Looking at me and flushing, he puts her down and crouches to her level. ‘Layla, can you go inside please? I need to speak to this lady quickly.’ He runs a gentle hand over her dark-blonde hair and something inside me tugs hard. ‘I’ll just be a minute. You go and watch some Dora.’
The little girl nods obediently. ‘Yes, Daddy. Then Layla can have a dwink?’ Fingering the edge of his t-shirt sleeve, her plump fingers splay against his muscular bicep. She’s so tiny and he’s so big. I melt inside a little but harden myself to it. He lied to me. After the way he reacted to my dishonesty, he didn’t see fit to tell me the massive secret he was keeping.
‘Then can I have a drink please?’ he corrects. ‘And yes, I’ll get you one soon, okay?’
She thinks about it for a few seconds very seriously and then nods. ‘Yes, Daddy, okay.’
As she trots away, Alex whips back to me and I’m ready for him. ‘You’ve got a child?’ I explode.
Waiting until his daughter’s out of earshot, ‘I was going to tell you,’ he says defensively.
‘Really?’ I chuckle, but there’s nothing funny about it. ‘I’m not the only one good at keeping secrets, am I, Alex?’ Shaking my head, ‘I can’t believe it. All those conversations on the phone that weekend, the way you were so stressed out. It wasn’t about Louise, was it? It was about Layla. You’re such a hypocrite! You were so judgemental about me lying to you, but you had a child and didn’t tell me!’
‘We kept our marriage and child private and I wanted it to stay that way,’ he whispers furiously, ‘I wanted to protect Layla from the scrutiny of the press.’ He rubs a hand over his dark hair, blue gaze tormented. ‘Charley, I’ve been fighting Louise for regular access rights since we split, and in Barcelona she was making completely unreasonable demands. And she’s always been so impossible about me seeing anyone I couldn’t chance upsetting her when I was so close to getting a divorce and joint custody. I couldn’t risk telling you about my daughter that weekend,’ his voice rises, ‘you were a stranger.’
‘Who you kissed and then slept with! You told me about Louise, Alex. You could have told me about Layla.’
‘Don’t throw accusations at me!’ he shoots back, eyes cooling, ‘I wasn’t even close to telling you. When I found out you lied to me and were after something, it didn’t help, did it? You, more than anyone, should understand why I’ve kept this quiet. I was doing my best for my daughter, trying to achieve something good for both of us, something fair. Similar to what you wanted in Barcelona from me.’ A bang sounds from the living room and he gives me a wild-eyed look. ‘Charley—’
‘You need to go, I get it, but…’ I run sweaty palms down the front of my tight dress. ‘Fine. You didn’t tell me in Barcelona for the reasons you’ve just explained, but were you going to tell me any time soon, Alex?’
He pauses a fraction too long and I have my answer. ‘That’s a no then,’ I say tightly.
‘I would have—’
‘When?’ I demand hotly. ‘When she started school, or turned sixteen?’
‘I was thinking a few months.’ The coolness in his eyes heats with anger. ‘But didn’t know if you’d be around for long enough.’
That stings. My eyes go blurry. ‘Thanks,’ I gasp. ‘I guess I know where I stand now.’ A pretty clear indicator a long-term relationship wasn’t on the cards.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Argh.’ He tugs on his hair so it does that sexy standy-uppy thing. ‘A lot’s happened today and I’m still trying to deal with all the ramifications, and God knows you’ve had a shock—’ Another bang and his jaw clenches. ‘I’m sorry, but whatever else I feel, my daughter has to come first.’
‘But—’ I understand that.
He cuts me off. ‘Please. Give me some space, Charley. Just leave me to it.’ All I hear is leave me alone. ‘I’ll call you.’
Of course his child comes first. It’s what any halfway-decent parent should do, but God does it hurt that he can set me aside so easily. He’s stressed and under pressure, but he’s not inviting me in to be a part of it, to help him figure this out. I’m on the outside looking in. He doesn’t have faith in me, in us, to protect his daughter. Which tells me everything I need to know.
‘Don’t bother,’ I choke, ‘There’s no trust, Alex. And without trust?’ I rake my eyes over him one last time, my chest aching. ‘There’s nothing.’ Lurching to the lift, embarrassingly the heel of my shoe catches on the carpet and I stumble, falling heavily against the wall, forehead striking the plaster. Ouch. Bloody typical.
Alex springs out of the doorway and grabs me, eyes anxious. ‘Are you all right?’
I rub my head, feeling the bump already swelling. His last sight of me is this irritating, DNA-imprinted clumsiness that’s a hundred times worse when I’m around him? Fantastic. ‘Yes,’ I bite, cheeks flaming, ‘I’m just great.’ Being held by him is bittersweet, his body through the t-shirt and jeans as warm as ever, muscles in his shoulders flexing. I quiver, knickers pinging. No. Hot sex and a gorgeous face and laughter do not equal lasting love. Commitment and honesty are more important.
I look into his face as his arms squeeze me close. Tears clog my throat, thickening my voice. ‘I can’t do this. Let me go or don’t. Let me in or send me away. Pick one.’ A beat. I wait for his decision. There’s a cry from the apartment behind him. He drops his arms and my eyes fill up. ‘Bye Alex,’ I whisper.
Turning my back, I punch the call button. I can’t speak. This is unholy agony. Alex doesn’t offer any comment, I simply hear a huge sigh and the door shuts with a click. When the lift arrives, I stumble into it, pressing the GF button and staring at my feet. I frown as I see the blue, white and purple swirls. I can’t stand it. Just before the lift doors slide shut, I kick them off and throw them onto the carpet by his door, where they lie lonely and discarded.
I can’t have any reminders of him. It would hurt too much.
As the lift goes down, I realise I didn’t ask what he decided about Tony. And I’m not sure I even care any more.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Sighing, I settle into the corner sofa of my local village pub after a windy and uncomfortable walk. The weather has chilled in the past few weeks, snow hitting the ground for the last three days in a row. Usually I love snow, but this year it’s plain irritating. It’s March; it should be starting to feel like Spring.
‘Wine?’ My friend Lisa asks, long black hair glossy under the lights.
‘Vodka, straight,’ I reply grimly, ‘the bigger the better.’
‘Okay honey,’ she says with a sympathetic glance I ignore, ‘back in a minute.’
Leaving me with Marc and Maggie, other old school friends, she walks gracefully to the bar, attracting attention from all sides. Lithe and pale, she’s pretty in a way that reminds me of fairies and magic.
Tapping my fingers on the pockmarked wooden table, I catch a look passing between my friends, who’ve been a couple since we were all fifteen. ‘Stop it.’
‘Charley—’ Maggie sits forward, dark hair falling over her round, eager face. Marc sweeps it back, tucking it behind her ear before she has the chance to.
PDA alert. I think of Alex. Regret sharpens my voice. ‘Don’t. Let’s have a nice evening. You know, get blind drunk and try to forget about love.’ I sigh as Marc gives Maggie a soppy smile. ‘Or not.’
‘Sorry,’ Marc grabs his girlfriend’s hand, his spiky bleached blond hair reminding me of a porcupine. ‘We can’t help it.’
‘Can’t help being madly in love?’ I arch my eyebrow. ‘I know. And I won’t ruin it for you, don’t worry.’ I stare into space. ‘I wouldn’t want to turn into one of those bitter old women who makes everyone around them miserable and ends up being eaten by her own cats.’ I pause. ‘Though, at the moment, I haven’t got a home or cats.’
‘Stop being so dramatic.’ Maggie smiles, ‘But if we think you’re heading that way we’ll let you know, don’t worry.’
‘And if you ev
er need comforting, I’m sure we can find a local lad more than happy to let you sit in his lap for a hug,’ Marc offers, grinning.
The comment reminds me of Alex again and I smile sadly. No. Move on. Forget him. He’s forgotten you. Over three weeks and no contact, direct or via Jess. ‘Thanks guys,’ I reply, tone light, ‘but I know I look like crap at the moment.’
‘You don’t,’ Mags answers automatically, turning to Marc, ‘does she?’
‘Er.’ He hesitates for too long and there’s a muffled bang from beneath the table. ‘Ow!’ He flinches. ‘Of course not,’ he yelps.
‘Wow. Convincing.’ They’re trying too hard. It’s forced. I stand up, shrugging out of my coat. ‘Okay you two, feel free to talk amongst yourselves, I’m going to help Lisa.’
Sloping across the room, I yank up my grey jeans. I’ve lost weight and they’re hanging off my hip bones. Joining my friend, who’s deep in giggling conversation with a random customer, I slouch against the bar. Catching sight of myself in the mirror behind the optics – face pale, shadows under my eyes prominent against my black long-sleeved top – I fix my attention on my surroundings instead.
The pub is bigger than it looks from the outside, like the Tardis in Dr Who. It’s done out in 80s style; cream walls, red Axminster carpet, and with an intriguing variety of razor-sharp farming implements hanging from the rafters and walls. So far it’s escaped turning into one of those soulless gastro pubs. A hint of yeasty bitter mixes with the scent of cider and though there’s no cigarette smoke because of the ban, there’s a cloudy fug hanging in the air, puffing out from the open fireplace in the corner. Despite the countrified look, there’s a small stage at the front of the L-shaped room, with a microphone and screen set up. Next to it is the battered piano I occasionally play on. My guess is Lisa will try and persuade me to bash out a few tunes tonight, though I’m really not in the mood.
Moving home hasn’t been so bad. Although it’s hard living with my parents again, I’m in the four-room guest house at the bottom of the garden, rent-free, and have as much freedom as I want. But I’m under constant observation. Mum and Dad have repeatedly asked if I’m okay and apologised for not having the money to lend me. I keep telling them it’s all right, they’ve helped me enough, but avoiding their concerned looks and coddling is wearing. Tom’s home setting up his company and he’s doing his big-brother act, interrogating me about Alex, offering more than once to track him down and do painful things to him. I’m pretty sure he’s not kidding and I know from what little he’s said previously he’s probably got mad torture skills from his time in the army. But I don’t want to hurt Alex, I just want to pretend I never met him. Hard when Tom keeps asking me questions and muttering under his breath.
And the rest of the village … it’s just like old times. Everyone keeps rushing up and hugging me and wanting to know what happened and saying they always knew I’d be back some day. I hate it. And I’m sick of pasting a polite smile on my face. I long to run away and hide, but I’ve nowhere else to go.
On the upside, all my old friends have welcomed me like I’ve never been away, and it’s been nice to catch up with them. I’ve been occupying myself searching for jobs and considering my options, and the pressure is off, financially, now that Jess has found a lodger to help cover the mortgage.
But.
But I miss my old life. I miss Jess, our flat, the good old City of London. I don’t belong here, any more than I did once upon a time, before I went on my big adventure. I wonder how many days or weeks or months until the longing for what I left behind dwindles, is a forgotten, smudged memory. How long before I will get over finding and then losing Alex.
Because I miss Alex too.
One thing’s for sure. The last few months have taught me a lesson. Some risks aren’t worth taking, some gambles are unevenly loaded from the beginning and you will never win, however hard you play.
Urgh. I’m getting maudlin. Snap out of it, Charley. Life goes on, it’ll get better.
Lisa helps by thrusting two pints of beer at me for Maggie and Marc. ‘Come on. Let’s sit down with a nice glass of wine.’
I follow on her heels. ‘But I wanted vodka!’
Setting the drinks on the table, where Maggie and Marc are kissing like it’s an Olympic sport, she raises both eyebrows at me and hands me a glass of white. ‘Vodka makes you tearful and sloppy,’ she says, ‘and no one wants that.’
‘Fine,’ I grumble as I sit down, ‘but if it takes me longer to get drunk then you’re paying.’
She slides in next to me. ‘I’ll take the chance.’
Poking my tongue out, I take a gulp of my drink and let the alcohol flow through my veins. As they chatter around me, I drink more, feeling the wine begin to work, mellowing me like an enchanted potion. I relax back against the patterned cushions, dipping into the conversation to offer my opinions on the latest sitcom imported from the States. ‘Heap of rubbish,’ I challenge, ‘home-grown comedies are much better.’
As I raise my glass and drain it, head tipped back, a pair of clear blue eyes catch mine. And all mellowness flees.
Alex. Here. Now. What–?
Coughing and spluttering, I slam the empty glass down and stand. My thighs hit the edge of the table, one of the drinks spilling and splashing all over Marc.
‘Charley!’ he leaps up, starts mopping himself down.
‘Sorry,’ I say absently.
‘What is it?’ Maggie frowns.
‘Alex.’ I narrow my eyes at him. What the hell does he want and how did he find me? ‘He’s here.’
Immediately, all three of my friends turn round to stare at him.
And everyone in the pub stops talking. A silence falls over the room and curious glances take in the stranger, along with my reaction. His appearance is bound to create exactly the small-village gossip I dislike. Still, it’s a minor worry compared to the pain that tears through me. But I will not fall at his feet, I won’t be pathetic and needy. He’ll be here to tell me what happened with Tony. That’s all.
He nods and lopes across the room, uncaring of the attention he’s getting. Lisa grabs hold of my hand in a gesture of solidarity as Alex halts right in front of me, tall and broad and still unbelievably gorgeous in a fitted dark-grey suit and blue shirt that makes his eyes seem brighter than ever. His dark hair is longer and curls slightly at the back of his neck, damp spots on his shoulders. It must be snowing again.
Clenching my teeth, I try to ignore the burning sensation at the back of my eyes at the memory of what happened at his flat.
‘Alex,’ I say evenly, striving to be cool and breezy. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Your brother.’
‘Tom?’ He wouldn’t. ‘I don’t believe you.’
He shrugs, squaring his shoulders. ‘Believe what you like, but he pointed me in your direction after we had a little chat.’
‘Oh, really?’ I cross my arms.
He looks me head on, gaze open. ‘I told him I may have treated you in a way he didn’t like and that I regretted but, with respect, he needed to tell me where you were. That we’re not in some flaky rom-com.’ He smiles briefly, before becoming very serious, eyes like homing devices on my face, searching for a signal. ‘This is real life, and I need to see you. Finished with the fact that I’m not messing around.’
My mouth drops open. I click it shut. From the corner of my eye, I see Lisa recovering from a similar reaction. ‘Are you crazy?’ I ask, high-pitched. ‘Do you know what he could do to you?’
Giving me the crooked grin I like so much, he nods. I hear Maggie sigh. Marc gives her a disgusted look, and I try not to laugh.
‘I think so.’ Alex nods, ‘And crazy? Yes, maybe.’
Behind him, normal life resumes, people turning back to their own conversations when there’s no immediate drama to entertain them. If only they knew the murderous thoughts running through me. I’d like to strangle Alex and Tom, the pair of them. How dare Alex turn up and put me on the spot?
And how could Tom give me no warning that Alex was on his way?
Alex edges nearer the table. ‘I’m sure you’ll give him hell for it later but it doesn’t matter right now. We need to talk, Charley.’
I can’t pretend I’m not intrigued by what he’s come all this way to say, but I don’t want to give him the chance to hurt me again. I’ve had weeks to think about that last conversation. He lied to me in Barcelona, after calling me on my lies. He was in a tight spot that day at his flat, and maybe he does like me, but not enough. Not enough to trust me. Not enough to take a chance. Not enough to see if incredible sex and laughter and understanding could turn into love. ‘Sorry, no.’ I look away from him, shaking my head.
‘You’re being stubborn and contrary,’ he declares.
‘Maybe,’ I say softly, sitting down. ‘Go home, Alex.’
‘No.’ He grabs a chair from a nearby table and joins us without invitation.
I gape. ‘What are you doing?’
He shrugs casually. ‘Waiting.’
‘What for?’
‘You. To give me five minutes.’
I harrumph and try to ignore him. I’m kind of curious how long he’ll sit there, unwanted. Turning to talk to Lisa doesn’t help because she keeps looking at him over my shoulder, wide dark eyes drinking him in.
‘Stop it,’ I hiss at her.
She pouts, ‘Sorry.’
‘What will you do if I won’t give you five minutes?’ I turn to Alex.
‘Stay here until closing time or until you leave. Come back tomorrow. I know where you live now,’ he says, sounding altogether too cocky.
‘Stalking is a criminal offence,’ I bite, but I can see he means it. Might as well get it done. I sigh. ‘Fine, five minutes.’
I notice he’s not wearing a coat over his suit. I guess he wasn’t bothered about the weather when he was only walking from his car to the pub. Which gives me a way to keep this mercifully brief. Maybe it’s a bit cruel, but he’ll survive.
‘Let’s go outside,’ I suggest with a small smile, pulling my coat on and buttoning it up.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 49
