by Jill Mansell
‘I need to leave them at reception.’
‘The receptionist’s just gone upstairs to help one of the guests sort out his TV.’ The gardener held the heavy door open and followed her inside. ‘She’ll be back in a minute. I’ve just realised what I’m carrying here.’ Amused, he held up the nun’s habit and the bishop’s robe. ‘Ha, look at these. What’s in the bag?’
Cheeky sod, and now he was opening it up, seeing what was in there. ‘Excuse me, can you not do that? Leave it alone, it’s not yours.’
‘I just wanted to—’
‘Well, you can’t. Get your dirty hands off it.’ Dumping the outfits on the desk, Evie snatched the bag away from him; the irony of it being her turn to tell him off didn’t escape her.
‘My hands aren’t dirty,’ he protested.
‘I don’t care. I still don’t want you poking around in there. It’s none of your business.’
‘Hang on, haven’t I seen you before?’ He was surveying her more closely now. ‘Where do I know you from?’
Oh yes, because that was just the conversation she wanted to have. Like she was actually going to remind him. Evie said, ‘I’ve no idea. Anyway, I’ll wait here for the receptionist to come down. You can get back to your watering.’
Whoops, she’d meant to sound mildly dismissive, not downright derogatory.
Beneath his uncombed hair, the gardener raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Watering plants is important. If you don’t do it, they die.’
Feeling guilty and keen to get rid of him before he remembered when they’d last met, Evie said, ‘I know, sorry. And thanks for all your help.’ Never had she been so glad to see the brunette in her smart blue uniform come clip-clopping down the staircase. ‘Ah, here’s the receptionist . . . bye.’
And still he didn’t move. Why wasn’t he heading back outside? Oh no, he’d helped her carry everything up the steps and into reception. Mortified that it hadn’t occurred to her before, Evie scrabbled around in her jacket pocket and found a couple of the coins she kept in there for parking meters. A fifty pence piece and a pound. Well, he wasn’t having both.
‘Sorry, there you go.’ Hastily she pressed the pound coin into his hand, then made a point of turning her attention to the receptionist. ‘Hello! I’ve got a delivery for some guests of yours . . . the Manning family . . .’
There were some things you accepted might happen in real life, and others that were less likely. Then there were the things you really couldn’t ever imagine happening, like Prince Charles taking up breakdancing or Rod Stewart marrying a brunette.
When Gigi came bursting into the living room clutching her laptop and yelling, ‘Oh my God, you are not going to believe this,’ Lara said, ‘Let me guess. Robbie Williams joined Westlife.’
‘Way better than that. Wait till you see.’ Gigi plonked herself down on the sofa between Evie and Lara and wriggled to make room for her elbows. ‘God, I can’t believe he didn’t tell us himself. But that’s Harry for you. Leave it to him and it might occur to him to mention it in his next Christmas card.’
This was about Harry? Lara said, ‘He might mention what?’
Evie peered at the screen. ‘Is this Harry who was away on holiday when I was up there?’
‘The very one.’ Gigi was busy clicking on links. ‘If we’ve told you he’s a fuddy-duddy, you have no idea just how fuddy and how duddy. OK, here it is, take a look at this . . .’
‘Wow,’ said Lara when they’d finished watching. ‘Just . . . wow.’
This was what Harry, in his inimitable way, would have called a turn-up for the books. She smiled, remembering how Gigi, aged five, had thought it was a turnip for the books. Ever since, anything remotely surprising had always been described as a turnip.
And this was a turnip and a half.
‘It’s just mad.’ Gigi was busy scrolling through the hundreds of comments on EnjaySeven’s website. ‘Talk about the odd couple. But everyone’s buying the shirts! Sales must be going through the roof. And then guess what you see when you go to the Flying Ducks website.’
‘I can’t guess.’ Lara envisaged the old-fashioned, utterly basic homepage splashed with Hollywood-style fanfare and giant photos of EnjaySeven.
‘Nothing! Nothing at all!’ Clicking on to it, Gigi showed them. ‘Not a single mention. Unbelievable.’
To be fair, there was a tiny message in a box politely requesting customers to be patient while orders were filled, due to an unforeseen increase in demand.
‘Typical Harry,’ Lara said fondly.
‘Typical of my luck.’ Gigi rolled her eyes. ‘Eighteen years I lived in that town, and how many superstar rappers turned up? Yet the minute I move down here, it all kicks off in Keswick.’
‘Never mind,’ said Evie. ‘You got yourself a dad instead.’
‘I know. It’s OK, I’m not complaining about that. God, it’s just so weird though. This time last week I bet Harry didn’t even know what YouTube was. Now he’s not only on it, he’s gone and got himself a million hits and everyone’s going crazy for the uptight English guy.’
‘He looks nice.’ Evie gave Gigi a nudge and pointed to the screen. ‘Go on, play another clip.’
Lara was in Superdrug, trying to choose a new roll-on deodorant and sniffing her way through all the different kinds, because how could you buy one without wanting to know what your underarms were going to smell like?
God, though, so much choice. So much. Waterlily and Mint. Silkflower and Mandarin. Passionfruit and Pink Pepper . . . that one sounded like an hors d’oeuvre . . .
Her phone was ringing. She fished it out of her bag and saw Flynn’s name flash up. ‘Hello?’
‘Hi. I just called round to the house and no one’s in. Where are you?’
His voice still had the ability to make her pulse quicken; the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.
‘What are you, our parole officer?’ Assuming by ‘you’ he meant the two of them, Lara said, ‘Gigi’s gone to get her hair cut. She must have switched her phone off.’
‘I wasn’t asking about Gigi. It’s you I’m after.’ Oo-er, he definitely didn’t mean that the way it sounded.
‘I’m shopping.’ She put the other deodorants back on the shelf and went for Passionfruit and Pepper, dropping it into her basket alongside the exfoliating scrub and razors. Oh, the glamour. Hopefully Flynn would be picturing her wafting through Jolly’s buying glamorous underwear and designer shoes.
As if.
‘In town? Can we meet up? How about at the Moon and Sixpence in fifteen minutes?’
Lara checked her watch; it was midday. ‘OK, but I have to be somewhere by one. Why do you want to see me? Is it about Gigi?’ As she said it, her stomach tightened with fear; was he tiring of his daughter already? Did he feel overwhelmed by her full-on enthusiasm? Had it seemed like a good idea at the time, but the actual reality of being landed with her was turning out to be too much of a responsibility for—
‘Yes, I do need to talk to you about Gigi.’ Flynn paused and fear spiralled into maternal outrage; if he dared to utter just one word of criticism . . . ‘But this is mainly about you.’
Lara made her way up past the Roman baths, thronged with tourists. The Moon and Sixpence was on Milsom Place. She bagged the last empty table outside in the private courtyard and sat down to wait. Flynn would be here in a few minutes. Damn, her underarms felt a bit sticky, but if she were to pay a visit to the Ladies’ someone else might come along and grab the table.
OK, no problem, she could do this. Just to be on the safe side, Lara waited for the waitress to disappear inside before sneaking the deodorant out of her bag and surreptitiously slipping it up under her top. Left arm, done. OK, now swap over. Right arm . . .
‘Hello.’
Bugger, caught in the act. Trust Flynn to be early. She chucked the lid into her handbag and left the roll-on wedged under her arm. Not ideal, but better than him seeing what she’d been up to.
‘Hi, you’re here!’ Now she could
escape to the Ladies’; keeping her right arm clamped to her side, Lara rose to her feet. Awkwardly, Flynn thought she was doing it to greet him with a cheek kiss. She experienced an involuntary frisson as his mouth brushed the side of her face, then felt his hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her back into her seat.
‘I am. There was a parking space right outside. You’re looking smart.’
In honour of her upcoming interview she was wearing a white jersey top and a charcoal pencil skirt. He looked smart too, in his dark suit. Was Flynn the kind of man for whom parking spaces magically materialised wherever he went? Lara watched him as the waitress came rushing over.
‘Drink?’ said Flynn.
‘No, thanks. Just coffee.’
‘Two coffees, please.’
The waitress was visibly, effortlessly charmed by his smile.
‘Go on then,’ Lara prompted when she’d left them to it. ‘What’s this about Gigi?’
He heard the tension in her voice and looked surprised. ‘My God, relax. What are you expecting me to say?’
‘I don’t know. I just want you to tell me.’
‘I thought it was best to check with you first, in case you have other plans. But if you don’t, I’ve spoken to the Greys and it’s fine by them. We’d like to offer Gigi a job.’
‘Oh.’ She hadn’t been expecting that. ‘At the wine merchants?’
‘No, at the circus.’ Flynn nodded. ‘Yes. Not full time. Probably thirty hours a week. How does that sound?’
‘Um, good.’
He frowned. ‘Are you OK? You look kind of . . . stiff. Have you done something to your neck?’
It was hard to relax with a roll-on deodorant clenched under your arm like an alternative version of pass-the-orange. Lara shifted in her seat. ‘I’m fine. I thought you were going to say something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like would it be OK if you took a step back, you’ve done your stint with Gigi, she knows who you are now, can you just get on with your own life?’
‘You seriously think I’d say that?’
‘I don’t know! How would I? All I know is this is my daughter we’re talking about and it’s my job to protect her,’ said Lara. ‘And that’s something I’ll do until the day I die.’
Flynn said, ‘She’s my daughter too.’
‘Fathers walk away from their kids all the time.’
‘Sometimes mothers do too.’
‘Not me.’
‘Nor me.’ He shook his head before they went any further. ‘This is crazy. We’re on the same side here. Based on no grounds whatsoever, you thought I wanted to opt out of having anything more to do with Gigi. But that isn’t true, so that means there’s nothing to argue about.’
‘OK.’ He had a point. But he also had no idea how easy it was to fear the worst. Lara forced herself to relax, whilst still unobtrusively keeping her right arm clamped to her side. Actually, now would be a good time to nip inside and get rid of the roll-on . . .
‘So that’s that sorted,’ said Flynn. ‘If you’re fine with it, I’ll go ahead and talk to Gigi. Now, the other thing,’ he announced just as she was about to push back her chair. ‘The main reason I wanted to see you.’
‘Is it good news or bad news?’ Either way, she was on her way to the loo.
‘Good news, I hope.’
When had she ever been able to resist good news? Lara stayed put. There was something about the way he was saying it. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ve found your mum’s friend.’
She stared at him. ‘You can’t have.’
‘Ah, but I have.’ Flynn was smiling, evidently pleased with himself.
‘How?’
‘I’m quite clever.’
‘You’re not Derren Brown though. I don’t see that it’s possible. How do you know it’s her?’
‘I emailed her this morning. Twenty minutes ago she mailed me back. And I did have some help,’ he added. ‘That was a long list we had to work through. It took a while to narrow it down.’
‘But . . .?’ Lara was stunned; she couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d managed it. She sat back as the waitress returned with their tray of coffee.
Flynn waited until they were alone again before saying in a low voice, ‘I have a friend in the police force. They can trace people through their credit card details.’
Lara’s eyes widened. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’
‘Probably. But it’s all in a good cause.’
‘And that’s how you found her?’
‘It’s how we found a lot of people who weren’t her.’ Flynn took out his iPhone and began tapping away at it.
‘Are you calling her now? Don’t!’ yelped Lara. ‘It’s too soon, I’m not ready!’
‘Calm down, I’m just showing you the email. I Googled the name and found a blog. And the details seemed to fit, so I started reading, and then there was a mention of having once lived in Bath, so I sent her a message asking if she’d ever known someone called Barbara Carson . . .’
‘And she said yes?’
Flynn nodded and passed his phone over so she could see the reply for herself. ‘Her name’s Jo Finnegan. She lives up in the hills outside Barcelona.’
Jo Finnegan. Possibly Josie or Joanne. It still didn’t ring a bell but that was because she’d never really known the name in the first place. And it no longer mattered because Flynn had found her anyway. Lara gazed at the email on the screen and saw that Jo Finnegan hadn’t just said yes, she’d bellowed:
YES I DID KNOW BARBARA!!! And I remember who you are too – how amazing to hear from you after all this time! Longing to know why you’re contacting me and assuming – hoping – it has something to do with Barbara’s daughter. (Good news, preferably.) Please let me know at once. Sorry, my mobile is kaput but send another message and I will reply asap.
Very best wishes, Jo.
Lara exhaled. How amazing. Against all the odds, he’d found her mum’s friend. Not that there was any guarantee that this woman would be able to answer any of the questions she had for her, but it would still be wonderful to contact another person who’d known her mother. As the years had gone by, she hated the sensation that her own memories were depleting, leaving her with a picture like a jigsaw with more and more pieces falling away . . .
‘Want to see what she looks like?’ Taking back the iPhone, Flynn found the blog and scrolled down. ‘There you go.’
The photograph was small but it was recognisably her mother’s friend, a head and shoulders snapshot of a woman in her sixties with a round tanned face. No make-up, but plenty of paler laughter lines fanning out from the corners of her wide-set brown eyes. A crooked nose. Wavy light-brown hair fastened up at the sides with barrettes. Big silver earrings and a generous double chin.
Did she look like the kind of person you’d want to confide your deepest, darkest secrets in? Studying her carefully, Lara thought she probably did.
God, I hope so.
She raised her gaze to Flynn and said, ‘Yes, I remember her face. Those eyes. Thank you.’
‘No problem.’
‘Did it take ages?’
‘Yes. But it was worth it.’
‘One minute I want to kill you,’ said Lara. ‘The next minute, you go and do something nice.’
‘Drink your coffee.’ He pushed her saucer closer. ‘You haven’t touched it.’
‘In a minute. Let me go to the loo first.’ Her brain in a whirl, Lara remembered that this was what she had to do next and jumped to her feet. Sadly she’d forgotten why she was meant to be doing it and reaching for her handbag caused the glass bottle of roll-on deodorant to drop out of her top and land head first with a clatter and a splash in her coffee cup.
Noisy and messy. Plus, everyone was turning to stare. Terrific.
With admirable restraint, Flynn surveyed the scene of the accident. ‘Is that a . . . roll-on deodorant?’
‘Looks like it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I allowed
to ask where you were keeping that thing?’
‘It was under my arm, OK? I forgot it was there. What can I say? You make me nervous.’ Lara hastily mopped up the mess with a napkin and handed the cup with the upended deodorant in it to the waitress who was doing her best not to smirk.
Flynn said, ‘Am I allowed to ask if there’s another one under the other arm?’
‘No there isn’t. Because that would be ridiculous.’
He nodded gravely. ‘You’re right, it would.’
‘Everyone’s still looking at me. Maybe we can go now.’
His mouth began to twitch. ‘If that’s what you want.’
Inside, Lara paid for the untouched coffees and they left the restaurant. There was Flynn’s car, parked just across the road.
‘What do you want to do now?’ He indicated the car. ‘Can I drop you anywhere? Or if you want to go home and get on to the computer, I could give you a lift.’
‘I’ve got an appointment at one. A job interview. God, I wish I didn’t. All I can think about is that woman, Jo. I can’t concentrate on anything else.’
‘Here, just sit in the car.’ Guiding her across the street, he opened the passenger door. A Volvo drew up beside them, the driver keen to park in their space. Even in her agitated state Lara couldn’t help secretly loving the way Flynn shook his head at the man, indicating with a minimal hand gesture that they wouldn’t be leaving. There was just something about his capacity for being masterful and taking control.
The inside of the car smelled of leather and sunlight and aftershave and toast. Lara breathed it in and wished her own car could smell this nice. Maybe if her car seats weren’t plastic and she took to wearing Acqua di Parma aftershave it might stand more of a chance.
‘Here. Why don’t you send her a message now?’ Flynn was offering her his phone.
‘I want to, but I don’t think I can.’
‘Why not?’
Lara held out her hands to show him how much they were shaking. ‘She’d get an email saying Yabi orntstrib, kizzr prym slerky. And then she might think I’m weird.’
