee? You know if you've time. If not, another day, perhaps?'

'b.u.g.g.e.r coffee, love,' Jenn laughed, 'I'm off for my dinner come and join me.'

Petra forgot about fancy bubble bath and her shopping list in general and eagerly joined Jenn at the Deli where soon enough they dared each other to say yes to sharing a bottle of wine.

'I shouldn't, I have clients this afternoon.'

'I shouldn't I have a hot date this evening.'

'Do you now! The chappy Nige and I saw you with?'

'Yes,' Petra said, 'Arlo.'

'These poncey teachers,' Jenn rolled her eyes. 'Arlo! Nigel! Mind you, it's nothing compared to the kids' names poor sods. Troy! Lars! What happened to Tom Brown's schooldays? I knew you and he were an item. I knew it! You were both radiating that first flush. But Nige wouldn't have it he said you were just old friends because that's what Arlo had said.'

'Well, we are old friends too,' Petra said, more to defend Arlo than Nigel.

'And new lovers?' Jenn came in close, filled up their gla.s.ses, gave Petra a conspiratorial wink. She reminded Petra a little of Lucy in her larkiness, her ability to chatter nineteen to the dozen yet be keen to listen, a boisterousness underscored with warmth.

'Yes,' Petra said, 'we are.'

'Tremendous. Here's to you to a night of pa.s.sion tonight and to a long and healthy happy-ever-after. Cheers.'

'Cheers, and here's to you and to Nige obeying the law.'

Jenn giggled and soon set Petra off. They sat together for a decadently long lunch (according to Petra) or dinner (according to Jenn). Telling each other all about themselves in between sips of wine, revealing all sorts of secrets in between mouthfuls, discovering various similarities and shared empathies while helping themselves to forkfuls from each other's plates.

's.h.i.+t. I'm p.i.s.sed. What will Arlo think?'

'Don't give him the chance to think, love if I were you I'd lay myself out on the couch wearing nothing but a feather boa.'

'Where on earth am I going to find a feather boa on a Friday afternoon?' Petra said, quite liking Jenn's idea.

'I bet Boyes will have one. For about a quid,' said Jenn, eager to help.

Ten minutes later, the two of them were giggling their way across the street and browsing the old-fas.h.i.+oned store. They didn't find a feather boa, but by the time they said goodbye to each other, with a kiss on the cheek and the swapping of mobile numbers, they'd each found a new friend.

Chapter Thirty-seven.

Telling Petra about Miranda had been uppermost on Arlo's mind. Because he'd reasoned that if he told her, if he admitted to something that, in the grand scheme of things, was just a piffling matter anyway, then he would feel exonerated for not telling her about the other. About Helen.

But when he arrived and found Petra gloriously woozy, naked on the sofa apart from a stripy woollen scarf strategically draped, he swiftly forgot all about confessions and serious stuff. And as they lay in each other's arms, Petra rabbiting on about her lunch with Nige's Jenn, Arlo considered that Petra was so vividly his here-and-now, that to hark back to something of so little consequence to him personally or to them as a couple seemed really quite ridiculous. Storms in teacups over mountains and molehills sprang to mind. Much Ado About Nothing. He thought, I'll bet Miranda hasn't given any of it a second thought anyway. Modern girl that she is; s.e.x for the sake of s.e.x. He doubted whether she'd spent a single moment deliberating the finer points of morality in the modern age before she'd taken her hand to his flies.

It would be best all round when she left, though.

And he'd be asking Nigel to keep schtum for the time being, happy as he was for Petra to have befriended Jenn.

He did ask himself in a faint voice whether the fact that he had now chosen not to discuss Miranda thus meant he really ought to at least mention Helen.

But then Petra's voice pulled him from his darkened past into his glowing present.

'Come on, Big Boy this sofa is a bit p.r.i.c.kly, let's go to bed.'

Soon enough, half-term came around and with it the opportunity to spend normal time together, away from the confines of school timetables, the chance for Arlo to play host, the chance for Petra to dip into his world albeit a quieter, unpopulated version. He'd held off specifying which day she should come until he'd ascertained when most of the staff, Miranda included, were leaving. Sat.u.r.day evening, it seemed. So Sunday morning would be perfect.

And it was.

A misty dawn, at the crack of which Arlo had started spring cleaning his folly, soon lifted to present a day sparkling with the true arrival of summer. A cloudless sky, the land verdant and lush, the sound of summer all around: buds bursting into flower, the hum and drone of busy insects, an arpeggio of birdsong. It was as if active preparations were afoot in nature with which to welcome the tourists during the next couple of months.

Petra no longer felt like a tourist and her hope was to be cla.s.sed an honorary local. But as she cycled up the drive to Roseberry Hall she wasn't sure quite how to introduce herself to the disembodied voice coming through the intercom. Visitor? Guest? Friend? Old friend? Girlfriend?

'Oh. Hi. I've an arrangement with Arlo Savidge?'

This was good enough for the voice in the intercom; the gates swung open and Petra cycled on, a little more slowly. Was she to report to reception? Present herself to the headmaster? Where would she find Arlo? Look straight ahead, Petra. Over there. See, he's waving at you like a madman.

'I've signed you in,' he said, taking her bike and pus.h.i.+ng it, his other arm relaxed around her shoulder, 'and it'll be me who signs you out whenever I decide that shall be.'