by Jill Mansell
‘Fine. I’ll take them off you, shall I?’ Having seized the bags containing the presents, Doug stepped back. ‘There we go. Thanks. Have a good Christmas.’
He was a man. He probably only watched testosterone-fueled, action-packed films like Mission: Impossible and The Great Escape.
‘Don’t be so rude,’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Honestly, I’m so ashamed of you sometimes. I was going to ring earlier and ask you to come and pick me up, but Lola said I mustn’t do that, you were far too busy and important to have time to drive over to us, and that she really didn’t mind struggling onto the tube and fighting through the crowds and trudging through the streets…’
Lola cleared her throat; Sally was getting carried away now.
‘Anyway, the least you can do is invite her in for a drink to say thank you.’
Doug gave her a long-suffering look, then turned and said, ‘Lola, thank you for helping my sister. Won’t you come in for a drink?’
‘Doug, that’s so kind of you.’ Checking her watch, Lola broke into a delighted smile. ‘I shouldn’t really, but… oh, go on then. You’ve twisted my arm!’
The living room was blissfully warm, L-shaped and comfortably furnished. Lola, greedily taking in every detail, noted that Doug—thank God—was neither as chaotically untidy as his sister nor as obsessively neat as Gabe. Charcoal-grey curtains hung at the long sash windows, contrasting with the deep crimson walls. There were magazines beside the sofa, DVDs next to the TV, a dark blue sweater left hanging over the back of a chair, various prints and paintings on the walls, two discarded wine glasses on the coffee table…
Oh, and a blond in the kitchen doorway. Now there was an accessory she could have happily done without.
‘Hi,’ said the blond.
‘Hi.’ Lola felt as if she’d just stepped into a lift that wasn’t there.
‘Well, well, this is a surprise.’ Sally, never backward in coming forward, said, ‘Who are you?’
‘This is Isabel. A friend of mine.’ The way Doug moved towards her was oddly protective, almost as if he was preparing to defend an innocent gazelle from a couple of boisterous lion cubs. ‘Isabel, this is my sister Sally.’ In throwaway fashion he then added, ‘And her friend Lola.’
Just to make crystal clear to everyone in the room how completely unimportant she was, how utterly irrelevant to his life.
To compound it, Isabel smiled widely and said, ‘Sally. I’ve heard all about you. Doug’s always talking about you!’
‘Is he? He’s kept very quiet about you.’ Sally unwound her lime-green scarf, flung aside her handbag and plonked herself down on the sofa. ‘So, how long have you two known each other?’
‘Glass of red?’ Evidently keen to be rid of her ASAP, Doug appeared in front of Lola with the open bottle and a clean glass.
Talk about brisk. What could she ask for that would spin things out a bit longer?
‘Actually, I’d love a coffee.’
‘Well, we’ve known each other for ages.’ Across the room, Isabel flipped back her ironed blonde hair and sat down cozily next to Sally. ‘We work together,’ she confided. ‘But we’ve only recently become… you know, closer.’
It hadn’t been love at first sight then. That was something to be grateful for. Although it would be nice if she could have been a bit less pretty.
‘I was seeing someone else,’ Isabel went on, ‘but we broke up. After that, Doug and I just ended up getting together.’
Lola looked at Doug, sending him a telepathic message: we could do that, you and me…
‘Coffee.’ Doug’s tone was brusque; he didn’t appear to be telepathic. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make it.’
‘Actually I’ll come with you.’ Lola flashed him a sunny smile. ‘Then I can make sure you don’t palm me off with instant.’
As she followed Doug into the kitchen, Isabel was saying cheerily, ‘… and I’m going down to Brighton tonight, to stay with my parents. That’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? Mind you, I’m going to miss Doug! I can’t wait to see what he’s bought me. He wouldn’t let me open it tonight.’
The kitchen was nice, black and white and boasting, among other items, a huge chrome Dualit toaster.
‘Still keen on toast, then,’ said Lola.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Inspecting the cupboards. What happened to the Pot Noodles? You used to love Pot Noodles.’
Exasperated, Doug said, ‘When I was seventeen.’
‘I bet you still secretly like them. Once a Pot Noodler, always a Pot Noodler.’ Lola carried on opening and closing drawers and cupboards; finding a secret stash of Hot’n’Spicys would bring her so much joy. ‘I bet you put on a hat and dark glasses, sneak off to some supermarket miles away, praying you won’t bump into anyone you know, and buy up trolley loads at a time. And then you have to smuggle them back to Kensington—imagine the shame if the neighbors found out!’
‘Will you stop riffling through my cupboards?’
‘Why, am I getting warm?’
‘Here, just take your coffee.’ Having sunk the plunger on the cafetière in record time, Doug shoved a small cup into her hands.
Lola peered into the cup. ‘Bit weak.’
‘Too bad. Shall we head back through?’
‘What did you buy Isabel for Christmas?’
Doug looked exasperated. ‘I’m not telling you that.’
Sally, whose eavesdropping skills were second to none, said, ‘You’re not telling her what?’ when they returned to the living room.
‘I was wondering what he’d bought you for Christmas,’ said Lola, ‘that’s all.’
‘Anything’s fine by me.’ Sally beamed at Doug. ‘So long as he’s kept the receipt.’
‘Oh poor Dougie! I wouldn’t dream of taking back anything he bought me,’ trilled Isabel. ‘Whatever it was.’
‘Remember when we bought each other the same CD? Parklife,’ Lola fondly reminisced without thinking. ‘God, we used to play that album non-stop. I can still remember the words to every song.’
‘Hang on, you mean you and Doug bought each other the same CD?’ Isabel looked confused. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…’
Lola shrugged and managed a smile that was both carefree and tinged with regret; it seemed a bit mean to announce that Dougie had been her first love.
‘Oh yes,’ Sally said helpfully. ‘They were boyfriend and girlfriend.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ Doug cut in. ‘Back in the days when I still ate Pot Noodles. As I was just explaining to Lola,’ he added pointedly, ‘our tastes change over the years.’
Isabel let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter. ‘You used to like Pot Noodles? Oh my God!’
Lola was extremely fond of Pot Noodles and felt as protective as a new mother whenever anyone made fun of them. She said evenly, ‘I like Pot Noodles. They’re brilliant. Chicken and Mushroom’s my favorite.’
Chapter 24
‘How are things going with Gabe?’ In order to spare Isabel’s blushes, Doug swiftly changed the subject.
‘Hideous.’ Sally shuddered. ‘Talk about persnickety. He’s so gay, just won’t admit it.’
‘He’s not gay.’ Lola hadn’t yet managed to convince Sally but she kept saying it anyway. ‘If Gabe was gay, he’d be gay. He’s Jack Lemmon, you’re Walter Matthau, and you drive him insane, that’s all it is. Some people leave tea bags in the kitchen sink,’ she told Doug, because there were times when you couldn’t help feeling sorry for Gabe. ‘Yesterday your sister left hers on the coffee table.’
Sally shrugged. ‘Not on purpose. Only because I hadn’t realized it was still in my mug.’
Lola had been making her coffee last as long as possible. Finally she was down to the lukewarm grounds.
‘Finished? Good.’ Doug whisked away her cup, clearly keen to see the back of her.
Which—and here was her optimism rushing to the fore again—could mean that her presence was disturbing him in a good way.
‘Could I use your bathroom before I go?’ It was freezing out there; even Doug couldn’t banish her and her bursting bladder to the vagaries of the great outdoors, surely?
Although he looked as if he’d quite like to.
‘Out in the hall. Second door on the left.’
It was actually a tricky exercise, walking the length of the living room in a natural manner, super-aware of Dougie’s eyes upon her. What was he really thinking? Was he mentally comparing her with Isabel? Come to that, how did she compare with Isabel? Her rival—the rival she hadn’t known existed before now—was a cool sleek blonde with high-maintenance hair and a hint of the ice princess about her. She was probably more classically beautiful but was she as much fun? Pretty was all very well but Lola felt she might have the edge when it came to character. She was the playful spaniel whereas Isabel was more of a pampered feline; Isabel was Grace Kelly while she was Doris Day; Isabel had the kind of high-pitched laugh that could easily start to get on a man’s nerves after a—
‘I said second door on the left.’ Out in the hall Doug’s voice behind Lola made her jump. ‘That’s the second on the right.’
But he was a split second too late; she’d already opened the door and walked into his bedroom.
Bingo!
‘Sorry. I’m always getting my left and right mixed up. Wow, this is nice!’ Taking another step into the room, she drank in the burnt-orange walls, the duvet and pillowcases in bitter chocolate, the polished oak floorboards and mahogany furniture. This was where Doug slept, this was his bed. Lola did her best to picture him in it, except there was one small but vitally important detail missing. She couldn’t see any pajamas, but… ‘Do you still sleep naked?’
There, she’d said it.
Doug shook his head. ‘You don’t change, do you?’
Oh well. She shrugged. ‘I like to know these things.’
‘Even though “these things” aren’t any of your business?’
But he wasn’t sounding entirely pissed off. Encouraged, Lola said innocently, ‘I just wondered if you’d turned into the kind of man who wears stripy cotton pajamas all buttoned up to the neck, like Kenneth Williams in Carry On Nurse.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Oh yes, that’s me. That’s what I wear.’
‘You don’t.’
‘I definitely do.’
‘You still sleep naked.’ Lola exhaled with relief; now she was able to picture him in his king-sized bed. Even better, ice queen Isabel wasn’t in there with him.
Hmm, ice queens probably had cold feet.
‘OK, you’ve had your snoop around,’ said Doug. ‘Now I’ll show you where the bathroom is.’
She couldn’t help herself; the question was bubbling up. ‘Do you really like her?’
‘Do I really like who?’
‘Isabel.’
As he steered her out of the bedroom and pointed her in the direction of the door opposite, Doug said, ‘Again, not actually any of your business. But if it helps,’ he paused, causing Lola’s heart to expand with hope, ‘then I suppose I’d have to say yes, I do.’
The pause had been deliberate. He knew exactly why she was asking and now he was getting his own back. Recklessly Lola said, ‘Is sleeping with her as much fun as it was with me?’
There, there was that flicker again. God, she loved that flicker behind the eyes.
‘Lola, you’re talking about ten years ago. I don’t even remember what sleeping with you was like.’
Which, if she’d believed him, might have counted as a put-down. Luckily Lola didn’t for a minute.
‘You know what I think? I think I must be having an effect on you if you’re having to say stuff like that.’ There was a warm glow in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with needing the loo. With a playful smile Lola said, ‘Because I know you’re lying now. I remember every detail of every minute of every time with you, Dougie. And I still will when I’m ninety. Because it was the most important thing in the world to me. It meant everything. And I know you remember it too.’
Another pause. He took a step closer and leaned forward, causing her to suck in her breath…
‘It was almost the most important thing in the world to you.’ Doug whispered the words in her ear. ‘Remember? It came in second, behind money.’
Which put a bit of a dampener on a potentially promising moment. Doug turned and headed back to the living room and Lola paid her visit to the bathroom, which was white and modern and thankfully devoid of girly toiletries. Careful not to clink the bottle against the glass shelf, she unscrewed the top of Doug’s aftershave and inhaled. It never failed to astound her that smells could be so evocative. Christmas trees, her mum’s chocolate cake, fireworks, Ambre Solaire… so many smells, each triggering a different memory, and now she had Doug’s distinctive aftershave added to the list, one more unique scent with the ability to transport her back to the night she’d met him again, the power to make her knees go weak with longing.
And it would still be happening when she was ninety.
OK, better put the bottle back on the shelf before she dropped it into the sink; that would be a giveaway. Time to say her goodbyes and leave. Gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Lola pinched her cheeks and jooshed up her hair. With a bit of luck, what with everyone being jolly and wishing each other Happy Christmas, she might get the chance to give Doug a festive hug and a fleeting kiss on the cheek.
Not much to pin your hopes on, maybe. But every little helped.
***
‘Oh, come here, don’t you look gorgeous, where did you get that scarf?’ Blythe flung open the front door and enveloped her daughter in her arms. As the car pulled away and disappeared up the road she said, ‘Did somebody give you a lift? Why didn’t you invite them in for a drink?’
Lola closed her eyes and reveled in being in her mother’s arms; at least it wasn’t going to be a completely hug-free evening. And yes, she was looking gorgeous, not that it had had the desired effect.
‘I would have,’ she fibbed, ‘but they were in a hurry. It was Doug.’
‘Doug? You mean Dougie Tennant?’ Blythe exclaimed. ‘Oh, he was always such a dear boy—I’d love to have seen him again. You should have forced him to come in!’
Oh yes, and wouldn’t that have been relaxing? Earlier, as they’d all been preparing to leave Dougie’s flat, Lola had briefly cornered him and murmured, ‘By the way, my mum doesn’t know about the money thing, OK? I’d rather she didn’t find out.’
Doug had given her one of his withering looks, the kind that made her insides curdle with shame. ‘I’ll bet you don’t.’
It was horrible but there was nothing she could do. And she hadn’t been able to risk not warning him, because there was always the chance that Blythe could have come rushing out of the house, blurting out anything. As far as she was aware, Lola had known that Dougie’s mother disapproved of their relationship but that was all. The decision to finish with Dougie and move to Majorca had been Lola’s alone, typically impetuous and possibly foolhardy, and based on Lola’s decision that a long-term, long-distance relationship with Dougie could never work out.
‘But if he gave you a lift over here, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?’ Now, studying her daughter’s face, Blythe said hopefully, ‘Do you think he might be starting to forgive you yet?’
‘Mum, stop it, don’t get carried away.’ Phew, just as well Doug had driven off at the speed of light; Lola envisaged her mother telling him that there were worse things in life than a bit of wounded pride. Hurriedly she nipped her mother’s fantasies in the bud—it was bad enough being disa
ppointed by her own. ‘He’s with his girlfriend. I went over to his flat with Sally. He only gave me a lift because she forced him to.’ Maybe she was being extra-suspicious but Lola also wondered if Doug had done it in order to avoid the festive goodbye hug-and-a-kiss. When she’d clambered out of the back of the Mercedes with her bags of presents, he’d pretty much made reaching him a physical impossibility by remaining in the driver’s seat with Isabel next to him.
Had that been deliberate?
‘Oh well, never mind. Men and their silly egos.’ Blythe was nothing if not supportive. ‘Come on inside, it’s freezing out here. We’re going to have such a lovely time,’ she went on proudly. ‘I’ve got smoked salmon and Madagascan king prawns from Marks and Spencer. Your favorites.’
***
It was the not knowing how her mother might react that was causing Lola to hesitate. On the one hand she wanted, more than anything, to talk about her father.
Not her stepfather, Alex. The biological one, Nick.
On the other hand, it was Christmas morning and the very last thing she wanted to do was upset Blythe. Their family Christmases had always been extra-special, but since Alex’s death five years ago, she and her mother had made even more of an effort, drawing closer still, both of them treasuring this time together and cherishing all the shared happy memories that meant so much.
Which was why, despite longing to raise the subject of Nick James, every time she geared herself up to do it Lola felt her stomach clench and the words stick in her throat. She had the number of his mobile keyed into her phone. Was he wondering why she hadn’t contacted him yet? It was Christmas Day and the schmaltzy, happy-ever-after side of her—the kind that wept buckets over the festive films shown on Hallmark—had dared to fantasize about blurting everything out to her mother, followed by Blythe getting all emotional and admitting that she’d made a terrible mistake all those years ago, and that she’d never stopped loving Nick. Cut to Nick, sitting alone in his flat on Christmas Day, gazing blankly out of the window at small children having a boisterous snowball fight outside in the street—because in Hallmark films it always snows on Christmas Day. A look of regret crosses his face; he made a mistake and has spent the last twenty-seven years paying for it. Blythe is still the only woman he’s ever loved, but it’s all too late now, she’s—
