Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Crackerjack Fenton

The next morning Viola chose the least crowded route for her morning run, and still, on her way back she had an encounter. Two streets away from the surgery, she heard 'Oh Dr. Holyoake!' behind her. She considered pretending she couldn't hear the person, hoping they would notice the earphones, but then she stopped, pressed the buttons on the pods, and turned around with a polite smile. Mrs. Small, one of the Fab Five ladies, was hurrying her way, dragging her little dog, that looked like a duster without a handle, after her. The poor animal was pitter-pattering, but it seemed to Viola that from time it was simply pulled through the air like a kite.

"Dr. Holyoake! What an exciting evening, and what a dreadful, dreadful continuation of it yesterday!" Mrs. Small exclaimed, coming to stop near Viola. Her dog emitted a long exhausted sigh and dropped its fluffy backside into the dirty snow near the road. "How are dear Fiona and Will Holyoake now?"

Viola thanked years of practice for the fact that no emotion showed on her face.

"Quite alright," she answered.

"And poor, poor Sam! He just sees no luck! Yesterday in the pub, he seemed so defeated." Mrs. Small shook her head. "Well, hopefully they will help poor Semra in the Bonn House."

The Bonn House was the rehab centre where Semra had been staying. It was located in the next county.

"Which can't be said about our dear Dr. Fenton!" the old lady said, perking up, her eyes burning greedily. "What a performance! Who knew he was such a debonair! All of us were, of course, looking forward to your former spouse singing, but instead we had the pleasure of listening to Dr. Fenton... and you have to admit, he's quite a competition to Master Rhys, don't you think?"

The old lady gave Viola a pointed mischievous look, and Viola smiled politely, taking her rushing thoughts under control.

"Quite so, Mrs. Small," she said. "It's quite hard to tell which one has a better– voice."

Mrs. Small giggled.

"You do, my dear," she said and patted VIola's upper arm. "We're all so glad that the Holyoakes don't hold the monopoly for the singing talent anymore. Although, you are still a Holyoake, nominally speaking."

"Only nominally," Viola said. "You'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Small, I'm getting quite cold. These clothes are only good for running."

"Oh, do run along, my dear," Mrs. Small started squawking. "We wouldn't want you to catch a cold! "

***

Back in the flat, Viola took a shower, dried and styled her hair, and walked back into her bedroom. She'd made her bed before her run - and now she suddenly felt like crawling back under the duvet. She told herself to stop being silly and sat down at her desk. She checked the time - it was half past seven - and dialled Sam. Her call was sent into voicemail, and she sighed and scrolled through her recent calls to find Rhys' number.

"Morning," he answered after three tones. His voice was gruff.

"Morning. How are you?" she asked and fidgeted with the pen that she'd unconsciously picked up from her pencil holder.

"I'm good," he answered, seemingly grudgingly.

"Right," Viola said, and heard him sigh. "How's Sam? What happened yesterday?" she asked.

"He's– alright. It's all OK now," he said. Well, that surely sounded convincing. "We figured it all out last night."

"Did you?" Viola drew out in doubt, and then asked sharply, "And what happened to Fiona and Will then?"