by Jill Mansell
Lara gazed up at the faint crack in the ceiling to the left of the window. She had already made that executive decision and whatever happened she’d be sticking to it. Because there was too much to potentially lose now. This wasn’t about her; it wasn’t about what she may or may not want to happen in the future. Her number-one priority was her daughter. Gigi was the important one. Even if, ironically, she seemed quite taken by the idea of her parents getting back together . . .
The prospect of that happening was like closing your eyes, throwing a bunch of flaming torches over your shoulder and wondering if any of them might be about to land in the fireworks box.
Because that was how risky the potential situation would be. The thing about relationships was never knowing in advance how they might end up. And the unknowable answer to that question was what made any kind of involvement impossible. Some people lived together happily ever after. Some broke up and managed to remain friends . . . or at least friendly enough not to let it ruin their lives.
And then there were those who experienced the horror of the kind of break-up that caused fury and havoc and vengeance and retribution and was impossible for either partner to forgive.
Lara had seen it happen to people she knew. Previously loving couples were capable of descending into insult-trading, vicious name-calling and boiling no-holds-barred hatred. Years could pass and still they would be incapable of breathing the same air, even exchanging a couple of simple pleasantries in public. The bitterness intensified and once-happy families remained torn apart.
Which was why she was never going to risk that happening to Flynn and herself.
If the only way to prevent it was by making sure they didn’t get involved in the first place . . . well, for Gigi’s sake, that was what she’d do.
In her head she’d been calling him the gardener but he had to be more of an odd-job man. From inside the shop, Evie watched as the blue van with Ellison’s Hotel on the side pulled up in the yard. Odd-job, wearing a holey grey T-shirt and muddy khaki combats, lifted the bags out of the back and carried them in.
‘Hi there.’ He greeted her with the kind of cheery attitude that suggested his brain had been wiped clean since their last encounter. ‘Bringing back everything the Mannings hired for their party. They had to leave early this morning but they said to say thanks and the costumes were great.’
‘Good. OK, I just need to check them.’ Evie emptied the first bag on to the counter and began giving the outfits a quick but thorough once-over.
‘Making sure there’s no damage?’ said Odd-job. ‘Does that often happen?’
‘Not always accidentally. The other week a client tried to drop off a Marie Antoinette dress. All the buttons were missing.’ Evie pulled a face. ‘She thought they were pretty so she cut them all off and hoped we wouldn’t notice.’
‘Tell me about it. We once caught a couple of guests smuggling a chest of drawers down the staircase at three in the morning.’
Evie smiled slightly. ‘Chest of drawers beats buttons.’
‘Annoying all the same.’ He had a direct gaze and an easy manner as if they were old friends. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I haven’t snipped any rhinestones off the Elvis jumpsuit.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I managed to figure out where I’d seen you before, by the way.’
‘Oh?’ Bugger. Evie kept her head down and concentrated on examining the nun’s habit; please don’t let him start asking questions.
‘You were the one in the wedding dress. In the car that was parked where it shouldn’t have been.’
‘Right.’ She nodded. Don’t ask, don’t ask.
‘That’s what fooled me, why I didn’t make the connection. That big white flouncy wedding dress. Didn’t recognise you in your normal clothes.’
‘Mm.’ Evie frowned at the left sleeve of the habit; subtlety clearly wasn’t his strong point.
‘So, can I ask you something?’
‘Depends what it is.’
‘Tell me to mind my own business if you want, but you aren’t wearing any, you know, rings.’ He nodded at her bare left hand. ‘Does that mean you’re single?’
Evie marvelled at his powers of diplomacy. What a cheek. She raised her head and stared at him. ‘Yes, it means I’m single.’ Was he trying to work out whether she’d run off and left her husband just before the wedding or immediately after it?
Odd-job looked pleased. ‘Good. In that case I’m going to just come out and say it. How about dinner one night?’
For a split second the question made no sense at all. ‘Who with?’
He didn’t falter. ‘With me.’
‘But . . . why?’ Honestly, some men were unbelievable. Evie was fairly sure she was gaping like a goldfish. The awkward silence was broken by Bonnie bursting into the shop carrying a tower of boxes and sporting a long black dangly moustache.
‘Evie, look at these! They’re the Fu Manchus I ordered last week!’ She wiggled her nose like a rabbit and beamed at them both. ‘And the Ozzy Osbourne glasses have arrived, thank goodness, just in time for the Taylors’ party.’ She dumped the boxes on a chair and peeled off the Fu Manchu moustache. ‘These are very well made, you know. Only three pounds each!’
‘I’ll buy one.’ Odd-job playfully addressed Evie. ‘I could wear it when we go out on our date.’
‘Yes, you must! How funny . . . oh . . .’ Bonnie’s voice trailed away as she gazed at Evie. Mystified, she said, ‘Does he mean you? What’s going on here that I don’t know about?’
‘I just asked Evie to have dinner with me. I’m hoping she’s going to say yes.’ His smile was wry. ‘Fingers crossed. She hasn’t said anything yet.’
Bonnie was agog. ‘Goodness, I didn’t realise, I had no idea! So sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Evie blurted out. ‘I’m not going.’ She turned back to Odd-job. ‘Thanks, but I really couldn’t.’
‘That’s a shame.’ He rubbed the back of his head resignedly. ‘Well, never mind. Am I allowed to ask why not?’
‘To be honest, I can’t believe you asked me. After the first time we met,’ said Evie. ‘Considering the whole . . . you know, situation I was in.’
He looked baffled. So did Bonnie, who said, ‘Darling, call me a nosy old bat, but I’d love to know what you two are talking about.’
Evie hesitated, struggling to marshal her thoughts.
Odd-job stepped in. ‘It was a couple of weeks ago, there was a big photo shoot for an ad campaign over at the Ellison. Evie was one of the models and we chatted for a bit . . . oh God, have I said the wrong thing?’ He glanced from Bonnie to Evie, taking in their stunned expressions. ‘I’m really sorry, I just assumed she’d know about the modelling job.’
Bonnie said in astonishment, ‘Evie? Modelling? I had no idea you’d been doing that!’
Odd-job was now shaking his head behind her, mouthing: I’m so sorry.
‘But don’t worry,’ Bonnie exclaimed, ‘there’s no reason to be shy! I think it’s fantastic, darling. Such a thrill! What kind of ad campaign is it?’
What indeed? Some clothing company, presumably, that sold the kind of glamorous dresses you’d wear on special occasions. Because it hadn’t been a real wedding, it had been a photo shoot. And Emily Morris, the acquaintance she’d assumed to be a guest, was forever boasting that she was on the books of a modelling agency and had once appeared in a TV ad for Andrex.
Which went some way towards explaining why Odd-job didn’t think it was weird to invite someone out to dinner just a fortnight after seeing them in a wedding dress.
She still wasn’t going to go, though.
‘These are all fine.’ Evie opened the till and handed him back the deposit. ‘OK, there you go. Thanks very much. Bye.’
He flashed her yet another look of apology and left the shop, just as his phone started to ring.
‘Tell me everything!’ demanded Bonnie the moment the door had swung shut behind him.
Outside, through the window, Odd-job was now facing away from them, talking into his mobile.
‘I wasn’t modelling. I was wearing my wedding dress. We just stopped off at the Ellison to pick up Lara’s things before heading up to Keswick.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame. I did wonder why you hadn’t happened to mention this fantastic new career.’ Bonnie dismissed the reply with a flick of the hand, then said eagerly, ‘But he invited you to dinner!’
‘I know. How embarrassing.’
‘Not embarrassing at all. I think you should go.’
Evie stared at her. ‘Why?’
‘Because – oh no, he’s leaving, just say yes and I’ll tell you afterwards! Hang on, I’ll bring him back . . .’
Oh God, this was typical Bonnie, acting on impulse whether you wanted her to or not. Outside, having finished his phone call, Odd-job was about to get into the van. Rocketing outside, Bonnie stopped him and launched into an earnest conversation; with a bit of luck he’d just shake his head, tell her that he wasn’t desperate and drive off.
But he evidently was that desperate, because he was now coming back into the shop. This time Bonnie waited outside.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Evie blurted out, ‘she gets these mad ideas into her head, you don’t have to take any notice of her—’
‘Hey, she insisted. And I always do as I’m told. Besides,’ Odd-job sounded amused, ‘I like a challenge. Are you free tomorrow night?’
Bonnie was now watching her intently through the glass, nodding encouragement. Evie sighed and said, ‘Well . . .’
‘That’ll be a yes, then. Your boss already told me tomorrow’s fine. Where would you like me to pick you up?’
‘Nowhere. I mean, I’ll meet you in town.’
‘OK. How about outside Brown’s at eight o’clock?’
‘Fine.’ She shrugged.
‘Cheer up. You never know, you might end up enjoying yourself.’
‘I might.’ Evie didn’t hold out much hope; she already wanted to strangle Bonnie.
‘Good. I’m Ethan, by the way.’
‘Hello, Ethan. Can I just apologise in advance, because you probably won’t have much fun. It’s only fair to warn you.’
‘Like I said, I’m up for the challenge.’ As he headed for the door, Ethan added playfully, ‘Just don’t stand me up, will you?’
When he’d driven away, Evie said, ‘OK, now tell me why you made me do that.’
‘Be-cause,’ Bonnie launched into her agony aunt voice, ‘you know I want you and Joel to get back together. But he behaved like an idiot and cheated on you, and if you were to eventually forgive him and take him back, you’d always, deep down, resent what he did. But if you have a fling with someone else, you won’t have to feel resentful any more. That would make you equal!’
Evie briefly closed her eyes; talk about moving the goalposts. ‘You didn’t say a fling, you said dinner. I really don’t want a fling.’
‘Dinner’s a start. Honestly, it worked a treat for my friend Brenda. Her husband had an affair and she was in bits. She moved out of the house and they were heading for divorce. He was distraught and kicking himself, but she couldn’t get over what he’d done – she just wanted to punish him and didn’t know how. Then out of the blue she met this younger man at the gym and they had the most amazing affair . . . and it did the trick! She felt better, her husband felt worse, the balance was restored and they saved their marriage!’
‘Bonnie—’
‘That was nine years ago, they’re still together and they’re happy,’ Bonnie emphasised. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It just came to me in a flash when this one said he’d asked you out. It’s perfect!’
‘But not very fair on him. What happened to the guy your friend met at the gym?’
‘Darling, who knows? But he was a personal trainer with the body of a Greek god. I’m sure he didn’t pine for too long. Anyway, you’re going out on a date – wait till Joel gets to hear!’ Evidently thrilled with her new plan, Bonnie said, ‘This is going to be just the kick up the backside he deserves.’
Evie frowned. ‘If that’s why I’m doing it, wouldn’t it be easier for me to just pretend I’m seeing someone else?’ OK, this was crazy, she wasn’t at all sure she even wanted Joel back. Game-playing had never been her forte.
‘Ah, but that’s only a tiny bit of it.’ Bonnie held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘The main point is that you’d know you were seeing someone else. If you’re just pretending, how can that make you feel equal? You have to give Joel a taste of his own medicine!’
‘You mean you want me to sleep with this . . . stranger from the Ellison Hotel? Because that’s not going to happen.’
‘You don’t have to sleep with him. It’s not compulsory. Just have a night out with another man.’ Bonnie beamed encouragingly. ‘He seems nice enough. It could be fun, and it’ll definitely teach Joel a lesson. What could be better than that?’
Honestly? A lazy evening in front of the TV with a bag of Lindor truffles and a box set of The Wire would be a thousand times better.
But it was a bit late to say so now.
The flight from Barcelona had just landed on time. Bristol Airport was packed with travellers. Lara, having turned up early to be on the safe side, was drinking coffee and people-watching, one of her favourite pastimes. A married couple were getting emotional, preparing to be separated. The wife was hugely overweight, the husband superskinny and they kept giving each other one last hug-and-kiss before he headed upstairs to Departures. At least, they were both wearing wedding rings; maybe they weren’t married to each other.
Next, Lara turned her attention to a gaggle of girls off on a hen weekend, exchanging saucy banter with a separate group of men setting out on a stag do. If they were all on the same flight it would be a rowdy one . . . and who knew which of them might end up sharing more than a plane.
Finally, a vignette that tugged at the heartstrings: a mother in her mid-fifties saying goodbye to her early-twenties backpacking son. Determinedly upbeat and cheerful, she stood at the foot of the escalator and waved as he called out, ‘Bye, Mum, see you next year!’ Only when he’d disappeared from view did she turn away and allow her composure to crumple, the tears spilling down her face.
Oh God, poor woman. Lara felt a lump expand in her own throat; saying goodbye to your children had to be the hardest thing in the world. It was going to be bad enough when Gigi left to go to university . . . OK, don’t think about that now. She finished her coffee and headed over to Arrivals; it was time for the travellers from Barcelona to start filtering through the gate.
She didn’t have long to wait. With only a carry-on bag and no reason to wait at baggage claim, Jo Finnegan was one of the first to appear. Lara recognised her at once from the photo on her blog and waved to attract her attention.
‘My goodness, look at you!’ Jo greeted her with a warm hug. ‘Little Lara, all grown up!’
It was an oddly emotional moment. She didn’t know many people who’d known her mum. Lara felt a surreal urge to plug Jo into a computer and download every last memory she had.
‘It’s lovely to see you. Thanks so much for changing your plans.’
‘My pleasure. I’ve always been the impatient type. Now, let me take a proper look at you . . .’
Lara did the same. Jo Finnegan was browner and wrinklier in the flesh, and she was sporting bright coral lipstick today. Her earrings were again huge and dangly, her faded brown hair haphazardly pinned back. She was wearing a purple linen shirt and matching loose linen trousers, with dusty leather sandals on her feet.
‘I can see your mum in you,’ Jo pronounced with satisfaction.
‘I know.’ Lara loved being able to pick out the similarities in the few photographs she had of her mother; the tilt of the chin, the line of the eyebrows, the same legs.
‘And your father. Is he . . . well?’
There had definitely been a moment of hesit
ation. ‘He died a few weeks ago.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘No need. I’m not.’
They exchanged a long look, signalling mutual understanding. Lara felt a swizzle of excitement in her stomach.
‘Oh, my darling girl.’ Jo reached for her hands and clasped them warmly. ‘We have so much to talk about.’
The swizzles ramped up to the next level. This was so thrilling. There was definitely something here to find out.
Some conversations you simply couldn’t have while you were driving a car. During the journey back to Bath they chatted instead about Jo’s time in Spain. Happily divorced nowadays and working as a potter, she had made many friends and adapted well to life in a mountain village, although regular trips back to visit her aged parents meant she didn’t miss out on such vital aspects of British life as Marks & Spencer and Marmite.
As they approached Bath, Jo said, ‘Do me a favour, will you? Be a darling and pull in at the next lay-by. I just love the view from here over the city.’
Spooky coincidence or what? Lara did as she asked and switched off the ignition. ‘It’s my favourite place too. When I came back for the first time after eighteen years, I stopped at this exact spot to show my daughter where I used to live.’
‘You have a daughter?’ Jo looked pleased. ‘That’s lovely. How old?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘Oh my goodness! Really? But that means . . .’
Lara opened the driver’s door and said, ‘Yes, it does.’
They sat together on the grassy slope below the lay-by, drinking in the view. Lara told Jo the story of how she’d come to leave Bath. Jo listened without interrupting once.
‘So that’s it,’ Lara concluded several minutes later. ‘Everything worked out fine. It could have been a disaster but it wasn’t. Gigi’s perfect. And now she’s getting to know Flynn . . . all in all, the last few weeks have been pretty eventful.’ She paused, then tilted her head. ‘But you can see why I said what I did about my father. It sounds awful to say I’m not sorry he died, but it’s the truth. I don’t think he ever liked me and I could never understand why. Then there was the will-reading in the solicitor’s office and I found out the house had never been his, it had been bought in my mum’s name. But how could that happen? Where did the money come from? And was this why he hated me, or was there some other reason . . . ?’
