Chapter Thirty-One

How quickly things had changed.

Three weeks ago, Libby started researching flights to Sydney - she'd had a job she despised, a feud with Grace, Patrick hated her and she was afraid to walk into a charity shop for fear of the octogenarian staff whispering behind her back. Now, sixty faces stared expectantly. Cross-legged, chins on hands, waiting.

Oh god.

'Are you ready?' Jane whispered.

Why am I nervous? Libby closed her eyes, taking slow steadying breaths. This wasn't the Coliseum. It was the dance studio in Haverton. The audience weren't middle class dance aficionados, they were ballet students aged five to eighteen. So why did she have clammy palms?

'Okay, let's do it.' She flexed her feet one last time as Jane pressed play.

The music began and years of rehearsals took over, moving Libby's feet without her thinking of the steps. It had been Jane's idea, to inspire the students, to show the them first-hand what they could achieve if they worked hard. Libby had been doubtful. Show them what a failed ballerina is like? But they didn't know she'd failed. They didn't know she should still be on stage. All they saw was a grown up, someone way, way older than them. To them she was the dream come true.

It ought to have depressed her, but their little faces stared in wonder and she tried not to laugh. That's probably what she looked like when she first saw the Sugar Plum Fairy. Libby floated through the moves, feeling more appreciated than she had in front of several hundred people at the Royal Opera House. Bugger keeping her smile restrained, she let it grow.

For the first time in four years, her future felt... hopeful.

She had her job at Low Wood Farm, she had ballet, she had a tentative new friendship with Grace, and then there was Patrick. God, why did one night playing cards sat next to Patrick still make her smile? He'd kissed her forehead, nothing more, but before she'd come to class, he'd been at the coffee shop, just like last week. They'd had espressos and he'd laughed at her nerves, but when he wished her luck, he'd tugged her plait, smiling. Okay, he didn't kiss her or ask if she'd like to go out for dinner to celebrate, but hope, she had hope.

Libby ended the dance with a deep courtesy as her munchkin audience clapped and cheered. From her left, Matilda, one of the studios newest recruits, stepped forward with a bouquet, gazing shyly. It was like she couldn't see Libby for the Sugar Plum Fairy - like the magic of a Father Christmas suit. Tears stung Libby's eyes.

*

Something had to change. He had to talk to his parents. Patrick wandered into their house, lifting the large canvas above the marauding pack of wagging tails and exuberant paws. He didn't go into the kitchen, but poked his head around the door. Bacon frying, coffee brewing, mum nose deep in the Guardian - Saturday morning.

'Mum?'

'Hello, darling. Coffee's fresh.'

'In a minute. Can I have a word?'

She followed him into the dining room, where he propped the painting, still covered in brown paper, against the table.

'Oh, a present for me?' She laughed. 'It's not my birthday.'

'I've... look, you can't tell anyone about it, especially Jane. You know what she's like. Promise.' After his mum nodded, Patrick tore away the paper and her eyes widened.

'Is that... the original?' she whispered.

'Yes. I know her.'

'This is the ballerina you took to Jane's? The girl from the Square.'

He nodded.

'Why's she so sad?'

Patrick explained, never taking his eyes off Libby's mournful face.

'You like her?' his mum asked.

He took a deep breath, folding his arms. 'Maybe.'

'Well, she's nae but trouble.' His father stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

'Dad, she's not like that. She's a really nice girl.'

'She could be the next Mother Theresa, but if you're seen with her, getting up to no good, you'll be on the front page of the paper.'

'But dad-'

'We have an agreement and if she's such a nice girl, she'll wait 'til June. Or you'll deal with the repercussions.'

'Mum?' Patrick implored her. Be reasonable.

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

'Fine. You can keep the painting and just so you know I'm going out tomorrow night. Drinking. But I've taken Monday off, swapped with Fergus. I take it that's within the rules?'

He strode out, pushing past his dad. Why couldn't they see that he'd changed? He slumped against the front door, resenting them. Sod it. He'd just do what he liked. He'd go out with Libby and to hell with their bloody rules.

'No, Elizabeth.' His dad's voice carried through the ancient single-glazed windows. 'The boy hasn't learned a damned thing. He can't always have his own way-'

Patrick climbed in his car. I've never been so ashamed to call you my son. Did he really want to risk seeing that look in his mum's eye again, even for... even for what? Would he risk everything, his mum's respect, for a few months with Libby? She wanted to get married, have kids. It'd never work.

Well, it might. Could he risk everything on might?

*

As birthdays went, Libby's twenty-fifth didn't hold much hope for being the most exciting. Zoe had buggered off to see her parents in an attempt to avoid Jonathon's incessant visits to apologise. Robbie had insisted she had the day off, but aside from a leisurely run with Xander, she had nothing planned.

She lay on the floor, stretching in preparation for her run and smiled at the sunlight streaming through the window. On a beautiful day like this, she could potter around gardening. With the rest of the house finished, Zoe's mission was to make the back garden an outdoor living environment. For the house to achieve its maximum value, Zoe had said, it needed wicker sofas and decking, not crazy paving and dope plants.

Maybe Patrick would want the plants. He'd be out on his usual Sunday morning bike ride. If she hung out in the garden, he might pass by and come in for coffee. He did most Sundays. They did little more than read the papers, but Libby adored the company. Maybe this week she could ask him to stay for dinner. Okay, it wouldn't be a Zoe extravaganza of lamb with red wine jus, but there was a chicken in the fridge and who didn't like roast chicken?

The doorbell ringing almost brought her back to reality, but still daydreaming of kissing Patrick over roast potatoes had Libby answering the door, smiling like a loon.

Xander stood leaning against the porch. 'Happy birthday, Wilde.'

The sight of him in baggy shorts and a bike helmet tempered her smile. 'You're cancelling on me?'

'Slight change of plan,' Xander said. 'We're going for a bike ride.'

Libby shook her head. 'I don't like bikes.'

'Tough.'

'I don't even have a bike.'

'You're right out of luck because Daisy has a bike she's used once and clothes she's never worn.' Xander handed her a bag. 'Go and get changed.'

'But I hate bikes. I haven't been on one in years.'

'It wasn't that long ago,' Patrick said as he pulled up. 'Challenge yourself, Libs.'

Oh god, he was coming too? What was the lesser of the two evils, looking like a chicken in front of Patrick, or a turkey when she fell off the bike?

Bugger it.

Ten minutes later, she headed back outside, looking every bit a pro-biker in Daisy's clothes. All the gear and no idea. To her horror, Robbie, Vanessa, Clara and Scott were all ready to go, chatting excitedly in their biking gear. They offered cheery Happy Birthdays, but Libby's trepidation grew. She'd look like an idiot in front of them all. How would Patrick ever like her?

'Xand, I'm not sure I can do this,' she whispered as he tinkered with Daisy's bike.

'You'll be fine, Wilde. You ride mental horses and you can run the socks off me so you're pretty fearless and fit. It's easy.'

She fiddled with her plait. 'I'm not-'

'Seriously, this is what Rob and I used to do before the restaurant, take people out doing extreme sports. We know how to look after people. We're not going anywhere tricky.'

'Do I have to put my feet in the clippy pedals?'

'Yes, but you're going to have a quick lesson with the best instructor in the world. Rob taught Daisy and she's a pain the arse to teach anything. She acts like a three year-old when she can't do it. It'll be fun, Wilde.' Xander handed her the bike. 'Rob?'

Robbie beckoned her towards the lane at the side of the house and Libby reluctantly followed.

'I don't want to do this,' she muttered, dying to run away.

Robbie smiled, taking hold of her handlebars. 'I didn't think you did scared. Besides, it's definitely easier than riding Dolomite. In fact, it's a lot like riding cross-county. Your knees and ankles are your suspension, your arms too. You just need to stay loose.'

'Cross country?' She took a deep, confidence-soothing breath. 'I'm listening.'

While he patiently explained how the gears, brakes and clips on her shoes worked, she tried to listen intently, but no matter how much theory she took in, the thought of having her feet trapped, tethered to the pedals, terrified her. As they completed lengths of the Square, up and down like a swimmer, Robbie jogged alongside, reassuring her, talking her through everything, holding her up when she slowed but couldn't release her feet quickly enough.

'I can't do this.' Frustrated with failure, she struggled not to cry.

Robbie held her face with both hands. 'Do you trust me?'

More than anyone she'd ever known. She stared into his reassuring brown eyes and nodded.

'Here's the thing, Lib. You're going to fall off. It's half the fun of the ride. You're going to forget about your feet being clipped in and you'll fall over. We all do it. Just enjoy it. I'd never let you get hurt.'

Galvanised, she pushed her reticence to the side and several more times they practised stopping and starting, until finally, she got it. Her foot hit the ground and he didn't need to catch her.

She paused at the end of the lane. 'Rob, please look after me?'

He kissed the top of her head. 'I promise.'

*

Libby and Robbie were friends. He knew it was nothing more, but Patrick stood astride his bike, leaning on his handlebars, wondering what was taking so long. Beside him, Vanessa watched the lane between the houses, just as anxious as he was.

'Libby is absolutely terrified,' Xander said, pulling up the other side of Vanessa.

Really? Patrick stood up. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to this ride out. Maybe he should tell her to forget it. 'Will she be okay?'

Xander grinned, that smug fucking grin. 'Of course, because you're going to look after her.'

'Why isn't your wife here? I'd look after her.'

Vanessa swatted them both. 'Play nicely you two.'

Patrick opened his mouth, but then Robbie and Libby appeared. Finally. He relaxed. He relaxed for three seconds until Rob kissed Libby's head.

Vanessa gave a little squeak.

'Van, stop it,' Xander said, putting his hand on her shoulder. 'It doesn't mean anything and you know it.'

'Yes, well it's not nice to see.' She looked up at Patrick. 'Is it?'

Patrick bent down to adjust his brakes. No, it's not. 'I'll look after Libs and keep her away from Rob.'

Libby's face was set with determination as she slowly cycled over, wobbling a little as she took her feet out of the clips.

'If I die,' she said, 'you get full custody of Hyssop.'

Patrick laughed. 'Told you I wasn't going to rely on plying you with booze.'

And the grim determination fled. She smiled. 'I'm hating these shorts. It feels like I'm wearing a nappy.'

'You'll appreciate them later.' He leant over, tightening her chin strap. 'Come on, you'll get nervous waiting for this lot to arse about. They can catch up.'

She swore under her breath, but followed him tentatively down the road. 'Don't go too fast.'

'Speed is your friend.' He slowed, pottering next to her. 'And stay away from Rob. You're making Van nervous.'

She frowned underneath her helmet. 'I hardly think looking like a four year-old learning to ride without stabilisers is a fabulous seduction technique.'

Oh, I don't know. It looks pretty cute to me.

He turned off the road, onto the bridleway into the woods, smiling as she squealed going over a tiny pothole.

Might. Was might worth risking everything?

Twenty minutes later, Libby waited at the top of the first hill. She'd overtaken them all, her fitness and Daisy's top-of-the-range bike proving their worth.

'Who the hell invited you?' Patrick said, catching her up. 'You're supposed to be at the back, being rubbish with Clara.'

Her face paled as Robbie and Vanessa whizzed past, heading down the other side. 'Uphill, I could handle, but that just looks bloody scary.'

'Just go steady to start with,' Xander said. 'You'll get the hang of it.'

'Sod that, Libs. Follow me.' Patrick set off. 'Remember, speed is your friend. And stay loose.'

The grim determination came back, but she followed him, swearing and squealing most of the way. By the time the track bottomed out, her relief was palpable, but her smile back in place.

'Okay,' she said, breathless with adrenalin, 'if I don't die, this might be fun.'

Good girl. He pedalled on, absurdly pleased. Why, because he was proud of her attitude or because if she liked this, then maybe she could go on ride outs with him instead of running with Xander?

From that point, she stayed behind him. He picked out the easiest side of the track, never going too fast and always glancing behind him. After the first hour, the grim determination disappeared, replaced by a huge smile, though she still squealed her way down most of the hills. She merrily rode along, occasionally talking with the others, mostly Xander, but unlike Clara, she never asked how much further and unlike Vanessa, she didn't constantly need to duck behind a wall for a wee.

'OMG, I hate this bit. Can I go round?' Clara whined.

'What bit?' Libby stared at the track in front of them. 'Jesus Christ, that's not a hill, it's a cliff. It just drops off.'

'I'll take you round, Clara,' Xander offered. 'Wilde?'

Don't bottle out. Patrick coaxed her nearer the edge. 'Ready for an adrenalin rush?'

'No.' She glanced from him to Xander as Robbie, Vanessa and Scott hurtled down the steep hill.

'Okay, it's a bit-'

'Vertical and a bloody long way down?'

'But it's just grass. No rocks, or tricky bits. You just point your bike down and go. Back brake on, careful with your front. Don't lock it up.'

She had her bottom lip tucked between her teeth watching as the racing trio reached the bottom.

'It's okay, Libs. You don't have to do it. You can go with Clar-'

She'd gone for it. Fucking hell, he loved this girl. Well, he didn't but... Christ, she made him smile. As she gained speed, her squealing grew louder, but she kept going. He laughed, his weight adding to his momentum and taking him flying past her.

'You bugger... Oh shit!'

He glanced back to see her wobble, losing control. 'Don't lock your brakes up!'

She reached the bottom, still out of control. The front wheel hit a rut, sending her over the handlebars. Patrick was already off his bike sprinting towards her, Robbie not far behind. Libby didn't get up.

Don't be hurt, Libs. Please, don't be hurt.

Her eyes were wide open, staring at the sky.

Oh Christ, she's dead.

As he stood over her, her eyes moved and she flashed him the biggest smile.

'Ohmigod, can we do it again?'

He fell to his knees, struggling for breath as he waved to the others to say she was okay.

'Seriously, can we?' she asked. 'That was awesome.'

Okay, maybe he did love her.

*

Three hours after leaving the Square, Libby unclipped her feet for the last time and lay down on the pavement outside the Alfred. She'd made it alive. She'd had five minor incidents after the first off, the most spectacular of the day, but she'd made it alive. The others had all dashed inside, desperate for a pint, the toilet or both, but Patrick stayed outside, fiddling with his bike.

'I have scabbed knees, a bruised elbow and my legs feel like jelly,' she said, smiling up at him.

'I'm sorry, I can't hear you. My ears are still ringing from all the screaming you've done.' He glanced at the pub. 'Come on. I'll buy you a birthday drink.'

'Oh for a cup of tea.' She let him pull her to her feet.

'Christ, you know how to live. It's your birthday.'

'Tea then wine.'

'Real beer then whisky.'

They were still debating what she should drink when he held open the door for her.

'Happy birthday!'

Libby stepped back, startled, but Patrick's hands were on her shoulders, pushing her into the pub, now filled with her friends. They launched into a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday to You and Zoe appeared with a vast cake, the assumed twenty-five candles turning it into a veritable inferno.

As the singing finished, Libby blew out the candles, laughing, smiling and almost crying in shock. Everyone she knew, at least the ones she cared about, were all there. The mountain bikers, plus Grace, Jack, Sheila, Jane, Daisy, Sparky, even Andy.

'You didn't really think I'd miss your birthday, did you?' Zoe bear-hugged her.

As Zoe cut up the cake, Libby sat at the bar, inundated with congratulations, offers of a drink and the delivery of gifts, all of which she stashed on a table while she soaked up the goodwill. Her co-dancers at the ballet would never have done this for her, or her random friends in Manchester.

'Surprised?' Patrick asked as he perched on the stool next to her, handing her a mug.

Surprised? Still reeling. Libby smiled, taking the tea. Hot tea, Hot Patrick. He'd been Hot Patrick all day, never leaving her side. It might actually rate as one of the best days of her life. The laughs, the adrenalin, the company. Why did he change everything?

*

Patrick sat at the bar, watching as Libby flitted around, saying hello to everyone. His mood deteriorated slightly when she reached Sheila and Andy. Stay away, Libs.

'Pint?' Scott asked, joining him. 'You see the rugby yesterday?'

They discussed England's dismal performance, but Patrick knew his old friend well enough. A team talk was on the way. Sure enough once Dave behind the bar handed over their drinks, Scott dragged him over to an empty table in the window.

'What's going on?' Scott asked.

'With what?'

'You and Libby.'

'Nothing.'

'Come on. It's pretty fucking obvious.'

'We're just friends.'

'The question is why.' Scott leaned forwards, speaking quietly. 'It's not like you.'

To explain, or not to explain.

'Well?'

'Look, she's nice but that's it.'

'Nice?' Scott laughed. 'Try again, mate. You look like you're in love with her.'

'Piss off.'

'You haven't left her side all day.'

'Someone had to look after her. And it couldn't be Rob.'

Scott shook his head, laughing. 'Do you know why I gave up the shit-hot job in London? Because Clara cried. It was the day her dad died. She hated that twat, but she cried her eyes out and that was it. You ever seen Libby cry?'

Patrick closed his eyes remembering her sitting with her head on her knees the day she lost her job. And the day that bastard threatened her. He nodded.

'And I bet you never want to see her cry again. You'd do anything to keep her safe and happy. Sound about right?'

So he'd sorted out a few things for her, like getting her job back and taking her to the ballet, but that didn't... Christ, he'd even paid a small fortune for the Broken Ballerina because he knew she'd regret giving it away. Was Scott right?

'I'll take your silence as a resounding yes. You're totally into her, mate. Now, why the hell aren't you doing anything about it?'

Patrick slumped back in his seat. 'Because if I go out with her, I could lose everything.'

Libby moved on, accepting a glass of wine off Daisy and Patrick explained to Scott about the ultimatum.

'I tried to talk to mum and dad yesterday, but they're adamant. Dad really doesn't like Libby.'

'Shit. Well, it's better than having HIV. Clara's convinced that's why you're not shagging Libby.'

'Bitch.' Patrick flicked a beer mat at the wall. 'She'd better not be spreading that around.'

Scott glanced across to Libby. 'Tell her.'

'I can't.'

'Why?'

'She'll leave. And she'd blame herself.'

Scott nodded, leaning forward on his elbows. 'Thing is, mate, I've seen how she looks at you. If you don't do something about it, she might leave anyway. You think she's going to sit around waiting for seven months?'

Patrick stared at him.

'Tell her. You can work something out. Just keep it quiet, no bad behaviour until June.'

'It's a big risk and I don't even know...'

'If you like her that much?' Scott grinned. 'We wouldn't be having this conversation if you really doubted that.'

'She wants the whole marriage and kids thing.'

'And you don't? You might like it.'

'You're always knackered and Vanessa pissed off with a violin player.'

'Viola, and you still might like it.'

'A big risk.'

'You're an adrenalin junkie. Suck it up.'

With appalling timing, Libby excused herself from Daisy and headed over to her pile of gifts. Scott shot him a grin.

'Off you go.'

Fuck.

She opened a card, smiling at the joke on the front, but her smile grew when he joined her.

'Here,' he said, handing her a purple gift bag from the pile. 'Happy birthday.'

She frowned, blushing a little. 'You got me a present?'

'I got you a present.' Okay, this was about as excruciating as life could get. He concentrated on his feet as she tore off the striped paper some shop assistant had spent five minutes neatly taping on.

'It's my Chloe perfume.' She gazed up at him. 'Thank you. Really.'

No, this bit of his life was definitely more excruciating. Maybe he should do this another time, at her house, in the garden, away from prying eyes. 'At least you won't stink anymore.'

She tipped her head to the side, as she sprayed on a little of the fragrance. 'I reckon about fifty percent of the time, I really hate you.'

He laughed, breathing in her familiar floral scent. 'And the other fifty percent?'

'Then you're just slappable.'

He relaxed next to her, enjoying her uncomfortable blushes as she picked up another gift. This would be okay. She liked him. He liked her. They'd work it out.

'Libs, I need to talk to you about something.'

She nodded, but became distracted by the little yellow bag she'd unwrapped, weighing it in her palm. She peeked inside and gasped. 'Oh god, no.'

'What?'

'I gave this pouch to Grace after the fell race,' she whispered, staring at him. 'It was a Retribution Spell. You can use them to punish someone, or you can use them to promote forgiveness. The idea is that the bad things you've done, you get back times three.'

He frowned. 'But you didn't technically-'

'Then technically, nothing will come back to me.' Libby shook her head. 'The point is I gave this bag to Grace. I stitched our initials on, see? Where is she?'

'She went home a couple of hours ago, said she wasn't feeling too well.'

'She wouldn't do anything stupid, would she?'

'Why?'

Libby delved inside the bag and lifted out Maggie's emerald pendant.

Patrick bolted.