by Jill Mansell
“You shouldn’t be drinking that stuff on its own,” said Jake. “At least put some orange juice with it.”
“Don’t bully me. This is my worst night ever. Do you think he’ll change his mind?” Nuala pleaded, sloshing another inch of gin into her glass.
“Honestly? No.”
“No?” She looked distraught. “You don’t mean that!”
With a sigh and a surreptitious glance at his watch, Jake saw that it was eight o’clock already. Maddy, having left her cell phone at home, was uncontactable. Sophie was staying over at Tiff’s house tonight. And since he clearly wasn’t going to be allowed to abandon Nuala in her current state of drunken grief, he knew he may as well give up any thought of going out.
“Look,” he said. “These things happen. You and Dexter were never right for each other. You’ll be over him in no time.”
“Never.” Misjudging the angle of her glass, Nuala dribbled gin down her chin.
“You deserve so much better,” Jake persisted, this being a useful line he often resorted to himself.
“Oh, do me a favor. I’m not that stupid. Anyway, you have no idea how I feel,” Nuala said miserably. “How can you? You’ve never been rejected in your life.”
Jake smiled briefly to himself as he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. If only she knew.
Aloud he said, “That’s absolutely not true. I wrote a love letter to Madonna when I was twelve and did she write back? Never, not one word. I was distraught.”
As he edged toward the door, Nuala looked up fearfully, clearly terrified of being left on her own. “Where are you going now?”
Jake indicated the bath towel slung around his hips.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I thought I might put some clothes on.”
Still wary, she said, “And after that?”
“After that?” Realizing that he really was stuck here for the evening, Jake decided he may as well make the best of it. Ruffling Nuala’s already ruffled hair, he said affectionately, “I’m going to help you finish that bottle of gin.”
“Thanks.” Nuala’s mouth began to wobble with relief. She couldn’t have handled being abandoned by two men in one night. “Just to warn you, though, I may get a bit weepy.”
“Hey, don’t be daft.” Jake flashed her a grin. He’d had to cope with more than his fair share of weeping females in his time. “Shoulder to cry on? I’m your man.”
By eleven o’clock the bottle of Bombay Sapphire was finished.
“Empty. Bugger.” Nuala looked bereft. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Stop drinking?” said Jake. “It’s a miracle you’re still awake.”
“I’m too depressed to sleep.” She pulled a suicidal face. “OK if I stay here?”
“Course you can. The bed’s made up in the spare room.”
“Oh God, what am I going to do?” Nuala closed her eyes in despair. Every so often she forgot what had happened, then the next moment it all came rushing back to her, making her head spin with misery. “Everyone’s going to be snickering behind my back. I feel so humiliated. I’ll be the laughingstock of Ashcombe.”
“That’s rubbish. Why would anyone laugh?”
“Because Dexter doesn’t want me anymore and that makes me look stupid.” Nuala only realized her right elbow had been propping her up when she moved it. She promptly slid sideways on the sofa, ending up in Jake’s lap.
“You don’t have to look stupid.” He was attempting to haul her upright again, but Nuala decided she was happier horizontal. “Act like you’re not bothered. Put on a brave face, do yourself up, and flirt for England. Isn’t that better than moping around like a wet weekend?”
“Mmm.” Nodding, Nuala thought how delicious Jake smelled and how fantastic the soft cotton of his shirt felt against her cheek. He really was lovely, and—in theory—what he was saying made a lot of sense.
“Show Dexter what he’s missing.” Above her, Jake was still carrying on with his pep talk. “Make it clear you don’t need him.”
“Because I can do so much better, you mean? Come on, look at me.” Nuala groaned. “Black eye, bruises, cracked collarbone—oh yes, they’ll really be lining up for me. Ewan McGregor, George Clooney. How am I ever going to be able to choose?”
“Don’t put yourself down.” Jake gave her hip an encouraging squeeze. “By this time next week, your bruises will be gone.”
“Big deal,” Nuala muttered into Jake’s shirt.
“Stop it. You’re not ugly. And you do deserve better than Dexter.”
Turning her head, Nuala blinked up at him. Jake Harvey was possibly the best-looking male she’d ever encountered in the flesh. You couldn’t look at him and not be bowled over by those cheekbones, that chiseled mouth, those incredible eyelashes of his. And he was still stroking her hip…
“You’re better than Dexter,” said Nuala, suddenly realizing what would help her over this.
“Well, thanks.” Jake smiled down at her, taking it as a compliment.
Hurriedly, before she lost her nerve, Nuala said, “You could cheer me up.”
“What, tell you a few jokes?”
“Sleep with me,” Nuala blurted out. “That would make me feel better.”
Jake’s hand stopped stroking her hip. “What?”
“No strings,” Nuala went on hurriedly, in case he thought she was expecting an engagement ring. “Just sex. You sleep with loads of girls, so why not me? A one-night stand, that’s all I’m saying. We could do that, couldn’t we? It’d be fun. And it would piss Dexter right off.”
Hell, what an offer. Jake tried his hardest not to smile.
“Nu, thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t. Really. We’re friends, and I don’t want to spoil that.”
Eagerly Nuala said, “But we wouldn’t spoil anything!”
“You don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right.” Jake was doing his utmost to be tactful.
“I’m too ugly!”
“You’re not too ugly. We’ve just both had a bit to drink. Trust me, when you wake up tomorrow morning, you’ll be glad we didn’t do it.”
“But I want to!” cried Nuala, clearly taking the rejection personally. “This isn’t fair. How many girls have you slept with in the last five years? Why can’t it be my turn now?”
“Because I’m doing the decent thing for once and behaving like a gentleman.”
“That’s what men say when they don’t fancy you,” Nuala grumbled.
“It’s what men say when they don’t want to lose a good friend.” To his immense relief, Jake heard the Saab pulling up outside the cottage. Thank God for that. “Maddy’s back,” he told Nuala, helping her to sit up and this time making sure she stayed up. “You can tell her about you and Dexter.” Actually, it wasn’t eleven thirty yet. Now that Maddy was here, he could shoot into Bath after all.
He just hoped for Maddy’s sake that she’d finally come to her senses and finished with Kerr McKinnon.
“Blimey, what’s been going on here?” Maddy gazed at them, taking in the empty gin bottle and Nuala’s air of dishevelment.
“Dexter’s dumped me. I’ve never been so miserable in my life. No boyfriend, no job, nowhere to live,” said Nuala. “So anyway, I came over to talk to you about it, but you were out so I talked to Jake instead, and he said not to worry, I could move in with you.”
“I didn’t say she could move in with us,” Jake hissed at Maddy in the kitchen. “She said she was too depressed to sleep, then she said was it OK if she stayed here, and I said yes, because I thought she meant just for tonight, not forever. You’ll have to tell her.”
“How can I? She’s my friend.” Energetically frying bacon for sandwiches, Maddy leaped back as the fat spattered like fireworks in the pan. “Anyway, it’s too late now. You’ve already said she can live with us.”
“But I don’t want her to!”
“That’s just mean. She needs somewhere to stay.” Maddy frowned. “What have you got against Nuala?”
Exasperated, Jake said, “She fancies me. It’s not exactly relaxing, sharing a house with a girl who just wants to jump on you and rip all your clothes off.”
“Oh, don’t talk such rubbish. She’s upset about Dexter,” Maddy scoffed. “Just because you flirt with every girl you meet doesn’t automatically mean they fancy you back.”
“But—”
“Hi, can you do my bacon really crispy?” Appearing in the kitchen doorway, oblivious to their furious whispers, Nuala held out her good arm and tottered unsteadily over to Jake. She hugged him hard, then said, “I’ve been having a think. It’s better if we don’t have sex. OK?”
Maddy raised an eyebrow. Jake marveled at Nuala’s ability to make it sound as though he’d been the one begging her to sleep with him.
“OK,” he said.
“Great.” Happily disentangling herself, Nuala reeled across the kitchen and peered at the frying pan crowded with bacon. “God, you have no idea how hungry I am. Any chance of a couple of fried eggs with that?”
Chapter 29
At lunchtime on Monday Marcella arrived at the Peach Tree. Maddy’s car wasn’t outside, which meant she was still out on her delivery rounds, but patience had never been one of Marcella’s strong points.
Juliet was delighted to see her. Coming out from behind the counter she said, “Maddy told me. Congratulations! How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Thanks. I need to ask you something,” said Marcella with characteristic bluntness.
“Fire away. What, about pregnancy? You think you’ll never get over the morning sickness, but you do.”
“Not about pregnancy. About Kerr McKinnon.”
“Oh!” The color abruptly rushed to Juliet’s cheeks. “Well, I couldn’t… It’s not for me to say.”
Taken aback by the vehemence of her response, Marcella said, “Of course it is.”
Clearly appalled, Juliet shook her head. “Really, I can’t. You’ll have to talk to Maddy.” Her voice wavering, she said faintly, “How on earth did you find out?”
“Does it matter?” Still mystified by the extent of Juliet’s reaction, Marcella experienced a pang of deep unease. “Why don’t you tell me when it started?”
“I can’t, I can’t, but I know Maddy never meant to hurt you,” babbled Juliet, who normally never babbled. “It was just one of those things… They met each other and that was it. But she’s going to finish with him, I promise.”
* * *
On her way back from Bath, Maddy drove over the brow of Ashcombe Hill and saw Marcella heading toward her. From the armful of flowers her mother was carrying, she knew that Marcella was on her way to visit April’s grave, something she still liked to do on a weekly basis. Slowing to a halt as she reached her, Maddy swung open the passenger door and said, “I thought you were supposed to be taking things easy. Jump in and I’ll give you a lift.” Pausing, she added, “Mum, are you OK?” because Marcella was looking strained and distant, decidedly unlike her usual easygoing self.
But all Marcella did was nod, clutching the huge bunch of freshly picked honeysuckle, roses, and oxeye daisies to her chest.
The churchyard was deserted, the air hot and dry. Birds sang in the trees, but otherwise the silence was absolute. Marcella, still without speaking, cleared away the old flowers from April’s grave, rinsed out the steel vase, and carefully arranged the fresh blooms in their place. Maddy had never seen her mother like this before; she was normally chatty and eternally cheerful. Was it something to do with the pregnancy, the risk of losing this longed-for baby as heartbreakingly as they had lost April eleven years ago?
Marcella was kneeling by the grave with her back to her. Maddy reached out and touched her on the shoulder.
“Mum? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Slowly Marcella rose to her feet.
“That’s April in there. Your sister.”
“I know,” said Maddy gently. Oh dear, she’d never heard Marcella sound so subdued. Her hormones were clearly running riot.
The next moment Marcella did something far less subdued. Raising her hand, she slapped Maddy hard across the face.
“April, your sister, is dead,” Marcella shouted furiously. “And you’re carrying on with Kerr McKinnon as if she never even existed! You have no shame, do you hear me? I don’t know how you can live with yourself. Of all the men in the world, you had to get involved with him!”
Oh Lord. Maddy felt sick. Marcella had never laid a finger on her in her life. She should have ended it with Kerr while she still had the chance. Wide-eyed with shock, she took a step back before Marcella could slap her again.
“I’m ashamed of you,” Marcella raged, shaking her head in disgust. “This is your family. Don’t you think you owe your sister a bit more loyalty than that?”
“Kerr wasn’t the one driving the car.” Maddy knew even as she said it that any form of argument was hopeless. “He didn’t kill anyone.”
“I DON’T CARE!” bellowed Marcella. “The McKinnons treated us like dirt. I can’t believe you even—”
“I won’t see him again,” Maddy blurted out, because what other choice did she have? This time, for Marcella’s sake, it had to happen. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Trembling, meeting Marcella’s icy gaze, she nodded and said, “I mean it. I’ll never see him again. Just don’t shout anymore. You know what the doctor said about staying calm and not getting worked up.”
“Promise me.” Marcella reached urgently for Maddy’s hands.
What else could she do?
“I promise,” whispered Maddy. That was it. All over now.
Marcella hugged her, tears spilling from her luminous dark eyes.
“You don’t need someone like that. Come on, let’s go home.”
As she followed Marcella back through the sun-dappled graveyard, Maddy thought, Oh, but I do.
Checking her watch—twenty to two—Maddy dropped Marcella home and headed back into the center of Ashcombe. Juliet wasn’t expecting her back in the shop before two. Pulling up alongside Snow Cottage, she saw Jake sitting at one of the tables in front of the pub, drinking a pint of orange juice and chatting to Malcolm, who sold his surreal paintings from the workshop next to his. By sitting outside, they were able to take a lunch break and keep an eye out for passing potential customers.
Fury boiled up inside Maddy at the unfairness of it all. How dare bloody Jake sit there without a care in the world when her own life was collapsing around her ears?
Leaping out onto the pavement, slamming the driver’s door so hard it almost parted company with the car, she marched across the road.
“Did you tell Marcella?”
Jake looked up, surprised.
“Tell Marcella about what?”
“So you didn’t?” asked Maddy, double-checking. She wasn’t about to make that mistake again.
Comprehension dawned. Jake, his eyebrows shooting up, said, “You mean she found out about Kerr McKinnon?”
Right, that was all the confirmation she needed. Marching past him into the pub, Maddy saw Kate behind the bar, wearing a lime-green sleeveless linen top and her customary superior smirk.
“Well done,” Maddy said loudly, not caring that there were customers in the pub. Since there was no longer any secret to keep, she could be as loud as she jolly well liked.
Turning, Kate said, “Excuse me?” in that irritatingly disinterested way of hers.
“I asked you not to tell Marcella and you told her. I explained why I asked you not to tell her,” Maddy went on furiously, “but you went ahead and did it anyway.”
“I—”
“What the bloody hell’s going on?” Dexter, his eyes flashing, had loo
med up behind Kate.
“Ask your new barmaid,” Maddy spat back, aware that everyone was staring at the red hand-shaped slap mark Marcella had imprinted on her cheek. “But let me just say, if my mother doesn’t have a miscarriage, it’ll be no thanks to her.” Pointing a trembling finger at Kate, who was looking astounded and clearly hadn’t expected to be confronted like this in public, she went on, “My God, I knew you didn’t like me, but even I never thought you’d sink this low. I mean, it doesn’t matter that you’ve ruined my life, but how you could do this to Marcella, I’ll never know.”
* * *
It was just as well there weren’t any customers in the deli. Maddy was sitting on a crate in the back room, shaking uncontrollably, raging against the world, and knocking back a miniature of Amaretto.
Jake, strolling into the shop, said, “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“Oh, bugger off. Don’t you start.” Maddy glared at him. “She deserved it.”
“Did she? I’ve just been to see Marcella.”
“Oh no.” Juliet, who had been attempting to console Maddy, said, “You mean it wasn’t Kate?”
The look of disdain on Jake’s face began to make Maddy feel queasy. “It has to have been her. It definitely couldn’t be Nuala, not after last time.”
“At midday, Marcella was doing exactly what the doctor had told her to do,” said Jake. “She was taking things easy, relaxing, just having a cup of tea and watching the local lunchtime news. When up came a piece on careers for graduates, and guess whose company they were featuring today?”
Maddy’s mouth was dry. There had been no cameras around while she’d been in the offices of Callaghan and Fox last Friday.
“I know. It’s where Kerr works,” she told Jake. “So? It’s not as if he keeps a photo of me on his desk.”
“Maybe not, but several of the staff had stuff from here on their desks,” said Jake. “Marcella recognized the blue-and-white wrappers at once.”
