Perfect Timing

by Jill Mansell

  When he had made the offer to Poppy she had turned him down.

  Claudia went pink with pleasure.

  ‘Really? I’d love to.’

  ‘Okay. We’ll do that.’

  Oh, what a momentous occasion! Jake had asked her to live with him and she had said yes. This, she thought excitedly, is the next best thing to getting married.

  Claudia longed to fling her arms around Jake and cover him in kisses, but he was driving and the lane was narrow. She dug in her coat pocket instead and found half a packet of fruit gums, selflessly offering him the red one although it was her favorite.

  ‘Well,’ she said, chewing happily, ‘that’s solved that problem.’

  It wasn’t the most romantic of acceptances either. Jake braked as a sleek black top-of-the-range Audi pulled out ahead of them.

  ‘That’s a nice car,’ said Claudia.

  ‘If you like that kind of thing.’

  She glanced across at him.

  ‘I don’t know how anyone could not like that kind of thing.’

  But Jake wasn’t going to get into an argument. Saying nothing, he concentrated on the road. As they rounded a bend, a glorious old house came into view, an ivy-clad rectory with a Victorian-style conservatory built onto the side. A For Sale notice swung above the driveway.

  ‘Imagine living in a place like that,’ Claudia sighed.

  ‘I’m happy where I am.’

  She gazed with longing at the house as they rattled past. Then she saw Jake’s expression, which was grimly uncompromising.

  ‘If you won’t move, you could at least have a conservatory built,’ she pointed out, her tone fretful. ‘You’ve got room. Go on, go mad.’ It was almost—almost—a taunt. ‘You could at least splash out on one of those.’

  ***

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Claudia twenty minutes later. It was lunchtime, she was hungry, and Jake had driven past endless promising-looking country pubs. She wished she hadn’t given him that fruit gum now.

  Jake carried on driving. Claudia wondered if he even knew where he was headed; this certainly wasn’t the way home.

  ‘Why are we here?’ she demanded when they reached the outskirts of Purley. Spotting a sign for another flea market, her voice rose. ‘Oh God, I don’t want to traipse round anymore bloody playing fields.’

  But Jake, still looking as if all he wanted to do was waste petrol, swung the van right instead of left.

  ‘Okay, this’ll do.’

  ‘For what?’ Claudia stared incredulously at the dilapidated row of shops, nearly all of them closed. Spotting a frightful-looking truck stop diner, she said, ‘If you think for one minute I’m eating my Sunday lunch in that greasy spoon—’

  ‘We aren’t going in there,’ said Jake, opening the passenger door and practically dragging her out. ‘We’re going to go mad, like you wanted.’ He pointed to the seedy-looking betting shop next to the café. ‘We’re going to live a little. Have a bit of fun. In there.’

  Claudia winced as Jake held the door open for her. A thick sea of cigarette smoke made her eyes water. The shop was full of men, the floor awash with discarded betting slips and stamped-out cigarette ends. There were sheets of newspaper detailing the day’s racing pinned up along every wall and half a dozen TV sets tuned to the afternoon’s racing.

  ‘So this is your idea of a bit of fun.’ Claudia, who had never stepped inside a betting shop before, felt her upper lip curl with distaste. ‘Go on then, hurry up. Have your stupid bet and let’s get out of here.’ Ostentatiously she shuddered. ‘My jacket’s going to reek.’

  Jake studied the list of runners and riders flickering on one of the screens above their heads.

  ‘Flirty Fay, evens. The Good-bye Girl, seven to one. Tango, nine to two.’ He paused. ‘Fortune Hunter, eight to one.’

  ‘Bored and Hungry,’ intoned Claudia without looking up. ‘Dead cert.’

  ‘Come on.’ Jake took her hand, pulling her over to the cashier sitting behind her till. The woman—the only other female in the shop—smiled through the security glass at them. Claudia couldn’t be bothered to smile back.

  ‘Yes, love?’ The cashier turned her attention to Jake.

  ‘Fortune Hunter, running in the two thirty,’ said Jake. ‘Um… do you accept checks?’

  ‘Yes love, we do.’

  ‘Half a million all right? It won’t bounce.’

  ‘Half a million pounds.’ Echoing the words, the woman looked dazed. ‘On the nose, sir?’

  Jake nodded firmly. ‘That’s right. To win.’

  ‘Hang on a sec, I’ll have to check this with the manager.’

  Fed up, Claudia had been leaning against the glass watching an old man smoke two cigarettes at once. No wonder, she thought disgustedly, the floor was inches deep in ash.

  The next moment, Jake’s words belatedly filtered through to her brain. She jerked upright and did a cartoon double-take.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Sshh,’ said Jake. ‘She’s asking her boss if it’s okay.’

  ‘For God’s sake, have you gone completely mad?’ Sounding like McEnroe, Claudia hissed, ‘Jake, you can’t be serious!’

  ‘No problem at all, sir,’ the woman announced, reemerging from the office. ‘Just so long as you can show us some form of identification. Oh yes, a driving license, that’s fine.’

  ‘Jake, stop it,’ howled Claudia as he filled out the betting slip. ‘You can’t do this—’

  ‘You want to marry a millionaire, don’t you?’ He shrugged off her desperate pawing hands, wrote the check, and signed it. Before Claudia could stop him, he had pushed both the slip and the check beneath the glass. ‘Well, right now, I’m only half a millionaire. Not really enough, is it? This way, ten minutes from now I could be four million pounds richer.’

  Gibbering with rage, Claudia yelled, ‘But what if the horse doesn’t win? Then you won’t have anything!’

  ‘Of course I won’t. That’s what makes it exciting. I thought you wanted a bit of excitement,’ protested Jake. ‘You keep telling me to live a little, to splash out.’

  Claudia wanted to cry. She even wanted a cigarette. The one thing she definitely didn’t want was this kind of excitement.

  When she finally looked up, the middle-aged cashier said, ‘Cheer up, love. Fingers crossed, eh?’

  ‘If I win,’ said Jake, ‘you can have that big house you liked.’

  There was a new air of recklessness about him, a wild kind of glitter in his dark eyes. Demented with worry, Claudia snapped back, ‘And if you lose, you can just fuck off.’

  She couldn’t bear to watch the race, and she didn’t need to.

  ‘…and Fortune Hunter has fallen at the second furlong,’ relayed the commentator, ‘Fortune Hunter’s taken a tumble, both horse and jockey appear to be unhurt… and Tango and Flirty Fay are neck and neck going up to the third…’

  Jake crumpled his betting slip into an ashtray.

  ‘Looks like Fortune Hunter’s having a bit of an off-day.’

  Claudia snapped. ‘She isn’t the only one.’

  ‘That’s that, then. It’s all over.’

  ‘You bloody, bloody fool.’ Feeling sick at the thought of half a million pounds wasted, she shrugged off Jake’s tentative hand on her shoulder. All around them, other punters were urging on their horses. Only the woman behind the till was watching Claudia rather than the race.

  ‘Well,’ said Jake slowly, ‘is it all over?’

  She wanted to cry. ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘I meant us. Are we all over too?’ He stood in front of Claudia, forcing her to look at him. ‘The money’s gone. I’m pretty much where I started. Do you still want to move in with me or not?’

  Cheers and groans erupted around the smoke-filled room as Flirty Fay won by a length. A volley of balled-up betting slips hit the floor.

  ‘What is this, some kind of test?’ said Claudia.

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘You sick bastard.’ He
r eyes filled with tears of dismay. ‘You thought I was only interested in your money?’

  ‘Call me a pessimist,’ said Jake steadily, ‘but it had crossed my mind. You certainly seemed interested in helping me spend it.’

  Claudia couldn’t speak. Didn’t Jake understand how unfair he was being? Of course she was interested in helping him spend his money. Money was wonderful, it was there to be spent. And now it was gone.

  ‘Well,’ he demanded, ‘what’s the verdict? If you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll understand. I never thought I was much of a catch anyway.’ His fingers were shaking as he pulled the van’s keys out of his jacket pocket. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll still give you a lift home. No hard feelings. We’ll just say good-bye.’ Jake’s voice began to falter but his mind was clearly made up. Since it was the polite thing to say, he added stiffly, ‘I daresay we can stay friends.’

  A terrible sinking feeling swept like a tidal wave through Claudia’s gut. Desolation mingled with panic. She could bear the loss of the money—just—but she couldn’t lose Jake too.

  ‘I don’t care,’ she whispered, because some of the old men nearest to them had begun to eavesdrop. ‘I don’t care how much money you haven’t got. Of course I still want to move in with you.’

  ‘What?’ Jake had to raise his voice; another race was in progress.

  ‘I love you.’ The old men were nudging each other now, chuckling between themselves, and ignoring the race being screened above their heads. ‘Wasting that money was the stupidest thing you ever did, but I still love you. Anyway, my mother was the one who said I needed excitement,’ said Claudia, ‘not me.’

  Overjoyed, Jake took her in his arms and kissed her and didn’t let her go.

  ‘Bugger me,’ guffawed one of the men, ‘better than a flamin’ cabaret. Wait till I get home and tell my missus about this.’

  ‘Mine gives me earache if I lose more’n a fiver,’ marveled another.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d still want me,’ Jake murmured in Claudia’s ear. ‘Oh God, I was so afraid you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll be fun, being poor,’ said Claudia bravely. As long as she had Jake, nothing else mattered. Feeling giddy with happiness she whispered, ‘I’ll learn to economize. No more Manolo Blahnik shoes, no more getting my hair done at Nicky Clarke’s. No more eating out,’ she went on, improvising wildly. Coronation Street was full of poor people, wasn’t it? ‘I’ll… I’ll learn to make Lancashire hot pot…’

  ‘My mother has a brilliant recipe for hot pot.’

  This was love; this was serious. No longer caring that they were the focus of attention, Claudia clung to him and kissed him again, extravagantly, on the mouth. ‘I want to meet your mother.’

  The next moment Jake was unwrapping her arms from around his neck and the cashier was no longer behind her till, but standing beside them.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Claudia, wondering if they were about to be asked to leave, kicked out for indecent behavior.

  ‘You said you’d like to meet my mother,’ Jake explained, ‘so here you are. Wish granted.’

  ‘Hello love, I’ve heard so much about you.’ Jake’s mother smiled. ‘Not all of it good, I have to be honest, but never mind, you saw sense in the end.’

  Claudia stared at them both.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Of course I’m serious.’ Jake grinned. ‘I just wanted to find out if you were.’

  ‘Here, love.’ Jake’s mother produced the check from the pocket of her uniform. ‘Tear it up quick and for God’s sake don’t tell the boss. He’ll have my guts for garters if he ever gets to hear about this.’

  ‘But… but…’ Claudia spluttered helplessly. ‘You can’t do that, you’ll get the sack.’

  Entertained by the look on Claudia’s face, Jake explained, ‘She didn’t place the bet. It didn’t go through the machine.’

  Chapter 60

  ‘Come on, get up,’ Caspar announced, throwing back the duvet. ‘Things to do, places to go. You can’t spend all morning in bed.’

  Poppy winced and tried to curl herself into a ball. ‘It’s my day off.’

  ‘And we’re going out.’

  ‘Somewhere nice?’ Cautiously she opened an eye. Caspar had showered already and left it running for her. She watched him throw on a crumpled white rugby shirt and jeans.

  ‘Somewhere extremely nice.’ Hauling Poppy out of bed, he pointed her in the direction of the bathroom. ‘The electricity showrooms. We need a dishwasher.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Claudia doesn’t live here anymore.’ He threw a pair of Poppy’s leggings after her. ‘Hurry up.’

  Outside the sun blazed down from a cloudless sky. They made their way towards the shops on foot.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this,’ grumbled Poppy, glad of her sunglasses. ‘Not on my day off. Talk about domesticated.’

  They were passing a delicatessen. Caspar glanced at their reflections in the window. Poppy’s still-damp hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, tied with a red scarf that was already coming undone. She was wearing RayBans, a cropped red tee-shirt, white leggings, and gold sandals.

  ‘You don’t look domesticated. Cheer up—’ he gave her waist a squeeze—‘think of all the washing-up we won’t have to do. You’ll be able to spend more time in bed.’

  ‘Only if you’re there too.’ Reluctantly, because she was still supposed to be cross with him, Poppy broke into a grin. Sex with Caspar had been a total revelation; she couldn’t imagine ever tiring of it. He had made her life idyllic.

  How long did it take to choose a silly dishwasher anyway? Poppy brightened at the prospect of enticing Caspar back into bed. They could be home in less than an hour.

  Recognizing the glint in her eye, Caspar said, ‘You are disgraceful. A shameless hussy.’

  ‘I’m a happy hussy.’ Reaching up, she kissed him. ‘You’re not bad, you know. Even if your idea of a romantic day out is a trip to the electricity showrooms.’

  ‘Actually, I thought we might visit B & Q afterwards.’ Caspar sounded amused. ‘Take a look at kitchen units.’

  ‘That would be too much excitement for one day.’

  ‘I know how to give a girl a good time.’

  ‘Come home with me,’ said Poppy, ‘and I’ll show you a better one.’

  As they began to cross the road she spotted a familiar figure, a vision in billowing violet chiffon, hurrying up a broad flight of steps leading into an official-looking building.

  ‘Look, it’s Rita! Wearing a hat,’ Poppy exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that the Register Office? She must be going to someone’s wedding.’

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘But that’s weird. I asked her if she wanted to meet me for lunch today and she said she was visiting a friend in Kent.’

  As she gazed over the tops of cars, Poppy’s bewilderment grew. Rita reemerged from the building, hanging onto her flower-strewn, Queen-of-Ascot hat with one hand and lighting a cigarette with the other. Behind her, clutching a suitcase, was… of all people… Claudia.

  ‘Hang on, what’s happening?’ Astonished, Poppy pulled off her sunglasses. Now Jake had joined the small group at the top of the steps. And, looking intensely glamorous in a dove-grey morning suit, Hugo Slade-Welch.

  She turned to Caspar. ‘Is something going on that I don’t know about? Is… is Rita marrying Hugo?’

  ‘No. You’re marrying me.’

  ‘I’m what?’

  They were still halfway across the road. Caspar steered Poppy safely onto the pavement. Fishing in his shirt pocket, he pulled out the heavy, diamond-encrusted gypsy ring she had last seen on that eventful afternoon on Jake’s stall. The one she had thought he was buying for Babette. The one Jake had later told her he’d sold to an Australian tourist.

  ‘Well, I’d like you to.’ Caspar waved the ring at her. ‘It rather depends on you saying yes.’

  Shakily Poppy said, ‘Are you serious?’


  ‘Never more so.’

  ‘You mean, you—you planned all this?’

  ‘It helps,’ said Caspar, ‘if you want the guests to turn up.’

  ‘My God, I can’t believe it. But—my hair!’ she wailed, clutching her head. ‘And my clothes… whatever made you do it like this? Why did it have to be a surprise?’

  ‘Look.’ Caspar turned her to face him. ‘With your track record, I thought it was the only way. Every time someone wants to marry you, you do your party trick and run a mile. Sometimes a hundred miles,’ he added dryly. ‘I didn’t want you pulling that one on me.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t!’ Poppy stared at him, amazed he could even think such a thing. ‘It’s different this time. I love you.’

  ‘Yes, well. I wasn’t prepared to risk it. This way, you don’t have a chance to get cold feet. Everyone’s here already, waiting for us. In half an hour it’ll be done.’ Caspar took her trembling hands in his. ‘That is, if you want to.’

  Poppy frowned. ‘You haven’t asked me yet.’

  He half-smiled, inwardly far less confident than he appeared. He just wished she would put him out of his agony and say yes.

  ‘Sorry. Will you marry me?’

  ‘On one knee.’

  ‘Come on, not here.’

  ‘Yes here.’

  Caspar looked appalled.

  ‘In the street?’

  ‘Not in the actual road,’ Poppy said generously, ‘in case you get run over by a bus. You can do it on the pavement.’

  Passers-by were beginning to take notice. An ear-splitting, four-fingered whistle rang out from the top of the Register Office steps. Rita yelled, ‘Blimey, you two, are you getting hitched or what?’

  ‘Hurry up,’ shouted Claudia, holding up the suitcase. ‘I’ve got your clothes in here. You can change in the loo.’

  Further up the road the traffic lights had turned red. Cars, cabs, and a couple of double-deckers ground to a halt. Interested faces peered down at Caspar as he sank to one knee.

  ‘Say you’ll marry me,’ he hissed. ‘Quickly.’

  Poppy thought her heart would explode with joy. She flung out her arms and kissed him. Between kisses she said breathlessly, ‘Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you.’ Car horns tooted all around them as Caspar stood up, hugely relieved that ordeal was out of the way. The passengers on the nearest bus applauded.