An Offer You Can't Refuse

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Whereas it hasn’t been so easy for you, Malcolm, has it?’ The presenter’s voice softened. ‘Criticism like that can be quite hurtful, can’t it?’

  Stunned, Lola said, ‘But I didn’t criticize him! I didn’t!’

  ‘Oh no, no, Blythe’s daughter has never criticized me. At least not to my face,’ Malcolm said hastily. ‘She’s a lovely girl, very polite. I just felt a bit lacking in the, um, sartorial department, I suppose. Getting dressed up and making the most of myself has never been my forte. And I want Lola to think well of me because… well, because I think a great deal of her mother.’

  Lola’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow.

  The twinkly-eyed presenter, addressing the camera, said, ‘So, Lola, I know you aren’t watching at this moment because you’re at work and Malcolm and Blythe didn’t tell you they were going to be doing this today, but if you do happen to see a recording of this program I’m sure you’ll agree that Malcolm and your mum have scrubbed up a treat! They both look wonderful. If you ask me, your mum’s a lucky lady to have found herself such a very caring and thoughtful man.’

  ‘Here,’ murmured Doug. Lola took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

  ‘And after the break,’ the presenter continued cheerfully, ‘we’ll be talking to a husband and wife who have both undergone sex changes, and who’ll be joining us here in the studio with their daughter who until two years ago was their son!’

  ‘There you go.’ Doug half smiled. ‘Things could be worse.’

  ‘I’m so ashamed.’ Lola sniffed hard, because being lent a hankie and dabbing away tears was one thing but blowing your nose in it was altogether less dainty.

  ‘So that’s your mum’s boyfriend, the one you don’t like.’

  ‘I don’t dislike him. I just thought Mum could do better.’ Sniff. ‘I thought she was settling for Malcolm because he was easy.’

  She didn’t mean easy in that sense—yech, perish the thought.

  ‘He seems like a nice chap.’

  ‘He is. I just couldn’t s-stand the beard.’ Lola gave up and blew her nose noisily into the hanky. ‘And now everyone knows how shallow I am. They’re all going to think I’m a really horrible p-person.’

  For a moment she thought Dougie might put his arms around her, reassure her that she really wasn’t horrible, maybe even drop a consoling kiss on her forehead. Instead the annoying salesman reappeared and said to Doug, ‘Is she finished here? Can I change the channel back now?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, thanks very much.’ Realizing that most of the customers in the vicinity were watching them, Doug gathered himself and checked his watch. ‘Come on.’ He gave Lola’s shoulder a tap and said lightly, ‘Let’s get you back to the hospital before the nurses find out you’ve escaped.’

  ***

  Blythe had washed her hair and changed out of the grown-up leaf-green suit. In her purple flowery top and pinstriped skirt and with the glossy, poker-straight blow-dry a thing of the past, she looked like herself again.

  ‘Wasn’t it awful? I felt like a clone!’ Hugging Lola, she said, ‘And the eyeliner! Never again!’

  Malcolm, following Blythe into Lola’s flat, said, ‘She’s been going on about that blessed eyeliner all day.’

  ‘It’s all right for you,’ Blythe retorted, ‘you didn’t have to wear it.’

  ‘Maybe not, but I still had to go into make-up, didn’t I? Base, they put on my face.’ Malcolm shook his head in bafflement. ‘And powder! That was a first, I can tell you. Felt like Danny La Rue!’

  ‘Malcolm, I’m so sorry.’ Lola moved past her mother to greet him with a hug and a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. ‘I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself… I’m so ashamed…’

  ‘Oh, there there, no need to apologize.’ Embarrassed, Malcolm said bashfully, ‘The thing is, you were right. I even knew it myself, just didn’t have the nerve to try and change things on my own. When you’ve had a beard for twenty years you kind of get used to it. If anything,’ he told Lola, ‘I’m grateful to you for telling your mother I looked a fright.’

  Ouch.

  ‘You look fantastic now.’ She stepped back and gazed at him, meaning every word.

  ‘He does, doesn’t he?’ Blythe nodded in agreement.

  ‘I’ve got rid of all my old sweaters,’ Malcolm said proudly. ‘The fashion woman told me to throw out anything with a pattern on it, and I have.’

  ‘She said that to me too,’ Blythe chimed in. ‘And I told her to take a running jump.’

  ‘We went to Marks and Spencer’s this afternoon and bought loads of new clothes. The fashion woman wrote me out a list. She said I shouldn’t wear sandals any more either.’

  Lola decided she loved the fashion woman with all her heart. ‘Well, anyway, thank you for being so nice about it. And why are we still standing out here in the hallway? Come on in.’

  ‘Sorry, love, we can’t stop.’ Blythe beamed. ‘We only dropped by to show ourselves off to you. Well,’ she amended, ‘so that Malcolm could show himself off to you and I could let you see that I’m back to normal. We’ve got to get to the pub—it’s quiz night and everyone’s dying to hear about our time at the TV studios.’

  It was on the tip of Lola’s tongue to ask her mother if she preferred Malcolm the way he looked now. But she already knew the answer. Malcolm might be pleased with his makeover but it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to the way Blythe felt about him, because external appearances were simply irrelevant as far as she was concerned. What counted was the person within.

  Worse, Lola knew she was right. Maybe it would help to get Dougie out of her system if she could try a bit harder to fancy EJ instead.

  Chapter 45

  ‘That’s thirteen–three,’ Nick called out. ‘Ready? Or do you want to stop for a couple of minutes to catch your breath?’

  Catch her breath? What breath? There was none left in her lungs, that was for sure. Lola shook her head, determined not to give in. This was badminton, for crying out loud. If it had been tennis or squash she could have understood being this exhausted, but badminton wasn’t anywhere near in that league; everyone knew it was one of those namby-pamby games played by children and old people where you flicked a silly little shuttlecock back and forth over a net. As a child she’d played badminton in the back garden and it hadn’t been remotely like this.

  ‘Oof,’ Lola gasped, lunging after the shuttlecock as it whistled past her ear. Stupid, stupid racquet…

  ‘Fourteen-three.’ Grinning, Nick prepared to serve again.

  ‘Oof.’ Fuck.

  ‘Game. Well done.’ He came round to her side of the net, patted her on the back.

  ‘You can’t say well done when it wasn’t.’ Clutching her sides where two stitches were competing to see which of them could hurt most, Lola panted, ‘I was rubbish.’

  ‘No you weren’t, you were actually pretty good. But I was better.’

  ‘That’s so unfair. I’m your daughter. Aren’t you supposed to let me win?’

  He looked amused. ‘Not when you’re twenty-seven.’

  Lola leaned forward, hands on knees, then realized people watching outside the badminton court would see her knickers and hurriedly straightened up. To add insult to injury it had all been her idea to come here tonight because she’d found out that Merton’s Sports and Fitness Club in Kensington was where Dougie was a member and last Thursday Sally had mentioned in passing that he was playing squash that night. Working on the assumption that Thursdays at Merton’s might be a regular thing, Lola had called up the club and asked if she and her father could come along and try out the facilities before deciding whether or not to join.

  And yes, Merton’s did indeed seem like a great place to socialize and expend a few calories if you were so inclined, but there was one small d
rawback.

  No Doug. Anywhere at all. They’d been given the full guided tour of the club and there was no sign of him. Plus, having been generously given a free, hour-long slot on this badminton court, they were now morally obliged to carry on using it.

  Still panting like a pervert, Lola glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nine minutes down, fifty-one to go.

  She looked at her father, who wasn’t even remotely out of breath. ‘OK, we’ll have another game. But this time pretend I’m six and let me win.’

  ***

  Never had an hour passed so slowly. By the end of it, Lola was puce in the face, wheezing like a steam engine and staggering around on legs like overcooked spaghetti. Badminton wasn’t namby-pamby after all. Battle-hardened members of the SAS could hone their fitness levels playing this game. Thank goodness Dougie hadn’t been here to witness her humiliation.

  ‘Ready for a drink?’ said Nick as she shakily wiped her face and neck with a towel.

  ‘Ready for loads of drinks.’ How could she ever have thought that coming to this place tonight would be a good idea? As soon as they’d showered and dressed they were out of here.

  ‘You’ve dropped your hairband,’ said Nick as Lola just about managed to haul the strap of her sports bag onto her shoulder.

  ‘I can’t pick it up, it hurts too much.’

  She waited as Nick went back to retrieve the pink hairband, then turned and wearily pushed through the glass swing doors.

  Dougie was standing on the other side, watching her.

  ‘Oh!’ So much for thanking her lucky stars he wasn’t here. If there was a god, he really did have it in for her. A trickle of sweat slid down her forehead for that extra-glamorous finishing touch.

  ‘Lola, what’s going on?’ Doug shook his head. ‘Are you stalking me?’

  Lola swallowed, suddenly realizing that this was exactly what she was doing. Instantly on the defensive she said, ‘What are you talking about? Of course I’m not stalking you! Who says you’re not stalking me?’

  ‘I’ve been a member of this club for the last three years. I thought maybe my sister happened to mention it.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t.’ Technically this was true; Elly who worked for him had been the one who’d mentioned it. But shame crept up and Lola felt her pulse quicken. Oh God, he was right, she was turning into one of those deranged females incapable of accepting rejection, madwomen who end up shouting in the street and getting arrested for harassment.

  ‘Here’s your hairband.’ Catching up with them, Nick eyed Dougie coolly and said, ‘What’s this about stalking? I was the one who suggested we try this club. It wasn’t Lola’s idea to come here.’

  And now she had her father covering for her, lying to protect his deranged-stalker daughter. Mortified, Lola gazed down at her feet and felt the trickle of sweat drip down to her chin.

  ‘Sorry, I was just surprised to bump into her. Didn’t have Lola down as the badminton-playing type.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Defiantly Lola said, ‘We had a fantastic game.’

  ‘Really?’ Dougie’s mouth was twitching. ‘When I looked through the window half an hour ago you didn’t appear to be having much fun.’ He turned to Nick. ‘Hi, I’m Doug Tennant. You must be Lola’s father.’ Shaking Nick’s hand, he said, ‘You were wiping the floor with her.’

  Nick relented. ‘I was rather, wasn’t I?’

  Oh terrific.

  ‘I’m going to get showered and changed,’ said Lola.

  ‘Me too. See you in the bar afterwards.’ Nick nodded cheerfully at Doug. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Ten minutes later Lola screeched to a halt at the entrance to the bar. Doug was standing with his back to her, talking to a couple of women with toned brown thighs. There was no sign of Nick. She retraced her steps and waited for him to emerge from the men’s changing room.

  He looked surprised when he did. ‘What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting in the bar.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay for a drink. Doug’s in the bar. He’ll only think I’m stalking him again.’

  ‘Hey, that’s OK, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes it does matter.’ Lola wearily shook her head. ‘Because he’s right, I have been stalking him. And it’s time to stop.’

  They went to Café Rouge in Lancer Square. Over red wine she’d ordered but no longer had the heart to drink, Lola told Nick the whole story from beginning to end.

  ‘So that’s it, I’ve basically made the world’s biggest fool of myself but it’s all over now. Doug’s not interested in me and I’ve finally accepted it. I gave it my best shot and I failed. Time to give up and move on. As everyone always loves to say, there are plenty more fish in the sea.’ Lola curled her lip. ‘Although whenever they say that, it really makes me want to get hold of a big fish and smack them round the face with it.’

  ‘I won’t say that then. Oh, sweetheart, I do feel for you.’ Reaching across the table, Nick gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t told me any of this before.’

  ‘I didn’t want you thinking you’d got yourself a scary daughter. You might have run for the hills.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘OK, but you might have thought I was pathetic.’ Lola shrugged. ‘I wanted to impress you, make you think you had a daughter to be proud of.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I am proud of you.’

  Lola blinked back tears; he was being so nice to her and it felt lovely being called sweetheart. ‘Yes, but I have behaved pretty stupidly. I mean, throwing myself at a man who kept telling me he didn’t want me, it’s hardly the brightest thing to do. Anyway,’ hastily she drew a line with her free hand, ‘I won’t be doing that any more.’

  ‘I wish there was something I could do to help.’ Nick thought about it for a couple of seconds. ‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’

  Lola smiled, because that brought back memories. Once, when she’d been ten, a boy in her class had been teased about his ginger-ness and frecklediness. The teasing had carried on for a few days and the novelty had been about to wear off, until one morning the boy’s mother had turned up at the school, gathered together the group of culprits and given them a good talking-to. The entire school had listened, enthralled. Sadly, she’d been even gingerier and freckledier than her son, so from that day on he’d had to endure months of merciless mickey-taking directed at both himself and his mother.

  ‘Thanks, but there’s no need.’ She imagined Nick giving Doug a good old ticking-off, telling him not to be so mean and ordering him to be nice and give his daughter another chance. ‘It’s over. He’s with Isabel now.’

  ‘And you’ve got EJ.’ Nick’s tone was encouraging. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  Lola shrugged. Of course she liked EJ, but only as a friend. They kissed—which was fine—but hadn’t slept together. He was great company and a nice person but the magic wasn’t there. It wasn’t fair on EJ and she was going to have to tell him. It was time to finish that relationship too—if you could call it a relationship when you weren’t even having sex.

  As they were leaving Café Rouge Nick said, ‘So, what happened to the money Blythe mustn’t know about? What did you spend it on?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  He laughed. ‘Tell me!’

  Lola spotted an approaching taxi. ‘Really, I can’t.’ She stuck out her arm and flagged down the cab. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I can’t tell anyone. Ever.’

  Chapter 46

  Sally had done something to annoy Gabe and she had a pretty shrewd idea what it might be.

  The tidiness issue—or rather the lack of it—had over the last couple of weeks become a real bone of contention.

  OK, even more of a bone of contention than it had always been. She could tell because the difference in Gabe was
pronounced. He had withdrawn mentally, almost as if he couldn’t be bothered to argue with her any more. He was also distancing himself physically, working all hours and spending less and less time at home. At first she’d been thrilled that he’d stopped nagging her to clear up after herself but after a while she’d kind of begun to miss it. As her torn calf muscle gradually repaired itself and she grew less reliant on crutches, Sally had even found herself once or twice doing the washing-up while there were still clean plates in the cupboard.

  Not that Gabe had noticed or shown signs of being remotely grateful when she’d pointed it out to him; he’d been so distant and offhand recently that she’d almost given up trying to please him.

  Almost, but not quite. Because Gabe was being a grumpy sod but Sally still wanted to cheer him up, get the old relaxed smiley Gabe back.

  And today was her last day of being an invalid. At midnight, Cinderella-style, her sick note expired. Tomorrow she was going back to work at the surgery and she was looking forward to it. Inactivity had bred boredom. She’d watched too much TV, read too many magazines, eaten far too many biscuits. In fact, she could do with expending a bit of energy now. Gazing around the flat, Sally decided to spend the day tidying up and… oh God, could she do it?… de-cluttering the flat she’d devoted so much time to cluttering up.

  Yes, she could do it and she was going to. Feeling energized already, Sally pushed up her sleeves and limped over to the ornate stained-glass mirror by the window. She knew her passion for colored fairy lights drove Gabe to distraction. OK, fine, she could live without fairy lights. Reaching up, she unwound the ones draped around the mirror and threw them onto the sofa. Then, because the mirror was now looking naked, like a Christmas tree brutally stripped of decorations, she took it down too.

  Breathe in, breathe out, no need to panic. And that pink lampshade with the glittery fringing was another culprit; Gabe had always hated it. Sally unplugged the lamp and added it to the mirror and the fairy lights on the sofa. She was on the verge of hyperventilating now but that was OK, no need to panic, it was only stuff. It didn’t make a difference to her life.