Bastard. Bastard.
‘That’s fabulous, darling. Absolutely perfect. Don’t you think so, gentlemen? What a star our Hope is.’
Oh, God. She wished Maddie would shut up. What was she on?
In honour of the fact that Jack and the sponsors and the President of the North East Cardiff Harriers were going to be present at the meeting today, Madeleine had borrowed the conference room that belonged to the solicitors in the offices downstairs. Thus they had the use of a large oval table, chairs that matched each other, and a tray bearing a cut-glass water jug and tumblers, which Hope had only five minutes ago filled. And he was here. So very much here. She lay the rough of the poster on the table in front of her, heavy of heart, and with hands that just wouldn’t stay still.
They were here to discuss the ongoing publicity and to finalise details and dates. Their two main sponsors were both in place in their chairs, smiling benefactors’ smiles, finishing their coffee and custard creams, and wholly unaware of the one act (oh, God, post-act) melodrama that was being played out in their midst. As, indeed, was Madeleine. Hope had seen little of Madeleine on Monday, a state of affairs not without future ramifications. Maddie clearly thought she was sitting in the midst of something altogether different from what she actually was.
‘Absolutely! Hear, hear!’ said Mr Babbage.
‘Hear, hear,’ agreed Jack heartily. ‘Yes, indeed she is.’
He was seated across the table and two seats along from Hope. They hadn’t spoken except to say good morning. But he kept glancing at her and grinning. She wished he wouldn’t. The act of seeing him again had been a dreadful shock. Having spent much of Sunday night and a good deal of Monday reminding herself that she needed a man in her life like she needed a cold sore, she had assumed that when she did see him the event would be manageable. But here he was and her stomach was fluttering ridiculously. Here he was and she couldn’t stop stealing looks at him. Here he was and she was so distracted by him. She had so comprehensively forgotten the unbearable intensity of it all. She hadn’t felt this way in decades. And she wasn’t, she realised with sudden conviction, ready yet to feel this way again.
Madeleine, seated next to Hope, kicked her under the table. ‘So. Mouse mats,’ she was saying. Saying to her. Hope riffled through her notes and pulled out the sample, conscious that everyone’s eyes were now on her. Which meant Jack’s were, of course.
‘Er… oh, right. Yes.’ She held up the sample. ‘They’ve agreed to do us five hundred.’
‘And they’re lovely too. Though I’m not sure five hundred will be enough, will it? But you can do the business on him, can’t you? You’re good at that.’ She nudged Hope. ‘She’s good at that,’ she added to the men. Jack specifically. Horror upon horror. How could she? How could she?
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ said Mr Babbage. Jack smiled. Or did he smirk? Madeleine consulted the list in front of her again.
‘Sun block.’
Sun block? What? Oh God. Yes. For the runners. Get your head together. Sun block.
‘Sun?’ said Mr Babbage, nodding towards the window. ‘Fat chance of that. Rust remover might be a more useful option.’
‘The sun always shines on the righteous,’ said Mr Pinkerton.
‘Not in Wales it doesn’t,’ said Mr Babbage brightly. ‘Either that, or we’ve all been very naughty!’ He guffawed. He really thought he was funny.
Jack was looking at her still. She could feel it, sense it. He could see right through her dress and straight through into her soul. She tightened her grip on her agenda. She decided that if she had to look at him much more, she might just dissolve into tears.
‘Anyway, you’re on to that as well, aren’t you, sweetie? Hope? Hel-lo?’ Maddie kicked her again. ‘Are you still with us, darling, or what?’
Oh, God, she hoped he’d gone. That was all she hoped and she hoped it with more sincerity than she’d ever hoped anything in her life. Except perhaps the time she’d first hoped she’d been wrong about Iain (which had been the mother and father of all hopes).
But he hadn’t. He was talking to Kayleigh and Mr Pinkerton from the Harriers. She hovered by reception while Mr Pinkerton pulled a bungee from his pocket and strode off outside to unlock his bike. Which left Jack, who was showing not the least sign of doing likewise, so there was no choice but to go up and either deck him or speak to him. The phone rang in the office. Kayleigh went off to answer it. Speak to him, then. It was all she could do.
‘So,’ he said, rounding on her as soon as the door had closed behind her. His expression was warm. ‘How are you?’
She stood stiffly to attention. What was the ‘you’ bit all about? It sounded so suggestive. It made her feel like a trollop. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied crisply. ‘You?’
He nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just fine.’ Then he threw his hands out in supplication. ‘I’m sorry I never managed to get hold of you.’
She nodded back. ‘Right.’
‘Only I didn’t have your number at home so I couldn’t ring you Sunday, and what with one thing and another yesterday –’
‘That’s OK,’ she said levelly. ‘I didn’t ring you either, did I?’
He waggled a finger towards her chest and grinned. ‘No, you didn’t. I thought you might have. You should have.’
He looked all eager and anxious to please, like a puppy.
Or a penitent. Didn’t have her number. That was lame. She’d given it to him the first time they’d met. But even if he hadn’t had it, her phone him? As if.
She shrugged. ‘Well, you know… ’ She left the words hanging. Did he? Did he have the first idea what she’d been through since Saturday? Obviously not. She was suddenly pleased beyond measure that she hadn’t succumbed and picked up that phone. She’d been so very close. Thank God – thank every deity in the universe – that she hadn’t actually done it.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve got it now.’ He patted his breast pocket and looked like he’d appreciate a sticky star for his efforts. In that instant, Hope knew that it didn’t matter. They could chew over logistics all they liked, but it wasn’t relevant. This was nothing whatsoever to do with day-to-call ratios, and everything, oh but everything, to do with her. Just her.
She didn’t need this. Didn’t want it. Didn’t have to put herself through it. She nodded at him. ‘Fine.’
She said nothing more, and he looked at her without speaking for a long moment. She looked back. She couldn’t not.
‘So,’ he said eventually, flicking his eyes down and then back again. He cleared his throat and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Have you got any plans for the weekend? If you’re free I thought we might –’
‘Sorry,’ she said, decided. It was easy. ‘I’m pretty busy. Chloe’s got her interim dance examinations and my mum’s looking after my brother’s kids for a few days, so I’m all out of babysitters, and in any case, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on so I really need to stay in and… er… catch up.’
He had smiled politely throughout this but now he stopped smiling and nodded briskly instead. ‘Right,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘I’ll guess I’ll have to take that as a no, then.’
But he didn’t look cheerful. He looked hurt, and also shocked. Which made her hesitate. Did it really matter so much about him calling? So she’d gone and got herself in a state. Understandable, really. It didn’t mean… God, but it was Tuesday. Two whole days had passed. She thought of a future dominated and punctuated by such anxieties. Of waiting for phone calls. Of fretting all the time. No. She didn’t need this. Not now, she didn’t. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, it’s just that… well, when I didn’t hear from you… well, I’ve already made other plans. You know how it is.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said, looking like he meant it. His mouth twitched at the corners. ‘I wish I did.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just… ’ Someone, surely, would come out into reception soon and rescue her from this torture. He was sti
ll so there. Filling the small space. His eyes boring into hers. She could almost hear the cogs in his brain whirring. She could almost hear the steady drip of her own resolve melting. ‘ …I’m –’
‘Am I in the doghouse?’ he said. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but the edge in his voice now belied it.
‘No.’ She tried to make it sound light, but as soon as she uttered it, she knew it had come out all wrong. All spiky and pointed. More like a yes, in fact. He looked even more upset.
‘Are you sure? You’ve gone very frosty on me all of a sudden.’
‘I haven’t gone frosty.’
‘Yes, you have. One minute you’re all over me –’ Hope winced ‘– and the next you’re treating me as if I’ve got a notifiable disease. Why?’ He spread his hands now. ‘Is it really because I didn’t phone on Sunday?’ He slapped them back against his sides again, looking incredulous that this could possibly be true. ‘Or did you just go off me?’
Hope had so not been expecting this. Her mouth dropped open.
‘No! No… well… No.’ She should, she realised, just tell him the truth. Or a version of it, at any rate. With the flutterings in her stomach edited out. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m just feeling a little shellshocked, OK? I shouldn’t have let myself get so carried away on Saturday, and I just… ’ She glanced behind her to check that Kayleigh hadn’t returned. ‘Jack, I just feel a bit uncomfortable about it. I don’t want to get too involved, that’s all.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘What’s all this “involved” stuff? Either you want to see me again or you don’t. I’m not asking you to marry me.’
She didn’t know what to say to that. He raised his eyebrows a little. He was smiling at her again. ‘Hmm?’
‘I just… well, I just don’t want to put myself in a position where… ’
‘Where what? Look, if you don’t want to see me again you only have to say so, you know. I’d just rather you told me. That’s all.’
‘It’s not that. I do. It’s just that I don’t want to put myself in a situation where – well, I just don’t want those sort of complications in my life right now. I’m not ready for it. I haven’t the energy for it.’
This seemed to strike a chord with him. He nodded immediately. ‘Neither do I,’ he agreed. ‘Believe me, the last thing I need right now is to get into a heavy relationship. I’ve done that to death just lately, thanks.’
‘So have I.’
‘So where’s the problem? We go out. We have fun. We see what happens. I’m not talking drawing up contracts here.’
‘Exactly!’
‘What do you mean “exactly”?’
‘I mean that’s exactly why I don’t feel comfortable about seeing you again. Not yet. Because it’s just all too complicated.’ Because it wouldn’t be fun.
‘But how is it complicated? You just agreed you didn’t want to get heavy – and I’m not getting heavy. God knows, I’m not. See this?’ He stuck his fist out, startling her. ‘See?’ he said again, tapping his jacket. ‘Sleeve. See what’s on it?’
‘Um.’
‘Red squashy thing. Pumps blood. A little worse for wear, you’ll note.’
She couldn’t help smiling, in spite of his exasperation. ‘Oh, I’ve got one of those. But I try to keep mine somewhere a little safer.’
Belatedly. Why hadn’t she thought about that before?
‘Evidently,’ he said slowly. He put his arm down again and took a step towards her. God, he wasn’t about to try and kiss her in reception, was he?
‘Look,’ he said, his expression softer. ‘All I’m saying is that I can’t be doing with you playing hard to get. Here I am. Take me or leave me.’
That was rich. Coming from someone who’d made love to her three times and then not phoned her for two days. ‘I’m not the one playing hard to get, here. I hardly qualify any more, do I? I’m just not playing easy to get, that’s all. In fact, what I’m playing is keep your head, don’t let your heart have unprotected sex with strangers, retain your dignity and don’t get hurt.’
‘Just the simple life, then.’
‘Exactly.’
He fell silent. She could tell he was thinking. She wondered what.
‘You reckon I’ll do that, then, do you? Hurt you?’
‘You might.’
‘Why exactly?’
‘Because you’ve been hurt yourself. Because –’
‘So I’m going to get my own back on womankind by hurting you? Well, that’s really nice of you.’
‘No!’ God. This was coming out all wrong. She spread her hands. ‘Because you’ve already told me you’re not ready to have a serious relationship yet.’
He looked affronted. ‘When?’
‘When I came over with Tom that time.’
He paused to digest this. She could see him thinking again. His face was so open. So easy to read. ‘Hang on,’ he said eventually, pointing his finger at her again. ‘So did you!’
‘Yes, but it’s different for you. You’re a man.’
‘So?’
‘Well, you’ve got a lot of lost time to make up. You told me. And there’s lots of other women out there.’
He stabbed a finger towards the door. ‘So? There’s lots of men out there too, and you’re the one who said –’
She put her hand up to silence him. ‘Yes, but I’m not interested, am I? I’m not a man.’ Or someone like Madeleine, however much she wished she was. And, boy, she did right now. If only he had phoned her on Sunday. But then again, perhaps it was much better that he hadn’t. She could get out of this before she was sucked further in.
His expression hardened again. Had he been thinking her thoughts? ‘I’m well aware of that. It’s probably why I don’t have a clue what you’re on about.’
‘It’s quite simple. I’m not a man, so I’m really not interested in casual sex, flings, one-night stands, whatever you want to call it. There’s only one type of relationship I’m ever going to be interested in having, and it’s not the kind I think you and I are able to have right now. That’s all.’
He rolled his eyes again. ‘Oh, and I am, of course. You see? You are being frosty.’
‘I’m not,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m just trying to be straight with you, Jack.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Believe me, Hope. You’re being frosty.’
She opened her mouth to correct him, but closed it again immediately. Because of the way he had spoken her name. Because of the way the smile had left his face all of a sudden. As if a penny – no, an anvil – had dropped on his head. Whoosh. Just like that. So wholly and comprehensively it felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘Well,’ he said shortly. ‘When – no, if – you thaw out a bit, you know where to find me, don’t you?’
He turned around and stalked out of the building, the words hanging like icicles in his wake.
Chapter 16
There was a new Saturday afternoon football show in development at HTV, and Jack Valentine was going to present it. That was all there was to it. Nothing was going to come between him and getting this job. No more languishing in the dusty reaches of daytime local radio. This was prime time. This was television. This was the start of the rest of his professional life.
He had, he realised, a lot to thank Allegra for. Admittedly, principal among these tributes was the fact that she had the hots for him (and there was no knowing what sort of shelf life that circumstance had, which was something that perhaps he ought to address) but right now she was rooting for him and he was very, very grateful.
The meeting had been scheduled for four-fifteen, which had left Jack precious little time to get out to the TV studios, but he had made it, and could now enjoy a few minutes in the car while he went through his notes once again.
Not that he needed to. He knew everything a man could conceivably know about football. This wasn’t a conceit. It was a fact.
He knew less than nothing, however, about women.
Hope, damn her. What was all
that about? All that just because he hadn’t phoned her? God, he’d tried, hadn’t he? It was incomprehensible.
More to the point, having failed to get hold of her, why had he not even had enough intelligence to see what was coming? He had gone to the Heartbeat offices that morning looking forward to seeing her, and had come away feeling angrier than he could remember feeling in a very long time. And not just angry. What had he done to deserve such a comprehensive character assassination? He felt manipulated. Self-righteous. Rejected.
Danny had been in the office when Jack returned to the studios, doing something to one of the printers. Jack’s anger had dissipated a little, though not much – at least twice on the journey from Roath over to Llandaff he had almost stopped the car and phoned her for a rant. But something had stopped him. Mainly the nagging feeling that what she’d been driving at added up to a great deal more than what she’d actually said. In that way women’s mad logic generally did. But mad logic wasn’t logic. Bloody women. Bloody that woman.
‘God,’ he said, throwing himself at the nearest swivel chair and flopping into it. ‘Why do women have to analyse so much all the time?’
Danny looked up from the machine and scratched his nose with a screwdriver. Then he nodded.
‘It’s evolution,’ he decided. ‘They can’t help it. They don’t have penises to direct operations.’ He put the screwdriver down and smiled. ‘You got a problem?’
‘Hope Shepherd.’
Danny’s smile grew wider.
Jack shook his head. ‘She’s barking. That’s the only word for it. You know, I show up and everything, all friendly and – well, I sort of thought I might ask her if she fancied an evening down the Bay or something – you know – and I all but get my face slapped!’
Danny smirked. ‘Perhaps you need to look at your chat-up technique, mate.’
‘Pah! I didn’t get that far! Listen. Sunday to Tuesday. Is that such a long time? Really? I mean, I tried, didn’t I? God, she could have called me, couldn’t she? I explained about not having her number at home, but it was like I’d driven over her cat or something –’
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