Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  Catch her breath? What breath? There was none left in her lungs, that was for sure. Lola shook her head, determined not to give in. This was badminton, for crying out loud. If it had been tennis or squash she could have understood being this exhausted, but badminton wasn’t anywhere near in that league; everyone knew it was one of those namby-pamby games played by children and old people where you flicked a silly little shuttlecock back and forth over a net. As a child she’d played badminton in the back garden and it hadn’t been remotely like this.

  ‘Oof,’ Lola gasped, lunging after the shuttlecock as it whistled past her ear. Stupid, stupid racquet…

  ‘Fourteen-three.’ Grinning, Nick prepared to serve again.

  ‘Oof.’ Fuck.

  ‘Game. Well done.’ He came round to her side of the net, patted her on the back.

  ‘You can’t say well done when it wasn’t.’ Clutching her sides where two stitches were competing to see which of them could hurt most, Lola panted, ‘I was rubbish.’

  ‘No you weren’t, you were actually pretty good. But I was better.’

  ‘That’s so unfair. I’m your daughter. Aren’t you supposed to let me win?’

  He looked amused. ‘Not when you’re twenty-seven.’

  Lola leaned forward, hands on knees, then realized people watching outside the badminton court would see her knickers and hurriedly straightened up. To add insult to injury it had all been her idea to come here tonight because she’d found out that Merton’s Sports and Fitness Club in Kensington was where Dougie was a member and last Thursday Sally had mentioned in passing that he was playing squash that night. Working on the assumption that Thursdays at Merton’s might be a regular thing, Lola had called up the club and asked if she and her father could come along and try out the facilities before deciding whether or not to join.

  And yes, Merton’s did indeed seem like a great place to socialize and expend a few calories if you were so inclined, but there was one small drawback.

  No Doug. Anywhere at all. They’d been given the full guided tour of the club and there was no sign of him. Plus, having been generously given a free, hour-long slot on this badminton court, they were now morally obliged to carry on using it.

  Still panting like a pervert, Lola glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nine minutes down, fifty-one to go.

  She looked at her father, who wasn’t even remotely out of breath. ‘OK, we’ll have another game. But this time pretend I’m six and let me win.’

  ***

  Never had an hour passed so slowly. By the end of it, Lola was puce in the face, wheezing like a steam engine and staggering around on legs like overcooked spaghetti. Badminton wasn’t namby-pamby after all. Battle-hardened members of the SAS could hone their fitness levels playing this game. Thank goodness Dougie hadn’t been here to witness her humiliation.

  ‘Ready for a drink?’ said Nick as she shakily wiped her face and neck with a towel.

  ‘Ready for loads of drinks.’ How could she ever have thought that coming to this place tonight would be a good idea? As soon as they’d showered and dressed they were out of here.

  ‘You’ve dropped your hairband,’ said Nick as Lola just about managed to haul the strap of her sports bag onto her shoulder.

  ‘I can’t pick it up, it hurts too much.’

  She waited as Nick went back to retrieve the pink hairband, then turned and wearily pushed through the glass swing doors.

  Dougie was standing on the other side, watching her.

  ‘Oh!’ So much for thanking her lucky stars he wasn’t here. If there was a god, he really did have it in for her. A trickle of sweat slid down her forehead for that extra-glamorous finishing touch.

  ‘Lola, what’s going on?’ Doug shook his head. ‘Are you stalking me?’

  Lola swallowed, suddenly realizing that this was exactly what she was doing. Instantly on the defensive she said, ‘What are you talking about? Of course I’m not stalking you! Who says you’re not stalking me?’

  ‘I’ve been a member of this club for the last three years. I thought maybe my sister happened to mention it.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t.’ Technically this was true; Elly who worked for him had been the one who’d mentioned it. But shame crept up and Lola felt her pulse quicken. Oh God, he was right, she was turning into one of those deranged females incapable of accepting rejection, madwomen who end up shouting in the street and getting arrested for harassment.

  ‘Here’s your hairband.’ Catching up with them, Nick eyed Dougie coolly and said, ‘What’s this about stalking? I was the one who suggested we try this club. It wasn’t Lola’s idea to come here.’

  And now she had her father covering for her, lying to protect his deranged-stalker daughter. Mortified, Lola gazed down at her feet and felt the trickle of sweat drip down to her chin.

  ‘Sorry, I was just surprised to bump into her. Didn’t have Lola down as the badminton-playing type.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Defiantly Lola said, ‘We had a fantastic game.’

  ‘Really?’ Dougie’s mouth was twitching. ‘When I looked through the window half an hour ago you didn’t appear to be having much fun.’ He turned to Nick. ‘Hi, I’m Doug Tennant. You must be Lola’s father.’ Shaking Nick’s hand, he said, ‘You were wiping the floor with her.’

  Nick relented. ‘I was rather, wasn’t I?’

  Oh terrific.

  ‘I’m going to get showered and changed,’ said Lola.

  ‘Me too. See you in the bar afterwards.’ Nick nodded cheerfully at Doug. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Ten minutes later Lola screeched to a halt at the entrance to the bar. Doug was standing with his back to her, talking to a couple of women with toned brown thighs. There was no sign of Nick. She retraced her steps and waited for him to emerge from the men’s changing room.

  He looked surprised when he did. ‘What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting in the bar.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay for a drink. Doug’s in the bar. He’ll only think I’m stalking him again.’

  ‘Hey, that’s OK, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes it does matter.’ Lola wearily shook her head. ‘Because he’s right, I have been stalking him. And it’s time to stop.’

  They went to Café Rouge in Lancer Square. Over red wine she’d ordered but no longer had the heart to drink, Lola told Nick the whole story from beginning to end.

  ‘So that’s it, I’ve basically made the world’s biggest fool of myself but it’s all over now. Doug’s not interested in me and I’ve finally accepted it. I gave it my best shot and I failed. Time to give up and move on. As everyone always loves to say, there are plenty more fish in the sea.’ Lola curled her lip. ‘Although whenever they say that, it really makes me want to get hold of a big fish and smack them round the face with it.’

  ‘I won’t say that then. Oh, sweetheart, I do feel for you.’ Reaching across the table, Nick gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t told me any of this before.’

  ‘I didn’t want you thinking you’d got yourself a scary daughter. You might have run for the hills.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘OK, but you might have thought I was pathetic.’ Lola shrugged. ‘I wanted to impress you, make you think you had a daughter to be proud of.’

  ‘Sweetheart, I am proud of you.’

  Lola blinked back tears; he was being so nice to her and it felt lovely being called sweetheart. ‘Yes, but I have behaved pretty stupidly. I mean, throwing myself at a man who kept telling me he didn’t want me, it’s hardly the brightest thing to do. Anyway,’ hastily she drew a line with her free hand, ‘I won’t be doing that any more.’

  ‘I wish there was something I could do to help.’ Nick thought about it for a couple of seconds. ‘Do you want me to have a w
ord with him?’

  Lola smiled, because that brought back memories. Once, when she’d been ten, a boy in her class had been teased about his ginger-ness and frecklediness. The teasing had carried on for a few days and the novelty had been about to wear off, until one morning the boy’s mother had turned up at the school, gathered together the group of culprits and given them a good talking-to. The entire school had listened, enthralled. Sadly, she’d been even gingerier and freckledier than her son, so from that day on he’d had to endure months of merciless mickey-taking directed at both himself and his mother.

  ‘Thanks, but there’s no need.’ She imagined Nick giving Doug a good old ticking-off, telling him not to be so mean and ordering him to be nice and give his daughter another chance. ‘It’s over. He’s with Isabel now.’

  ‘And you’ve got EJ.’ Nick’s tone was encouraging. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  Lola shrugged. Of course she liked EJ, but only as a friend. They kissed—which was fine—but hadn’t slept together. He was great company and a nice person but the magic wasn’t there. It wasn’t fair on EJ and she was going to have to tell him. It was time to finish that relationship too—if you could call it a relationship when you weren’t even having sex.

  As they were leaving Café Rouge Nick said, ‘So, what happened to the money Blythe mustn’t know about? What did you spend it on?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  He laughed. ‘Tell me!’

  Lola spotted an approaching taxi. ‘Really, I can’t.’ She stuck out her arm and flagged down the cab. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I can’t tell anyone. Ever.’

  Chapter 46

  Sally had done something to annoy Gabe and she had a pretty shrewd idea what it might be.

  The tidiness issue—or rather the lack of it—had over the last couple of weeks become a real bone of contention.

  OK, even more of a bone of contention than it had always been. She could tell because the difference in Gabe was pronounced. He had withdrawn mentally, almost as if he couldn’t be bothered to argue with her any more. He was also distancing himself physically, working all hours and spending less and less time at home. At first she’d been thrilled that he’d stopped nagging her to clear up after herself but after a while she’d kind of begun to miss it. As her torn calf muscle gradually repaired itself and she grew less reliant on crutches, Sally had even found herself once or twice doing the washing-up while there were still clean plates in the cupboard.

  Not that Gabe had noticed or shown signs of being remotely grateful when she’d pointed it out to him; he’d been so distant and offhand recently that she’d almost given up trying to please him.

  Almost, but not quite. Because Gabe was being a grumpy sod but Sally still wanted to cheer him up, get the old relaxed smiley Gabe back.

  And today was her last day of being an invalid. At midnight, Cinderella-style, her sick note expired. Tomorrow she was going back to work at the surgery and she was looking forward to it. Inactivity had bred boredom. She’d watched too much TV, read too many magazines, eaten far too many biscuits. In fact, she could do with expending a bit of energy now. Gazing around the flat, Sally decided to spend the day tidying up and… oh God, could she do it?… de-cluttering the flat she’d devoted so much time to cluttering up.

  Yes, she could do it and she was going to. Feeling energized already, Sally pushed up her sleeves and limped over to the ornate stained-glass mirror by the window. She knew her passion for colored fairy lights drove Gabe to distraction. OK, fine, she could live without fairy lights. Reaching up, she unwound the ones draped around the mirror and threw them onto the sofa. Then, because the mirror was now looking naked, like a Christmas tree brutally stripped of decorations, she took it down too.

  Breathe in, breathe out, no need to panic. And that pink lampshade with the glittery fringing was another culprit; Gabe had always hated it. Sally unplugged the lamp and added it to the mirror and the fairy lights on the sofa. She was on the verge of hyperventilating now but that was OK, no need to panic, it was only stuff. It didn’t make a difference to her life.

  Cushions next. She’d keep her silver sequined star-shaped cushion—in her bedroom—but the rest could go. And all the tea-light holders, which she knew Gabe found unbelievably pointless. And the vase of peacock feathers on the floor next to the TV. And any magazines more than two months old. Right, start with the cushions, then move on to—

  Sally stopped in mid-fling at the sound of the letterbox clattering downstairs. The post had arrived an hour ago, so what was this? Hobbling over to the window, expecting to see a spotty teenager delivering flyers, she peered down and saw instead the rear view of a slender blond disappearing into the back of a black cab. The door slammed shut and the taxi pulled away.

  Curious enough to go and investigate, Sally wrestled the armful of cushions into a black bin bag then made her way downstairs. Reaching the front door, she bent down and retrieved the envelope from the mat.

  It was a plain, pale blue envelope with Gabe’s name on the front. Just that, Gabe, no surname, written in black ink with enough of a curly flourish about it to indicate that it had been penned by a girl.

  Was this why he’d been so distant lately? Was Gabe embroiled in a tempestuous relationship that for some reason he hadn’t mentioned to her or Lola? As she slowly made her way back up the stairs, Sally itched to know what the envelope contained. Could she do that holding-it-over-the-kettle thing and steam it open? OK, maybe not; she’d tried that once during her miserable time with Toby the Tosser. Not only had the letter not been incriminating—it had been a dental appointment—the steam had turned the envelope all crinkly, making it glaringly obvious what had happened to it. And hadn’t Tosser Toby enjoyed getting his money’s worth out of that little slip-up? He hadn’t let her forget it for weeks.

  Back in the flat Sally heroically put the letter down on the table. No snooping; instead she’d get on with the job in hand. Rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers she located an advertising card she’d kept—how spooky was that?—from a small local charity asking for items to sell in their shop. Can’t Deliver? We’ll Collect! promised the card, which was jolly helpful of them. She called the charity’s number and booked them in for four o’clock. There, now she couldn’t chicken out. Once everything was gone, it was gone for good.

  Clean, clear lines might actually be nice. De-clutter your surroundings, de-clutter your life. As she energetically dragged magazines out from under the armchair, Sally began to feel better already. She could become a style icon, a champion of minimalism, and space creation.

  Blimey, and she’d always thought style icons were boring! She’d be turning into Anouska Hempel next.

  ***

  Gabe stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene.

  Finally he said, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Ta-daaa! Just call me Anouska Hempel.’ To match the cool, clean lines of the flat, Sally had even changed into a floaty white dress.

  ‘Who?’ As he studied the living room, devoid of… well, pretty much everything, Gabe said flatly, ‘So that’s it, you’re off.’

  ‘What?’ It was Sally’s turn to be confused.

  ‘Leaving, taking all your stuff with you. Moving out, moving on…’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head, dismayed by the realization that this was probably what he’d been praying for. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I just tidied up. I thought you’d be pleased! I started doing a little bit then I got carried away. And guess what? I think I like it!’

  Gabe exhaled audibly—with relief or disappointment, she couldn’t tell. He put down his camera and said evenly, ‘So where is everything?’

  ‘Gone.’ Sally’s spirits plummeted; she’d been so proud of herself. Why couldn’t Gabe be proud of her too?

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘Charity shop.’

/>   ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m turning over a new leaf!’ If her leg hadn’t still been hurting she’d have stamped her foot. ‘Gabe, why are you being like this?’

  He shrugged. ‘Probably because I’m wondering why you’re being like this. It isn’t you.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Sally’s voice rose in frustration. ‘All my life people have complained about how untidy I am, and now I’m doing something about it you’re being all weird.’

  ‘I’m not being weird,’ said Gabe, who definitely still was. ‘I’m just wondering who you’re trying so hard to impress.’ He eyed her white dress and make-up and said with an edge to his voice, ‘Off out somewhere tonight?’

  Like she was some kind of prostitute or something.

  ‘Yes.’ Sally stared back at him. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘Who are you seeing?’

  Honestly, damn cheek. In actual fact she’d been invited over to dinner by her lovely boss Dr Willis and his wife Emily to celebrate her return to work. Annoyed by Gabe’s attitude, Sally said, ‘What are you, my mother?’ and flounced into her bedroom. If he was going to be this grumpy and horrible, so was she.

  When she returned ten minutes later with a black and white checked holdall, Gabe raised an eyebrow.

  ‘So you won’t be home.’

  Having earlier turned down the Willises’ kind offer of a bed for the night in order to save her the tube journey into work the next day, Sally had now changed her mind. Maybe by the time she returned tomorrow evening, Gabe would have snapped out of his mood. ‘Well done. You should be a detective. Oh, by the way, you’ve got a lett—’

  ‘What?’ Gabe looked up from his laptop when she abruptly stopped in mid-sentence.

  Sally’s brain shot into overdrive, replaying the last eight hours at warp speed. The letter… where had the letter gone? She’d left it on the coffee table before launching into her tidying frenzy and now it was no longer there. Somewhere along the way it had got swept up in the whirlwind and deposited goodness knows where.