He can’t prove it was me. He can’t. And I’m offended he’s even accused me. I’m fed up of getting the blame, even if I did do it.
“And video,” Charlotte adds, pushing strands of her fiery red hair out of her face.
“Video?” I gulp, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Well, that explains the twenty-three missed calls when I woke up.
“Yeah, he said he had video evidence.”
“Oh God,” I groan. “I’m so screwed.”
Clayton clears his throat, bringing everyone’s attention to him. Charlotte smiles, reaching for her pocket and pulling out a five-pound note. “Do you need more food? Not that you look like you’re starving. Oh God, that was rude. I mean, you just seem to be in good shape.”
I burst out laughing, causing her to stop her rambling. He gently puts his hand up, declining the money. “I’m not homeless.”
I can feel his accusing gaze on me.
Charlotte looks from him to me before taking a step back. “He’s not another creeper, is he?” she whispers-yells.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“No,” Clayton yells. “I’m—”
“He’s helping with Faith’s hen party,” I blurt out, turning to glare at him. When he opens his mouth, I elbow him in his side again. “Aren’t you?”
“Um, yes?” he questions, and I roll my eyes.
His expression is comical right now, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“You found somewhere for the hen and stag party?”
“The stag party?” I ask Aunt Kayla, clearing my head. No one mentioned the stag party to me.
“Yes, she wants a joint one now. Beau’s friends might not make it down in time, so she said to do it as a family and friends thing, somewhere they can go at the same time.”
Stuck on the spot, I stare at Clayton with wide eyes. “Um, Clayton had some ideas, didn’t you?”
His mouth opens and closes, his face a little pale. “Um, Mingles.”
“Mingles?” Kayla questions, her forehead creasing.
“Yes, it’s um… it’s a club?”
I face him once again, glaring. “Are you asking or telling us?” I snap. A bloody club. It’s a hen and stag party, not a Friday night. We could have just done this ourselves. “What kind of planner are you?”
He holds his index finger up to Kayla and Charlotte, before gripping my arm and pulling me away for a second.
“Why are you acting like I’m actually a party planner? I’m not,” he grits out, smiling at Charlotte and Kayla, who are watching expectantly.
Grimacing, I shrug. “Sorry. I forgot and got carried away. But what in the hell is Mingles?”
He throws his hands up. “I don’t know,” he yells, before wincing. He looks over his shoulder again for a second before stepping closer, leaning down to whisper, “It’s a new place Date Night wants us to check out. It doesn’t have the seal of approval from their company board, so they like to get feedback before any checks are done.”
“So what is it? It sounds like a strip club.”
He glances back over his shoulder. “I’m not sure. Don’t forget, I’m not a bloody party organiser. Just go with it. You can always change the destination after.”
“Every year we all go away together, or try to, and once in a blue moon, someone fucks up. Usually one of the lads. If you fuck this up for me, you can kiss your job goodbye. Because I will bury you,” I warn him, before turning to Kayla and Charlotte with a bright smile. “It’s going to be fantastic, guys.”
“Yes, you’ll love it. It has everything. A friend of mine owns Cabin Lakes. I can get him to rent you some cabins for a cheap price. If he has any spare.”
I turn to glare at him. What happened to changing the destination? Now they’re going to hear the cheap price and want to go.
Charlotte looks up from her phone. “Does it have men stuff?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Clayton nods. “I know Dean had a mud track put in on the new field he purchased. It’s meant to be really popular with the locals and tourists.”
“So, um, we should get going. Let’s make sure it’s everything Faith and Beau are looking for before we say anything. We should keep looking.”
“Faith said yes,” Charlotte announces, ruining any hope I had to change this. “It’s in two weeks. She asked if you could book places for everyone, including Jaxon and four extra rooms for any last-minute arrivals. There are a few who still aren’t sure if they can make it.”
“Me?” I squeak, feeling my breathing speed up. I don’t have the patience for this shit. And if it’s crap, it’s me who will get the blame. “Why me? Shouldn’t we keep looking?”
“Yes, you. Lily is trying to calm her down, so she can’t. She’s getting stressed, so she just wants it booked now.”
Kayla’s expression softens into a sad smile. “She’s missing her grandparents.”
Guilt hits me like a truck. “Well crap, of course I will.”
Her glove-covered hand reaches out, patting my arm. “You’re a good girl.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, deflated.
I flick my gaze to Clayton beside me, thinking of ways to pay him back for this.
Charlotte steps forward, hugging him. “You’ve saved the day. Thank you.”
He looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw clenched. He doesn’t hug her back, looking so tense I want to laugh.
“It was all Hayden,” he tells her, gently pushing her away.
She turns her smile to me. “I can’t believe you said he was homeless, silly. I know you wanted it to be a surprise, but you could have told me. If me and Scott get married, you can organise mine.”
Kayla, looking panicked, watches her daughter for any signs of joking. I know she won’t say anything about it being too soon for that kind of talk. Not yet anyway.
“I’m amazing, I know,” I rush out. “Well, we’d best be going. Loads of organising and all that.”
“Have… fun,” Kayla comments, her eyes twinkling.
“I’ll get Hayden to send me your email address to finalise everything. If I have time, I’ll send you a thank you cake,” Charlotte tells Clayton.
He smiles smugly, like he’s won the jackpot. “Thank you.”
“Maybe—”
“That’s so sweet of you,” I tell Charlotte, interrupting Kayla. I grin over the perfect revenge.
We exchange goodbyes, and once they’re gone, I turn to Clayton, narrowing my eyes on him. “You,” I snap, pointing my finger at him, “can buy me some new shoes too.”
CHAPTER SIX
Stepping into the pouring rain, I race across the car park to Nightingale Care Home, which is part-owned and run by Tracey, my boss. My fingers ache from trying to keep the umbrella from blowing away.
Stepping under the alcove of the front entrance, I shake the droplets of rain off the umbrella before putting it down. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful I made it, even if I am soaking wet.
The car park is surprisingly empty, due to the unrelenting rain. It rains a lot—it is England—but this is just maddening. It felt like shards of glass hitting my skin it was coming down that hard. The wind isn’t any better. Rubbish litters the roads and pavements from where it’s blown bins over, leaving destruction everywhere. The news had reported on the radio, saying trees had fallen, blocking roads.