by Alice Ross
Recalling the pathetic scene, Julia’s blood began bubbling again. She hadn’t yet met Faye’s new friend, Josie, but she’d recognise the girl’s mother. She’d noticed her zipping about the village in a sporty black BMW, always dolled up to the nines. Julia had been all for storming up to the house last night, demanding to know what the woman was playing at, allowing underage drinking in her house. Paul, though, had managed to calm her down. Wait until Faye sobers up tomorrow and hear her side of the story first, he’d insisted, before confronting Josie’s mother with all guns blazing. So, here she was, waiting for her seventeen-year-old daughter to wake up with what Julia hoped would be the hangover from hell.
Fury swirling around her, Julia snatched up a box of cornflakes and yanked open one of the cupboard doors to put it away. A bag of mini Mars bars fell out. Followed by another. Did no one ever think to tidy out these cupboards, she fumed, stuffing both packets back in. But no. Of course they didn’t. Why should they when they had a mug like her to clear up after them?
For what must have been the millionth time since she’d last seen him at the pub, Julia’s thoughts switched to Max. Gorgeous, charming, caring, funny Max, who claimed he still loved her after all these years. And, as much as she tried to deny it, who she still loved. Who she would always love.
A sudden thought struck her. With such force, she grabbed hold of the kitchen bench to steady her legs. Max might be a fantasy, but why couldn’t he be her fantasy? Natalia, after all, had to be Paul’s. And the two of them were quite happily discussing ‘budgets’ over dinner in exclusive restaurants. Ugh. The very notion of being in that same restaurant with Paul, possibly even at the same table over which he and Natalia had huddled, caused bile to rise in her throat. Needless to say, immediately following that revelation in the cake shop, she’d cancelled the reservation. She didn’t want to spend an evening there with Paul. She didn’t want to spend any time with Paul. Anywhere. Nor did she want this life any more. She wanted to be with someone who appreciated her. Who thought of her as more than an unpaid skivvy. She wanted to feel special, cosseted, worshipped. Max had worshipped her once. Maybe he could do again.
Not caring that her daughter was upstairs, Julia could hold out no longer. She whipped up her mobile and dialled Max’s number.
*****
Faye stared at her mother aghast. ‘Please tell me you didn’t.’
Her mother stared back. And the unimpressed look on her face told Faye she was still furious. ‘And why would I tell you that, when I did?’
Prostate in her bed, Faye yanked a pillow over her face. God! Was this really her life? Her life that was now ruined. Completely, utterly and totally.
‘And I also told her that you are no longer allowed to visit Buttersley Hall.’
Faye whipped away the pillow and jack-knifed upright. ‘What?’
‘You heard. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Ever again.’
Faye slumped back against the bedhead. As if her mother kicking off at Miranda about the party wasn’t bad enough, now she couldn’t even go up to the Hall and apologise. Not that she’d have the first idea where to begin. She’d really thought, when Miranda saw her in her new outfit, that she would have soared in the woman’s estimation; that Miranda would think of her as more of an equal than a gawky kid. No hope of that now, though – thanks to her bloody mother.
‘Oh. And by the way. You’re grounded for the next month,’ announced Julia, before spinning around and strutting out of the room.
Faye heaved an almighty sigh as the door slammed shut. Fair enough, she had perhaps had a bit too much to drink, and the only thing she could remember about getting home was Miguel’s strong arms around her. But at least she hadn’t been so inebriated that she’d forgotten where she lived. And at least she’d arrived home with her clothes still intact. Even if they weren’t the ones she’d originally left the house in. Honestly. Things could have been two hundred times worse, but her mother was acting like some kind of national disaster had occurred. Why did she have to make such a big deal out of everything? Why couldn’t she be cool, like Miranda? Who’d arranged the most awesome party ever. A proper party – for grown-ups. With no sign of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, or pass-the-stupid-parcel, both of which would undoubtedly have been included in any party at Primrose Cottage. Ugh. When was her mother going to realise that she wasn’t a kid any more?
Miguel hadn’t treated her like a kid. He’d treated her like the mature woman she really was. Of course he’d had wandering hands – what boy didn’t? – but thankfully Faye hadn’t been so sloshed she couldn’t bat them away. When he’d kissed her, though. My God. She’d thought her knees were going to cave. It’d been nothing like kissing Luke Molloy. In fact, in comparison, that had been like rubbing her lips over a slug. No, kissing Miguel had taken the exchange of bodily fluids to a whole new level. A level Faye wouldn’t mind exploring further. Much further. No chance of that now she was grounded, though.
Or was there …?
*****
The last thing Paul needed at the moment was Faye going off the rails. She’d never been the easiest child in the world to deal with, but she’d never done anything as drastic as going to a party half-dressed and getting out of her tree. Still, there were a million worse things she could be getting up to. And wasn’t that all part of growing up? All part of a teenager’s job description? Everyone had done something like that at some point in their youth. Even Julia. Although the way she was reacting, you’d think she was Mother Theresa. ‘Blowing her top’ was an understatement. The woman had done an impressive job of impersonating Mount Vesuvius, overflowing with threats of what she intended doing to this Josie’s mother up at Buttersley Hall. All of which would undoubtedly have led to a visit from the boys in blue, and another heap of drama.
Given that Paul’s life contained more drama than five years’ worth of Britain’s best-known soap at the moment, he’d fortunately managed to calm his wife down. At least until she heard Faye’s side of the story. After that, who knew what direction she might whizz off in.
And then there was Natalia. Another firecracker. And another handful. But what a handful.
Following more snogging last week after a training session they’d attended, Paul had made a momentous decision. They were scheduled to go to Madrid for a meeting next week. And would be staying overnight.
And this time Paul knew exactly what he wanted to do.
*****
Julia had no idea if an affair was the answer to her problems or not. But, having considered the matter, she’d concluded she didn’t care. She wanted – and needed – something to kick-start her life. Something to make her feel alive again. And time with Max would, she had no doubt, do all of that. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d gone out and picked up some random guy in a bar. She knew Max. And Max knew her. Better than anyone else ever had – or would. Not that that justified her actions, of course. But justification did not rank highly on Julia’s priority list at the moment. Unlike Paul, brazenly flaunting his and Natalia’s ‘budget meetings’ to all and sundry, Julia intended keeping her liaison discreet. Which was why – with a brazenness all of her own – she’d declined Max’s invitation to go out to dinner, and suggested, instead, that they meet at his flat in Leeds.
As Julia parked the Punto outside Max’s apartment block, her heart pounded so hard she thought it might escape the confines of her ribcage. At the time she’d called him – in the safety of her own kitchen, furious with Faye for her exploits at the party; furious with Paul for having dinner with Natalia; and furious with herself for being … well, herself – this had seemed a brilliant idea. Now, though, the brilliance had dimmed somewhat. But she’d come this far – both literally and metaphorically. And if she didn’t go in, she’d always be wondering ‘what if?’. So, sucking in a fortifying breath, she slid out of the Punto and, on unaccustomedly high heels, staggered over to the door of the apartment block.
She stood for a moment gazing at Max
’s name on the intercom system: Max Burrell – Penthouse.
Seeing it there in black and white made the situation even more surreal. She could scarcely believe Max was back in her life again, never mind that the two of them might possibly … well … she couldn’t even think about that at the moment. Being both terrifying and thrilling – in equal measure – the mere thought resulted in goosebumps.
Her heart continuing its furious hammering, she pressed the intercom button, and cleared her throat, preparing to sound cool and sophisticated, not the quivering wreck she really was. Thankfully, no words were required as a buzzer sounded and the door clicked open. With shaking legs she made her way over to the lift, the doors of which stood open, as if waiting to swallow her up. Don’t be ridiculous, she reasoned. The whole point of this evening was to enjoy herself; let her hair down a bit; relax. If she was going to stress about the whole thing, then she should turn around and go home right now.
She walked into the lift and pressed the button for the penthouse.
*****
‘Faye, I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ grumbled Josie, as the two of them descended the bus at Leeds Bradford airport. ‘Don’t you think you’re in enough trouble as it is after the party?’
‘Who cares?’ said Faye, shrugging her rucksack onto her shoulder. ‘I’m sick of being treated like a kid. And I’m sick of living here. It’s boring. At least in Marbella there’ll be lots of gorgeous, glamorous people, and loads of exciting stuff to do.’
Josie pursed her lips. ‘But what are we going to do?’
Faye tossed back her long dark hair. ‘Well, I don’t know exactly, do I? Not until we’ve spoken to Miguel. But he said that whenever I wanted to come out, he’d be able to find me work.’
‘But it’s the end of the season. Don’t you think it’d be better if we waited until things were more organised. Came out next summer for a bit?’
Faye blew out an exasperated breath. ‘No, I don’t. It’s ages to next summer and I’m not spending God knows how many months wasting my life in that stupid village. This’ll show them all that Faye Blakelaw means business. That I’m not six years old. And that I don’t need to be grounded.’
‘But we don’t have a plan. It’s all a bit … random.’
‘Of course it’s not random. We find Miguel and he’ll sort us out.’
Josie wrinkled her forehead. ‘Have you actually spoken to him since the party?’
‘No. But what’s that got to do with anything?’
Josie shrugged. ‘People say things when they’ve had a drink. Maybe he was just telling you what you wanted to hear.’
‘Of course he wasn’t. He lives there. He has contacts.’
‘Do you have his address? Or telephone number?’
Faye hesitated. She’d really hoped Josie wasn’t going to ask her that. For all her bravado, she’d have felt so much better if she had spoken to Miguel after the party, or at least if she had his phone number. Still she wasn’t going to let a minor detail like that stop the proceedings. ‘No,’ she replied as confidently as she could. ‘But I know the name of the bar where he works. We’ll track him down there.’
‘But what if we can’t find it? There’s bound to be a million bars over there.’
Faye’s patience was waning. ‘Look, if you don’t want to come with me, I’ll go by myself.’
Josie didn’t reply. Instead, she stared at the ground, chewing her bottom lip.
For the first time since she’d booked the flights earlier that day – using her mother’s credit card – Faye experienced a surge of panic. If Josie bottled out now, then she couldn’t lose face. She’d have to go alone – the thought of which, now they were amidst the commotion of the airport, seemed a damned sight scarier than when she’d concocted the plan in her bedroom. And then there was the rather mercenary fact that she didn’t have any money. Josie had brought along all the cash she’d received for her birthday – three times as much as Faye’s contribution. And if Josie didn’t come, neither would the money.
She held her breath as Josie continued her lip-chewing and ground-staring. After what seemed to Faye like an eternity, she eventually blew out a long breath.
‘Oh, all right. I think the idea is completely mad, but I can’t let you go on your own.’
Faye’s confidence was galvanised. ‘Brilliant.’ She linked her arm through her friend’s. ‘Now let’s go and find our check-in desk.’
*****
Miranda was exhausted. All the party preparations, combined with Doug’s visit, and the strain of keeping her condition to herself, had really taken its toll over the last few days. Curled up on the sofa in the lounge at Buttersley Hall, she hugged a cushion to her chest and thought about Doug. For all she’d been dreading seeing him, she’d found his presence surprisingly fortifying. And when, following the celebrations, they’d eventually tumbled into bed, so tired had they been that he’d simply wrapped her in his arms and held her. A gesture which had made her feel safe. Protected. Like she belonged there. And, needless to say, completely emotional.
‘You okay?’ Doug had whispered.
No, Miranda had wanted to wail. I’m far from okay. I’m carrying another man’s child. But she hadn’t.
‘Sorry,’ she’d snivelled. ‘Not feeling that great at the moment. Think I might be coming down with something.’
Thankfully, he’d bought her excuse. And, the following day, had flown back to Dubai. Miranda was only grateful he hadn’t been there when Faye Blakelaw’s mother had turned up at the house, tearing a strip off her for the state her daughter had been in at the party. Miranda had resisted hurling back that if Faye wanted to strut about like a prostitute and drink herself into oblivion, then that really wasn’t Miranda’s fault. She was only grateful Josie was level-headed enough not to be influenced by the likes of Faye. But she hadn’t had the energy to argue with the woman. Instead, she’d listened to the ranting in silence before muttering some semblance of an apology. Which, thankfully, had been enough to placate her. Just thinking about the confrontation made Miranda weary. For all it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, she was going to bed. And tomorrow she would call the London clinic and make the appointment for the termination.
Definitely.
*****
Julia perched awkwardly on the edge of Max’s sofa, wishing she hadn’t bothered with the hold-up stockings. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d worn stockings, but wasn’t doing something different precisely what this evening was all about? The stockings had made her feel sexy earlier. Now they just felt damned uncomfortable. Like they were cutting off her entire circulation, making it difficult for her to breathe.
Much to her relief, Max had seemed delighted to see her when he’d pulled open the apartment door.
‘Wow. You look amazing. I love the dress.’
Julia smiled her thanks. She had to admit that she did rather like the dress – a burgundy wrap-around she’d bought for Paul’s office cocktail party. And it had the added bonus of making her waist appear smaller and her boobs bigger.
‘Come in,’ he’d said, stepping aside.
He led her into the lounge. A huge square room with brilliant white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows, in front of which were two squashy black leather sofas, strategically placed either side of a coffee table, permitting spectacular views of the city.
‘Sit down.’
Julia did as she was bid.
‘Glass of wine?’
She nodded her acceptance.
‘Right. Give me two minutes.’
While Max loped off to what looked like a very sleek, modern kitchen, Julia cleared her throat, wondering if her vocal cords had gone on strike. But then again, other than making some banal comment about the view, which Max had probably heard a bazillion times, she had no idea what to say.
‘There you go,’ he said, returning to the lounge and sliding a glass of white wine across the table to her. ‘Just the one, mind, given you’re driving.’
He plumped down on the opposite sofa.
Julia managed a shaky smile. She was driving but she needed a drink to steady her nerves. One wouldn’t touch the sides, though. In fact, the way she felt right now, several bottles could well be required before even a dint would be made.
‘Are you okay?’ Max asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Julia picked up her glass and took a tentative sip. ‘Fine thanks,’ she croaked.
Max leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘No, you’re not. You look terrified. Maybe you coming here wasn’t such a good idea.’
Julia gazed across the table at him. He gazed back. With such a concerned look on his face, something tugged at the centre of her heart.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I’m just a bit …’
He raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Terrified?’
His green-grey eyes twinkled and a mischievous smile tugged at one side of his mouth.
‘Absolutely terrified,’ she confessed, before they both broke out laughing.
Max rose to his feet and took the few strides necessary to sit beside her.
‘Look, Ju …’
Julia’s breath caught in her throat. No one other than Max had ever called her that.
‘… I don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t know what you want me to do or say. I don’t even, if I’m honest, know why you wanted to come here tonight …’
Julia bit her bottom lip. A few minutes ago, she hadn’t known either. But now, with Max so close she could feel the heat of his body, drink in the subtle scent of his aftershave, she was beginning to remember.
‘… but what I do know,’ he went on solemnly, ‘is that I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with you lately; loved having you in my life again. But I understand that you’ve moved on …’
Julia choked back the snort of ironic laughter that rose in her throat at that statement.
