by Jill Mansell
Had she been subconsciously wanting to understand why he seemed to have taken against her boyfriend? ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen him with another woman?’ It was a possibility, after all, given Harry’s job; maybe Will had spotted something and jumped to the wrong conclusion. If so, she could explain and put his mind at rest.
‘No.’ He shook his head.
Oh thank goodness.
‘Sorry, sorry to hold you up – I need L plates for this thing!’ The grandmother had managed to reverse her buggy into a space between tables. She stood back and gestured energetically for Will to squeeze past. ‘Better escape while you can!’
‘See you tomorrow,’ he told Layla. ‘I’ll be at yours by seven.’
He would be. He always was.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ said the grandmother, having wrestled the baby out of one half of the double buggy. ‘Hasn’t he got a lovely smile?’
Layla scooped up a spoonful of soufflé. ‘He isn’t my boyfriend.’
‘No? Sorry, when I saw you pinch his last chip, I thought you must be together. Oh well.’ She waggled her eyebrows in approval. ‘He still has a gorgeous smile.’
Chapter 34
Benny’s heart was racing as he left Compton House. The last time he’d experienced this much of an adrenalin rush had been when he’d misread the price tag on a watch Ingrid’s daughter had asked for; instead of four hundred euros it had turned out to have cost four thousand. And of course a week later she’d lost it on a beach in Saint-Tropez.
OK, calm down and stay focused. It was speaking to his cousin Mary last night on the phone that had prompted today’s plan of action. Then again, she’d met her husband when she was sixteen and they’d both joined the drama club at school. Forty-five years, emigration to America, seven children and eight grandchildren later, they were still ridiculously happy.
He hadn’t meant to confide in her about Rosa, but that was another of Mary’s talents; she had a way of wheedling those details out. It was her cosy voice that did it, Benny reckoned. Before he knew it, he’d found himself telling her everything. And Mary, who was addicted to Hallmark movies, couldn’t have been more delighted. She’d only met Ingrid briefly two years ago during a family visit back to the UK, but the two of them hadn’t taken to each other at all.
‘Well this one sounds wonderful,’ she had declared happily yesterday evening. ‘You have to tell her how you feel!’
Just like that. Because of course it was that easy. Back-pedalling out of sheer fright, he’d said, ‘Ingrid only moved out two weeks ago. It’s too soon.’
‘No it isn’t,’ Mary scoffed. ‘You told me yourself you’re glad she’s gone.’
‘Wouldn’t it look bad, like I’m moving on too fast?’
‘Benny, listen to me. You’ve been out with this Rosa a few times now. You had a great time together at the arboretum and at that fancy manor house place you took her to for lunch. If you know something feels right, you need to take action.’
‘But—’
‘Shall I tell you what looks bad?’ Mary effortlessly steamrollered over his objections. ‘You being miserable for the rest of your life because you were too slow to let this one know how you felt and while you were hanging back going “It’s too soon, it’s too soon”, some other guy jumped in and waltzed off with her. Think how annoying that’d be! Imagine how much you’d wish you’d done something about it. If she’s as wonderful as you’re telling me she is, who’s to say there isn’t some other fellow out there just waiting to snap her up? It’d be like really wanting something on eBay then at the last second getting outbid!’
He’d tried to protest at this point that it wasn’t anything like that, but Mary had launched into the long story of how she’d longed to own a nineteenth-century patchwork quilt and had thought her bid would be enough to secure it, but some other complete monster had swooped in and won it with a single second to spare and she’d regretted it ever since. Before ringing off, she’d said, ‘Do something romantic, Benny. Make an effort and win her over before someone else does. You snooze, you lose.’
Which was a slightly surreal expression for a sixty-something grandmother from Wisconsin to use. Benny blamed Netflix.
But her words had stayed with him, niggling away. As far as he’d been aware, there was no other rival for Rosa’s affections. When he’d pointed this out, however, Mary had replied, ‘What about that lodger of hers?’
‘He’s dying of cancer.’
‘So was Pastor Mike at our local church. Then the prayers of the townsfolk worked and he made a miraculous recovery. The next thing we knew, Pastor Mike left his wife of thirty years and ran off with the schoolmistress. People can get better, and then you never know what they’ll do. It makes them reckless. Is he a good-looking chap, this one?’
Benny said, ‘Well, he’s pretty sick. But I suppose . . . yes.’
‘There you are then. Don’t be complacent. You can’t guarantee he’s gonna die.’
And mad as it was, it had been this last warning that had prompted him to act. Because people did sometimes make astonishing recoveries from serious illnesses, and if anyone was capable of springing a surprise like that, it was Red Mason, with his quick wit, dry humour and that irrepressible twinkle in his eyes.
Benny continued on down the lane. At least he knew, because Rosa had mentioned it in passing yesterday, that Red would be over at Hillcrest today, keeping an eye on things whilst the new kitchen was installed.
Outside Frog Cottage, he paused to catch his breath. The kitchen windows were open, birds were chirping in the trees and he could hear Rosa happily singing along to Robbie Williams whilst dishes clattered in the sink.
OK, let’s do this.
To make sure everything went according to plan, he switched off his phone. Being interrupted by a call from Ingrid to fix a date when she could collect the remainder of her belongings was the last thing he needed.
Now he just had to hope that the radio DJ would play something half decent next.
Rosa was scrubbing away at her oval glass casserole dish and swinging her hips along to Robbie Williams when there was a tap at the front door. Holding her sudsy arms up, she went to open it.
Her heart lifted when she saw it was Benny. ‘Hello! What brings you here today?’
‘No reason, I just happened to be passing.’
She laughed, because it was fast becoming their in-joke.
‘Come on through, I’m just finishing the washing-up. There’s beer in the fridge if you fancy one. We can sit out in the garden as soon as I’m done.’
Benny followed her into the kitchen, where Robbie Williams had finished and the presenter was now burbling on about budgie-smugglers. ‘Thanks, a beer would be great.’
She plunged her hands back into the sink and decided to be brave. ‘I was telling Layla about the arboretum and how gorgeous it was.’ She glanced over her shoulder and saw him wince slightly. Raising her voice to be heard above 50 Cent’s latest release, she said, ‘Oh, sorry, was it boring for you? Did you not enjoy it?’
‘No, no, I did.’ He nodded rapidly. ‘It was great. In fact, if you’re free this Sunday, there’s a country fair over in Frampton on Severn. If you think you might fancy heading over there, checking it out. With me, I mean. Not on your own.’
‘Brilliant!’ Rosa flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you.’ Oh dear, her crush on Benny was growing by the day. She loved his company and had the sense that he enjoyed spending time with her too, but the prospect of making a fool of herself and thinking he liked her more than he did was terrifying. She was so out of practice she’d completely lost the knack of tentatively building a new relationship. And Benny had made no moves of his own, so did that mean he liked her just as a friend?
They continued to chat about the country fair. When the washing-up was done, they leaned against the worktops and opened their bottles of lager. On the radio, 50 Cent gave way to the news and weather, then the DJ played an old Sex Pistols track and R
osa heard Benny give a sigh of irritation.
She said, ‘Is something wrong?’ and saw him shake his head. It was as if he was waiting for something that wasn’t happening.
The next moment it came to her. As Benny gazed out of the window and Johnny Rotten screamed and bellowed his way through the track, realisation hit her like a brick and the sense of relief was overwhelming. Wanting to laugh, she heard herself say, ‘Is it the music you don’t like? You can change to another station if you want.’
He looked at her, evidently unsure as to whether she was saying it because she knew. Returning his gaze, Rosa gave him a tiny encouraging nod. Benny crossed to the radio on the window ledge. When he began pressing buttons, she noticed that his hand was trembling.
The strains of a military band came blasting out, making them both jump.
‘Maybe not,’ Rosa murmured.
He pressed again, reaching Classic FM. Elgar’s ‘Nimrod’ was playing. The last time Rosa had heard it was at her father’s funeral.
‘No.’ She shook her head again.
Benny had another go. Silently she prayed it would be third time lucky. Elgar was replaced by . . .
A medical phone-in, oh joy. A man was saying earnestly, ‘The thing is, Doctor, I want to wear open sandals but the fungus is just so—’
‘We don’t want to know,’ Rosa blurted out as the button was hastily pressed again.
‘This isn’t going to plan at all.’ Benny was shaking his head, starting to smile. ‘Story of my life. Every time I try to do something, you can guarantee it’ll go wrong.’
‘And now,’ said the DJ, taking pity on them at last, ‘here’s one of my mum’s favourite tracks. “The Winner Takes It All”!’
The familiar opening bars filled the kitchen and Benny’s sigh of relief matched her own. He said, ‘I thought he was never going to play anything decent.’
Rosa felt herself relax. ‘And now he has. Thank God for Abba.’
He held out his arms, the tension broken. ‘Would you care to . . .?’
A smile was spreading unstoppably across her face. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Benny reached for her, and for the next three minutes they danced together in the kitchen. His hands were around her waist, hers were on his shoulders, and maybe they weren’t the best dancers in the world but it didn’t matter, they were having the best time and that was the important thing.
When the song came to an end, Benny said in a low voice, ‘I know I’m not your Joe, but I’d always be up for a bit of kitchen dancing with you.’
Rosa’s heart was racing in a way she’d thought it would never race again. He was a lovely man, nice-looking but not off-puttingly handsome, with untidy hair, a cheerful smile and a bit of a belly. Since her own stomach was also on the rounded side, she was glad of this. They might not be model-perfect, but they were middle-aged and normal.
And being normal was fine.
‘It doesn’t just have to happen in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘There’s garden dancing too.’
‘I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks getting to know you.’ He seemed to be searching her face for clues, still anxious in case he might be overstepping the mark.
‘Same.’ To reassure him that he wasn’t, Rosa found herself smiling and nodding and moving imperceptibly closer. It was going to happen; he was about to kiss her, and she was able to admit to herself at last that this was something she’d been wanting to happen for ages.
And now he was moving closer too, oh so slowly, and at any second his mouth and hers would make contact . . . Oh, she couldn’t wait—
DRRRINNNGGGG went the doorbell, and they both froze.
‘Who’s that?’ said Benny.
‘I don’t know. I’m not expecting anyone.’
He took a step back. ‘God, I hope it’s not Ingrid.’
‘Why? Did you tell her you were coming over?’
‘No. But she wanted to know if I was seeing someone, and she definitely wasn’t happy about me letting you come into our garden. It won’t be her, though.’ Belatedly, he remembered. ‘She’s in Vienna.’
DDDRRRINGGGGG.
Chapter 35
Rosa said, ‘OK, no one knows you’re here. I’ll answer the door and get rid of them.’
‘Where can I go? What if they want to come inside?’
She thought fast. ‘Upstairs. Wait in Red’s room. And don’t worry, I’m not letting anyone into the house. They’ll be gone in two minutes.’
Someone began hammering on the front door. A vaguely familiar voice shouted, ‘Hello? Are you there? Can you answer the door please? Hellooo!’
Alarmed, Benny hastened up the stairs. Rosa went to see who was making all the racket. At least the voice didn’t belong to Ingrid.
Once he was safely ensconced in Red’s bedroom, she opened the front door and got the shock of her life.
‘Yes, she’s in! Phew, I was starting to panic for a minute! Rosa Gallagher? You’re Rosa, yeah? Hello, and please don’t swear, you’re live on Every Morning!’
The unexpected visitor on the doorstep was blonde and curvy, and crazily vivacious. She was also clutching a microphone and flanked by two men wielding television cameras. Rosa had watched Every Morning often enough to recognise her from the daily show, during which she was regularly sent out to surprise members of the public in their own homes.
Even as she struggled to take in what was happening, the woman, whose name was Carol and who was wearing epic quantities of perfume, was squeezing past her whilst shouting, ‘Can we come in, Rosa? Is this your living room? Ooh, look at that mural on the wall, isn’t that fantastic? Now, face this way so the viewers can see you. We’re here because we’ve got a big surprise for you!’
Her home had been invaded and both cameras were focused on her. Carol’s voice was so loud that even from upstairs Benny must be able to hear everything. Baffled, Rosa said, ‘I think there’s been a mistake. I haven’t entered any competitions so I can’t have won anything.’
‘Oh bless ya, my darling! You might not have entered anything but you’ve still won! You were nominated for our Lovely Person award and you’re today’s winner! So what d’you have to say to that, my darling?’
Rosa blinked. ‘Um . . . I’m not lovely, though.’
Carol let out an ear-splitting shriek of laughter. ‘Oh my, you’re hilarious! Never mind, here’s a little reminder . . . Chuck it over here, Bob!’
Another assistant appeared from behind one of the cameramen and tossed something through the air, to be dropped and hastily scooped up by Carol. ‘Whoops, butterfingers! What’s this, Rosa?’
The situation was becoming more surreal by the minute. ‘It’s . . . um, a doll.’
‘And you made this beautiful doll, didn’t you? Because a lady called Pamela wrote to you, desperate for a doll that looked like her precious granddaughter!’
Rosa found herself zoning out as Carol went on to explain to the viewers at home what had happened. She held up a photograph of Pamela and little Maisie, keeping her other arm draped around Rosa’s shoulders. While she was talking, Rosa heard the front door being pushed further open. The next moment, Red appeared in the increasingly crowded living room. He looked at Rosa and mouthed, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Hello, hello, come on in, the more the merrier!’ Racing across to shake him by the hand, Carol bellowed, ‘You must be Rosa’s husband! I’m Carol from Every Morning! And we’re here to give your wife a Lovely Person award!’
The cameras zoomed in on Red, who said, ‘I’m not her husband.’
Cue another screech of laughter from Carol. ‘Well in that case, can I have your phone number? I must say, babe, I bet you were quite the looker back in the day . . . in fact you’re not so bad now! What’s your name?’
Watching TV in Derby whilst she vacuumed her living room carpet, a woman called Christine, who’d never quite got him out of her system, did a double-take and exclaimed, ‘It’s Red!’
In Marbella Ol
d Town, almost dropping her glass of fresh orange juice, Didi’s mother Maura laughed out loud. ‘This is hysterical, look at his face! Oh, but he’s so thin . . .’
In a flat close to Gloucester docks, a prison officer called Maeve turned to her sister and said, ‘Bloody hell, that’s Red Mason, remember him? Had a fling with Paula the week after getting out on bail! God, he looks ill.’
And lying in bed in his caravan overlooking Perranporth beach in north Cornwall, Big Gav almost dropped his can of Stella on his hairy bare chest at the sight of his old mate Red. Fucking hell, though, the poor sod was looking rough; skinny, drawn and like death warmed up. Not that it was stopping that bloody screaming creature on the telly from batting her eyelashes at him. Then again, what was new? Red had been a magnet for women his whole life, so why would they stop now?
All over the country – and in some cases outside it – people recognised Red Mason for a variety of reasons. He was one of those people who, once known, wasn’t easily forgotten.
Back in the living room of Frog Cottage, Red was extricating himself from Carol’s enthusiastic grasp. Politely he said, ‘Sorry, I came home because I need to get some rest.’ Excusing himself, he left the room and made his way carefully up the narrow staircase.
Upstairs in Red’s bedroom, Benny had been watching the shenanigans going on downstairs on the small TV perched on top of the chest of drawers. Hearing Red’s approaching footsteps, he briefly considered rolling off the bed and sliding out of sight beneath it.
But no, he wouldn’t do that. The current situation might be pretty bizarre, but the first hurdle had been cleared.
The bedroom door opened and Red appeared. Having taken in Benny’s presence, he calmly closed the door behind him. ‘Well, this is unexpected. Have you come here to seduce me?’
Benny gave a snort of quiet laughter. Feeling suddenly brave, he said, ‘I came here to seduce Rosa. But we kind of got interrupted.’ He gestured to the television, where the show was heading into an ad break. ‘When they rang the doorbell, we didn’t know who it was.’
