I decide to try to assess the lay of the land.
‘What are you going to do?’ I ask her.
Her feet are on the dashboard and she still can’t straighten her legs. ‘Nothing. I’ll stay out of sight for a couple of weeks, then go back and ignore the stares and sniggers. If nothing else, at least it now forces his lordship to make a decision.’
‘Don’t you think he’s more likely to come to you if you’re in the same country? You know, that out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing?’
She laughs. ‘Carol used to say, “out of mind, out of earshot”. Anyway, I’ve had enough of trying to second-guess what he’s going to do. If he’s waiting for me when I get back, then great, if not, then I’ll live. I’ve had enough of being his bit on the side – I deserve better.’
I give her a round of applause, then panic as the car veers off the road.
‘Besides,’ she adds, ‘if all else fails, then I can always sell my side of the story to the News of the Screws. “Randy Researcher Rights the Wrongs”. I’d make a fortune.’
I nod, going with her thought process. ‘Then there’s the book deal, of course, and the obligatory weekly column in a trashy tabloid. Jess, this could open up a whole new world for you,’ I joke. ‘Just don’t forget your friends when you’re famous. The dosh from that lot would keep us in facials for years.’
I switch on the radio, right in the middle of ‘What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted’.
We burst into fits of giggles, then join in with the song.
By the time we reach the nearest village to Tom’s farm, it’s lunchtime and we’re hungry and hoarse. I’m still not sure I’m going to go through with facing him, but maybe I can at least get some info on where he is and what he’s doing. That way, if he has six kids and a devoted wife, I can back away without causing any damage to his life or my heart.
I push Jess out of the car, then she grabs my arms and pulls. Two dislocated shoulders and a slipped disc later, we’re standing outside the village pub. I bang on the locked doors. After a few moments, an elderly gent with wild grey hair, wearing a woolly jumper and old farming trousers, opens it a few inches.
‘Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had a room for a few nights?’
‘Sorry, lass. We don’t open on a Sunday.’
I assume my most crestfallen face. ‘Look, please, we don’t know this area very well and we want to visit friends here, the McCallums at Blue Peacock farm.’
He ponders for a few moments, then opens the door wider. ‘I can’t promise you any food, mind, as I say, we’re closed on a Sunday.’
The door is open wide enough now for us to pass through. As we step into the main body of the pub, we’re stunned to see about sixty faces looking at us. The whole population of the village is in here and they’re all sitting in complete silence.
‘It’s all right, now,’ he announces, ‘these lasses are friends of the McCallums.’
They look us up and down, obviously double-checking that we’re not from the Trading Standards Authority, then immediately start chattering again, presumably continuing with the conversations that they were having before we rudely interrupted them by banging on the door.
I turn to the landlord. ‘I thought you said you were closed,’ I say with a grin.
‘Aye, lass, that we are. Except for regulars, of course.’
Within ten minutes, Jess and I have two pints of Guinness and two geriatric companions. By late afternoon, we’re on first-name terms with everyone in the bar and six different families have invited us to their homes for dinner. When the whole pub breaks into a chorus of ‘The Wild Rover’, I astound them by standing on a chair and singing the third verse on my own. As I climb down to rapturous applause, Jess laughs in wonder.
‘Where the hell did you learn that?’ she cries.
‘My gran used to sing it to me when I was a kid, after she’d given me a nip of whisky to help me sleep.’
‘Cooper, suddenly it’s all become clear. Now I know the seeds of your delinquency were sown in childhood.’
I give her a hug. It’s great to see her laughing and after the day she’s had, she deserves a bit of fun. I call Kate on Jess’s mobile to let her know we’re okay. Mine doesn’t allow international calls but hers is government issue and on an extortionate price plan that covers calls to anywhere in the world.
‘Carly, I can hardly hear you, what’s all that noise in the background?’
‘That’s our new friends and Jess singing “Danny Boy” out of tune,’ I shout.
‘I’m sorry I asked, and even sorrier that I’m not there with you. It sounds like a riot.’
‘Oh, God, hold on, Kate.’
I throw the mobile down and go and rescue Jess, who’s fallen off her bar stool.
I pick the phone back up. ‘Sorry, Kate, what were you saying?’
‘I have a message for you from Carol. She has to go to Tokyo for a three day shoot tomorrow, but she’s got three weeks off after that. She says she’ll meet you in Shanghai if you’re still going.’
‘That all depends on how it works out here. For all I know, I could be Mrs McCallum by the end of the week.’ Ten drinks ago I was still contemplating backing out, so I realise that this new sense of deluded confidence is the alcohol talking.
‘Nothing would surprise me, Cooper. Just give me enough time to buy a floppy hat.’
At eleven o’clock, having consumed a keg of Guinness, four packets of cheese and onion crisps and two packets of
