Page 13 of Never Gonna Happen

‘OK, thank you,’ she said.

‘Well,’ said Leon, looking a little awkward. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack.’

‘See you later,’ said Emily. He was still staring at her as she closed the door, with an expression that had more than a touch of hope about it. Emily had seen that look before, and definitely didn’t want to encourage it. Even if Leon was her type, which he definitely wasn’t, a romance at work was the very last thing on her to-do list right now.

By 6 p.m. Emily had called her parents, unpacked all her belongings and made her two little rooms feel like home. There was an odd kind of joy in tidying stuff away and arranging plants and books and photographs. But then she rationalised that the only previous times she’d moved house had been to a shitty flat in Hammersmith at the age of twenty-one, then a different shitty flat in Battersea a couple of years later, and then a final shitty flat in Stratford when she started working for Mark. Every one of them had been a bleak experience: trying to fit her belongings into a flimsy chest of drawers, putting a sheet on a stained mattress, discovering the bathroom door didn’t lock and you had to wedge a chair under the handle.

This felt entirely different – the clothes in the big wardrobe were mostly unworn, the mattress and bedding were new, and it was the first time in nearly thirty years that she didn’t have to share a bathroom. On that basis alone it felt like a five-star hotel.

Her arrival in the kitchen prompted a hearty ‘hello!’ from Mr Hunter, who was pummelling a saucepan of mashed potatoes. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Emily,’ he said jovially. ‘Here, grab a plate and pull up a stool, you’re just in time.’ A fire was crackling cheerfully in the fireplace by the sofas, making the room feel warm and cosy.

She sat on a stool on one side of the granite island as Mr Hunter arranged the saucepan of mash alongside a plate of chicken covered in foil and a tray of roasted veg. He poked a serving spoon into each, then grabbed a small pan of gravy from the hob and plonked that on the island too. Emily helped herself, thinking that her mum would be deeply disappointed at the lack of matching serving dishes, linen napkins and fancy candlesticks; this wasn’t at all how she imagined the landed classes eating. Mr Hunter immediately tucked in, so Emily grabbed her fork and followed suit.

Just as she had taken her first mouthful, the back door opened and Jamie wandered in. He smiled at them both as he took off his muddy boots. ‘Do I smell chicken?’ he asked, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and sitting on the stool next to Emily.

‘You’re almost too late,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘We’re already thinking about seconds.’

Jamie smiled but said nothing as he scooped a mountain of mashed potato on to his plate, and Mr Hunter turned back to Emily. ‘Is your room all OK, Emily?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m all unpacked and settled in.’

‘And is the car running fine?’

‘It’s perfect, thank you.’

‘Well, if there’s anything you need, just ask Anna.’

Emily nodded, having already decided not to ask Anna for anything unless she was bleeding to death. She ate another mouthful of mashed potato, trying not to watch Jamie leaning over to stick his fork into a chicken leg. He smelled of horses, sweat and straw, a combination that made Emily feel a bit heady. She was used to being in close proximity to men in suits and designer shoes; men whose tools were mechanical pencils and drafting boards and tracing paper. She’d never come across anyone so classically handsome but still manly; she hadn’t even realised that men like him existed outside one of her mum’s bonkbusters. He reminded her of someone famous, an actor maybe, but she couldn’t think who.

‘Do you ride, Emily?’ he asked.

Emily choked on a slice of chicken. ‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, her eyes watering.

‘Do you ride?’ he repeated, pushing a glass of water towards her and looking mildly amused. ‘Horses.’

‘Oh.’ She took a sip of water and tried to calm her breathing. ‘No. I’ve never actually ridden a horse.’

‘That’s such a shame,’ said Mr Hunter. ‘It’s a wonderful way to explore the countryside. You should have lessons. I’m sure James can teach you.’

‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly . . .’ said Emily, as Jamie looked away.

‘That reminds me, Dad,’ he said, quickly changing the subject. ‘The vet came earlier to take a look at Tucker. He’s going to try a steroid injection.’

Emily carried on eating and tuned out the horse chat. She felt a flicker of disappointment that Jamie had deflected his father’s suggestion so quickly, not that she had the smallest inclination to learn to ride. She’d ridden a donkey on the beach in Brighton when she was about six, then many years later drank too much WKD Blue in a bar in Bognor and had a go on a bucking bronco. She’d deeply regretted both experiences and couldn’t imagine that riding a real horse would be any less awful.

Once dinner was finished, Emily and Mr Hunter loaded the dishwasher while Jamie covered all the leftovers and put them in fridge, before putting his boots back on and heading off with a smile and a wave. Emily wondered if he had a room above the stables, or if he returned to a grand four-poster bed in the house after he’d finished his work for the day. It occurred to her that he was probably the son who had recommended Leon to Mr Hunter, not Adam, so she happily went back to suspecting that Mr Hunter’s eldest son was a bit of a dick.

Once the kitchen was wiped down, Emily thanked Mr Hunter for dinner and made her excuses to leave. It was still early, but a quiet evening in her little lounge with the TV, a can of G&T and a bag of Percy Pigs was calling, followed by a bath before bed. It would be one of the few times in her life that she’d be able to soak in the bath without someone banging on the door and telling her they needed the loo, and right now that felt like the high life.

Chapter Ten

By 6 a.m. on Monday Emily was wide awake, and no amount of mindful breathing or counting imaginary sheep was going to get her back to sleep. She dragged herself out of the warmth and comfort of her cosy bed and put on a pair of leggings that had escaped the fire by being abandoned at her parents’ house for being too old and baggy to take to London. She pulled the labels off a new running top and a waterproof jacket, then laced up a box-fresh pair of trainers. Making as little noise as possible on the creaky landing floorboards, she crept down the back stairs and out into the yard.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it wasn’t completely dark either. Emily wasn’t sure of the word for that – was twilight just an evening thing, or did it apply to morning too? Either way it was a strange kind of milky darkness and stillness that she’d never experienced before, unbroken by streetlights and traffic noise. She put her hand against the cold brick of the house and did a few half-hearted stretches, then began a slow plod around the side of the house and down the drive.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the light and her legs had stopped feeling like they belonged to a ninety-year-old woman, she started to relax and enjoy the peace and solitude of plodding through the local lanes, her breath forming clouds in the still air. She’d purposely left her phone and earbuds behind so she could stay alert to what was going on around her, not wanting to be the idiot who was entirely oblivious to tractors and bicycles and flocks of sheep. At one point she spotted a stile leading on to a public footpath and headed across a field, then immediately clagged up her new trainers with heavy mud and wished she hadn’t. But she figured there was a limit to how muddy they could get and kept going.

Half an hour later, Emily was forced to face up to the reality that she was hopelessly lost. Somewhere along the way she’d accidentally deviated from the footpath, and an attempt to double back and retrace her steps had landed her on a bridleway by a field that looked exactly the same as every other field, with no hills or rooftops in any direction to help her get her bearings. Her feet were caked in mud up to her ankles, she had a bramble scratch on her leg that she could feel was bleeding under her leggings, and her watch told her she had precisely ninety minutes before she was due to present herself in Mr Hunter’s office for her first day in her new job.