The Weekender - Fay Keenan Willowbury

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to it,’ Charlie smiled. ‘I’m not much of a cook, so I tend to make the wrong choices at the weekends. In London it’s a bit easier because of the canteen at work, but I really must get my act together.’

      ‘You make it sound a lot cosier and less exclusive than I bet it really is!’ Holly said wryly. ‘I’ve read Edwina Currie; I know the food’s great and there’s wine on tap.’

      ‘Not so much any more,’ Charlie countered. ‘At least, not for those of us who take the job seriously. Things have changed a bit since she wrote those novels.’

      ‘I’m sure,’ Holly’s tone was still teasing. ‘But that’s what you would say to a constituent.’ Aware that she was probably being a little too snippy for someone who was just, at this stage, a good acquaintance rather than a friend, she smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry. I’m just used to doubting everything politicians say these days.’

      ‘I understand that,’ Charlie said quietly. He looked at her intently. ‘But I do mean it, Holly. I didn’t take this job for an easy ride, no matter how safe I was told the seat was. I want to make a difference here. And I really think I can, too.’

      ‘I hope so, Charlie,’ Holly said softly. ‘There’s a lot you can do here, in your position.’ She again dithered on whether to tell him about Harry, but thought better of it. There would be another occasion, she was sure of it.

      His serious brown eyes were still locked on hers, and she found herself looking from them to his mouth and back again. God, he was attractive.

      Suddenly awkwardly aware of their intensity, Holly shook her head and looked across to the door of the shop. ‘Well, I’d better lock up properly and barricade myself in upstairs with Arthur until one or other of us finds this mouse!’

      Charlie took the hint. ‘Good luck with it. You’ll understand if I don’t offer to help.’

      ‘Sure,’ Holly laughed. ‘See you on Sunday.’

      ‘I look forward to it.’ Giving her another smile, during which Holly quite perceptibly felt her insides flutter, Charlie headed for the door. ‘See you soon.’

      ‘See you,’ Holly said, still rooted to the spot behind the counter. She watched him walk through the door and close it quietly behind him. Somewhere, buried deep within that man, was the teenager she’d met all those years ago. Holly was shocked at how much she wanted to find him again.

      13

      After another sound night’s sleep, albeit interspersed with the odd mouse-infested dream, Charlie woke to a full day of appointments at his constituency office. Tom was going to open up, as usual, and his new case worker, Helen Groves, was proving to be calm and efficient, and just what he needed as he was navigating the tricky waters of the issues of his constituents. Glancing at his diary as he grabbed a quick slice of toast and some coffee to take with him in his (not yet Instagrammed) travel mug, he was pleased to see he had a wide variety of people, and issues, to deal with that morning. Sooner or later, he knew he’d greet the information with a little more weariness, but for the moment he was pleased that so many people were seeking him out for help and advice. Working for his constituency was one of the main reasons he wanted this job, and so the more he could do while he was here, the better.

      It was another lovely day in Willowbury as he walked down the path from his front door and onto the road that led to the High Street. He noticed that Fairbrothers was doing a roaring trade, as usual, and waved to Miles as he caught his eye through the bakery window. Jack, too, in his coffee shop, seemed to be trading briskly. The taxidermist on the corner of the High Street was polishing his front window, and Charlie found his gaze drawn to the sinister-looking stuffed crow on a tree branch that took pride of place. Every time he passed it, it seemed to have its beady eye on him, as if it was reminding him to behave himself. Years ago, when he was at school, he remembered the science department having a similar piece in its office, that some joker had made a miniature mortarboard for.

      From the High Street, he could see the silhouette of Willowbury Hill a few miles further on, backlit by the sun and majestic in its dominant presence, even from this distance. Tourists flocked from miles around to climb the hill and experience the breathtaking views from the top. Willowbury also had its own ruined religious building, too – a priory that was destroyed during the Reformation, which was an increasing draw to tourists now the National Trust had acquired it.

      Musing on this, he passed ComIncense, but clearly Holly hadn’t opened up yet as the shop front lights weren’t on. He glanced at his watch and realised it was only half past eight, and most of the shops that didn’t sell food and drink didn’t open until nine o’clock anyway. He tried not to imagine Holly padding around upstairs in her flat, perhaps making a coffee and going through her tasks for the day. An image flashed into his mind of Holly in a skimpy cotton nightgown, with her vivid red hair in a bed-tousled plait over one shoulder, the other fully revealed as a strap slipped down… He swallowed hard, chiding himself for letting his imagination get the better of him.

      Letting himself into the office a few minutes later, he put his travel mug down on his desk and went through the diary for the day on his iPad. Tom had access to it, as did Helen, and both were proving adept at managing his constituency days beautifully. So long as he kept himself briefed on who was coming to visit, the logistics of the appointments were out of his hands. This suited Charlie perfectly as it allowed him to concentrate on the actual issues at hand.

      Glancing down his list for the morning, he didn’t see anything too controversial or odd – a bit of noise pollution, a Rachel Jamieson coming in to discuss a health issue, and a meeting with the head of the local Chambers of Commerce about boosting tourism in the area. So far, so safe.

      ‘So if you could just see fit to have a word with him, I’d be ever so grateful,’ the little old lady in front of Charlie’s desk continued. ‘Only I don’t know how as I can go on like this with the blessed music blasting out night after night. My husband’s deaf, so it doesn’t bother him, but my hearing’s still as sharp as ever, and I really can’t get any sleep.’

      Charlie felt a pang of sympathy for her. Mrs Garner lived in the middle of a row of local authority houses in Willowbury, which had a high turnover of tenants, except for her and her elderly husband, and the current tenants on one side were clearly being more than a little antisocial.

      ‘I’ll see what I can do, Mrs Garner,’ Charlie said. ‘But perhaps you’d be better off phoning the local council offices? They tend to deal with environmental health issues, rather than me in this office.’ This wasn’t the first Willowbury resident who’d come to him with matters better suited to the council, but Charlie was loath to turn them away out of hand. He relented a little. ‘Are you online at home at all? It’s quite easy to email them, too.’

      Mrs Garner laughed. ‘You’re pulling my leg, love. It was hard enough getting my husband to use a push-button phone.’

      ‘Well, perhaps my assistant can email the council for you,’ Charlie said. He picked up his phone and spoke briefly to Helen, who occupied the front office. Smiling as he put the phone down, he turned back to his constituent. ‘Helen’s going to send them an email, and when they respond, we’ll drop you a line and let you know. Or you might get a letter from them.’

      ‘Thank you, my love,’ Mrs Garner’s rheumy eyes brimmed. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if my husband didn’t have dementia, but facing this on my own is a bit difficult these days.’

      Charlie felt a lurch of sympathy. He could well imagine the trials of the woman in front of him. ‘Does your husband have a carer to come in at all?’ he asked gently. He knew he had another appointment in a few minutes, but he was reluctant to let Mrs Garner go just like that.

      ‘Oh, they come in, these lovely foreign girls, twice a day, but they don’t get paid enough, and they’re always so pushed for time,’ Mrs Garner sighed.

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