Kiss

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Of course I am, I’m brilliant,’ said Izzy, her dark eyes shining. ‘Tell me all about it, every detail. It’s so unfair, isn’t it, that men should be such pigs. Why on earth do we still fall in love with them?’

  ‘. . . he was my whole world,’ Gina whispered fifteen minutes later. Her wineglass, unaccountably, was empty. Her feet were tucked up beneath her. ‘When we were first married I thought we’d have a family, but Andrew told me that we didn’t need children to be happy because we had each other. After that, every time I mentioned it he just said he didn’t want children . . . they were too expensive or too time-consuming or he needed to be able to concentrate on his career . . . and if I got upset he’d buy me a nice necklace or take me away on holiday . . . I wanted a baby so much, but he always managed to convince me he was right. And now,’ she concluded hopelessly, ‘he’s got some woman pregnant and he’s changed his mind. So I’m left on my own without a husband or a family and it’s too late for me to do anything about it. I’m too old to have children now . . . I haven’t got anything . . . it’s all been wasted . . .’

  Izzy, who had been listening intently, now looked perplexed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, eyebrows furrowed, ‘but I’m not with you. He’s been a bit of a shit, I’ll grant you that, but why exactly has your marriage been a waste?’

  ‘Because now I don’t have a husband or a child,’ sniffed Gina with a trace of irritation. ‘If he’d told me ten years ago that he was going to leave me eventually, I could have cut my losses and married someone else who did want a family.’

  Izzy’s frown deepened. ‘But you’re only thirty-six.’

  ‘Exactly! How long is it going to be before I even feel like looking for another man? How long is it going to be before I find someone I want to marry? It’s just not fair,’ Gina sniffed, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘By then it’ll be too late, I’ll be too old.’

  ‘This is crazy,’ Izzy burst out, jack-knifing into a sitting position and spilling half her wine into her lap. ‘If you want a baby that badly, you can have one. Nobody’s going to stop you!’

  Gina wondered for a moment what it must be like to be Izzy, to live so carelessly and with such total disregard for the conventions which had dominated her own life.

  But it was too great a leap, even after three unaccustomed glasses of wine.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said defensively, hanging her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. It isn’t the kind of thing I could cope with on my own.’

  ‘But you don’t know that,’ argued Izzy, struggling to curb her natural impatience. ‘You just think you wouldn’t be able to cope . . . I’ll bet you any money you like that once it all started happening you’d sail through it. Well,’ she amended with a grin, ‘I would if I had any money to bet with.’

  ‘It’s no good, I’m not that kind of person,’ Gina replied, defiant now but still close to tears. It wasn’t any good; she had hoped that some of Izzy’s optimism might rub off on her, but all she felt was intimidated. Their personalities, their attitudes to life were just too different. Rising somewhat unsteadily to her feet, she said, ‘I’m going to bed.’

  Izzy, equally frustrated by Gina’s inability to realise that what she had been trying to say made absolute sense, glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. Stay and have another drink, please . . .’

  ‘I’m going to my room,’ put in Katerina helpfully. ‘I’ve got two essays to finish.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Gina, wondering what she had let herself in for. Her guest room looked and felt different - it even smelled different, thanks to Izzy’s scented candles - and now she was beginning to feel like a hostage here. It had all been a terrible, impetuous mistake, which only served to underline the vastness of the gulf between them. She simply wasn’t cut out to be impulsive and she was damned if she’d ever do it again. ‘I’m tired,’ she concluded, not daring to even glance up at the cuckoos who had invaded her own private nest at her own stupid instigation.

  ‘OK,’ said Izzy, conceding defeat. Then she brightened, because it was only a temporary defeat. ‘There’s no hurry, after all. We’ll talk about it again tomorrow.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘So, how’s it going at home?’ asked Simon as Katerina cleared a pile of text books from the chair next to his and collapsed into it with a sigh. It was lunchtime and the sixth-form common room, buzzing with gossip, sounded more like a cocktail party in full swing. Handing her his half-empty can of Coke, he admired afresh Katerina’s clever, slender fingers and her ability to look so amazingly good, even after three rigorous hours in the physics exam. Having quietly idolised Katerina Van Asch throughout their years together at King’s Park Comprehensive, actually getting to know her and eventually becoming her best friend meant more to him than anything else in the world. If it hadn’t been for Kat, he would have left school a year and a half ago; she was the one who had persuaded him to stay on and study for A levels and for that he would be everlastingly grateful. He had a sneaking suspicion that abandoning further education in favour of bumming around the country as a bass guitarist in a rock band might not, after all, have been as much fun as he had first imagined.

  He was, nevertheless, fascinated by Katerina’s bizarre lifestyle, wonderfully Bohemian in his eyes and as far removed as possible from his own sedate upbringing. Living in a semi-detached in Wimbledon with a bank manager father, housewife mother and two pain-in-the-neck younger sisters wasn’t exactly wild.

  Katerina, whose mother didn’t nag her to keep her feet off the furniture as his own mother was forever doing, flung her long legs across the arm of the chair and tore open a packet of crisps.

  ‘How’s it going at home?’ she repeated thoughtfully. ‘Well, not great. Dreary Gina can’t seem to talk about anything but her husband, Mum’s hell-bent on cheering her up and I keep out of the way as much as I can. The really bad news is that our four weeks of living rent free are up and Mum’s leg is still in plaster. When I left her this morning she was poring over The Stage, but how can she possibly get work in her state?’

  ‘Elizabeth Taylor did The Little Foxes in a wheelchair . . .’ began Simon excitedly, but Katerina quelled him with a look that would have stripped the eyebrows of a lesser man.

  ‘That was Elizabeth Taylor, this is the real world.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’ he persisted, enthralled by her casual acceptance of the situation.

  She paused, considering his question for a moment, then shrugged and said, ‘Find myself a job, I suppose. Something in the evenings that pays well and doesn’t interfere too much with my homework. Failing that, I could always find my mother a new and dazzlingly wealthy man.’

  She grinned suddenly and lobbed her empty crisp packet into the bin. ‘Now that would be a smart idea. I could be the devoted stepdaughter. I’d make a great stepdaughter, don’t you think? And the more money he had, the more devoted I’d be . . .’

  Worried, Simon said, ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Of course I’m joking.’ With a howl of despair, she pretended to hurl the Coke can at his head. ‘Who needs men, for heaven’s sake? Now stop agony-aunting and tell me everything you know about the medulla oblongata. It’s human biology this afternoon, and I’ve got an essay to finish.’

  Simon broke into a grin. ‘I thought you didn’t need men.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Katerina replied crisply. ‘I just need information. Besides, you aren’t a man. You’re a boy.’

  Damn, thought Sam Sheridan, finally hanging up the phone at Heathrow and realizing that he and his suitcases had a couple of hours to kill before they could make their collective way to Kingsley Grove. Andrew was out of the office, there was no reply from the house and jet lag was already threatening to set in, which possibly served him right but didn’t necessarily make it any easier to bear. If he had slept on the plane instead of falling into conversation with a rather intense but decidedly attractive female solicitor, he wouldn’t be feeling quite so tired now.
/>   But Gina was a creature of habit, he reassured himself, glancing at the watch he’d adjusted as the plane had neared the end of its transatlantic journey. Almost four o’clock, and it was a sure bet that she would be back home soon in order to prepare dinner. If he caught a cab he could be there by five, in time to stop her doing so. Then, when he’d grabbed himself a couple of hours’ sleep he could take them both out to dinner to celebrate his return. It would be great to see Andrew again, after nearly six months away. And as for Gina . . . well, teasing and shocking dear, uptight, ever-shockable Gina had always been one of his very favourite pastimes . . .

  Damn, thought Izzy, hopping helplessly into the sitting room and glaring at the now silent phone. Didn’t people realise how much longer it took a broken-legged person to even reach the room the phone was in, much less get a chance to actually pick up the receiver? And was there anything in the world more frustrating than not getting that chance to find out who had been on the other end of the line?

  Chucking a cushion at the offending machine - and missing it by three feet - she allowed her imagination to run wild for a few seconds. A single telephone call, after all, was potentially capable of changing entire lives.

  Why, it might have been Andrew Lloyd Webber, begging her to accept the lead in his latest and greatest musical. It could have been Doug Steadman, her agent, phoning to tell her that an American producer wanted her - and only her - to replace Shirley MacLaine in a Broadway show. It might have been - it just might have been . . . a salesman ringing to make her a fabulous offer on double glazing . . .

  ‘Damn,’ repeated Izzy, aloud this time. Wheeling around, she headed into the hall, picking up her jacket and bag en route. Now that she was downstairs she might as well exercise her good leg and take a trip out to the shops before they closed. Having rashly promised to cook dinner for Kat and Gina tonight, it might be an idea to buy something edible. She had a feeling Gina might be expecting something a bit more substantial than tinned tomatoes on toast.

  Through the side window of the cab Sam observed with fleeting interest the dark-haired girl in the short yellow skirt who was swinging her way along the pavement on crutches. Her legs, one encased in plaster and the other shapely and black-stockinged, were what had immediately captured his attention. But now, as the cab reached the end of Kingsley Grove and slowed to a halt, he glimpsed the girl’s face in the orange light of the street lamp and was further impressed. For a brief second, as she paused to search in her jacket pocket for her keys, their eyes met. Dark eyes, wide mouth, crazy corkscrewing hair and an indefinable air about her . . . of vitality and humour and . . . daring . . . caused something, somewhere inside him, to click. Jet lag miraculously forgotten, Sam smiled at her without even realizing he was doing so, but it was too late. The girl had turned away.

  Then, even as he watched, she moved - peg-leggedly but very definitely - towards Andrew’s and Gina’s house.

  Better and better, he thought, hauling his cases out of the cab and pressing notes into the driver’s hand. Within seconds, he had caught up with her on the front doorstep. ‘Hi,’ said Sam, flashing her a brilliant smile, one that this time she couldn’t possibly miss. ‘Well, I don’t know who you are, but your timing’s perfect. I thought Gina would be home by now.’ He gestured towards the darkened windows. ‘But she obviously isn’t. And I’m afraid I’ve lost my front-door key.’

  The girl, returning his gaze but not his smile, said nothing. Realizing his mistake - he must be more jet lagged than he appreciated - Sam said, ‘I’m sorry, how rude of me. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are,’ Izzy interjected rapidly, at the same time wondering at the colossal nerve of the man. Glancing briefly down at the suitcases littering the doorstep she said, ‘Gina didn’t say anything about this to me. Have you spoken to her? Is she expecting you?’

  Taken aback by the unpromising abruptness of her manner, Sam shrugged and said, ‘Well . . . no, not exactly. As I said before, she was out when I phoned. But she won’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. After fifteen years she’s perfectly used to my—’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ Izzy retorted, interrupting him for the second time and deciding it was high time somebody told Andrew Lawrence precisely what they thought of him and his diabolical behaviour. Not having seen any photographs, she had envisaged a slightly older, altogether less casual man, the type who favoured pin-stripe suits rather than scuffed-leather flying jackets and ancient Levi’s, but even in the semi-darkness she could see that he undoubtedly possessed more than his fair share of good looks and charm. Only men with that particular, lazy, uncultivated degree of charm could do as he had done and expect to get away with it. And only a man with a total lack of humility, she thought darkly, could expect to roll back home and be forgiven, just like that.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sure she is,’ repeated Izzy, leaning against the cold stone wall of the porch and with great deliberation dropping the front-door key back into her pocket. ‘But that doesn’t mean she has to keep on putting up with it. She may be too scared of offending you to tell you what a neat job you’ve done of wrecking her life, but I’m not. Look,’ she snapped, realizing that Gina’s husband didn’t have the slightest intention of showing remorse, ‘hasn’t it occurred to you for even a single second that Gina might not welcome you with open arms when you turn up on her doorstep?’

  ‘To be frank,’ said Sam, wondering what the hell was going on, ‘no.’

  ‘Well, it bloody wouldn’t, would it? You really are incredible . . .’

  ‘I really am very tired.’ He was beginning to lose patience now. ‘Look, why don’t you just tell me exactly what it is I’m supposed to have done wrong. Then, when you’ve got that off your chest, maybe you could introduce yourself. No, strike that. Tell me first who you are and let me decide whether or not I should even bother to listen to you. And where the hell are Gina and Andrew anyway? If they aren’t coming back here tonight I’ll save you the trouble and find myself an hotel.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ Izzy stared at him, appalled, then sagged slowly back against the rough stone wall behind her.Would there ever come a time in her life, she wondered, when she wouldn’t go around saying exactly the wrong thing to exactly the wrong person, in the very worst way possible?

  ‘Look, I’m going,’ said Sam irritably. Turning to leave, he added, ‘If it isn’t too much trouble, maybe you could tell them I called.’

  Grabbing his arm so quickly that she almost lost her balance and toppled over, Izzy said, ‘Please, I’m sorry. I’ve made a hideous mistake. You must come in.’

  By this time Sam was almost certain he was the one who’d made the hideous mistake. That initial, almost instantaneous attraction had taken a smart step backwards. This woman wasn’t just rude, he thought, glancing down at her cold fingers around his wrist, she was downright weird.

  ‘Please,’ begged Izzy, reading his mind and fitting the key hastily into the lock. ‘I’m really not mad, but until I explain everything you can’t possibly understand. Look, let me take your jacket. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Sit,’ commanded Sam firmly, steering her into the sitting room, switching on lights as he went and flinging his jacket over the back of Gina’s immaculate sofa. Pouring hefty measures of Scotch into two tumblers, he handed one to the obediently seated madwoman and settled himself in the armchair opposite.

  ‘Now, maybe we should start again. Properly, this time, and without resorting to a slanging match. How very pleasant to meet you, Miss . . .’

  ‘Van Asch,’ murmured Izzy, thankful that he had taken charge, and that he didn’t appear to have taken her insults too much to heart. ‘Izzy.’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded, a smile hovering on his lips. ‘You look like an Izzy. And my name is Sam Sheridan.’

  ‘Hallo, Sam Sheridan.’

  ‘And who exactly did you think I was?’

  ‘Gina’s husband,’ she confessed, her brown eyes huge
as she searched his face for a reaction. Then, hurriedly, she added, ‘As soon as you said it, I knew you didn’t know. They’ve split up. Andrew moved out a few weeks ago and Gina’s absolutely distraught.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Sam, no longer smiling. He could imagine the effect Andrew’s departure must be having upon Gina. Her entire life had revolved around him.

  ‘He met someone else,’ Izzy explained. ‘And she’s pregnant. They’re living together in the Barbican.’ Then she paused, eyebrows furrowing, and said, ‘Are you a friend or a relative?’

  Sam sipped his drink. ‘Friend. Old friend.’

  ‘Of Andrew’s?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘Of both of them really. I was the best man at their wedding. When I moved over to the States six years ago they gave me a key to the house. Whenever I come back I stay here. Jesus,’ he shook his head in disbelief, ‘Gina must be going through hell.’