Mermaid Hair and I Don’t Care: A romantic comedy about shoes, surf and second chances

by CJ Morrow

  ‘Thinks she does,’ Jackson said. ‘But that’s another issue.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Wait and see, but I think we might have to let her go. I don’t know. When my father persuaded me to come here I didn’t know it was going to be such a headache.’

  ‘Your father?’ Lily prompted, seizing her opportunity.

  ‘Yes, we, that is, our family business – which is quite large – bought Bensons out.’

  ‘Hostile takeover,’ Lily muttered.

  ‘Not at all. Bensons’ directors approached us. Old Mr Benson was making some erratic decisions and things weren’t looking good. Ironically none of them suspected what was really going on. Frankly it’s a bloody mess. This sort of thing is the reason why I got out of this career in the first place.’

  ‘And went surfing,’ Lily added, her tone mocking.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Lily grasped her opportunity. ‘So who the hell are you? What’s with the Jackson-slash-Cyril thing?’

  He laughed. Really loud. He looked into her eyes and laughed again. ‘Jackson-slash-Cyril?’

  ‘That’s what I call you because I don’t know who the hell you are.’

  ‘Me neither,’ he said softly, slumping back in his chair.

  ‘So?’ He was not getting away with it.

  ‘Full name: Cyril Jackson Montgomery-Jones.’

  ‘Yes?’ Lily spread her hands inviting more explanation.

  ‘Cyril is a family name, my father is called Cyril, his father was Cyril and so on, going back generations. It’s become a tradition. But I’ve always hated that name. I spent much of my childhood in Devon, along with my sister, Beth. We lived with my maternal grandparents until I was thirteen; they pretty much brought us up while my parents flew around the world on business. In Devon I was Jackson – always have been. That’s who I really am.’

  ‘Is it? Then why the subterfuge?’

  ‘What subterfuge?’

  ‘You never identified yourself. You never acknowledged you knew me.’

  ‘I didn’t know you. That is, I didn’t know who you were until you walked into my office. Until then yours was just a name on a long list of employees. I never guessed that Lillian Ward was the Lily I’d spent nine days in Devon with.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then, apart from there always being someone else with us – and I wasn’t having that conversation in front of an audience – you were a suspect.’

  ‘What?’ Lily stood up.

  ‘Joint head of finance – of course you were a suspect. As was Damon. Even,’ he smirked. ‘The Europeans.’

  ‘But we are innocent. How could you think that we, that I, would be involved in anything dodgy?’ Lily flopped back into her seat.

  ‘I’m sorry. But, despite my personal feelings, I had to ensure…’ He stopped speaking and looked away.

  Silence: the air crackled around them.

  ‘Your personal feelings?’ she said, her voice croaking.

  He turned back to face her and a brief, insincere smile flashed across his face. ‘Congratulations on your engagement. I witnessed the romantic proposal.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I met your wife.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Mireille, isn’t it? I know that during our little holiday romance we agreed on no past and no strings, but I think it was duplicitous of you to forget you had a wife.’

  ‘And you a forthcoming fiancé,’ he countered.

  Lily stood up so she could look down on a seated Jackson, she definitely had the moral high ground on this. How dare he, a wife was far more serious than a recently dumped boyfriend. ‘For your information we had broken up. That was why I was on holiday with my friends, to cheer myself up, to get over him. So, I was quite free to do as I please.’ She flung the office door open. ‘Can you say the same?’ She slammed the door behind her and marched back to her desk. ‘Going to lunch now,’ she said to Damon who jumped when she whistled past him. Lily snatched up her handbag and jacket and made her escape.

  How dare he? How dare he throw Will’s proposal at her while he had a wife. Who the hell did he think he was? He was a lying, two-faced, smug two-timer. Adulterer. That’s what he was, an adulterer. No one could accuse her of that. No one. She had broken up with Will before the holiday. She was single. Cyril Jackson Montgomery-Jones was not single; he had a wife. A former boyfriend did not have the same status as a wife.

  A wife. A wife. For God’s sake. That made Lily a cheap little bit on the side. She’d had no illusions about the holiday fling, that’s all it ever was, all it was meant to be from the beginning, but a wife? A wife! How dare he bring up Will’s romantic gesture, how dare he belittle Will? She cringed on Will’s behalf, felt mean and spiteful for finishing with him. Poor Will.

  She seethed and stomped her way out of the building, strode out to the car park, aggressively pressing the door release on her key fob as she approached her car. She yanked the door open and flung her bag and jacket onto the passenger seat. Then she looked back. Why did she have to look back?

  Jackson was standing at his office window, no doubt surveying his domain. She glowered at him but he didn’t look away. He stood motionless, his arms behind his back, his legs slightly apart. He looked like a sentinel.

  ‘Arrogant bastard,’ she hissed to herself.

  She revved the car out of its space, revved it out of the car park and put her foot down hard when she reached the dual carriageway. Where was she going? She hadn’t given it any thought; she just wanted to get away.

  If Tess had been at home she would have gone there, but Tess was at work. She thought briefly of Will, shook her head and half laughed at herself as she drove. What would she say to Will? What could she say to Will? Come to that, what could she say to Tess? So much of what had happened couldn’t be repeated for fear of jeopardising the future and reputation of Bensons Wholesale Electricals.

  Had she really been a suspect? Had he really thought that she and Damon were in on it? But he hadn’t suspected Damon for long. Damon had been entrusted with compiling the report. Lily had been a prime suspect.

  And why not? He didn’t know her? And she didn’t know him; that much was obvious.

  She found herself at home without even noticing how she’d got there. She scraped the tyres against the curb as she parallel parked.

  Inside she filled the kettle, slamming it on to its base as she flicked the power on. A big mug of coffee would help.

  Damon messaged to see if she was okay, she messaged back to say she might be late back. Was that true? Was she going back? Was she going to face him again?

  Then, as her heart dropped with a sickening thud, she realised she’d left her notepad in his office. He was probably perusing that damning list at this very moment.

  Twenty-four

  She lay on the sofa, hugging herself and thinking about the list. Not just the questions but the vile comments aggressively scribbled in the margins, even if they were true:

  Cyril – sly doppelganger

  Jackson – sneaky, lying bastard with a secret wife

  Jackson-slash-Cyril- who the hell does he think he is?

  Jackson-slash-Cyril – hate him

  She cringed. The thought of him reading the list, inspecting every line – urgh. She’d even doodled his name inside a heart. Why? Was she mad? Had she scribbled it out? She thought she had. Now she wasn’t sure.

  She could never go back to Bensons. Never face him again.

  Why had he invaded her real life?

  Why did she ever think that she could have a no-strings-attached holiday romance?

  Had she been right to dump Will? She felt guilty when she thought of Will, not just because she’d dumped him, but because he took up less room in her thoughts than Jackson did. It never used to be like that, she was – to use Tess’s words – obsessed with Will. But now, now her feelings towards him were quickly becoming neutral. She felt more sorry for him than any other em
otion. When had that happened?

  She sat up and swallowed her guilt down with a large mouthful of coffee. Then reminded herself that Giselle had been summoned to Will’s aid, almost as soon as Lily had dropped him off home after the fateful conversation in the car. Should she have waited until the morning and had that conversation in the cold light of day? Would it have changed the outcome? She wondered if Giselle now had the coveted key.

  Damon messaged her: What have you done to Cyril, hun? He’s stomping around with a thunder face. Scared The Europeans shitless xx

  Lily read the message several times before dropping her phone back on the coffee table. What could she say? Nothing was probably the best response.

  She lay back down on the sofa and pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking herself like a baby.

  What a mess. It was so depressing, so demoralising. She would have to get a new job; maybe it was time for a change of career. No more finance. Hey, maybe no more offices. A complete change of career. What could she do? What did she want to do?

  Damon messaged again: Where are you, hun? Cyril wants to know what time you will be back.

  Lily: Not coming back. Ever.

  She switched her phone to silent, closed her eyes and fought back tears.

  Her stupid holiday fling with Jackson-slash-Cyril had ruined her life. If she’d never met him on holiday she certainly wouldn’t have fallen for him in the office; only fools mixed work with romance, no matter how strong the attraction. But there was no denying that the attraction had been strong. And mutual.

  She wouldn’t have found it so insulting that he even vaguely suspected her of fraud and embezzlement; she would have seen it for what it was – just business. Everything was spoiled, tainted. Nothing would ever be the same again. It was all such a mess.

  She let the tears flow; self-pity, humiliation, sadness. And finally, she cried herself to sleep, waking only to a loud banging on the door and a snot bubble escaping her left nostril.

  ‘All right, all right,’ she called out as the banging continued. She snatched a tissue from the box in the hall and wiped her nose on her way to the front door. A quick look in the mirror showed mad bed-hair and panda eyes. She shrugged. Who would care? She didn’t anymore.

  She opened the door a little and peaked through the gap.

  ‘Jackson?’

  ‘Hello, Lily.’

  She stared at him without speaking.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We need to talk.’

  Lily shrugged but didn’t open the door further, didn’t step aside to let him in.

  ‘About your list,’ he added.

  Lily pushed the door shut, but Jackson already had his foot inside preventing the door from closing. She stared hard, challenging him to move. Their eyes met, his startling blue eyes – just as blue as they had been on the beach – one ringed in black and yellow; her panda eyes.

  He moved his foot away.

  Lily opened the door and stood back to let him in.

  What was she doing?

  What the hell.

  ‘I recognise this,’ he said, touching his fleece hanging on the coat rack in the hall.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t realise I had it.’ It sounded so pathetic.

  In the sitting room she plonked herself back down on the sofa, then, when Jackson didn’t sit down, she waved him into the armchair furthest from her. Her aim had been to keep him as far away as possible, but the plan backfired – his distance allowed her to observe his whole body, his chiselled jaw, his muscular frame, his strong arms. He had changed his clothes, now wearing a t-shirt and jeans; he looked more like the Jackson she had met in Devon. He wore no watch – the mermaid tattoo now on full display, ridiculing her.

  ‘I read your list,’ he began, pulling a torn off page from his pocket.

  She swallowed before speaking. ‘Stupid of me to leave it behind.’

  ‘Do you really think I’m a,’ he glanced down, ‘sneaky, lying bastard with a secret wife?’

  ‘Yes, because you are.’

  ‘And you hate me?’

  Lily raised her eyebrows – a sardonic act.

  ‘But you’ve drawn my name in a heart.’

  ‘And scribbled it out.’

  ‘Not very well.’

  ‘Where are we going with this? Could you just give me that back and sod off. I won’t be coming back to Bensons.’ She stood up and grabbed for the paper but he was too fast and tucked it back into his pocket.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, sighing and rubbing his head.

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do in my own house.’

  ‘Sit down, please. Let’s discuss this.’

  ‘It’s pointless.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘You know what I think of you; you have my list. And you didn’t trust me; you thought I was part of a financial fraud, a thief no less.’

  ‘I never thought that.’

  ‘You said you did.’

  ‘I never believed that of you. I had to play it by the book. I had to,’ he stalled, swallowed hard. ‘Act like a professional.’

  ‘Really.’ Lily tried not to look at him, tried to put the memory of what was beneath that t-shirt, those jeans, out of her head. Tried to forget that night in the beach hut. Tried to forget their wonderful nine days together.

  ‘You didn’t trust me, yet you trusted Damon.’

  ‘Not to start off with. I didn’t, couldn’t, trust anyone. I came to trust Damon after several meetings with him. The reports and plans he presented showed that he was honest.’

  ‘And me? What about me?’

  ‘You applied for the job. That could have implied that you were in on it and prepared to carry on with the fraud.’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘And you stole my fleece.’ He shrugged, implying that was proof enough of dishonesty.

  ‘No. I didn’t. I…’

  ‘I was joking. A stupid joke. I know you weren’t involved. But you see how it looked. I had to be certain. I had to show I was impartial.’

  Lily thought for a moment. That made sense. It was logical, but she wasn’t telling him that.

  ‘Please sit down.’ He said, his brow furrowed. ‘I have so much to say.’

  ‘Bit late, mate,’ she said, affecting her best nonchalant air. But she sat back down because standing with her hands on hips for too long felt ridiculous.

  He pulled the list out again.

  ‘Point one: Is Cyril, in fact, Jackson.’ He looked up at her and smiled. ‘I think we both know the answer to that one now.’ He looked back at the list. ‘Point two: why didn’t I identify myself? As I said earlier in my office, I was as shocked as you; I never expected to see you again. I could ask why you never identified yourself.’

  Lily stared at him for a long time, contemplating her response.

  ‘Mmm, let me see. Would it be because you had a different name and a completely different look? I wasn’t even sure it was you at first.’ Even sitting down she found herself aggressively folding her arms.

  He looked into her eyes and almost smiled. Lily looked away.

  ‘Point three: What am I doing invading your real life? I can’t really answer that except to counter it with what are you doing invading my real life?’

  ‘I was here first.’ How petulant that sounded.

  ‘I was drafted in by my father to help the family business. It really wasn’t a choice for me, more an obligation.’

  ‘How noble,’ Lily muttered, but he didn’t respond. ‘And you’ve already said that.’

  ‘Yeah. It should have been my sister but…’ His voice trailed away, then he coughed and returned to the list. ‘Point four: Why was I paired with you for the skydive?’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with me. I was as horrified as you were. When I saw you in that waiting area and realised we were tandem diving together I tried to change it. But, because I was late, there was no chance to swap.’

  ‘You saw me in the waiting area? I did
n’t see you.’

  ‘No, you were too busy arguing with a helmet, forcing your hair back into it. That’s how I knew it was you – from the back – your hair.’ He smiled to himself, his eyes almost glazing over.

  Lily took small comfort from the fact that it hadn’t been her thunder-thighs that had identified her.

  ‘Point five: Why did I lie about being married? I never lied about being married. We never discussed marriage.’ He sighed and screwed up the list, dropped it on the coffee table. ‘Look,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘I’m going to tell you all about myself and you are going to tell me all about yourself, then we’ll take it from there. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Enlighten me,’ Lily said, sighing herself.

  He told her about his idyllic childhood in Devon, his grandparents. Explained how at thirteen he and his sister were pulled out of Devon and given a “proper education” – his father’s words. He’d left university with a first class degree and worked hard to become a top chartered accountant, he’d had a succession of great jobs in The City. He spent every holiday he could in Devon, but those holidays were shorter and fewer and farther between.

  Then, while on business in Paris, he met Mireille. She was very French, very Parisienne. She followed him back to London and within a year they were married.

  ‘How romantic,’ Lily heard herself say.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She was the perfect corporate wife. We were the perfect corporate couple. I’ve no doubt that Mireille’s talents furthered my career. Just when I thought we were at the stage to settle down and start a family Mireille had an affair.’ His face took on a soft, pained expression.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said.

  ‘It was nothing really, her affair. It was short and certainly not serious; it was, however, indicative of how bored she had become. I forgave her, we moved on. We even had the conversation about children.’ He shrugged, his eyes staring into the distance. ‘Six months later she did it again. There was no coming back after that.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We divorced. We sold the house and split the proceeds. She’d never worked but as I said earlier, she was the perfect corporate wife and I owed her something for her part in my successful career.’