‘No way. That’ll look totally uncool,’ Sophie spluttered over her shoulder as she flounced on upstairs. ‘Does your fashion sense die when you hit forty?’
‘Thirty-eight, actually.’ Andrea sighed, feeling a bit feeble and wondering whether her fashion sense had in fact died because, try as she might, she just could not understand her son’s wish to go out with the top half of his derrière on show, and her daughter her bottom half.
Chapter Five
Andrea knew her son was in there somewhere with the alien that had taken over his body. Bless his Simpsons socks. After explaining her babysitting dilemma – and crossing his palm with a suitable amount of silver – Ryan’s caring side came valiantly to the fore.
‘No worries. Beyoncé’s washing her hair anyway,’ he said, magnanimously agreeing to stand in for Sally.
‘Who?’ Andrea asked ever-so-casually, assuming he meant his latest ‘crush’ at college. Also assuming he hadn’t succeeded in enticing this one out on a hot date either.
‘Beyoncé. Pop singer. You know, she wiv da cute booty?’ Ryan waggled his eyebrows then wiggled his bottom as he headed upstairs, to which his skinny jeans were still miraculously clinging.
Not the current crush, then. Rolling her eyes, Andrea followed him up to look in on Chloe and found ten tiny toes parked on the pillow, along with her headless Igglepiggle, and Chloe’s head the other end of the bed.
Andrea turned her around and made sure Chloe’s Peppa Pig duvet was tucked well under her chin. She then watched for a moment; her baby’s softly-curled eyelashes fluttered as her eyes chased her dreams. Innocent dreams, filled with wonder and magic, Andrea hoped. She planted a whisper-light kiss on Chloe’s overripe cheek, then tiptoed out, closing the door quietly behind her.
She hated to admit it, but, though she was heartbroken for her friend, Andrea was relieved in a way that Sally wouldn’t be available tonight. Sally adored Chloe without question but, the fact was, a toddler’s sticky fingers and pristine art deco furnishings did not go well together. Sally had flapped her hand dismissively and said a bit of mess and a damp mattress didn’t matter last time she’d babysat for her, but Andrea couldn’t help thinking it did matter to someone who felt the need to fluff up cushions every time a seat was vacated. Chloe was better safe in her own bed, she decided, where a little accident wouldn’t be the end of the world.
Right, a quick check on Dee, who was lusting over Jack Bauer in the 24 DVD box set, and all was well, apart from the fact that Andrea now only had precisely fourteen minutes and counting to get herself gorgeous to go and meet Jonathan – as gorgeous as anyone with a dead fashion sense could manage, of course.
Twenty minutes later, Andrea finally lurched through her front door flashing at least as much thigh as Sophie had earlier. Was it too much, she worried, glancing down at her spray can bodycon dress and wondering how on earth she got into it – more, how she was ever going to get out of it again.
Maybe foregoing retro in favour of raiding her daughter’s wardrobe hadn’t been such a good idea, after all, Andrea mused, as she teetered precariously towards her car in vertiginous heels, also Sophie’s. Far from finding her alluring and sexy, which was the look she was trying for in light of their recent tiffs, Jonathan would think she’d either gone gaga or gone on the game.
Well, she couldn’t go back now. She’d tried on everything of her own, apart from the actual wardrobe. She’d just have to go and hope for soft light … Oh, no. Andrea closed her eyes and wished she was elsewhere as the front door opposite opened.
Damn. She swiftly about-turned. Of all the men in the village, why did she have to keep bumping into him? Whilst at a disadvantage? Naked this time. Practically. Andrea dithered on the drive, debating whether to dash back inside. Uh-uh. Just because she was wearing her daughter’s clothes didn’t mean she had to act her daughter’s age and die of embarrassment if a man so much as glanced in her direction. Andrea wasn’t about to let Doctor Adams dictate her state of undress.
So, why was she allowing any man to dictate what she did or didn’t wear? Andrea wondered, as she teetered onwards towards her car, making a great show of ferreting around in her handbag as she did.
‘Um, car keys,’ she explained, jangling the obviously hitherto misplaced car keys from her hand, the other clutching her coat and wishing she had put it on and covered herself up.
‘Right. Have a good evening,’ he said, giving her a cursory glance and then turning to his car.
‘Thank you.’ Andrea felt a bit foolish and more than a bit annoyed with herself. She didn’t like the man, so why on earth would she care that he’d barely glanced in her direction? Was her ego really that fragile? She sighed inwardly, despairing of a woman’s propensity to judge herself on how a man looked at her, or didn’t, and stepped up to her car, then stopped as she noticed his son following David Adams out, the child’s expression and demeanour definitely that of a lonely little boy who was making sure to keep a distance between himself and his father.
Age and supposed equality made little difference. As far as Andrea could see a woman sitting alone in a restaurant still attracted all eyes. She wished she’d bought a newspaper, novel, knee-length skirt, anything that might make her look less like a desperate floozy who’d been stood up.
No, she had not. Jonathan wouldn’t leave her sitting by herself in a restaurant, not without good reason, and certainly not without letting her know. He loved her. He’d said so a hundred times. Not so much lately, but that was because they didn’t have time to speak, other than when they passed in the hall.
And he loved Chloe. He’d loved her ferociously from birth. She recalled how he’d cradled her in his arms, gazing down at the perfect wonder of her. How he’d confessed, his throat tight, that he’d kill to protect his newborn daughter. He would too. He’d never do anything to hurt her. Any of them. So where was he?
Andrea dawdled over her wine, a little lump in her throat becoming harder and harder to swallow as the minutes ticked by. Half an hour she sat, wondering how they could get back to where they were. She needed so much to talk to Jonathan. But how could she do that when …
He wasn’t here? And he absolutely would be if he could be. She was sure. Had something happened? He’d been distracted this morning, to say the least, and the car had been … Oh God, no! Please don’t let him be hurt or …
Gulping back her heart which was suddenly wedged in her windpipe, Andrea grabbed up her bag and scrambled in it for her mobile. ‘Jonathan?’ she said, confused when he answered. ‘Where are—? Jonathan?’
Stunned for a second, Andrea pulled her mobile away from her ear and stared at it. He’d cut her off. Deliberately ended the call. Why would he? He’d known it was her. He’d know where she was too. They’d only confirmed it this morning, hadn’t they? How could he have forgotten something as important as committing to their future together? Unless …
He didn’t want to.
The urgent wail of a siren jolted Andrea from a dazed drive along the dual carriageway.
So, Jonathan had got cold feet, if Andrea’s further unanswered calls and texts were anything to judge by. Right. Okay. She breathed in deeply and tried to compose herself. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were always people worse off, families torn asunder by tragedy. Those sirens were a stark reminder of that.
Would Jonathan show up at home tonight? Would he even ring? Andrea swiped angrily at a tear and tightened her grip on the wheel, determined to drive herself safely home, whatever Jonathan was up to, wherever he was. At least she still had her family. People she loved and needed; who loved and needed her, far more than he.
Where would he go if he didn’t come home? Did she even want him to, after this? Andrea wasn’t sure. Of anything any more, other than Chloe being Jonathan’s daughter and needing her father as sure as the desert needed the rain. He’d leave a huge gap in Ryan and Sophie’s life too, if he had decided he wanted no part of theirs, albeit they weren’t his flesh and … And
rea’s thoughts were cut short as another fire engine squealed up behind her. She pulled in, offering up a silent prayer for the unfortunate souls the fire crew were rushing to, as the engine swept past in a haze of red and blue.
Still the sirens wailed. Eerily, like the shrill cry of a banshee. Andrea watched the engine speed into the distance as she followed in its wake, taking the same exit at the island. Her breath caught in her chest as the engine rounded another corner, preceding the exact same route Andrea would take to her home.
Two short roads from her house. Andrea’s throat tightened.
Her stomach turned over. She could smell it, hot fumes on the air.
Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus, she could see it. An orange glow, soft against the night sky. Andrea’s head reeled.
Her stomach plummeted. She tried to calm her racing heart and increased her speed. Damn it! She tried to concentrate as her tyres clipped the kerb, sucking in a deep breath, breathing out long and hard. It didn’t help. As much as Andrea tried to tell herself it was coincidence. That just because the property they were hurtling towards was in her vicinity …
One road from her own!
Oh no!
Panic flooded every vein in her body.
‘No!’ Andrea gripped the wheel hard, dread fast turning to sheer terror. ‘Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare do this!’ she screamed, looking heavenwards and ramming her foot down hard on the accelerator.
Andrea stopped praying as the car skidded to a halt, cold fear clutching at her insides now, forcing the air from her lungs, and chilling her blood to the bone. She climbed out. Legs like lead. Limbs reluctant and heavy, until her startled heart kicked back, hammering so wildly against her ribcage she could hear it.
And then she ran.
Dragging in fumes that seared the back of her throat, Andrea ran. Blindly swerving away from one set of arms, she was caught from behind by another, yanking her forcefully backwards, gripping her hard.
It wasn’t happening. It was a nightmare. They were everywhere, men in uniform, running, shouting, dragging hands over rain-spattered faces.
Aiming hoses. Yelling instructions. Pouring water.
Broken doors, Andrea thought, watching her beautiful home burn in surreal slow motion before her.
Splintering wood.
She pulled in a breath. Couldn’t breathe out. Shattered windows.
Dear Lord! Where were her children? Where was her mother? Were they still inside? She moaned, a deep guttural moan from the depths of her soul. Then closed her eyes, and fought. Kicked and clawed, and tore at the hands restraining her, wrapped around her, holding her back.
She choked back a sob. And another. And then it came out. In one long scream, ‘My babies! My mother! My children! Where are they?’ Andrea struggled harder.
The man was saying something behind her. She couldn’t hear him.
She wasn’t listening. She wriggled. Her knees buckled. Andrea tried to duck under his arms.
He yanked her back. Held her tight, arms like a vice; the look in his eye as he twisted her around to face him, like molten metal about to ignite.
‘They’re safe,’ he shouted. ‘Listen to me,’ he shouted louder, his hands firm on her arms, his gaze unwavering on hers.
Blue eyes, Andrea thought obliquely, her own eyes swimming out of focus. Ice cool and …
‘They’re all safe,’ David Adams insisted, his voice still loud against the mayhem and machinery behind her, and urgent, and earnest.
Andrea scanned his eyes, pleading with her own. Please let them be … ‘Oh no …’ She caught a ragged breath in her throat; her chest filled up, and hot, impotent tears finally spilled over.
David eased her to him, as a violent sob shook her body.
And another. His own breath catching in his throat, which was dry and raw from the smoke, he pulled her closer, allowing her head to drop briefly to his shoulder. She didn’t rest for long.
‘I have to go to them,’ she said, snatching her gaze back to his. Swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she stepped back and looked wildly around, her eyes wide and palpably petrified. ‘I have to find them. Where—’
‘Can you move back, mate?’ one of the fire crew yelled, running urgently towards them. ‘We need you out of the danger zone.’
David quickly reached out, his arm instinctively going around the woman’s shoulders, easing her back towards him. She didn’t look capable of standing, let alone walking. ‘This way,’ he said, shouting still, no choice but to with the bedlam surrounding them, but trying to inject some calmness into his voice now he was over the shock of seeing her careering towards certain death.
Steering her around towards his house and along the drive, he continued to talk to her, trying to keep her focus away from the fire. ‘They’re all fine, I promise,’ he assured her again, pushing his open front door wide and making sure she stepped up, rather than tripped over the doorstep. ‘They’re upset, obviously, but—’
‘Mum!’ The daughter shouted, cutting him short as she hurtled down the stairs and all but cannonballed into her mother.
Thinking it might be appropriate, David stepped away as the woman hugged the girl hard to her. ‘Sophie. Oh, thank God.’ She squeezed her eyes closed over the girl’s shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her tears.
‘It was awful, Mum,’ the daughter blurted, easing back and wiping a hand across her mascara-streaked cheeks. ‘I came home early. Hannah went off with some spotty little dickhead from school, the absolute cow, so I came back and was in my bedroom with my earphones in,’ she jabbered tearfully on as her mother looked more and more confused, ‘and I didn’t realise and suddenly there was smoke everywhere. I don’t know how we would have got out if not for—’
‘It wasn’t me,’ the old lady interrupted, wearing two rollers in her hair and a worried expression as she, too, came down the stairs.
‘Mum.’ Sweeping her hair from her eyes, the woman blinked up at her, swallowing hard and dragging a hand under her nose.
‘It wasn’t me,’ the old lady repeated, wringing her hands as she arrived in the hall to also receive a fierce hug from a woman who looked very much in need of a mother. ‘I told that young man of yours, I didn’t leave the pan on. I would say if I had.’
‘Jonathan?’ The woman looked around, bewildered, as if the husband, who’d been little in evidence, might materialise out of the ether.
‘No, not him.’ The old lady eyed the ceiling. ‘Him.’ She nodded in David’s direction, who, feeling helpless to offer the emotional comfort they would badly need, was trying to debate how to get past the sooty ensemble and attend to the practicalities of having them here.
‘He was very gallant,’ the old lady went on. ‘Though I’m not sure throwing me over—’
‘Chloe? Ryan?’ Andrea asked urgently. ‘Where are—’
‘Here,’ Ryan said, appearing at the top of the stairs, a snuffling, hiccupping toddler in arms. ‘We’re good,’ he assured her.
His throat didn’t sound too good though. Noting the hoarseness, possibly from smoke inhalation, David looked the teenager over, concerned, as he came down to join them. The kid deserved a medal, he decided, but now might not be a good time to tell his mother why.
‘We could use a drink, though, couldn’t we, munchkin?’ Glancing at David, Ryan arranged his face into a tremulous smile, for his mother’s sake, David guessed, and then pressed a kiss to his little sister’s overripe cheek.
‘Uh, huh,’ Chloe murmured around the thumb wedged in her mouth. She blinked at her brother, and then arms outstretched, emitted a heart-wrenching sob, and reached out for her mother.
‘I’ll get some drinks organised,’ David said, taking the opportunity as Andrea stepped forwards, to squeeze around behind her to the kitchen.
‘I’ve got the sheets and stuff,’ Jake called from the landing. ‘Where do you want them?’
‘My room. Thanks, Jake,’ David shouted up, grateful that his own son had been mature enough t
o realise now wasn’t a good time for them to be at loggerheads.
‘What are we going to do, Mum? Everything’s gone.’ David stopped at the kitchen door, hearing Sophie wretchedly ask the question that would hit them all hard.
Turning back, he watched as the woman, Andrea, hugged her child closer and tugged in a long breath, as if steeling herself. ‘We’ll think of something, sweetie,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s only a house. Just things. We’ve still got each other. Maybe we could go to a hotel. Have a little holiday, couldn’t we, Chloe?’
‘A holiday?’ The girl gawked through her tears, incredulous.
Swallowing, Andrea nodded and indicated the little girl, obviously not wanting to upset her more than she already was. ‘Just until we can sort out what to do next.’
She closed her eyes as she said that, clearly not having a bloody clue what she would do next.
David debated. He’d only just moved in, it wouldn’t be ideal, but … There was no way they were going to a hotel. The state they were in? He had no idea where the husband was, but for now … ‘Why don’t you take them all upstairs?’ he suggested, nodding in that direction. ‘Jake’s sorted out some extra bed linen and I’m sure we can rustle up a couple of spare toothbrushes and clean clothes of some sort.’
Andrea looked at him, her expression a mixture of relief and uncertainty.
‘For tonight, at least,’ David pushed it. He wasn’t sure he could live with his already guilty conscience if he allowed this traumatised family to troop off to a hotel. ‘The girls can take my room.’ He glanced at Sophie and the old lady, who coiffed her curlers and beamed him a smile. ‘Ryan can bunk up with Jake. I’m sure he won’t mind.’ He was actually pretty sure. Jake had definitely come up trumps in a crisis.
Andrea glanced at her bedraggled children, who hadn’t got a coat between them, at her mother, who was dressed in nothing but her nightdress, and then back to him. ‘Thank you.’ She smiled falteringly and nodded.
‘I’ll bring some drinks up.’ Watching another slow tear slide down her cheek, David offered her a sympathetic smile back. ‘Tea and Coke all right?’ he asked softly.
Learning to Love Page 6
