by Fiona Harper
‘Yes! That would be such a bad thing!’ she said loudly, then frowned. Just for a moment she’d reminded herself of Doris in that scene with the phone company man, the one where she’s complaining of sharing a party line with a sex maniac and ends up coming off all uptight and frigid instead of squarely in the right. Which she was. And so was Claire.
‘Because …?’
‘Because he’s no Rock Hudson and I’m no Doris Day!’ Claire replied, feeling all hot around her ears. ‘And because this is real life, not a sixties romcom. He’s not going to come good in the end and ask me to marry him.’ She folded her arms. ‘I wouldn’t even if he did! There’s no way to gloss over what he’s done and pretend it’s okay.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but it would be cool if it did turn out that way.’
Claire sighed too. Yes, it would. She’d always thought how much fun it would be to be in one of those madcap comedies of Doris’s, but now it was actually happening to her she realised it wasn’t as nearly as much fun as she’d thought it would be.
‘So, what will you do now?’ Peggy asked. ‘You can’t let him drive you out of your own home.’
Claire nodded and contemplated that concept, let her mind wander and cook up ways she could drive him out. Fun though that was, she wasn’t being very realistic. There really was only one thing she could do.
‘I’ll just have to go back,’ she said forlornly. ‘You’re right. I’m not going to leave my lovely flat just because some scumbag happens to own the flat downstairs. I will just have to take the Doris approach.’
Peggy raised her eyebrows as she sipped her coffee. ‘Which is?’
‘Pretend the thing I don’t want to deal with doesn’t exist. I shall just ignore him. It’s been easy enough to do so far, and he’ll probably be off to God-knows-where again soon.’ She fantasised briefly about all the sticky ends he could come to on his travels – falling down a crevasse in a glacier, being kidnapped by guerrillas, eaten by head-shrinking cannibals in some remote jungle – but was interrupted by Peggy, who was being annoyingly sensible.
‘Are you sure that’s going to work? You wouldn’t have turned up on my doorstep if you were able to do that.’
Claire thought for a moment. ‘I just need a couple of days to steady myself, to get my head in the right place. I mean, if Doris can use this technique to get over everything in her life, why can’t I?’
Peggy swung her legs back over the arm of the chair and placed them on the floor, then she leaned forward and looked at Claire. ‘I hate to tell you this, honey, but I’m not even sure it works for Doris all the time.’
Claire stiffened. ‘What do you mean? Of course it works. By all accounts, Doris is happy and sunny and living to a ripe old age. Sounds good to me.’
‘Another coffee?’ Peggy asked and headed for the living room door.
Claire nodded. Last night hadn’t included a lot of sleep. The caffeine would certainly help keep her vertical for a few more hours.
Peggy turned at the threshold. ‘Even bright, perky Doris Day can’t be Doris Day all the time. I bet there are times when she’s sad or lonely or angry too.’
They stared at each other in silence, contemplating that fact, then Peggy finally said, ‘Actually, how about we go out and have breakfast at the little café down the street? They do proper Italian coffee – much nicer than my cheap instant – and wonderful pastries.’
Claire looked at her suspiciously. ‘You’re paying this time. You never did give me the change back from that Frappuccino the other week.’
Peggy looked blank. ‘Didn’t I?’ she replied innocently. ‘Okay, then. It’s my treat.’
Peggy’s treat? Those didn’t come around too often, so Claire nodded and Peggy grinned at her. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ she yelled, as she dashed to her bedroom.
Claire watched the open door for a while then picked up a book from Peggy’s coffee table. Ten minutes in Peggy time meant at least half an hour. She might as well keep herself occupied while she waited.
Chapter Forty-Two
I’ve Only Myself to Blame
Once again, Dominic found himself standing on Pete and Ellen’s doorstep. However, this time, instead of a bottle of wine and a sad bunch of flowers, he was carrying an overnight bag and wearing a hangdog expression. Ellen opened the door and Dominic saw Pete trail into the hallway after her, curious to see who was knocking on their door this early on a Sunday morning.
‘Flipping hell! I thought you were in China!’
Dominic shook his head. ‘Long story … I’m back.’
Ellen looked carefully at Dominic. ‘Hmm. Something’s up.’ And then she turned and looked at her husband. ‘This is your fault, isn’t it?’
Pete looked both surprised and mildly offended. ‘You can’t say that! We don’t even know why he’s here yet! And how can it have been my fault when he’s been thousands of miles away for the last three weeks?’
Ellen just made a dismissive noise. ‘This has got the whiff of your shonky advice all over it,’ she told him as she stepped aside so Dominic could enter.
He was too tired to argue, or even to help Pete and Ellen argue. He just dropped his bag in their hallway and followed Ellen into the kitchen. ‘Do you think I could borrow your sofa again for a few nights?’
‘We can do better than that,’ Ellen replied. ‘You can use the attic room. Technically, because it hasn’t got a fire door, we can’t call it a bedroom yet – not until someone chases up that builder who said he could sort that out for us …’ she paused to give her husband a sharp look ‘… but we can put an air mattress up there. At least it would give you a bit of privacy and peace and quiet. Sammy likes to get up at five-thirty most days, and I expect you don’t want him bouncing on your head at that time in the morning?’
Dominic shook his head. At that moment a small boy streaked through the kitchen, wearing not one thread of clothing.
‘I thought you said you got him ready to go out to the park to play footie,’ she said to Pete, looking unconvinced.
‘I did!’ said Pete. ‘He must have taken it off again! How was I supposed to know that—’ He stopped and looked at Ellen’s expression then sighed. ‘I know … my fault. I’ll go and find it.’ He chased after Sammy, who was trying to unlock the back door. ‘Sam! Where d’you leave your football kit? Come and show Daddy and then we can go and get your ball.’
Sammy reluctantly allowed himself to be led away.
Ellen motioned for Dominic to sit at the kitchen table and busied herself making them both a huge cup of tea. When she’d finished, she sat down opposite him. ‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘Out with it.’
He sighed. ‘You were right and I was an idiot.’
One corner of her mouth kicked up. ‘That much is glaringly obvious. Care to go into specifics?’
‘It’s Claire …’
‘Uh-oh. You told her?’
He shook his head. ‘She found out.’
Ellen just pulled a face. She didn’t need to say anything more.
Dominic nodded. ‘Yeah, I’d say your prophetic powers are spot on. I bumped into her in the hallway. It did not go well.’
Ellen took a large sip of her tea, all the time looking at him from over the rim of her cup. ‘That I can imagine. If a woman hates anything – more than being told, yes, her bum does looks big in that – it’s being lied to. Especially by a man.’ She shook her head, gave him a pleading look. ‘I thought you were going to come clean?’
He nodded again. ‘I was. It was just …’
Ellen didn’t say anything. She just waited.
Dominic looked down into his giant mug of builders’ brew. ‘The more time I spent with her, the more I realised how much I liked her, and the more I liked her, the harder it got to say something that would blow it all to smithereens. I kept telling myself I was doing it for her, but really I think I was being a big fat coward.’ He looked up and found Ellen staring at him. Her expression wasn’t fierce, but it w
asn’t very sympathetic, either.
‘You’re right. You are an idiot,’ she said.
‘I didn’t want to lose her. What am I going to do, Ellie?’
He must have been looking pretty pathetic, because her face softened a little. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘not exactly. But you’re going to have to give her time – and space. Moving out was probably the best thing to do, so you can borrow our attic room as long as you like. You’ll have to push Pete’s crates of all his comics and model aeroplane junk to one side, though.’
Dominic almost managed a smile. ‘He still has that stuff?’
Ellen chuckled. ‘He tells himself – and me – that he’s saving them for Sammy.’
He sobered a little. ‘And what about after that? After I’ve given her time and space?’
‘Look, I know you’re a pretty great guy underneath. You’ve always been there for Pete, even when he’s been a total plonker, and I know that Erica hurt you badly. You just can’t let it stop you living your life.’
Dominic looked back at her in surprise. He was about to say that he lived his life at full pelt, that he did things other people just dreamed about, but then he realised what she meant. Hadn’t it been creeping up on him ever since he’d come home, this feeling that when it came to the things that mattered – relationships – he was stuck wading in the shallows? ‘How do I do that?’ was all he eventually said.
Ellen played with the handle of her mug. ‘It’s not going to be easy,’ she told him firmly. ‘The first thing you need to do is apologise – properly.’
He nodded. ‘I tried that, but she really didn’t want to listen.’
‘Of course she didn’t! She’s still spitting angry. But she won’t stay that way forever. You’re just going to have to be patient. Don’t give me that look. I told you this wasn’t going to be easy, especially not for you – Mr When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going.’
Dominic really wanted to contradict her about that, but he needed the rest of Ellen’s wisdom on this subject, so he kept his stupid mouth shut. ‘Okay, then what?’
‘Then – and this is the hard bit for most men – you’re going to have to let down a few of those walls, let her see who you really are, and do it not just in words but actions and, no, flowers and chocolate will not be good enough.’
He nodded. He knew that now. Boy, did he know that now. ‘I did let her see who I was, that’s the problem.’
‘Nope,’ Ellen said firmly. ‘It’s the solution.’
‘But she hates me! She hates what she saw!’
She sighed. ‘Men … You’re so literal sometimes, only able to think about stuff on one level. She wouldn’t be so upset if she didn’t like you. A lot. And she’s angry at the moment because she’s confused. She’s not sure who you are – the wonderful guy who’s been worming his way into her heart – or the manipulating toad she’s scared you might be.’
He supposed that made sense. Didn’t mean he had any answers, though. And which one was he? Even he wasn’t one hundred per cent sure any more. ‘So how do I do that?’
Ellen gave him a rueful shrug. ‘That, my darling boy, is up to you to figure out. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.’
Dominic chuckled softly. ‘Or you’d have to kill me, right?’
She gave him a don’t be a wally kind of look. ‘I wouldn’t have to,’ she said, draining the last of her tea and standing up. ‘I think there’s a queue.’
‘Right,’ Pete said, bursting back into the kitchen with his son under one arm. ‘I have child. I have clothes – on the child – and I have a football.’ He looked hopefully at Dominic. ‘Want to come across to the park with us?’
Dominic almost said yes, but then he realised the peace and quiet of an empty house might be a better choice. He shook his head. ‘Not this time.’ He risked a glance at Ellen. ‘I have some thinking to do.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Foolishly Yours
Claire arrived at The Glass Bottom Boat for the film club meeting the following Tuesday feeling more than a little flustered. She was running out of clothes and she knew that she’d have to sneak back to her flat very soon.
She thought, come Monday morning, she’d be ready to go home. But she hadn’t been ready. She hadn’t been ready at all. Just the thought of seeing his face again made her want to shout and scream and cry. It was most unsettling. She really needed to get herself under control.
Peggy’s flatmate had arrived back on Monday afternoon too, so Claire had packed her bag and turned up at Maggs’s house. Maggs had taken one look at her, given her a fierce hug and had marched her up to her spare room. Claire had never been so pleased to see eighties striped wallpaper, a dado border and frilly peach pillowcases in her life.
If only she knew what his schedule was. If he’d had a proper job she’d have known she was safe during office hours, but of course he didn’t have a proper job, which just meant she really knew how to pick ‘em.
But what about the documentary? a little voice inside her head whispered. The one that was deep and sensitive and made you cry.
Shut up, she told herself. She didn’t want to think about that documentary. As far as she was concerned, it had been made by someone else. And that wasn’t the point anyway. The point was that she didn’t want all the awkwardness, all the drama, of bumping into him unexpectedly. It would be much better if she could pretend he didn’t exist at all.
She parked her car and she and Maggs got out. It was only as she neared the entrance to the pub that she looked up.
She saw him standing there and a sensation rather like lightning shot through her. Not the nice kind of lightning, with a crackle of attraction, but the horrible kind, which made you feel hot and cold all at once and fried your brain cells so that grunting monosyllables became an effort. In fact, that was just what Claire did.
‘Wh—Buh—Yuh—’ was all she managed. Even she didn’t know what she was trying to say. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to bump into him unprepared.
He fixed her with those big, brown puppy-dog eyes. ‘I know you don’t want to see me,’ he said softly.
Claire nodded, her jaw tense, her lips pursed. Part of her was really glad he knew what she was thinking so she didn’t have to try to say it herself, another was insanely cross with him that he could read her so well.
‘But if you’d just let me explain …’
She shook her head, the movements tiny and staccato, and then she closed her eyes so she couldn’t see him, turned to face where she hoped the door of the pub was, opened them again and marched away towards the staircase out the back of the lounge bar. She could hear him calling after her, even crashing through the crowd a little behind her, but she screened those noises out, heard them, but filed them in a corner of her brain marked ‘not important’, and somehow it worked. Somehow, when she got to the top of the stairs and let herself into the function room, she was felt as if she was gliding above it all, like a swan across a millpond.
Maggs appeared a few moments later, puffing. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to give him a chance to talk?’
Claire just carried on unloading this week’s DVD selection from her bag. Calamity Jane. One of her favourites. Well, nearly everyone’s favourite, as it turned out. The club had been unanimous in choosing it for their next screening.
She was saved from Maggs nagging her further by the arrival Kitty and Grace, who had Abby in tow, and then George came in, his eyes searching the room for Maggs then coming to rest on her. Claire sighed. When was Maggs going to put the old boy out of his misery? Claire had fulfilled her part of the bargain. It was high time Maggs lived up to hers.
Still, there’d be time after the film to talk about that. The rest of the club members arrived and after a short discussion on the next four films that should be shown during their Doris film season they settled down to watch Calamity Jane.
Usually, Claire could sing along with every song – inside her head, of course;
she wouldn’t want to inflict her singing on her fellow club members – but this evening she kept drifting off, unable to settle and pay attention. She sighed. She normally loved this story of a woman and two men, only the right guy turned out to the wrong guy and the wrong guy turned out to be Mr Right. Maybe it was because, up until the other night, she thought she’d had a Mr Right and a Mr Wrong in her life, but now they’d inconveniently merged into the same person. Somehow that took the shine off the story.
Real life wasn’t like that. All it took was one kiss for ‘Calam’ and Bill to wipe away every bit of animosity from the past and start planning a future together. That was hardly going to happen to her. Even if Dominic – yes, she was using his proper name now – was pretty good in that department, it would have to be a kiss that reached the equivalent of number ten on the Richter scale to dislodge all the baggage they’d got going. And she didn’t want to kiss him again anyway. So there.
Still, she wished she really was more like Calamity Jane. Brave. Tough. Ready to face arrows and Indians and ridicule to get what she wanted. So instead of feeling buoyed up as she usually did after seeing the film, she left the meeting feeling deflated, as if she’d held herself up to an idea and come up lacking. All in all, she felt more like poor fake Katie than Calamity.
She was still mulling that over when she tramped down the stairs to the ground floor of the pub. She looked up as she hit the bottom step. Big mistake.
‘Seriously?’ she said, forgetting she was supposed to be ignoring him. ‘Have you been waiting here all evening?’
Dominic gave a very determined nod. ‘Yes. Because I need to explain, and you need to listen.’
Claire gave him a tight smile. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Mr Arden. I don’t need to do anything some man tells me. So, if you’ll excuse me?’
She moved to go past him. He didn’t stop her. But he did follow her as she made her way through the pub.
‘Well, if you won’t listen to an explanation, at least listen to this: there’s no reason for you to stay away from the flat. I’ve moved out.’
