‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I don’t think the glasses are broken. Let me–’
‘Leave it.’ Matt stood up, his face suddenly a mask. ‘I’ll clear it up. Go to bed, Rosie. You’re tired.’
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’ Rosie wiped her damp palms down the front of her legs. She felt self-conscious and foolish. ‘Um, goodnight.’ Turning on her heel, she almost fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She’d been two seconds away from making a prize idiot of herself. How on earth would she be able to look Matt in the eye over the cornflakes tomorrow morning?
But when Rosie woke up, Matt had gone.
Chapter Forty
Matt stared through the windscreen of the BMW. It wasn’t yet six in the morning and he’d been driving for over an hour. He’d hardly slept a wink last night. After tossing and turning from four o’clock onwards, he’d decided to get up, have a shower and hit the road. At least he’d make Manchester in good time. Although at this rate he’d be knocking on his client’s office doors before the staff turned up.
Matt eased his foot off the accelerator, and manoeuvred from the outside lane to the middle. He waited for a lorry to struggle past and then moved again, this time into the inside lane. There was no need to rush. At the start of the journey, every fibre of his being had screamed to put as much distance between Rosie and himself as possible. He’d rocketed out of Penshurst like a bat out of hell. His mind kept playing and replaying last night’s scenario as the two of them had sat side by side on the couch sipping brandy. They’d both been relaxed. Too relaxed. He pursed his lips. He should have sat in one of the armchairs. Made sure there was plenty of space between them. Instead he’d been presumptuous and assumed, after a family day in Brighton, there was some sort of intimacy between them. Thank God he’d not kissed her! But it had been a close call.
Just because you both shared details of your first kiss didn’t mean there was intimacy between the two of you. The closeness was something you misread, you silly fool. You were simply sitting too near her. And just because she burst into tears and allowed you to put your arms around her, again didn’t warrant intimacy. You berk, Matthew Palmer! You moron! All that playing happy families yesterday went to your head. And even though some well-meaning waitress mistook you for Luke’s dad, it doesn’t mean you are. Rosie is NOT your wife, and Luke is NOT your son!
Matt felt his heart wrench, for that was the crux of it all – his conscience had hit the nail on the head. Rosie might not be his wife, but by golly she felt like she should be. And as for Luke…Matt smiled at the thought of the little chap grabbing his hair with tiny fists and chuckling so deliciously when his tummy was tickled. He was far too fond of the baby. He could oh-so-easily be a father to Luke. His mind wandered back to the waitress in the Brighton restaurant saying that Luke was the spitting image of him. Matt could admit it to himself here, in the privacy of his car. He’d been pleased – secretly proud and delighted to be mistaken for Luke’s father. And that was wrong. Everything was wrong. It was wrong that he was feeling this way about a tiny boy who was nothing to do with him. And it was wrong that he was feeling so strongly about a woman who had crashed into his life in some club, crashed out in his bed, gone on to have her life crash all around her and, in so doing, caused him to crash head-over-heels in–
Matt’s jaw dropped open. He’d slowed down so much the BMW was barely doing forty miles per hour. What had he been about to say to himself? Don’t be ridiculous, Matthew. You’re behaving like a love-struck schoolboy. Two weeks ago you hadn’t even met Rosie Perfect – and you’ve never been in love in your life! You’ve gone soft! Thirty-four years old and you’re behaving like some woman with her biological clock ticking. Wanting to settle down. Wanting to be a father. And then along comes a pretty face with legs up to her armpits and a cute little baby, and you’re behaving like some hormonal dipstick. What you need, Matthew, is a damn good shag. Matt instantly had a vision of Rosie, gloriously naked in his bed and drunkenly demanding sex before passing out. He batted the image away. No, not Rosie. You need a no-strings romp with…a light bulb went on in Matt’s head. Yes! The receptionist at Gregory Tibor’s Erith factory. What was her name? Cheryl! Every time she offered him coffee and asked if he’d like one lump or two, she’d thrust her chest out. And a pretty damned impressive chest it was too, if he remembered rightly. Sorted! He’d ask Cheryl out for dinner just as soon as Rosie Perfect had buried her husband. In fact, why wait. He’d ring Cheryl later on today and see if she was available this Saturday! He’d wine her, dine her, and then take her back to hers for some therapeutic rumpy-pumpy. That’s better, Matthew. Now you’re behaving like the insensitive bastard your mates all believe you to be. Good. Normal service has been resumed. Feeling slightly happier, Matt hit the accelerator. He signalled and cruised back out into the fast lane.
Six hours and one telephone call later, his Saturday night arrangements were complete.
Chapter Forty-One
Rosie spooned some dinner into Luke’s mouth.
‘There we are, darling,’ she cooed to the baby, ‘nice gloopy Mr Heinz for you to gobble up.’
Luke beamed and a second later some of the mixture dribbled down his chin.
‘Mmmm,’ Rosie rolled her eyes and made an ecstatic face, ‘isn’t that just the yummiest thing you’ve ever tasted?’
Thank goodness for her little boy. Right now he was absorbing every moment of her attention. Talking mindless babble to Luke ensured there was no opportunity to think about Matt Palmer and that excruciating moment where she’d leant in towards his gorgeous, handsome face, and that beautiful, inviting mouth, or wanted to fling her arms around his strong, muscular shoulders and–
Out in the hallway, the phone let out a series of shrill rings. She smiled wryly to herself. So much for Luke’s mushy lunch blocking mushy connotations of Matt Palmer. As it was Matt’s phone, Rosie let it ring until the answering machine kicked in. Seconds later, Hester’s squawking filled the apartment.
‘I rang your mobile, Rosie, but you didn’t pick up. Have you any idea how annoying it is when you don’t answer? What is the point of having a mobile phone if you can’t be bothered to speak to anybody on it! And because you haven’t answered your mobile, now you’ve forced me to ring that ghastly man’s landline number. So why aren’t you picking up his phone? Are you trying to avoid me, Rosie? Just because I don’t approve of you taking a lover while your husband isn’t even cold, doesn’t mean you should punish me with a wall of silence. And talking of poor Dave, that’s why I’m phoning. He wouldn’t want to be hanging around in some funeral parlour. So I’ve been in touch with the director and arranged for a home funeral. Obviously it would have been better for him to leave from the marital home, but as you are no longer there and shacked up in a love nest in Penshurst, I’ve told the director to bring Dave to me. I think it’s much nicer that he can rest in front of the telly until Friday morning…’
Rosie nearly dropped Luke’s jar of Mr Heinz. Frantically she began unstrapping Luke so she could intercept her mother’s call.
‘…and obviously Dave won’t be here until the director has…erm…you know…seen to various bits and pieces. It’s all a bit delicate apparently, but nonetheless increasingly popular. Certainly the gels are looking forward to seeing Dave. Gertrude has even cancelled a hot date with a charming gentleman in order to be there. She’s joined a senior dating agency you know, although I don’t know if she’ll get her money’s worth with some of them. The last candidate was ninety-seven and passed away before they even met. Anyway, I digress. We shall all have a sherry or two before the hearse arrives to take Dave on his last journey. Oh dear, I’m starting to cry. This is all too distressing.’ There was a pause followed by some noisy nose blowing.
Hoiking Luke out of the highchair and onto her hip, Rosie hastened into the hallway. Breathlessly, she snatched up the handset. ‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at, Mum?’
‘Oh, you are there,’ Hester said accusingly.
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‘Yes, of course I’m here,’ Rosie cried, ‘I was giving your grandson his lunch.’
‘Couldn’t you have done that whilst talking to me at the same time on the phone?’
‘The handset was out in the hallway, and Luke was strapped into his highchair in the kitchen. But not to worry,’ Rosie said through gritted teeth, ‘I shall now put Luke back in his highchair and give him the rest of his lunch whilst talking to you.’
‘That’s awfully good of you,’ said Hester sarcastically.
Rosie cupped her shoulder to the handset whilst once again wrestling with the highchair straps. ‘Can you please tell me, Mum, why you are interfering with the funeral arrangements?’ Rosie slumped back down on her own kitchen chair and picked up Luke’s plastic spoon. She suddenly felt exhausted.
‘Interfering? How dare you! I’m following Dave’s wishes.’
‘What wishes?’
‘The wishes he once made perfectly clear to me, Rosie. It was not long before he died. In fact it was just after that window to your front door was broken. He told me that he suspected you were having an affair with that awful man.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘He said, “Rosie doesn’t love me anymore. If I die, Hester, it will be of a broken heart. Promise me you’ll give me a great send off, and make sure it’s from your place.” I said it was the very least I could do for him. The poor boy was distraught.’
For a moment Rosie was speechless. ‘Mum,’ she hissed into the handset, ‘I don’t care what Dave said. The funeral arrangements have been–’
‘–changed, Rosie. They’ve been changed. So I will see you – preferably without that ghastly man – on Friday morning, ten o’clock prompt. Good-bye.’
Rosie disconnected the call and immediately burst into tears. Luke took one look at his mummy crying, and started to bawl too. For a moment the kitchen reverberated to the howls of mother and child. Reaching for some kitchen towel, Rosie blew her nose. Ripping off a fresh sheet, she dabbed at Luke’s face.
‘There, there, darling. Let’s not cry, eh? We’re both behaving like a pair of babies. Which is fine in your case, but Mummy should know better, shouldn’t she? So let’s dry our tears and have a nice cuddle.’ Rosie leant forward and once again released Luke from the highchair. Lifting him towards her, she snuggled the little boy into her chest and kissed the top of his head. Luke immediately stopped crying. ‘What we need is another day out in Brighton!’
Oh, to have Matt here. He’d have given Hester short shrift over her interference. But she mustn’t think of Matt. For now, he was miles away, and just as well. Rosie would now have to ring the undertaker to re-arrange Hester’s re-arrangements. She reached for the phone, but as she did so, she had a sudden vision of Hester similarly doing the same thing moments after she’d finished the call. At this rate Dave would be yo-yoing from the funeral parlour to her mother’s house and back again. Exhaustion washed over Rosie. Did it really matter if Dave left from her mother’s house? The outcome would remain the same – he was still going to end up six feet under. To hell with it. Let her mother have it her way.
Rosie jumped as the phone began to ring in her hand.
‘Hello?’ she answered cautiously.
‘It’s me,’ said Lucy. ‘How are you?’
Rosie exhaled. ‘Fed up.’
‘I’ll bet. Are you in a hell of a state and endlessly crying with grief?’
‘Yes, but not the sort of grief you’re thinking.’
Lucy chuckled. ‘Fe-fi-fo-fum, I smell the scent of Horrendous Hester-Mum.’
‘Uncanny.’
‘What’s your ma been doing now? Spit it out. Tell all to Aunty Lucy.’
‘Oh, never mind my woes. How are you? Have the screaming heebie-jeebies caught up with you after discovering your fiancé is a cross-dresser?’
‘Nope. I should be ashamed to admit it, but actually I’m not. I feel absolutely fine. I’m madly in love with Gregory, and he with me. I don’t care what opinions people might have, or how they want to judge. It’s none of their business.’
‘I wish I could have a layer of your thick skin.’
‘Why? Ooh, don’t tell me. The gorgeous Matthew is causing havoc with your hormones!’
Rosie felt her cheeks redden. ‘Lucy, don’t. You sound like my mother. She’s been perfectly vile, even accusing me of having him as a lover.’
‘Take no notice of her. Anyway, you can tell her quite truthfully that he’s spoken for.’
Rosie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s dating Gregory’s receptionist.’
There was a pause while Rosie digested Lucy’s throw-away comment. Surely she must have misheard? ‘Sorry, what did you say, Lucy? It’s not a very good line.’
‘I said you can tell that busybody mother of yours that Matt does indeed have a lover, but it’s not you. It’s the woman who mans the phones at Tibor’s Tasty Titbits. Cheryl.’
Rosie felt like she’d been slapped around the face. ‘Are you sure? Matt never said anything about it. In fact, I’m positive he’s single at the moment. He talked a little bit about his last girlfriend and why they split up.’
‘Oh? Who was she?’
‘He didn’t tell me her name. He just laughed and said they weren’t compatible because she didn’t like Marmite.’
‘Well I don’t know whether Cheryl likes Marmite, but he’s definitely keen on her.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Rosie in a small voice.
‘I’m ringing you from Gregory’s office. Gregory’s on walkabout around the factory and I’ve been sitting on his computer scrolling through Facebook. The office door was open when Matt’s call came through to Cheryl. I couldn’t help overhearing. She was calling him ‘Naughty Matthew’ and making her voice sound all seductive and yucky-poo. I stuck my head out of Gregory’s office to hear better, and saw her sitting there twiddling some hair around one finger and arching her back. Stupid cow looked like she was having sex with her typing stool. Apparently they’re going out this Saturday evening.’
‘Good.’ Rosie’s voice was unnaturally high. ‘I’ll be sure to tell my mother.’
‘You do that,’ Lucy chuckled. ‘Hey, are you all right? You’ve gone a bit quiet.’
Rosie puffed out her cheeks. ‘The last few days have been horrendous. I think everything is just starting to catch up with me.’
‘You need wine, kiddo. How about I come over to yours this evening? If Matt’s away I could stay the night and keep you company. Gregory won’t mind. In fact I think his todger would welcome a break from me. Poor love is exhausted.’
‘Spare me the details,’ Rosie shuddered. ‘If Gregory doesn’t mind, it would be lovely to see you – and the wine will be most welcome.’
‘Sorted. Catch you later.’
‘See you.’
Rosie put the handset down and stared up at the ceiling. So Matt had an impending hot date with Cheryl? Well good luck to him. And her. They were probably very suited, especially if they both liked Marmite. Rosie had a sudden vision of them rolling around in bed together, covering themselves in Marmite before licking it off. For God’s sake, Rosie Perfect, think of something else.
She couldn’t wait to see Lucy and have some female company – and wine. In fact all Rosie really wanted to do now was get rip-roaringly drunk.
Chapter Forty-Two
Lucy had tucked her legs under her and was snuggled into Matt’s sofa.
‘The lad has a nice pad,’ she observed, before taking a sip of her wine.
‘That rhymes,’ Rosie giggled.
It wasn’t far off midnight and she was on her fourth – or was it fifth? – glass of something pink and fruity. She had no idea what the wine was called, just that it was going down very nicely. On the coffee table in front of them was their third bottle of vino. The previous two were now languishing in the recycling box. Luke was fast asleep and – for now – all was peaceful. Rosie let out a long sigh.
The wine had hit all the right places. Her shoulders had unkinked and she was slumped in an armchair, legs sprawled out in front of her.
‘So,’ said Lucy, ‘this evening you’ve told me the most incredible tale of marital upheaval, death, lethal loan sharks and a mother on the funeral warpath.’ She looked at Rosie thoughtfully. ‘And Matt Palmer is an ongoing fixture who – to quote Mr Shark – really does sound like Captain Marvel! How does he truly figure in the grand scheme of all this?’
Rosie began twirling the long stem of the wine glass between her fingers. ‘You know perfectly well how he fits in. He’s been a good friend. A mate.’
‘Indeed. The fact that you’ve known this mate barely a fortnight is, you have to concede, quite astonishing. Don’t tell me there’s not some sort of chemistry between the two of you. I saw the way you both looked at each other on my hen night. It’s a wonder your knickers didn’t self-combust.’
‘Lucy, I can hardly remember your hen night thanks to drinking a gallon of champagne.’
‘And what about my recent soirée at Terry’s place? Matt was most attentive.’
‘I think that’s just the way the guy is.’ Rosie leant forward and topped up her wine glass. ‘Anyway, both you and my mother are barking up the wrong tree,’ she put the wine bottle down and wiped a drip off the coffee table with her sleeve, ‘because quite apart from the fact that I’m newly widowed with a husband still waiting to be buried, Matt has got himself a date with Cheryl Big Boobs this Saturday.’
‘Ooh, that’s a bit catty,’ Lucy grinned, ‘and don’t put the stopper back in that wine bottle. You can top me up too.’ She put her glass on the coffee table next to Rosie’s. ‘Has Cheryl Big Boobs touched a nerve with you?’
‘I really couldn’t care less about the wretched woman.’
‘Ah-ha! She has!’
Rosie tutted crossly. ‘I’m thrilled to bits,’ she said, sounding anything but, ‘that Matt is taking another woman out. He’s had a horrendous time with Luke and me impacting on his life…taking over his apartment,’ she flung an arm expansively about, ‘and having the place invaded by some thug…not to mention having his work schedule disrupted.’ She really didn’t want to talk about Matt or how she felt about him. Especially with her brain full of alcohol and her tongue looser than she’d like.
The Perfect Marriage Page 18
