by Jane Linfoot
So Xander could count. Great. They could put the flags out to celebrate that.
‘Izzy…’ He’d never used her name directly before.
The gravel in his voice made her breath catch. Shit. She watched as slowly he walked all around the bed frame, and came to a halt. On her side of the bed. Shock waves zithered down her back. This so was the wrong side for him to be.
He was behind her now, and her legs wouldn’t move. She was welded to the spot, frozen by an equal mix of horror and anticipation. She could feel his warm breath now, grazing the skin beneath her ear as he bent his head towards her neck.
‘Izzy?’
The note in his voice had changed, and out of the corner of her eye she could see his hand lift, to hover by her shoulder. Enough. She had to stop this. Now.
For a fleeting second she was so damned thankful for every scrap and fight she’d ever had with her brothers. A big thank you to Ollie, for beating the shit out of her when she was little when she always refused to give in, and for developing her natural left hook.
She jived, reeled around, and bang. Xander staggered backwards as her fist smashed into his shoulder.
‘What the…?’
Good contact, just a shame she missed his jaw.
He shook his head, doing a good impression of open mouthed shock, and she hung on to her stinging hand.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Her question ripped through the air. ‘What about your wife?’ Her furious roar was inflamed by the imploding pain in her knuckles. ‘Not to mention your children, what about them?’ She was standing square in front of him now, anger bursting out of her chest.
He rubbed the side of his chin, slowly, screwing up his face, like he somehow didn’t understand. Stubble. She’d definitely have done better with this whole episode if he hadn’t had the stubble.
‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t have children, I don’t have a wife – well not any more, I don’t. What are you talking about?’
As he glared at her, she could feel herself shrinking, backing onto the bed frame.
She hesitated, before she let loose her next tirade. ‘No wife? Well if you don’t have a wife, who the hell is Christina?’
Even with the furniture in, the room was horribly echoey.
He raised his eyebrows, exhaled, and shook his head. ‘Christina is my sister. She’s involved because she helps me furnish my places.’
Oh crap. Izzy felt the blood drain from her face, and her stomach descended like a lift. How the hell could she have…?
‘And her children are my nephew and niece. If you have a problem with that, maybe next time you’d be kind enough discuss it before you start hitting people?’ He snorted with disgust, as he marched out onto the landing. ‘I’ll leave you to get on.’
If there hadn’t been so much riding on this job, she’d have done a runner already, but she wasn’t just here for herself. The whole crew stood to benefit from this job, and she had to remember that. Grabbing her spanner, she set to work, tightening the endless nuts on the bed-frame. There were certainly enough of them to give her ample time to cringe at her stupidity. She’d been here all of an hour, and already she’d made two major blunders. All she wanted to do was to crawl into a hole and die.
* * * *
Izzy was tightening the last nut when Xander reappeared, and by the looks of him, half an hour hadn’t been anything like enough time to cool off.
‘So what sort of a guy do you take me for?’
Irate and well spoken. How was that familiar?
Never apologise, never explain. Dida’s words flashed though her brain. Followed by Luce, insisting she should explain every time.
‘I took you for a bad guy, obviously.’ And dammit that she couldn’t put the brakes on the explanation. ‘I assumed you were a married guy, hitting on me, I had a valid reaction to an honest mistake.’ Somewhere down the line she had to justify this, but was there actually a way to put a good spin on trying to sock a client in the mouth?
‘I wasn’t hitting on you, and nor would I.’
Looking grave, he sounded horribly sincere and final, cutting her down to two inches tall, in one breath. Again. This guy certainly knew how to make a person feel small. Her jaw sagged, but something inside her made her desperate to crawl and apologise.
‘I’m sorry I got it wrong.’ Not really sorry for smacking him. Somehow she didn’t think he was quite as blameless as he claimed. He’d definitely been on the wrong side of the bed back there, and there was no explanation about that part. She didn’t hear him apologising for being so close he was practically blowing in her ear. But she was very sorry there was still a whole day left to work here. And how the hell was she going to explain whacking him to Luce?
23
Wednesday Afternoon, 11th June
IZZY & XANDER
The Pink House
Four…five…six…seven…maybe
Izzy wasn’t sure if it was due to guilt or thirst, but Xander disappeared, and came back with fresh coffee. She threw in some flapjack, and after that they skipped lunch and worked through the afternoon, mostly in silence. Izzy dipped in and out to the van, while Xander looked on, or helped if she asked.
‘We don’t make a bad team.’ He stood back, with his hands on his hips, assessing the eau-de-nil taffeta curtains they had just put up, which, to Izzy’s mind, perfectly framed the small paned sash-windows.
Izzy, still crouching at the top of the step ladder, wasn’t going to let Xander get away with that one.
‘What kind of team has me doing all the work and you watching?’
His face split into something half way towards a smile. Izzy was relieved that the tension was diffusing. Thumping him may not have been great for customer relations, but at least it had moved them onto a less awkward footing. She’d found it unbearable being near him, when she’d thought he was married, and had guilt coursing through her for having the hots for another woman’s guy. Hots like this had never happened to Izzy before, and unlike Luce, Izzy didn’t eye up anything and everything in trousers.
The bizarre attraction Izzy felt for Xander was somehow misplaced and muddled, and had nothing to do with the man himself. More to the point, no way was she ever going to act on it. Yes, he was a looker, who’d accidentally got a triple dose when they were dishing out the sex appeal, but he was also damned arrogant, with a lot less charm than he seemed to think. Xander’s superior attitude alone would have pretty much ruled him out of the running with Izzy, had there been any running, which, of course, there wasn’t. And that was before she got onto the fact that by his own admission, he was extracting cash at every turn. So she had no idea why she felt so much better now she knew he was single, because really it didn’t matter a jot.
‘If you want to be useful, get a duster, and give that chandelier in the corner a final rub.’ Izzy climbed down the stepladder, and crossed to a basket by the wardrobe.
The list Xander gave Izzy on the first day included lacy dresses, to be hung around the room, and Luce had come up trumps on that one. Izzy began to sort through the pile she’d sent, to see which worked best.
‘So whose house is this then?’ Izzy asked as she shook out a cream silk chemise, and slipped it onto a padded hanger. She hadn’t been able to face asking about the ins and outs of who exactly she was working for before, but now she needed to know, if only so she could get the styling right.
‘It’s mine, but we’re furnishing it to let.’
‘Right.’ Izzy pondered. ‘So why did I deliver a rocking horse then?’
Xander’s sigh was slightly embarrassed. ‘I bought that for Christina’s kids, to keep them quiet when she’s here sorting things out, not that she will be, with her leg in plaster.’
‘So how old are they?’ Izzy was aware she should possibly be avoiding small objects.
‘Four…five…six…seven, maybe.’ Xander’s shrug gave him away. ‘They’re rocking horse size.’
Not crucial about the
accessorising then, but Izzy was onto him anyway. ‘You don’t know do you?’
‘What?’ He gave a squawk of protest. ‘I work in film and property, not child development, and their ages keep changing. Their birthday cakes have quite a few candles on these days if that helps.’
‘I hope you’re not such a rubbish uncle as you sound.’ She sent him a grin. ‘So how much time do you spend here?’ If she was sounding embarrassingly inquisitive, it was too bad.
‘I’ve dropped in, between films, to check the progress on my other place – the one with your favourite skips – and pull this house together. Doing what Christina would be doing if she wasn’t hobbling around on crutches.’ His face relaxed into a smile. ‘Then later we’re all off to France together, to their barn conversion. They’re having a holiday, and I’m checking out some locations for a film that I’m hoping to get finance for.’
Izzy stared hard at his bare feet. It was the only part of him she had allowed herself to look at since this morning. Still looking off the scale sexy, which she knew was ridiculous in every way.
‘And it’s Christina who loves the whole vintage thing, not you?’
She knew this was strictly more than she needed to know. She didn’t even know why she wanted to get to know more about him.
‘Me? Not my thing.’
‘You have your old car.’ She couldn’t overlook that.
He dismissed that quickly. ‘The car’s not mine, I borrowed it from my dad, and if I was decorating, which happily I’m not, I definitely wouldn’t go for the old tat look.’
Nothing she didn’t know already. Polishing the chandelier obviously wasn’t loosening his tongue.
‘So what sort of style do you go for?’ She walked over to adjust a folding screen she had set up next to the dressing table.
‘I don’t have a house. Not that I live in anyway. Only the one where the skips are.’
She thought of the broken windows, and the building site.
‘But that’s only half finished. What about your place?’
He looked as if he was giving the question full consideration.
‘Nope, I really don’t have one.’
She tried to conceal her surprise. For Izzy, her home was so crucial to her whole being, she couldn’t imagine living without one. Home was what made her feel secure, where she expressed her creativity, and it was a huge part of her identity, all tied up with who she was. Ever since her parents’ divorce wrenched them out of their family home, home to her had been a symbol of safety.
‘But where do you sleep then, where do you keep your things?’ She found this so hard to believe, she no longer cared if she sounded nosey.
‘Sometimes I stay over at the office. Film production is time consuming, so I spend most of my waking hours working. I’m here and there, work away a lot, have my clothes in a couple of holdalls, stay in hotels, on location, or at friends places sometimes. And when I need somewhere to crash, Christina catches me. She’s never given up being the big sister, we’re very close, especially…well…now.’
Izzy suspected he was going to mention his mother again, but thought better of it. Phew to that, but there was something immensely puzzling about Xander. What was he? An itinerant workaholic who didn’t actually live anywhere at all? So much for the image she had of him as a happily settled, family man, with a beautiful Georgian home. How was he so different to the guy she had him down for?
She couldn’t hide how horrified she was about the idea of being essentially homeless. For her, being without a home would be the worst thing in the world. ‘Don’t you think you’re a bit old to be sleeping on people’s couches?’
Xander gave a hollow laugh, apparently amused at the extremity of her reaction. ‘Thirty four isn’t old.’
‘It all depends what you’re doing at thirty four. That’s not a good answer, and you know it.’
Izzy sensed she’d accidentally stumbled on a crack in Xander’s arrogant shell. Sometimes if you broke through a tough exterior, you might find humanity underneath.
‘So why all the work? I’m sure that film production is all consuming, but I’ve heard of film producers who managed to have a life as well.’
He considered for a moment, as if he realised a flippant answer wouldn’t be acceptable. From the furrows of concentration on his brow, it was almost as if he were asking himself the question for the first time. ‘I guess the work fills the spaces.’
One short, succinct answer, but Izzy knew exactly what he meant. In her own life work definitely filled spaces, and it was definitely a substitute for something – she just hadn’t quite worked out what yet. With her own work, she drove herself until she couldn’t do any more, until she was dropping with fatigue, and then she did just a little bit extra. When she was done with painting she cleaned the house until it was immaculate, and then she found something else to organise, or bake, or renovate, and then she started all over again. Stopping meant slowing down, and when you slowed down the past had a nasty habit of catching up with you. And she packed her days full, because when she was busy there was no space for the doubts and bad thoughts to creep in, and she carried on the whole treadmill of her life, because she was too scared of what she’d find if she stopped. But one thing she did know was that it takes an unhappy person to know one. She wondered if Xander had any idea how much he’d given away with those few words. She’d expected to peer through a chink in the armour, to see through to what might be the tiniest glimpse of the real guy, yet one small tug, and the whole lot had come crashing down, and laid him bare before her. Just what she hadn’t expected.
‘Work fills spaces?’ Her tone was low, as she tilted over her basket, and pulled out a lace chemise. ‘You aren’t kidding there.’
‘Without the work, maybe there wouldn’t be anything there at all. That’s the bit that’s really scary.’ His voice was gruff, scraping like sandpaper on a board. ‘Yet how would you know?’
He tilted his head on one side, and there was a faint hint of triumph in his voice.
‘You only know, because you’re the same. Aren’t you, Mrs Paint-All-Night?’
24
Wednesday Afternoon, 11th June
DIDA & LUCE
The Swimming Pool Viewing Area
Every grimace leaves a wrinkle
Luce wiggled her way along the row of spectator tiers, flipped down a blue plastic seat, and edged onto it with a sigh, dropping her bag onto the floor. She held out a can to Dida.
‘Iced tea, not sure what it’ll taste like, but it’s way too warm for proper tea today.’
‘Thanks, it looks fab. I’m having a whole day of firsts.’ Dida ran her finger over the condensation on the ice cold can appreciatively, popped open the ring pull, and made sure she kept her voice cheery. ‘I know we’re used to our weekly dose of chlorine fug sauna up here, but now we’re in the grip of flaming June it’s unbearable.’
Dida peered over the balcony edge, trying, just for a minute, to blot out the double whammy of blows she’d suffered that afternoon. Two things had come hurtling out of nowhere, and she was still mentally gawping, trying to get her head around them.
Way below, Lolly and Ruby were wriggling around with a huddle of children on the pool side, listening to Tilly, their swimming instructor. Dida crossed her legs, smoothed out the creases in her taupe linen trousers, un-peeled her lawn shirt, where the sweat had stuck it to her back, and wished she’d worn something lighter. Luce looked way more comfortable in her capri pants, cropped polo, and flat pointy pumps, but then Luce always looked effortlessly chilled. Whereas Dida’s chunky build meant she could spend a fortune at Mint Velvet or Toast, and still end up looking like she was wearing a sack, you could put Luce in a bin bag, and she’d look like she’d walked out of a Vogue shoot. And given Dida’s bird’s eye view, it was obvious even at this stage, that poor old Lolly, sticking her bum out down below, had inherited Dida’s shape exactly, whereas Ruby, beside her, was as willowy as her mum.
Genes
were one thing you couldn’t fight, whereas Aidie…Well, he was different matter altogether. The Vintage Cinema Club were already pulling out the stops to defeat him. Dida had dragged together a stonking business loan proposal, which would be ready to drop into the bank before she went away. But Aidie just kept giving and giving, and not in a good way. With the stunt he’d pulled today, Dida was going to see to it that he had the mother of all battles on his hands.
Luce pulled a face, as she held up her can to scrutinise the contents list. ‘Brrr, it’s a bit strong on the lemon.’ She took another swig, and shuddered. ‘Let’s hope your other first is better than this one. I think this might be the vilest thing I’ve tasted since root beer.’
‘However bad it tastes, I reckon I have a top trump of awfulness for my other.’ Dida drew in a breath. She knew her mouth was set in the kind of grim line her mother had been warning her against all her life, made all the more obvious by the lippy touch up she’d slapped on as they’d left the changing rooms. “Smile and the world smiles with you”, and “every grimace leaves a wrinkle” were two stalwarts of her mother’s mission statement.
‘So would I be right to think Aidie is responsible, yet again?’
One thing Dida loved about Luce was how perceptive she was, although, in fact, that statement might actually have applied to most things in Dida’s life, on any day.
‘You got it in one.’ Dida punched the air. ‘The “first” is, that he’s broken his habit of eighteen years of top secret holiday destinations, and told me where we’re going on Saturday.’ Dida decided whatever her mother had drilled into her to the contrary, this was a moment so awful, she was completely entitled to blow out her cheeks. Quite why Aidie had broken with convention was something else Dida hadn’t found an answer for. That was the thing with her husband – he worked in mysterious and convoluted ways, and the origins of his actions weren’t always immediately obvious. He was like every smoke cliché rolled into one. With Aidie smoke screens were an everyday occurrence, there was rarely smoke without fire, and he was a living embodiment of smoke and mirror deception.
