The Perfect Escape: Romantic short stories to relax with. Julia Williams
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groaned as she pressed on, dodging lunchtime shoppers hurrying through the insistent mid-March rain. Does this bloke ever give up?
‘I thought you looked like somebody in need of assistance,’ Torin continued, drawing level with Elsie as they stormed together down the street. ‘And all I did was try to save you from an embarrassing and potentially litigious situation. Well, more fool me!’
‘You said it,’ Elsie muttered, wishing with all her heart that he would get the message and leave her alone.
‘Talk about ungrateful! Some women would see what I did just now as chivalrous.’
‘And some women would think you were a pathetic male on an ego trip, making yourself appear superior. “Stay there, darling …” as if I was some dumb-nutted bimbo! Chauvinism is not chivalry, mate.’
‘Oh, so stopping a security guard from hauling you back into a shop in full view of half of Brighton was patronising, was it?’
Of course it wasn’t. But Elsie was tired, embarrassed, soaked to the skin and not likely to give in to the annoying man who still seemed impervious to rain. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this.’
‘Time for what? For being told how unreasonable you are?’
Elsie gave a hollow laugh as she skirted round a café A-board placed unwisely in her path. ‘Oh right, I’m unreasonable …’
‘Yes, you are. May I remind you that there was every chance that security guard wouldn’t have let the situation go?’
‘How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that!’
He was matching her pace, step for step, his reddening face pulling closer to hers. ‘It was obvious to anybody! You only had to see the gleam in his eye to know that he intended to make an example of you. It could have involved the police, a magistrates court visit, a fine … a criminal record?’
Halting suddenly, Elsie faced him. ‘OK, enough! Believe it or not, I have more important things to think about today than whether or not I would have ended up with a criminal record if you hadn’t intervened. I’ve said thank you, I’ve paid you back, what more can you possibly want from me?’
Breathing heavily, Torin held up his hands. ‘Nothing. Obviously nothing.’ Then, to Elsie’s surprise, instead of hurling a clever comeback at her, he backed away, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
If she hadn’t seen the look of sincere disappointment in his eyes, Elsie would have just dismissed the whole thing. But the unexpected impact of it sent a whisper of conscience cutting like a scythe through her consternation. Blinking away the raindrops dripping from the edges of her fringe, she stood in the middle of milling shoppers, the events of the past ten minutes replaying over and over in her mind.
The insistent ringing of her mobile brought her sharply back to the present.
‘Hello? Oh hi, Dad. Yes, I have your things. I’ll bring them over after work.’
Taking one last glance up the street, Elsie shook the nagging doubt from her mind.
‘Weirdo,’ she told herself. ‘Clearly a weirdo.’
CHAPTER TWO
Moving on …
By the time Elsie parked her car outside her father’s three-storey townhouse later that day, thick grey clouds had laid siege to Brighton’s skies, emptying their weight of rain on the streets of the seaside city. Despite her best efforts to shield herself from the torrential downpour by holding her handbag above her head as she dashed from the car, she arrived at the purple wood and stained-glass front door soaked once more.
The tinkle of a small wind-chime over the door and heady smell of warming patchouli oil and Nag Champa incense sticks were immediately soothing as she walked into the hallway and headed towards the Indian bead curtain that covered the entrance to the kitchen. It had been many years since she had moved out of this place but it still always felt like home when she returned.
Jim Maynard beamed when Elsie walked into the kitchen. He was out of his work clothes already, his respectable business suit replaced by his favourite Nepal striped patchwork shirt, baggy combat trousers and bright orange Doc Marten boots. Elsie smiled back. She always preferred the sight of her father in his relaxed attire, with his much-beloved gold earring back in his ear: it was a truer version of himself than his well-respected Brighton businessman persona that he had adopted since taking over his father’s classic furniture store business.
‘It’s my favourite youngest daughter!’ he exclaimed, wrapping her up in one of his famous Dad-hugs, which was even more welcome today than usual. ‘Good day?’
Elsie opened a brightly painted enamel tea caddy and popped two ginger and cinnamon teabags into a hand-painted kingfisher-blue teapot, a gift to Jim from his middle daughter Guin when she set up her pottery business in Shoreham-by-Sea four years ago. ‘Annoying day, actually.’ She smiled at her father. ‘But it’s better now I’m here.’
‘I’m glad, darling. I knew there was a reason we needed patchouli oil today. Sit down, take a deep breath and tell your old dad about it.’ Jim took the whistling kettle from the gas stove and made the tea. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, nothing, really. I just had a bit of an ordeal at lunchtime.’
Her father was about to enquire further when the kitchen door opened and a chorus of ‘Shoplifter!’ filled the kitchen, followed by loud shrieks of laughter.
Elsie groaned as her two older sisters piled onto her, shouting, laughing and ruffling her hair. Sometimes being so close to your sisters (and texting them as soon as anything happened in your day) was a bad thing …
‘Our little sister, the petty thief!’ Daisy Maynard laughed, flicking back her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and clapping slender hands at the sight of her sister’s chagrin. ‘I’m so proud!’
‘We were going to get you a swag bag and mask from the fancy dress shop on the way here but Junior decided to play up,’ Guin added, patting her burgeoning belly. ‘You seem to have this one on side already, Els.’
Elsie grinned despite her embarrassment and reached out to stroke her sister’s considerable baby bump. ‘You’ve got taste, kid. Just stick with your Auntie Elsie and you’ll stay relatively sane.’
‘Although she’ll have you signed up to the family crime business before you know it,’ Daisy added as she and Guin descended into hilarity.
‘What’s this about crime?’ Jim looked from one daughter to the others, trying to keep up. After their mother had removed herself from the family unit when all three girls were little. Jim had assumed the role of sole referee of the whirlwind known as the Maynard sisters and was often left bewildered by their endless energy and the breakneck speed of their conversations.
‘Our little sister was almost arrested for shoplifting today,’ Guin said, groaning as she lowered herself carefully onto a chair by the kitchen table. Her blue eyes flashed with mischief as she pulled a hairband from her wrist and wound her wavy blonde hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? Goody-Two-Shoes Elsie a criminal mastermind!’
‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Elsie protested. ‘I handled the situation.’
‘Really? You handled it?’ Daisy asked, eyebrows raised.
‘Yes,’ Elsie replied firmly, wishing again that she hadn’t informed them so comprehensively of the event in a string of texts that afternoon. ‘I had a lot on my mind and honestly thought I’d paid. It was obvious in the end that I had made a mistake.’
‘Oh.’ Jim handed out mugs of tea, not really sure how to respond to this revelation. ‘Well, we live and learn, eh?’
Filled with a rush of love for