‘What’s that stench?’ asked Marc, opening the bathroom door and adding another cloud of steam to the atmosphere.
‘The garlic!’ I yelped, whirling round to find slivers of charcoal welded to the bottom of the frying pan.
Ten minutes later, I stared into the pan disconsolately. I had produced a vat of glutinous, beige porridge, flecked with lumps of scrambled egg and chips of blackened bacon. I’d had to throw the garlic away, it had been so acrid.
‘Dinner’s ready!’ I called feebly. There was no sign of Spike yet and the food was already congealing into a solid mass.
Marc and Emma slunk into the kitchen like two death row inmates facing their final meal, both of them batting away the steam to locate the table.
‘It’s hot in here,’ said Emma, peeling her t-shirt away from her skin. ‘I’m sweating like a pig at the butcher’s.’
‘Remind me again why you’re single,’ Jess quipped from the doorway. ‘Didn’t I say, babes? Spike and I are taking Mum and Dad out for a meal tonight. So… er…’ She shrugged apologetically.
Bummer. That meant even larger portions. I kept my back to the others as I tried removing the spaghetti from the pan with two spoons. My whole head was hot and I was beginning to wish I’d stuck to three-tin surprise.
‘Dinner with the parents, eh?’ said Marc, scraping his chair on the floor as he sat down. ‘He’s got his feet well under the table, hasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, imagine that!’ said Emma, struggling to find room for her legs amidst Marc’s splayed limbs.
I abandoned the spoons and sliced through the stodge with a knife.
‘What is it anyway?’ asked Marc. ‘It better not be too heavy on the carbs.’
I closed my laptop with my elbow. ‘Scrambled egg and bacon Italiano.’
‘Ooh fusion food!’ said Jess. Oh bless her for trying to say something positive.
‘Confusion, more like!’ muttered Marc. Emma tittered.
‘Ta-da!’ I plopped industrial-sized portions in front of them. ‘And there’s plenty left if you want seconds. Are you sure I can’t tempt you, Jess? Jess?’
She had gone.
‘Bloody hell. It looks like cat sick!’ declared Emma, turning her nose up.
‘Sorry, Princess, I’m not eating that.’ Marc pushed his chair back with a shudder and kissed me roughly on the cheek. ‘I’m off to the gym.’
Emma helped me scrape the bowls into the bin and I opened a bag of Doritos and jar of salsa.
So the meal wasn’t entirely a success. But at least they had all agreed on something for a change, even if it was only how awful my cooking was. That, I decided, was definitely a step in the right direction.
thirty-one
It was barely light and very icy when I had left home. I had had to scrape the frost off the car before setting off. I made a mental note to buy de-icer and thicker gloves as my credit card had snapped in two and my fingers were numb.
Nick’s car was on his drive. Good, that was the first of my concerns dealt with. My visit was a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t have an appointment. I drove past his house looking for a space to park. It was only eight o’ clock and the road was lined with cars. I squeezed the little mini in between a skip and a transit van, collected my folder of drawings and locked the car.
Not bad, I thought, looking back at the car to check out my parking skills as I crossed the road. Slightly diagonal, but then it was a tight space.
It was a month since I’d been here last. A month since I’d seen Nick, unless I counted his appearance in my dream as a fairground horse. All I’d had from him since then was an email reminding me that he was waiting for comments on the design for my house. I had a feeling that after I had made a stroppy and dramatic exit from his office, he was in no rush to continue our business relationship.
My finger hovered over the two doorbells. Home or office? The blinds in his front room were closed. Perhaps it was too early to call round? I should have phoned first, but if I left it any later I would be late for work.
I chewed my lip and dropped my hand down to my side. This saying sorry lark was becoming a habit; Brodie last week and Nick today. What was more worrying was my bad behaviour in the first place. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I always used to be so easy going. These days I ended up arguing with everyone I came into contact with.
One person who wasn’t getting an apology was Mum. Much as I loved her, this time I refused to play the peacemaker. All my life I had avoided asking questions about her and my father. It was my right to know about my family background. There had been a girl at my school who had been adopted and even she had known more about her birth father than I did! Perhaps when Mum had got over the shock and had had time to get used to the idea, she would come round? Hopefully, before her annual Christmas visit.
I was still prevaricating on the door step and my toes were in danger of going black and dropping off from frostbite.
Come on, just ring the bell. He’ll answer, preferably not in his pyjamas, you can hand him your amendments and apologise.
I rang the house bell. No response. I tried the office bell, but again there was no response. It was ten past eight. Knowing Nick, he would definitely have been up by now. In fact I was sure he would be in his office. Perhaps he was on the phone and couldn’t come to the door?
I shrugged. No harm in trying.
I let myself in through the gate and followed the path towards the patio. Within seconds my ears picked up the strains of loud music from the house and I automatically turned and looked through the glass doors into the kitchen.
My lungs contracted instantly as if they’d had an altercation with a George Foreman grill, and I gasped.
On the other side of the glass, no more than two metres from me, was a woman wrapped only in a towel. She was skipping round the kitchen like a little pixie, looking very at home and dancing with the dog. I had never seen Norman so excited. He was jumping up on his back legs and wagging his tail wildly. Between his barking, Rhianna belting out her latest single and the woman’s singing, it was no wonder they hadn’t heard the bell. They were having a lot of fun for this time in the morning.
I tried not to resent her. I was glad Nick had a girlfriend. I was pleased for him. It was a shock, that was all.
I suddenly realised that I was gawping at a semi-naked woman like some sort of weird peeping tom. I was about to drop to my knees and crawl back to the gate out of sight, when the pixie whirled round to face me.
We both screamed.
I’d been caught spying on my architect’s girlfriend, in his garden for heaven’s sake. What I wouldn’t give for Doctor Who to grab me by the hand and pull me into his Tardis right now.
She opened the door awkwardly, clutching the top edge of her towel.
‘I’m so sorry to intrude,’ I blurted. Norman ran up to me and I bent down to stroke him, hiding my beetroot-coloured face in his fur. ‘Please don’t bother Nick. I only came to drop some papers off for him.’
I stood up, averting my eyes, and extracted an envelope from my folder. Nick could appear any second, similarly clad, or worse, no towel at all!
I held it out and studied her properly. Oh my God, she was only about twelve! Nick was old enough to be her father. What was he thinking?
‘There are just a few amendments to make.’
The girl looked as embarrassed as me. Hardly surprising. I wondered if her parents knew where she was.
‘Oh cool, are you building a house?’ she said, taking the envelope.
I nodded as she read my name on the envelope. ‘Yeah, he has mentioned you.’ Was it my imagination or was she smirking? He had probably told her that I was mentally unstable, wildly erratic and suffered from terrible mood swings.
‘I’m Poppi, by the way.’ She held a cold little hand out to me which I was forced to shake. ‘I’m new,’ she added.
You don’t say.
‘Anyway.’ I mustered a smile and turned to go but she gripped my arm.
<
br /> ‘Look, er, can we pretend this didn’t happen,’ she asked, giving me a pleading look. ‘It’s just that Nick can be a bit of an old far… grump. And you know, the whole meeting-a-client-in-a-towel thing.’ She waggled her head side to side comically. She was standing like a little girl; knees turned in, with the toes of one foot tucked underneath the other.
I suddenly recognised her.
‘Weren’t you at the Grand Designs Live show?’
It was the girl who I had seen chatting him up after his talk.
‘Yeah,’ she beamed. ‘That’s where we met!’
She was a groupie! How did an architect in grey wool trousers get a groupie? He was disgusting. This girl was half his age.
‘I won’t breathe a word,’ I replied snootily. She had to be joking; I was going to tell everyone.
‘Great, thanks,’ she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
I ruffled Norman’s fur and said goodbye.
‘He likes you,’ she called as I reached the gate.
Back out on the road, I barely registered the traffic jam, the line of drivers tooting their horns at a tow truck which was blocking the street or the cluster of men in hard hats standing round my car. I paid scant attention to the round of slow applause I got when I unlocked my car, finally allowing the truck to hook up to the skip.
When she said he liked me, Poppi was referring to Norman, wasn’t she?
During a lull at the office later that morning, I drafted Nick a quick email. I was proud of myself; I’d managed to avoid any reference to scantily-clad nymphs in his kitchen, just a simple message about the amendments I’d made.
My phone rang instantly.
‘Amendments?’ Nick sounded insulted.
I couldn’t help but laugh. What had happened to ‘Feel free to make any changes’?
‘Don’t worry, nothing to bruise your ego. A couple of additions to an almost perfect house.’
I had added bi-fold doors, I mean, come on, that was a Grand Designs essential. No self-respecting self-builder would be without them. I’d also included a small utility room, not that I had a single appliance to my name at the moment. And finally a shoe cupboard, because I did have plenty of those.
‘That’s all right then. Well of course any changes would be fine. Your prerogative. Obviously.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And I understand you met Poppi earlier?’
‘Uh huh.’ None of your business, Sophie, hold your tongue.
‘My new intern. Only started on Monday and I’ve already lost my place in the hierarchy of my own company.’
‘Right.’ Monday! And he was knocking off his intern already? The man’s a monster!
‘She is a bit full-on,’ he continued blithely. ‘But to her credit she stepped into the breach admirably.’
‘Right.’ I bet she did.
‘I should be back from Derbyshire by tonight.’
‘Right.’ Derbyshire?
‘When my mum called to say she’d broken her ankle and could I come to stay, Poppi offered to stay late to feed Norman and arrive early this morning to walk him. Very good of her considering how far away she lives.’
‘Right.’
It looked to me as if Poppi, the intern, had somehow neglected to go home in between. No wonder she didn’t want me to mention it to Nick.
‘Sophie. Are you OK?’
‘Me? Never better!’
‘Great. Well, I look forward to seeing your notes when I get home. And if you’ve got any more questions, fire away.’
‘There is one thing,’ I said, remembering my promise to Marc.
‘Go on.’
‘The plot at Lilac Lane is quite a decent size, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly big enough for your needs, yes.’
I couldn’t help squirming. Deep down, I already knew what Nick would say and I didn’t want him to think badly of me. Still, a promise is a promise.
‘Do you think it’s possible to fit another house on it? Or two?’
There was a sharp intake of breath down the line.
‘If you’re asking if I’ll try and shoehorn another house on the land, then no.’ I winced at his choice of words.
‘Not one and certainly not two. Another architect? Maybe. A property developer? Certainly. But not me. If that’s what you want then –’
Now he would think I was greedy. Blast Marc and his grand schemes.
‘No! Me? No! It was just something the estate agent said months ago. Forget it.’
Nick sighed. ‘Glad to hear it, because over-developing is completely against my principles.’
‘Oh, mine too.’
Marc would just have to accept it. Lilac Lane would be simply our home and not an opportunity for a quick buck. I was with Nick on this one.
thirty-two
The bungalow had been completely cleared and I was on my way over to Woodby with a bunch of flowers to say thank you to Audrey. I was so lucky to have a neighbour like her. She had organised everything and I couldn’t have done it without her.
I had picked the worst possible day to visit. Winter had set in, the roads were icy and the fog, which had been nothing more than light mist in town, hung over the fields like heavy smoke. I had had to pull over to turn my fog lights on, which had required consulting the manual, and I could barely make out the car in front of me.
The weather conditions had forced me to slow right down, which was a good thing because if I hadn’t been travelling at the speed of a lame tortoise, I would have missed Nick at the side of the road altogether.
He was circling the ‘Welcome to Woodby’ sign with a camera, snapping it from all angles with the dedication of a Japanese tourist.
I stopped the car, wound the window down and shouted over to him.
‘Let me guess, you’ve run out of dogs to photograph and you’ve started on village signs?’
Nick blinked his grey eyes at me and looked momentarily confused. I shouldn’t have teased him; he couldn’t cope with my sense of humour and had probably forgotten the first time we met and the whole misunderstanding about the photographs.
‘These pictures are for the design statement that I have to send in with your planning application,’ he said, replacing the lens cap. ‘I’ve already taken some of the lane and the church.’
‘Oh, very atmospheric,’ I said, unsure that I wanted my design to be accompanied by Gothic images of swirling fog, bare trees and the brooding November gloom.
Nick shifted from foot to foot. He looked frozen or nervous. He pushed his glasses up. ‘I’m glad I bumped into you. I was planning on warming myself up with a coffee at the pub when I’d finished. Would you care to join me?’
I suppressed a snort. Why, certainly Mr Darcy, one would be delighted!
‘OK. Half an hour?’
Why had I agreed to that? Our conversations were at best stilted and at worst inflammatory. I sighed as I turned the car into Lilac Lane. Never mind, I could keep it brief.
There was a smart black car parked on the lane between Audrey’s bungalow and mine. She had visitors. My heart sank. I had been looking forward to catching up with my favourite octogenarian. Now I would just have to drop the flowers off and go in search of Nick.
‘Oh they’re lovely,’ cried Audrey, taking the bunch of lilies from me.
‘I won’t stay, if you're busy,’ I said, peering past her for any sign of guests.
‘Not at all! You can be the first to try my orange shortbread.’
I was only too happy to get out of the cold. She led me through the kitchen and filled a vase with water.
‘Help yourself,’ she said, indicating a batch of biscuits on a wire rack. They smelt divine. There was a distinct possibility that I would get fat living next to Audrey.
I watched with envy as she confidently snipped at least a third off the stem of the lilies. I was always nervous of cutting off too much and consequently my arrangements ended up lolling around in the vase looking spindly and too pathetic to hold their heads up.
It must have been Nick. Why was I going red? It wasn’t as if I fancied him. He was far too ‘straight to the point’ for my liking. At least Marc made an effort to flatter my ego once in a while. Only last week, he had said the skin on my bottom was so soft it was like sinking his hands into feather pillows. I couldn’t imagine Nick ever saying anything like that. Although why would he? He was my architect, he had no right to be thinking about my bottom. Or touching it.
Now my ears had turned scarlet too.
Audrey smirked. I adopted an innocent expression and pretended not to notice, taking a big bite of biscuit to hide my embarrassment. It was crumbly and buttery and very difficult to swallow.
‘Tall and slim, dark hair?’ I said gruffly, trying to remove a layer of shortbread from the roof of my mouth. ‘That’s my architect. He was probably taking more photographs for his records.’
Audrey poured us both a cup of tea and frowned. ‘No, no, not him. Nick was here earlier. Sat where you’re sitting. Although you’re right, he is lovely too.’
‘I didn’t say –’ I shifted awkwardly on my seat.
‘No, this one was much more stocky. One of those testosterone-fuelled young men. Head to toe in sportswear. Quite a twinkle in his eye when he said hello. Called me ‘darling’, the cheeky beggar. I did wonder who he was, swaggering round Jane’s – sorry, dear – your bungalow, like he owned the place. But obviously, he’s here to meet you.’
I choked as tea hit the back of my throat and went down the wrong way. My pulse was racing as fast as my thoughts. That sounded too much like Marc to be a coincidence. But why was Marc here? Without me?
‘They arrived in that black car parked outside.’
They?
‘The other man is very smartly dressed. Although I only saw the back of his head as he went in through the front door.’
Marc had a key? I had never given him a key to the bungalow. Why would I? It would be knocked down before too long anyway. I kept the bunch of keys on my dressing table and as far as I could remember they were still there. Mind you, now I came to think about it, there was a week when I couldn’t find them, but then they had turned up again, so I had thought no more about it.
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