An Offer You Can't Refuse

by Jill Mansell

  It wasn’t as if it was Gabe’s only leaving party; this was just a motley collection of people from the offices where he worked as a chartered surveyor. Had worked there, anyway, for the past four years, although as from today he was out of a job and ready for the adventure of a lifetime in Australia.

  Lola made her way down the street, pleased for Gabe but aware of how much she would miss him. When she’d moved back to London seven years ago with the unexpected windfall from the sale of Alex’s business burning a hole in her bank account, she had fallen in love with the third flat she’d visited.

  She’d felt a bit like Goldilocks on that eventful day. The first flat, in Camden, had been too small. The second, in Islington, had been larger but too dark and gloomy and had smelled of mushrooms.

  Happily, the third had been just right. In fact it had exceeded Lola’s wildest dreams. Radley Road was a pretty street in Notting Hill where the houses were multicolored—like Balamory! Yes!—and number 73 was azure blue and white. On the second floor was Flat 73B, a spacious one-bed apartment with a view from the living room over the street below and windows big enough to let the sun stream in. The kitchen and the bathroom were both tiny but clean. The moment Lola had stood in that flat she’d known she had to have it. It was calling her name.

  Never one to take her time and ask sensible probing questions, she had swung round to the estate agent with tears of joy in her eyes, clasped her hands to her chest and exclaimed, ‘It’s perfect. I want to buy it! This is The One!’

  Whereas what she should have said was, ‘Hmm, not too bad I suppose. What are the neighbors like?’

  But she hadn’t, thereby allowing the super-smooth estate agent to send up a silent prayer of thanks for hopelessly impulsive property buyers everywhere and say jovially, ‘That’s what I like to see, a girl who knows her own mind!’

  And Lola, who now knew just how gullible she’d been, had beamed and taken it as a compliment.

  But neighbors were an important factor to be taken into consideration, as she had duly discovered on the day she’d moved into Flat 73B. Sharing the second floor, directly across the landing from her, was Flat 73C. Ringing the doorbell that afternoon in order to introduce herself, Lola had been filled with goodwill and happy anticipation.

  It had come as something of a shock when the door had been yanked open and a scrawny old man in his eighties had appeared, filled with malevolence and bile.

  ‘What d’you want? You woke me up.’

  Lola exclaimed, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I just came to say hello. I’m Lola Malone, your new neighbor!’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Um, well, I just moved in across the hall. This afternoon!’

  The man eyed her with naked dislike. ‘So I heard, all that bloody racket you made getting your stuff upstairs.’

  ‘But—’

  Too late. He’d already slammed the door in her face.

  His name was Eric, Lola later discovered, and while he wouldn’t put up with any noise from her, he wasn’t averse to making plenty himself. He played the trumpet, quite astonishingly badly, at any hour of the day or night. He liked his TV to be on at full blast, possibly so he could carry on listening to it while he was playing his trumpet. He also cooked tripe at least three times a week and the smell permeated Lola’s flat like… well actually, quite a lot like boiled cow’s stomach.

  Oh yes, she’d gone and got herself a living, breathing nightmare of a neighbor. Too late, Lola realized why the estate agent, upon handing over the key on completion, had given her that cheery wink and said, ‘Good luck!’

  Having respect for one’s elders was all very well, but Eric was a filthy-tempered, cantankerous old stoat who’d done everything in his power to make her life a misery.

  After two years of this, Eric had died and Lola was just relieved he’d been out at his day center when it happened; as her co-workers at Kingsley’s had pointed out, if he’d been found dead in his flat, everyone would have suspected her of bumping him off.

  But the reign of Eric was over now, the flat had been cleaned up and put on the market, and Lola crossed her fingers, hoping for better luck this time.

  And it had worked. She’d got gorgeous Gabe—hooray!—and like magic the quality of her home life had improved out of all recognition, because he was the best neighbor any girl could ask for.

  Better still, she hadn’t fancied him one bit.

  Gabriel Adams, with his floppy blond hair and lean slouchy body, had been twenty-nine when he’d moved into the flat across the landing from her. And this time he had been the one who’d knocked on Lola’s door to invite her over for a drink on his roof terrace.

  Which meant she liked him already.

  ‘I never even knew there was a roof terrace.’ Lola marveled at the view from the back of the house; it was like discovering a tropical island complete with hula girls in your dusty old broom cupboard.

  ‘It’s a suntrap.’ Gabe grinned at her. ‘I think I’m going to like it here. Does this T-shirt make me look gay?’

  Since it was a vibrant shade of lilac, clearly expensive and quite tight-fitting, Lola said, ‘Well, a bit.’

  ‘I know, it’s too much. I’m super-tidy and a great cook. I can’t wear this as well.’ Pulling off the T-shirt to reveal an enviably tanned torso, Gabe held it towards her. ‘Do you want it or shall I chuck it away?’

  It wasn’t just expensive, Lola discovered. It was Dolce and Gabbana. Liking her new neighbor more and more she said, ‘I’ll have it. Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. The color’ll suit you. Better than me chucking it in the back of a drawer and never wearing it again.’

  Except it wasn’t, because a week later as she was on her way out one evening, Lola bumped into Gabe and his girlfriend on their way in. The girlfriend, who had flashing dark eyes and an arm snaked possessively around Gabe’s waist, stopped dead in her tracks and said, ‘What are you doing wearing my boyfriend’s T-shirt?’

  ‘Um… well, he g-gave it to…’ Catching the look on Gabe’s face, Lola amended hastily, ‘I mean, he lent it to me, because I, um, asked if I could borrow it.’

  The girlfriend shot her a killer glare before swinging round to Gabe. ‘I bought you that for your birthday! Don’t go lending it out to some girl just because she’s cheeky enough to ask to borrow it.’

  The thing was, Gabe hadn’t done it on purpose. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble, he was simply thoughtless and so generous himself it didn’t occur to him that some people might not appreciate his actions.

  But he broke up with that particular girl shortly afterwards and Lola had been able to start wearing the T-shirt again. From then on a stream of girlfriends came and went, entranced by the fact that Gabe was an entertaining, charming commitment-phobe. Each of them in turn was utterly convinced they would be the one to make him see the error of his ways and suddenly yearn for a life of monogamous domestic bliss.

  Each of them, needless to say, was wrong.

  Or had been, up until three months ago when Gabe had met an Australian backpacker called Jaydena on the last leg of her round-the-world trip. Jaydena had bucked the trend and been the one to leave Gabe, returning to Sydney when they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and were still completely crazy about each other. Back in Australia, she emailed Gabe every day and he emailed her back. Within weeks she’d persuaded him to quit his job and fly out to join her.

  Lola was stunned when she heard. ‘But… why?’

  ‘Because I’ve never been to Australia and everyone says it’s an incredible place. If I don’t go now I could regret it forever.’

  ‘So I might never see you again.’ It was a daunting prospect; Gabe was such a huge part of her life. And not only for the fun times. When Alex had died five years ago—suddenly, and desperately unfairly, of a heart attack—Lola had b
een distraught, unable to believe she’d never see her beloved father again. But Gabe had been a rock, helping her through that awful period. She’d always be grateful to him for that.

  ‘Hey, I’m not selling the flat, just renting it out for a year. After that I could be back.’

  Lola knew she would miss him terribly but alarm bells were ringing for another, far less altruistic reason. ‘Where are you going to find a new tenant? Through a lettings agency?’

  ‘Ha!’ Gabe gleefully prodded her in the ribs. ‘So it’s only yourself you’re worried about, panicking at the thought of who your new neighbor might be.’

  ‘No. Well yes, that too.’

  ‘Already sorted. Marcus from work just split up with his wife. He’s moving in.’

  Oh. Lola relaxed, because she knew Marcus and he was all right, if a bit on the boring side and inclined to jabber on about motorcycles. Which could well have had something to do with his marriage breaking up.

  ‘So no need to panic,’ said Gabe. ‘All taken care of. You two’ll get along fine.’

  ‘Good.’ Visualizing Marcus in his oil-stained, unfashionable clothes, Lola said, ‘But I can’t see me borrowing his T-shirts.’

  Ugh, it was raining harder than ever now. Wishing she was wearing flatter shoes, Lola hurried along the road with her jacket collar up, then turned left down the side street that was a short cut to the tube station. She winced as her left foot landed in a puddle and—

  ‘Get off me, get off! Noooo!’

  Chapter 5

  Lola’s head jerked up, her heart thudding in her chest at the sight of the violent scene unfolding ahead of her. The woman’s piercing screams filled the air as she was dragged out of the driver’s seat of her car by two men who flung her roughly to the ground. One of them knelt over her, ripping at something on the woman’s hand. When she struggled against him he hit her in the face and snarled, ‘Shut up.’

  But the woman let out another shriek of fright and he hit her again, harder this time, bouncing her head off the road. ‘I said shut it. Now give me your rings.’

  ‘No! Owww.’ The woman groaned as he wrenched back her arm.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ bellowed Lola, punching 999 into her phone and gasping, ‘Police, ambulance, Keveley Street.’ Filled with a boiling rage, she kicked off her shoes and raced down the road to the car. ‘Get off her!’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ The man sneered while his cohort revved the engine of the woman’s car.

  ‘Come on,’ bellowed the cohort, ‘hurry up, hurry up.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Lola grabbed hold of the attacker’s greasy hair and yanked his head back hard, shocked to see in the darkness that the face of the woman was covered in blood. ‘Leave her alone, I’ve called the police.’

  ‘Let go of me,’ roared the man, fighting to free himself.

  ‘No, I won’t.’ Grappling with him on the ground, Lola smelled alcohol on his fetid breath and felt ice-cold rain seeping through her tights. The woman was lying on her side facing away from her, curled up and moaning with pain. The man swore again and twisted like an eel to escape, but Lola had him now and she was damned if she’d let him go before the—

  CRRRACKK, an explosion of noise and pain filled Lola’s head and she realized the other attacker had hit her from behind with some kind of weapon. Then everything melted and went black and she slumped to the ground.

  As if from a great distance Lola heard the screech of tires as the car accelerated away. Close to, the woman groaned. Without opening her eyes, Lola stretched out an arm, encountered the woman’s foot, and clumsily patted it.

  ‘S’OK, you’re all right, just hang on and the police’ll be here.’ God, she felt so sick. The pain at the back of her head was intense. But the woman next to her in the road was now sobbing hysterically, in need of reassurance and comfort.

  ‘Th-they tricked m-me, I th-thought someone was hurt… then when I stopped the c-c-car they d-dragged me out…’

  ‘Hey, hey, don’t be upset.’ Lola stroked the woman’s leg, the only part of her she could reach. ‘I can hear sirens, someone’s coming, you’re OK now.’

  ‘I’m not OK, there’s b-blood everywhere, he punched me in the face and b-broke my n-nose.’

  ‘Sshh, don’t cry.’ Squeezing the woman’s calf and shivering with cold, Lola forced down a rising swell of nausea. ‘Here’s the ambulance. I hope they don’t run over my shoes…’

  The next twenty minutes were a confusing blur. Lola was dimly aware that she was having trouble answering the questions put to her by the paramedics and the police. She hoped they didn’t think she was paralytic with drink. Blue flashing lights gave the otherwise pitch-black street the look of an eerie disco but no one was dancing. Requested to hold out an outstretched arm then touch her nose with her forefinger, Lola missed and almost took her eye out. Asked to name the Prime Minister she struggled to put a name to the face floating around in her mind. ‘Hang on, don’t tell me, I know it… I know it… is it Peter Stringfellow?’

  The other woman had already been whisked off to hospital in the first ambulance. When a second arrived in the narrow, suddenly busy street and a stretcher was brought out, Lola waved her hands and protested, ‘No, no, I can’t go to the party, I’ve got work tomorrow.’

  ‘You need to be checked over, love. You were knocked out.’

  ‘I know I’m a knockout.’ Lola beamed up at the curiously attractive paramedic… OK, so he was in his fifties and resembled a pig but he had lovely eyes. ‘Will you dance with me?’

  ‘Course I will, love. Just as soon as you’re better.’ He grinned down at her.

  ‘You’re gorgeous.’ How on earth had she never found big double chins and enormous stomachs attractive before?

  ‘I know, I know. Johnny Depp, that’s me.’

  ‘No you’re not, you’re way better than him.’ As she was expertly lifted onto the stretcher Lola gazed adoringly up at the paramedic and wondered why he was swaying back and forth. ‘You look like Hagrid.’

  ***

  ‘Mum, I’m fine. They’ve X-rayed my skull and checked me out all over. It was just a bash on the head.’ Gingerly Lola leaned forward in bed to show her mother the egg-sized bump. ‘They’re discharging me later. They only kept me in overnight because I was knocked out for a few seconds and when I came round I was a bit muddled.’

  ‘So I’ve just been hearing in the nurses’ office,’ said Blythe. ‘Apparently you were hilarious, propositioning one of the poor ambulance men. I can’t believe you did something so ridiculous.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault! I was concussed!’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I’m talking about you launching yourself into a dangerous situation. You could have been killed.’

  This had occurred to Lola too; at the time she’d simply acted on impulse although in retrospect it had been a bit of a reckless thing to do. ‘But I wasn’t. And I’m OK.’ Apart from the blistering headache. ‘Could you give work a ring and tell them I should be in tomorrow?’

  ‘I most certainly will not. I’ll tell them you might be in next week, depending on how you feel.’

  ‘Mum, how are they going to feel if you tell them that? It’s December! Everyone’s rushed off their feet!’

  ‘And you were knocked unconscious,’ Blythe retorted. ‘Anything could have happened. My God, for once in your life will you listen to me?’

  A man who’d been walking up the ward stopped and said genially, ‘It always pays to do as your mother tells you.’

  He was in his sixties, well-spoken and smartly dressed in a suit. Was this her doctor? Lola sat up a bit straighter in bed and smiled expectantly, all ready to convince him that she was well enough to be allowed home. After last night’s debacle with the paramedic she’d better put on a good show.

  ‘Miss Malone?’

 
‘That’s me.’ Eagerly Lola nodded. To prove her brain was in good working order, he’d probably ask her the kind of questions doctors used on old people when they wanted to find out if they were on the ball. OK, what was the capital of Australia? What was thirty-three times seven? Yeesh, don’t let him ask her to name the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  ‘Hello.’ He moved towards her, smiling and extending his hand.

  ‘Hi!’ Quick, was it Melbourne? Victoria? Lola’s brain was racing. People always thought it was Sydney but she knew it definitely wasn’t. Might he give her half a point for that, at least?

  The man shook her hand warmly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Philip Nicholson.’

  He even smelled delicious. Watching him turn to shake her mother’s hand, Lola breathed in his expensive aftershave. Goodness, what charming manners, this was like being in a private hospital and getting—ooh, was it Perth?

  ‘I just had to come and see you,’ he went on.

  ‘Well, I suppose you couldn’t avoid it. All part of the job description!’ Lola beamed at him, aware that he was looking at her head. Touching the tender area she said, ‘Bit of a bump, that’s all. I’m absolutely fine. Except, can I just quickly tell you that I’m rubbish at capital cities?’

  Philip Nicholson hesitated and glanced over at Blythe, who shrugged and looked baffled.

  ‘In case that’s what you were going to ask me,’ Lola hurriedly explained. ‘I mean, some are all right, like Paris and Amsterdam and Madrid, they’re easy, and I do happen to know that the capital of Azerbaijan is Baku, but in general I have to say that capitals aren’t my strong point.’ To be on the safe side she added, ‘Neither’s politics.’

  Carefully Dr Nicholson said, ‘That’s not a problem. I won’t ask any questions about either subject.’

  ‘Phew, what a relief.’ Lola relaxed back against her piled-up pillows. ‘I’d hate to be kept in just because I couldn’t name the leader of the Liberal Democrats.’