‘Ah, you know, we email every now and then, no biggie, just keeping him up to date with gossip from school, really. He’s been gone a long time, nearly ten years, I think. He’s renting a flat in Talbot Mews, and I said I’d give him a hand to get things straight. You wouldn’t mind? Having Evie? I don’t want her getting under our feet if we’re lugging heavy furniture and unpacking things. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s the day Mum goes on her trip to Warwick.’
‘The ghost hunting trip? What the heck is that all about? It’s hard enough being in touch with some of the living, never mind about the great departed. But, anyway. Sure thing. No problem. My head’s full of stuff, so remind me closer to the time.’
‘I will. Sleep well, sis.’
‘Thanks.’ Chloe looked around the room. The chairs were still in a haphazard crescent. There were dips and crisp crumbs and a whole box of untouched chocolate mints on the coffee table. It would take some time to clear all that up. Still, it would take her mind off the bombshells of tonight.
Her mother. Her father. Her sister. Vaughn Bloody Brooks.
With all that running through her head, she doubted very much that sleeping well was going to happen anytime soon.
CHAPTER 10
‘SHE’S HAVING one of her attacks,’ Jenna told Chloe as she poured water into the kettle at their mum’s house the next morning. ‘I thought she might, after last night. The usual. She won’t get out of bed. Won’t talk to me. She just about managed to shuffle out to say goodbye to Evie; then she went back to bed.’
The kitchen smelt of brewed coffee, fresh laundry and freesias; the familiar scents of their childhood home. Chloe would have sat down at the large pine table that was older than her, had it not been for the mess of home too; teetering piles of little stripy leggings in acid colours sat next to delicate fairy wings and soft toys. Mum’s sewing basket had been plonked on top of what looked like a week’s worth of newspapers, bridal magazines with lots of different coloured post-it notes stuck to relevant pages. And, in probably what had been the only space available earlier this morning, was now a Peppa Pig matching cup and plate with toast crumbs, crusts and greasy blobs of peanut butter
And it was all very comforting, but Chloe was happy to just visit and not have to live with the chaos that was a three-year-old and a late-fifties, hormonal woman amid her mid-life crisis—ghost hunting indeed. Lies.
Actually, their mum had suffered from attacks on and off over the years. But regardless of the circumstances leading up to being a single mum, she’d worked hard to bring her girls up through bouts of the blues.
And now Chloe felt even worse. ‘Should I go up and talk to her?’
Jenna rinsed out the coffee plunger and put two hefty scoops of grounds in. ‘I’m on my third already, and it’s only nine thirty. She’s delicate and a little demanding. So, no. Don’t you dare go up, you’ll only make her worse.’
‘I won’t. I’ll be nice.’
‘Which is a lovely thought, Chloe, it really is. But I’m not sure you can pull it off.’
‘Ouch.’ Sometimes her sister’s honesty is the best policy approach hurt. ‘Great. Thanks.’
‘You know what she’s like; it’s always you who gets the brunt of it.’
‘Because I’m the eldest, yeah. Great.’
‘I’m sorry, sis. I couldn’t change that, could I?’ Jenna threw her a conciliatory look. And she was right; being born first had put Chloe under a lot of strain over the years, mainly because she had this innate need to look after everyone. But it was hardly Jenna’s fault. Her little sister shrugged. ‘Okay, so I’ll take her up this coffee and see if she’ll come down and have a chat. I think she’s embarrassed about it all, really. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over.’
‘I feel really strange about it, to be honest. I was angry, and now, I have to admit, I’m a little curious about what happened. Okay, well, call me nosy, but I’m a lot curious.’
‘Me too.’ Jenna put a steaming cup on the counter for Chloe and cradled the other one close to her chest. ‘I know this is going to sound strange, but I always felt I had this sort of… don’t laugh… widow’s connection with Mum. Like she was the only person who could relate to what I was going through, because she’d been through it too, that we’d shared something really tragic and yet survived. But now…’ her words petered out, and she looked a little lost.
Chloe stroked her hand, like older sisters do when they can’t think of anything to say. Because the whole situation was hurtful and strange and she hadn’t ever been a widow and so didn’t share that connection. Real or otherwise. ‘Oh Jen. I’m so sorry. I hadn’t even thought about that. It must feel weird.’
‘Wait here.’ Jen slipped her hand out from under Chloe’s. ‘I’ll take her coffee up.’
‘Will you ask her if she’s finished Jane’s alterations yet? The bridesmaids’? A couple of them needed some crystals sewing on if I remember? And if she responds positively to that, will you ask her if she’s finished my dress for the wedding too?’
The only problem with being a planner and a guest was that Chloe was expected to join in with all the themes. Hollywood glamour was all well and good, but not great for running around after the photographer, chasing the venue manager about the myriad of things that could go wrong and setting out place cards, room decorations and generally making sure the whole day ran smoothly.
Jenna nodded. ‘Okay. One thing at a time. I’m going to take the coffee up and see if she responds to that.’
‘But I need at least two things by tomorrow.’
‘And you won’t get either of them unless you let her take things at her pace.’ Which was precisely why Chloe had always been so thorough in her planning and her nagging—some called it checking in—because Mum had a habit of taking things at her own pace. Which on good days was grand, but on bad days was like watching paint dry. ‘She’s never let you down before.’
‘But she’s been perilously close to the edge with things she doesn’t think are important, or if she doesn’t feel like doing them.’
‘Don’t be silly, Chlo. This is a wedding. Our business.’ Jenna glowered and ducked out the door, Mum’s coffee in her hand as she called out, ‘She knows this is important.’
Not as much as I do.
The table was in such a mess, the whole house was, to be honest, but it was what she’d grown up with, so Chloe wasn’t overly perturbed. There were plenty of other things to spend time on, rather than clearing up, but she made a start on picking up Evie’s breakfast dishes and was just about to carry them to the dishwasher when something on a folded page of newspaper caught her eye.
The review of Vaughn’s restaurant. She picked up the paper, a little anxiously, she had to admit to herself, even though it had nothing to do with her. If Vaughn got a great or a terrible review, it wasn’t going to affect her life in any way.
‘The food showed flair and creativity. Chef’s special was infused with spices reminiscent of a Moroccan souk, a perfect piquant blend, and a perfect main course served with fluffed and fragrant couscous and eastern-style vegetables with just enough bite. The chocolate tower was divine and smooth and with more than a little oomph. In short, Vaughn’s restaurant had a lot of promise but disappointing follow-through on service. Wait staff didn’t know the menu with enough depth and had to keep checking their notes or asking other staff for guidance. And time between courses was woefully long. A weak 7/10.’
‘Shit.’ Chloe snapped the paper shut and shook her head. Her far-from-perfect poached egg on toast breakfast settled in a congealed lump in her tummy. ‘Shit. Shit.’
That review could be make or break for Vaughn. Really terrible would have been awful, but a draw for the macabre; punters would have gone to eat there just for the novelty value. Because Collini’s reviews tended to be either magnificent or humiliating, a nine or a ten would have been excellent. But a middling score was neither here nor there. It was just… meh. And people didn’t respond to meh the same way they re
sponded to heinous or glorious.
Should she call him?
Her hand went instinctively to her phone, and she almost tapped his name in. But, well, why should she? Why would he care what she thought? Why did it bother her so much that things hadn’t gone perfectly for him?
In truth, she felt as if she’d spent the whole damned night with him anyway. He’d been there in her head walking around her dreams, hand feeding her little morsels of food by the light of an open fridge door—a huge steel fridge with a bright light—like in some kind of porn movie. A food-porn movie. God yes, food porn. At one point, she’d almost kissed him. Actually, at a few points, she’d almost kissed him too…
And there she was, getting hot and bothered at the thought of it. This just wasn’t what she needed. The man had made her forget all about the book group meeting, which had led to the police and her mum’s revelation. Maybe if Chloe had gone straight home after her failed date with DrewsAmused, things wouldn’t be in such a hot mess now.
So no, she wasn’t going to call him; she had other things to do. Like appease her mum. But, well, ‘Shit and bollocks, anyway.’
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ It was Jenna. Her eyes flicked to the paper then back at Chloe, scrutinising her face. ‘Oh, that, yes I saw. Not great for his business. But what the hell do you care about Vaughn’s restaurant? I thought you couldn’t bear to be in the same room as him?’
Chloe wanted to off-load right then to Jenna and confess that she’d been at Vaughn’s place last night and that she’d dreamt about kissing him and a lot of other x-rated things. But what was the point? It wasn’t as if it mattered. He’d helped reignite some passion in her business, in her life, and, it appeared, in her dreams. But saying it out loud would only make her have to think about it more, explain it even. And she couldn’t. Turns out he was hot. And friendly. And so off limits, he might as well be on Mars.
So instead, Chloe went for bright. ‘Oh, you know, just interested in the gossip. I want to make sure there will still be a restaurant for my client on the twenty-first. Anyway, the issue in hand? What did she say? Has she done the dresses?’
‘There’s some hemming needed on your dress, but Jane’s and the bridesmaids’ are finished and hanging in the workroom.’ Where other people had a dining room, Bridget Cassidy had a workroom; it was the only space in the house that was meticulously clean and tidy and where no one under the age of twelve was allowed.
Chloe’s mood improved no end hearing this. ‘Right, I’ll take them all with me. I’ll drop Jane’s and the bridesmaids’ off tomorrow and do the hem myself on mine.’
Her sister paused then nodded. Her mood was clearly nowhere near as improved as Chloe’s. In fact, she looked quite tense. ‘I’m worried about her, Chlo. She hasn’t touched the other two coffees and she’s very pale. Her spark’s just gone again. She’s flat. Completely flat, as if someone flicked a switch. You know, like in ninety-seven.’ The Year of Bed. Seven months their mum had stayed there. Getting up only in the morning to see her girls off to school, then shuffling back in and staying there until the next day. Chloe had seen to the shopping, cooking, cleaning…
But God forgive her, but rather than her usual concern for her mum, her first thought was for the other dresses she needed to finish for the remaining weddings. Would they be done in time? Harsh? Probably. She was doomed to hell—or was she already there?
Then she looked closer at Jenna, at her sad sloping face and at the messy room and all the things that needed doing. The wedding ring that her sister still wore brought to mind her poor dead husband and her little girl who was so bright and light and fresh. Then came the problems they’d have if those weddings were a failure at all. At all.
So Chloe sparked into action. She opened the dishwasher and put the dirty plates and cups in. Then she tidied up the cereal packets, pushed the toaster back on the counter, wiped the crumbs away with a cloth, poured in some dishwashing powder and switched the machine on. Entering the workroom, she gathered the heavy dresses together and hung them on the door handle, ready to take them home. Then she hauled every ounce of positivity she had left and smiled at Jenna. ‘Hey, don’t worry, she’ll be fine. It’s just a temporary thing. We’ll fix her. We will.’
‘How?’
Good question. ‘I don’t know, love. I’ll find a way. But don’t you go worrying about it, seriously, leave it with me. I’ll apologise. I’ll beg for forgiveness. I’ll ply her with gin. Buy her favourite chocolates. All of the above.’
She’d just add it to her list. Find Jenna a husband. Sort out the money. Build up the business. Fix Mum.
And stop thinking about Vaughn Bloody Brooks and his bad review and his dreamy eyes and nice mouth and the way she felt when he touched her—even just by accident.
Unfortunately, she knew, the last thing on her list was going to be the hardest thing to do.
By seven thirty-two on Saturday evening, Chloe was exhausted and ready to climb into her bed.
Unfortunately, she had five more hours of smooching and smoothing and generally making sure there were no hitches at the Hollywood hitching.
She was just starting to relax, a little. So far she’d managed to busy herself with details, keeping her distance from the guests and focusing entirely on the wedding party. Although, she had to admit that her first sighting of Vaughn in the crowd had made her heart do a funny loop-the-loop thing. Unlike seeing Jason with Amy, which had just made her rage inside.
‘Excuse me? Julia? Anyone sitting here?’ A deep voice said from behind her. Vaughn? Her shoulders tensed, and her silly heart did that thing again, conveniently forgetting that he was so not the man for her. And he was talking to someone called Julia, which was interesting in itself, considering he’d barely spoken to anyone all day.
He’d stayed just a little out of reach, aloof wasn’t the right word—detached? Yes, detached from everything and everyone. Sure, she’d seen him share a joke with the groom and have a drink with Jason, but there was always something just a little unconnected about him, as if he tolerated company rather than enjoyed it. Almost as if he was reluctant to let anyone past an invisible shield he held in front of him. And, sure, she knew the reasons for that, losing someone you loved would make anyone wary of any deep connection again. Feigning disinterest, she didn’t turn her head towards him and took another sip of wine instead.
‘Julia?’ The voice was definitely being directed in her ear. ‘At least I’m assuming that’s who you’re meant to be. Aren’t you wearing her dress? Chloe?’
Julia. Of course. How stupid of her. Patting her French knot up-do and making sure it was still hair-sprayed to within an inch of its life, she turned and clashed gazes with a very dapper Vaughn, resplendent in black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His normally messy hair had been slicked to one side, a la nineteen thirties leading man, which made his dark eyes stand out even more.
Without meaning to, she inhaled sharply. God almighty, he was gorgeous. Actually, the man would have been gorgeous in a paper bag on a dark night, during a lunar eclipse. She worked on keeping her voice even and cooling the heated buzz that thrummed through her veins. ‘Yes, you’re right. Top of the class, Mr Brooks. Julia Roberts, Academy Awards night two thousand and one, only with a much shorter train. How did you know? Men aren’t usually interested in women’s dresses.’
He took a seat next to her; chair turned out to face the dance floor like her. Then he leant in a little to talk over the music. He smelt clean and fresh, with a discreet hint of masculine cologne on his jaw, and he was so close her heart wouldn’t stop its silly hello Vaughn dance. And hell, this was Vaughn Brooks—the man she’d hated. Should still hate.
But clearly she didn’t hate him at all. Her body was practically begging for his touch.
‘Come on, Chloe, Julia Roberts was every boy’s fantasy back then. Black dress, white straps. Diamonds. Long legs. Big smile. What’s not to like? And you rock the look spectacularly.’
‘Thank y
ou. Clearly, apart from the long legs, the beautiful red hair, the famous caramel-coloured eyes and the Yankee drawl, I’m the double of Julia Roberts.’
He laughed as his gaze met hers for a little longer than she was used to. ‘You’ll do.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I? I think it’s the best one I’ll get today.’ Probably the only one. ‘You look very nice, too. Very… er… who are you meant to be, exactly?’
‘Pick any man from any awards ceremony any year, last century, last decade, and this. We all get to wear the same thing. Suit, tie…’ He smiled, and she remembered the review and her heart swelled a little. Meh, indeed. There was nothing about this man that was meh. A little brooding at times, definitely with grump potential as she knew only too well following the bouquet incident, and sometimes distracted by his own bloody genius creativity—but never, ever meh. He took a drink from his pint of beer then turned to her again. ‘Things going okay? It seems as if everyone’s happy. You’ve done well, not that I know anything about these things. But I didn’t notice any problems during the ceremony, and it’s a great venue.’
Yes, let’s talk about work, shall we? ‘So far so good. It’s a perfect place and they’ve gone overboard helping us dress the set for a wedding.’ The staff had pulled out all the stops with a glamorous nineteen thirties’ style gin palace with echoes of The Great Gatsby as a reception venue. The waiters wore spats and black and white outfits, and the waitresses all had black bob wigs.
The actual wedding ceremony had taken place in the main gallery in front of a huge bower of beautiful white flowers reminiscent of Twilight. It had taken Jenna hours to make it and taken them both hours to install it in front of some props from a recent movie about a dragon prince, so there was magic and mystery and a little bit of sorcery happening too. Much like the job of a wedding planner, Chloe mused to herself. ‘I saw people enjoying the cute clapperboard place cards and awards trophy chocolate favours. But I can’t get complacent; we still have a few hours to go.’
Something Borrowed Page 12
