‘I think what Andrea’s trying to say, Thea, without wishing to sound ungrateful for your sterling efforts,’ Eva picked up shrewdly, ‘is that she’d quite like her mother to finish the job.’
Andrea glanced hopefully back up.
‘Deirdre’s a bit of a dab hand in the kitchen herself, after all, aren’t you, my dear?’ Eva offered Dee a short smile and finally allowed her the pot.
‘Thank you,’ Andrea mouthed, relieved.
Eva shot her a quick thumbs up, then rounded up Thea. ‘Come along, my dear,’ she said, marching her towards the door, ‘let’s collect the daughter you left on the doorstep before she dies of boredom in the lounge, then we’ll all scoot over to my place for a wee sherry, shall we?’
‘Oh, by the way, I’ve rung the investment company direct,’ Eva said, hanging behind as Andrea showed her self-invited guests out.
Andrea looked at her, puzzled.
‘About my withdrawal,’ Eva reminded her. ‘I was assuming Jonathan would be up to his eyes, running around trying to sort out your affairs and whatnot?’
Andrea nodded awkwardly. ‘Yes, most likely,’ she mumbled evasively.
Eva glanced at her askew, no doubt wondering about the vagueness of her answer. ‘They’re going to ring me back,’ she went on. ‘Apparently they’re having a spot of bother matching up my policy number with my investment, or some such nonsense. Computer glitch, so they say. Good old-fashioned cock-up, if you ask me. Do you know, they even had the cheek to ask me if I was quoting the correct policy number? Fortunately, I had my own list of investments in front of me so I gave them short shrift there, I can tell you.’
‘Oh, right. I’ll, um …’ Andrea searched for something to say other than actually Jonathan’s suffering a slight malfunction too. As in, forgotten I exist.
Eva held up a silencing hand. ‘No, no. Don’t trouble him, my dear. You both have more than enough to worry about, and I’m sure I’ll catch him around.’
Andrea wasn’t quite so sure she would. She nodded anyway and, with supreme effort, arranged her face into a smile. She’d been keeping the emotion in check, just. Speculation as to Jonathan’s whereabouts, though, might have her dissolving in a heap on the hall carpet. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t allow herself the luxury of going to pieces, no matter how therapeutic David Adams thought tears might be. Not with the children to think about.
‘I’ll pop back later,’ Eva promised, stopping at the front door to give Andrea a reassuring, if rather firm, hug. ‘I’ve got something that might cheer you up. I’ll bring it with me.’
‘George Clooney? Wearing nothing but a smile and bearing a chocolate éclair?’
‘Ooh, how terribly naughty,’ Eva exclaimed delightedly. ‘But nice.’
She winked over her shoulder as she finally followed the rest of the Kelly Committee out.
Andrea closed the door behind her and turned to lean against it with a sigh as David came downstairs.
‘That sounds like a sigh of relief.’ He nodded past her to their departed guests and then looked Andrea over.
She was pale, he noticed. He wasn’t sure she was up to a constant stream of visitors. He didn’t doubt the neighbours’ kind intentions, but if they weren’t careful, the person they were trying to help might just keel over under the weight of their do-gooding.
She can’t have slept much. Concerned, he stopped to study her more closely. She looked weary. Pretty, even with telltale shadows under her eyes, but exhausted. She was strong. David had no doubt about that. He’d been watching her, looking for signs of shock: tears, debilitating flashbacks – something he knew about on a personal as well as professional level. There’d been none, other than long sighs and momentary lapses in concentration.
Even then, she seemed to pull herself up and get on with things for the sake of her kids. David knew all about that, too. Still though, with three children, including one barely out of nappies, no possessions and her house burnt to the ground, David thought she must have a rod of iron running through her spine to still be standing upright.
‘Is it safe to go in?’ he asked, nodding cautiously towards the lounge.
‘Safe-ish.’ Andrea laughed.
And David found himself smiling, again. How the hell did she do that? Laugh when her world had fallen apart? Andrea Kelly, he was beginning to realise, was a bit of an enigma. Despite the chaos she’d brought with her, she was a bright spark in what seemed to have been perpetual gloom lately.
‘As long as you don’t mind Sophie snarling at you because her spikes won’t stand up,’ she added.
David furrowed his brow, confused. Andrea pointed at her head. ‘No hairdryer.’
‘Ah, right.’ He nodded and took a breath. ‘There’s one upstairs,’ he offered. He hadn’t parted with anything of Michelle’s yet. The dryer, amongst other things, might as well go to good use here, though, he supposed. ‘It’s in the, er …’ Actually, he wasn’t quite sure where it was. ‘Tell you what, I’ll go and find it.’
David started back up the stairs and then stopped, turning to swap wary glances with Andrea as the doorbell went again. ‘Shall we duck?’ he suggested.
Andrea pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shhhh,’ she hissed, another laugh escaping her nevertheless. Yes, David most definitely liked that about her, a laugh that was infectious. She should bottle that and sell it online. She’d make a fortune.
Andrea peeked over her shoulder at the opaque glass in the door. ‘Drat. I think we’ve been spotted.’
‘Damn.’ David emitted a melodramatic sigh. ‘Maybe we should get closed-circuit television out there. Then we can hide in advance?’
‘Or a moat?’ Andrea suggested.
‘With a drawbridge,’ David mused. ‘And a gun in the turret. What do you think?’
‘I think I should answer the door,’ Andrea informed him, a twinkle in her eye David hadn’t noticed before. This woman, he decided, was just what the doctor might order, a tonic, no doubt about it.
Sighing theatrically again, he saluted and turned back up the stairs. ‘You’re a braver man than I am. Good luck.’
‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re a little bit mad?’ Andrea called good-humouredly after him.
‘Frequently,’ David called back, still smiling. Mad was about right, giving houseroom to a whole other family when his own family was so fractured, but he had to concede he was feeling a little less lonely in the midst of the madness.
Careful not to let his eyes linger too long on anything else in the spare room, he retrieved the hairdryer from a box under the window and started back down, then … shit … faltered mid-stairs as he noticed Sally in the hall.
‘They cost me an arm and a leg when I bought them,’ Sally was saying, passing a bag to Andrea, ‘but your need is greater.’
‘You shouldn’t have, Sally, really …’ Andrea peered excitedly into the bag, her expression falling a bit flat as she extracted what looked like a baby-doll nightie ‘… you shouldn’t have.’
‘There’s some underwear too,’ Sally said, delving deeper and bringing out black lace lingerie that had David missing the last step.
‘Oops,’ Sally said, flashing him a coy smile as he righted himself in the hall. ‘They’re hardly worn,’ she went on, more to David than Andrea, a definite innuendo in her eye.
David noted the look and mentally kicked himself for not immediately telling Sally he just didn’t feel the way he suspected she needed him to. He liked the woman, what he knew of her, but he couldn’t envisage lying safe and satiated in her arms, talking late into the night of secrets and dreams. He doubted he’d ever want to smile quietly inside when she smiled. Laugh with her, like he had with Michelle, before the darkness crept into their lives. Like he felt he could with … He glanced quickly at Andrea, feeling peculiarly destabilised.
‘Aren’t they, David?’ Andrea was saying, asking a question David hadn’t heard.
‘Sorry? Oh, yes.’ He reined in his confused thoughts and tried t
o focus his attention back where it should be. Or possibly shouldn’t.
Bloody hell. He did a double take as he noticed the flimsy garment Andrea was now holding, bemused as to which bits might go where from the look on her face.
‘I’ve revamped my lingerie drawer for something a little bit more raunchy,’ Sally said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.
More raunchy? A distinctly panicky feeling gripped David now. He risked another glance at Andrea. She met his gaze, a smile playing about her mouth.
‘The other bag has some clothes in it for Chloe.’ Sally looked from David to Andrea. ‘I rang the girl who runs the nursery and she put the word out to the mums, and, hey presto, Chloe’s going to be kitted out for the foreseeable future, as far as I can see.’
Andrea peered into that bag and pulled out a cotton-striped jacket that would certainly fit Chloe. There were pyjamas, a Dalmatian printed dressing gown, a little denim jacket, floral print dresses … ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She looked at Sally, astonished.
‘There’s loads more stuff still at the village hall for the jumble,’ Sally went on, obviously pleased. ‘It’s quite extraordinary, isn’t it, the camaraderie between mothers? When they’re not bitching about each other’s kids in the school playground, that is.’
‘Sally!’ Andrea shot her a mock-scowl.
‘What? They do.’ Sally shrugged innocently. ‘Okay, got to go and grab a quick sandwich before heading back to school. I’ll see you later, hon.’ She gave Andrea a hug and turned to the door. ‘Keep the chin up, yes?’
With which Sally departed, teetering down the path on heels which surely weren’t made for walking.
‘Oh, dear.’ Andrea chuckled as she closed the door.
‘What’s funny?’ David asked warily.
‘Sally. She’s wearing her man-killer shoes. I’d watch yourself, if I were you. I think she might be out on a manhunt.’
‘Er, right.’ David dragged a hand over his neck, now feeling definitely panicky.
Chapter Eleven
Ankle accentuating or not, wearing stilettos to run around after a class full of seven-year-old children all day was definitely a bad idea, Sally decided.
Once inside her front door, she kicked the torturous things off and then padded straight to the kitchen in search of tea, all the time musing about what had happened at lunchtime. David still hadn’t looked overly interested. Damn. Was it too much? Sally worried as she dunked a teabag. Had she come on too strong? Far from turned on, David had actually looked shocked when she’d produced almost her entire underwear collection. Some of the stuff she’d donated to Andrea wasn’t exactly ready for the charity shop, but the whole point of producing it had been to prompt David into picturing Sally in it, with the toe-deforming stilettos, of course, which hopefully would do it for the good doctor.
Well, she’d just have to pique his interest, wouldn’t she? All she needed were the right props, good wine, mood music, soft lighting. But how was she ever going to orchestrate it? How was she even going to get the man on his own when he suddenly had a houseful of people? She took a pensive sip of her tea and reached for a bag of crisps which she had a craving to eat by the big bagful lately. So, how was she going to get David Adams to make a house call?
Munching contemplatively, Sally headed for the lounge. Obviously she would have to come up with a way to get him on her home turf, where she could set the scene and they could talk without Andrea looking on. Talking of whom, it seemed to Sally that Andrea and David had been doing an awful lot of swapping glances when she’d called round, almost as if there was some kind of connection between them.
Crisps in hand, Sally curled herself up in the corner of her Italian leather art deco sofa, a comforting cushion clutched to her midriff. David had had a faraway look in his eye at one point. Sally had hoped he might be mentally undressing her. Now, it almost seemed …
Hell! Had he been fantasising about Andrea in silk and lace?
Sally swallowed, then choked, then coughed up the crisp wedged in her throat.
Oh, no, no, no! She unfurled herself, and leapt to her feet. That wasn’t fair. Andrea already had a man. If there was any connecting to be done with David Adams, it was Sally who was going to be doing it, damn it!
She was going to phone him. That’s what she’d do. Right now. Strike while the iron was hot. Nip it in the bud. She had to do something.
Where was Jonathan, anyway? Sorting out their affairs, Andrea had said. What, from afar? Granted there wasn’t much room at David’s house, but surely Jonathan wouldn’t want to be away from his family when their house had just burned down? Had they had a row? An irreconcilable difference of some kind? Had he not proposed, as Andrea had expected him to? He’d taken his time up until now, after all, and if he had evaded the issue again …? Could it be that Andrea and he had agreed to some kind of separation? Her mind going into overdrive, Sally tossed the cushion arbitrarily behind her onto the sofa. Might Andrea be orchestrating her own plan – to make Jonathan jealous? Was that it?
That was awful. Terrible.
Relieved that she’d remembered to get David’s number from Andrea should she need to contact her, Sally took two steps towards the phone and then turned back. Arbitrarily scattered cushions she simply couldn’t live with.
Using a man like that. Dreadful. Ooooh! And that was worse! Crisp crumbs – all over the Jean Renoir Ferrari-red sofa with contrasting piping.
Eeeargh! Grease! It would stain! Muttering, Sally turned on her heel and marched to the kitchen. Then back again with a soft cloth and beeswax leather polish.
‘Damn,’ she muttered, on her knees, dabbing delicately at the offending stain. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Cursing liberally, she worked the polish in, buffed it sparingly, and then cocked her head to one side to appraise the damage.
Phew. No unsightly blemishes in sight, thank goodness. The sofa was safe. The day was saved. And Andrea hasn’t got a single stick of furniture to her name, you self-centred cow.
Swallowing guiltily, Sally plopped the cloth on her rescued Victorian chiffonier – then stopped, and swallowed back an altogether different emotion.
Hesitantly, she reached for the photograph album on the shelf of the chiffonier and flicked through the pages for the precious memory she kept there: her second trimester ultrasound scan. She found it and traced a finger lightly over the grainy image. The twenty week anomaly scan.
There were no anomalies though.
Apart from there not being an abundance of amniotic fluid around him, his little body had been perfect: limbs, hands, feet, fingers, toes. All accounted for. All perfect. So why had she lost him? Why had her baby’s perfect little heart never beaten independently of her?
Sally wiped away a slow tear. She’d planned to have a four-dimensional scan later; moving images of him. She’d hardly been able to wait until the recommended twenty-six weeks. ‘Never quite made it, did we, my angel?’ she said softly, breathed out a shuddery sigh, and placed the scan back carefully.
How could Nick have been so utterly cruel, turning his back on her when she needed him most, abandoning her for some twenty-something trollop, as if what they’d had together meant nothing? Their child meant nothing. Damn him to hell. Gulping back a sob, she recalled the black, awful emptiness she’d felt after the birth, walking empty-handed away from the hospital, the desolation she’d felt knowing she was losing Nick too. Sally had decided she would have her baby, with or without a man. But preferably with.
It was time to make that phone call. Pulling herself up, she turned to the phone. And before she spoke to David, she’d speak to Andrea. Double-check she really was okay and be a friend to a person who was actually Sally’s only friend, the one person who’d been there for her when she’d been so terribly down, instead of being a complete bitch because David Adams had appeared on the scene. Just because Andrea had been forced to move in with him didn’t mean she had designs on David.
Did it?
Findin
g the number Andrea had given her next to the phone, Sally dialled and waited, determined to resist flirting with him in favour of speaking to Andrea first if David picked up. But she fluttered her eyelashes nevertheless when he did.
‘David Adams,’ he said, the timbre of his voice deep and sultry, like delicious, decadent, dark chocolate, immediately causing Sally’s determination to waver and her pelvis to dip.
‘Yes, hi, David,’ Sally said, flustered as a soft flurry of butterflies took off in her tummy. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine,’ David replied. ‘Er, who are you?’
‘Oh, whoops, sorry.’ Sally laughed. ‘It’s me, Sally, she who gives in far too easily to her desires.’
‘Ah,’ David said, and paused, ‘about that … things … in general,’ he hesitated, during which time Sally’s butterflies nosedived, ‘I, er, think we might need to talk, Sally.’
‘Talk away. I’m all ears,’ Sally said, flippancy masking her apprehension.
‘No, I, er …’ David paused again.
Oh no. Sally closed her eyes and clutched the phone hard to her ear.
‘In private might be better, I think,’ David went on, ‘if that’s okay with you?’
Private? Sally’s mouth curled into a delighted smile. As in the two of them alone? Together? Yessss! She whooped silently. ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘No problem at all. Come on over now, why don’t you?’
David went quiet again.
‘No time like the present, after all, is there?’
‘No, I, er, can’t tonight. I’ve got some things I need to attend to,’ David answered. ‘How about tomorrow? About seven?’
‘Great. See you then. I’ll, um …’ Put the champers on ice, Sally wanted to say. ‘… make sure to pop the kettle on,’ she said instead, on a softly-catchy-man basis. She’d pop the new Intrigue purple and noir basque on too, though, on a fishnets-guaranteed-to-catchy-man basis.
Excitedly, Sally rang off, and then remembered with a guilty pang that she’d completely forgotten to even enquire about Andrea.
Learning to Love Page 12
