by Judy Astley
‘Any view would be better than Toby’s naked torso,’ Lisa said as they settled on the front seats. ‘God, this was such a mistake. I’m so sorry, you must hate me for this!’
‘Hey, it’s only a day out of our lives, what can it hurt? And it’s quite fun really – a kind of see-it-all view of the city for the horribly lazy. We could just abandon them both, I suppose, but they’ve got all the travel arrangements and ticket things. I’m fine with sticking it out – after all, there might be another hundred facts about marketing that Toby can tell us. Lunch soon anyway, surely. It’s getting pretty late and I’m starving. Any idea where they’ve booked? Or even if?’
Lisa giggled. ‘Probably McDonald’s!’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me. No, really, we’re going to get off this bus at the next stop if we have to drag them; we’ll get into a cab and go up to Montmartre. It’ll be touristy enough for the blokes but pretty enough for us, and there are loads of restaurants. OK with you?’
Lisa looked back to their half-naked escorts. ‘Oh yes. Anything’s fine by me, just so long as they put some clothes back on. I am so complaining to DateMates about this. I didn’t think I’d need to specify that I’d quite like someone who knew about keeping his top on in public. Jeez.’
More lager. Where did they put it? At the kerbside restaurant under a shady awning, Viola ate her steak frites and salad and drank red wine and wondered if men’s bladders were actually four times the size of women’s, given the amount of liquid they could put away. She also thought how lovely it would be to be doing this day trip with someone to whom she felt a tingling attraction. She’d guess Greg wouldn’t be guzzling beer by the gallon and complaining about the waitress not speaking English, although he might be eyeing up the neat grass by the funicular and considering how much better it would look as a wild-flower meadow. She watched Toby trying to get the attention of a living statue, a girl entirely in white, dressed Marie Antoinette-style and perched as still as a pillar up on a plinth, occasionally winking at any man who took her fancy. She didn’t wink at either Toby or Ed, though on the plus side they did at least have their shirts back on.
‘I could do with a sleep,’ Toby said as the waitress took their plates away. He then took hold of Lisa’s hand from the table and moved it down to rest on his thigh. ‘Or at least a lie-down.’ He smirked at her. Viola watched Lisa wriggle her fingers free and pick up her wine glass.
‘We could go to Sacré-Cœur. If you’re tired you could sit down in there while we look around,’ she told him.
‘Nah, you’re all right. Course, we should have booked a two-dayer, then we’d have a hotel to go back to. If I’d known we’d get on this well … you know?’
Lisa smiled politely. Ed moved his chair closer to Viola’s but it got stuck in a grating on the pavement and he lurched across the table, sending lager bottles crashing to the ground.
‘Shit, sorry!’ he said. ‘This chair’s fault – it’s wonky tat.’ Waiters appeared with dustpans and brushes and Viola was relieved that Toby agreed it was time to pay and go. ‘Been here too long anyway,’ he said, collecting up their credit cards to divvy up the bill. ‘It isn’t a late train. That would have cost another ton. You don’t want to spend a bomb on date one, do you? Just in case …’ He winked at the living statue and she made a hissing noise at him.
‘I’ve pulled!’ he said, punching the air.
‘I don’t think so, love,’ Lisa told him.
‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ he apologized, giving her a clumsy hug, ‘that was wrong of me. I’m already with a beautiful woman, couldn’t want another.’
‘Not one all painted in matt emulsion anyway,’ Ed agreed as they headed down to the funicular. ‘Things would get very messy. She’d get stuff all over your Mr Man.’
‘Just the way I like it,’ Toby chortled. Mr Man? Viola caught Lisa’s eye and they burst into unstoppable giggles. Toby took this as encouragement and put his arm round Lisa, who wriggled free on the pretext of adjusting her shoe strap.
After an afternoon of lazing along the banks of the Seine and managing not to see a single famous painting, any couture shops or the inside of any glorious church, Lisa whispered a heartfelt ‘Nearly over,’ as they climbed on to the train for the journey home. Ed and Toby had sorted the seating as they boarded, so Viola and Lisa were ushered into seats opposite each other by the window and the men sat beside them. Viola felt a bit trapped. On the plus side, Ed hadn’t so much as tried to hold her hand, and in spite of the shirtlessness and the industrial volumes of beer he’d been reasonably polite. She was glad all expenses had been evenly split and even if the day wasn’t to be one of her life’s travel highlights exactly, it was different and fun and had given her a very sharp reminder of the sort of man she wasn’t going to be looking for. If she ever was, that is.
‘Work tomorrow.’ Ed sighed, watching the edges of Paris slide past. ‘Early meeting about feasibility and management indices.’
‘He means how many phones their branch has sold this month,’ Toby said, rather sneerily.
‘I don’t flog phones, knobhead,’ Ed snapped, then turned to Viola. ‘Sorry, long day. How was it for you?’
‘Interesting,’ she said, opting for honesty. ‘Excellent lunch.’ Well, it had been.
Opposite, Lisa had closed her eyes. Viola watched as Toby took the chance to have a good stare at Lisa’s breasts. His hand was under the table, aiming for Lisa’s thigh, and Viola wondered if she should give her a gentle kick, wake her up so she could deal with him in whichever way she chose.
‘Sweet, aren’t they?’ Ed’s mouth was too close to her ear and she shifted sideways a bit, but almost hit her head against the window. ‘All paired off now. Neat,’ he murmured at her. ‘You’re one hot lady, you know.’
If I’m hot, she thought, it’s only due to the weather.
‘You like me. I can tell,’ he persisted. Across the table, Lisa slept on, Toby’s eyes following the rise and fall of her chest. Viola said nothing, concentrating on the fact that it was now less than half an hour to St Pancras, and then she could escape.
‘I know you do, don’t deny it. I’m making you gooey in your wee-wee, aren’t I?’ He was almost slathering in her ear now and was reaching for her hand.
‘What? Er, no, you’re absolutely not!’
Lisa woke up with a jump. ‘All right, Vee? Are we nearly there yet?’
‘Not long now. I … er … I think I’ll just go to the loo. Won’t be long.’ She picked up her bag and pushed past Ed.
‘Don’t keep me waiting,’ he said, smirking.
‘I’ll come too,’ Lisa said.
‘You’ll have to climb across me.’ Toby spread his legs out and leaned back.
‘No, I won’t; you’ll get up and let me out, like a gentleman,’ she told him.
‘Oh, I love a strict woman.’ He grinned, complying, but stroking her bum as she passed.
‘Oh God, you won’t believe this.’ Viola managed to keep her laughter in till they were out of range and she could tell Lisa what Ed had said.
‘No! Eugh!’ Lisa giggled. ‘How are we going to lose them at St Pancras? They seem to think we’re gagging for it. Any idiot can see we’re so not.’
‘Too right. I don’t want to be introduced to Ed’s Mr Man.’
‘Aaagh, don’t!’ Lisa laughed.
The train was slowing now. ‘Where are we? It didn’t stop at Ashford, so …’
‘Ah, Ebbsfleet.’ Lisa peered out of the window as they pulled into a station. ‘Are you thinking what I am?’
‘Yep. Definitely. Come on.’ Viola and Lisa raced along inside the train till they were a couple of carriages further away from their dates, and when the train stopped they opened the door and jumped out, dashing for the shelter of the exit and hiding behind a drinks machine till the train pulled out again without them, and without leaving two bewildered men looking up and down the platform.
‘Did it!’ The two of them high-fived each other and then looked
around.
‘And now,’ Viola said, ‘the bit we didn’t think of. How the hell do we get home from here?’
TWENTY-FIVE
‘YOU HITCH-HIKED? HONESTLY, Vee, you have no sense at all, have you?’ Viola really shouldn’t have told Kate, because she knew quite well what her reaction would be, but when Kate turned up a couple of days later with swatches of curtain fabric plus a heap of estate-agent details and a request for an opinion about flats, it was somehow irresistible.
‘Hey lighten up, Kate, I wasn’t on my own. I was with Lisa and we were fine. We got a lift in a truck full of music equipment all the way to the O2. Lisa’s seeing the driver for a drink tonight and he can get her tickets to shows.’
‘Oh well, she landed on her feet there then, getting off with some random roadie.’ Kate pulled a disapproving face.
‘Compared with the semi-formed Neanderthals we’d been with in Paris, I’d say yes she did, actually. I loved the hitching bit. I felt like a teenager again. I’ve been a parent since I was twenty so I think I’m owed a bit of reckless fun.’
‘God, Viola, don’t you think you’ve had enough of reckless for a lifetime? You know what your luck’s like. Fate-tempting really isn’t a hobby option for you. And I don’t know how you can live in this hexed house. Sell it. Come and get a nice flat near me, then I can keep an eye on you.’
‘An eye? No chance! And you can’t blame the house, Kate. It’s not the tiniest bit hexed. And just because I made one stupid mistake with my life doesn’t mean I have to spend the rest of it being too timid to breathe. You’re looking good, by the way. I like your hair shorter, it suits you.’ She’d had the colour done as well, Viola noticed. No trace of those greying roots, just some subtle shadings of dark blonde and copper. Way to go, she thought. ‘Is it about getting Rob back? Let him see what he’s missing and then he’ll be begging you to take him back again?’
‘No, it’s not! It’s about new beginnings, all that. Moving on, as they say, in fact as you say.’ Kate smiled – a beaming sort of smile that looked as if she absolutely couldn’t prevent it. If this hadn’t been her habitually pessimistic sister with a divorce on the cards, Viola would have thought she was up to something. It was good to be able to change the subject. Another moment or two and Kate would be sure to mention Rhys. She always seemed to. If she were really keen on the moving-on thing, she’d do better to stop referring back to him.
‘And you’ve got make-up on. In the morning. That’s so not you. Come on, what’s happened? Have you been out somewhere? Are you seeing someone?’
‘Of course I’m not!’ Kate blushed, looking suddenly girlish. ‘And the only place I’ve been to is a wedding, while you were swanning about in Paris. One of the golf-club fogeys married a Lady Player. It was quite a sweet event, even considering how off weddings I’m feeling. And you had to laugh: there was this guard of honour of oldies with niblicks or wedges or whatever the fattest sticks are called. They’re off to live in a bungalow in Lytham St Annes, so at least that’s two less people breaking my windows – or what used to be my windows. I only went so I could watch Rob making cow eyes at her across the room. You should see her, Vee. She’s got candyfloss hair like Margaret Thatcher’s in the nineties and no beam end at all. Just flat down from neck to feet. He used to like my curvy bum.’
‘Perhaps she’s got …’
‘Ugh, no, whatever it is, don’t say it!’ Kate put her hands over her ears. ‘I really don’t want to think of them in that way.’
Viola laughed. ‘I was only going to say, maybe she’s got an enviable handicap, golf-wise, I mean.’
‘Well, in a way she has got a golf handicap. She’s got Rob. Wait till she finds him standing by her dishwasher clutching a plate and looking puzzled, like there should be some magic code to make the door open. By the way, did you talk to that Greg bloke about us all being distant cousins? Tracing Dad’s side of the family back is fascinating stuff. Mum’s will be all cotton workers and mill girls, I expect. I’ll do them next.’
‘Er … no. I haven’t actually seen him. I’ve been going over next term’s courses, trying to work out if I can persuade the new bunch that they’ll love Northanger Abbey if they just think of it as part of the connection from Dracula to the Twilight books. Kind of Jane Austen lite.’
‘If you don’t want to tell him, maybe I will,’ Kate said, laying out the fabric swatches on the kitchen table all across Viola’s books and notes.
‘No! No, don’t, Kate. Just leave it, will you?’
‘You’ve had a row, haven’t you?’ Kate gave her a beady look. ‘See, you’re learning at last. If it starts going bad, just walk away.’
‘Not a row. I don’t know him well enough even to have a row.’
‘I’ll admit he seemed nice.’
‘Too nice, maybe.’
‘Too nice, yes, not that trustable. Anyway don’t lose touch, I’ve got questions for the family-tree thing.’
‘Oh, Kate, can’t you just leave it? Please?’
Viola started looking through the fabrics, avoiding Kate’s probing. Vertical stripes would be good for Roman blinds, she thought, trying to summon up interest. She didn’t want to talk about Greg, especially to Kate. When she got back from Paris she’d immediately checked the house phone in case he’d called. Nothing. He must have taken her wariness as a sign to get right out of her life. His abrupt end to that last call did make her wonder if it was Mickey who’d strolled into the office, not a client. Good, she told herself. Excellent. Problem solved, without her having to listen to him admitting his interest in her was just a cheery on-the-side dalliance. Pity it didn’t make her feel as truly relieved and content as she should be. Dangerous stuff, all this: to be avoided.
‘OK, I won’t contact him then, but you really should talk to him, you know,’ Kate said, holding up a piece of pale linen patterned with big blue tulips. ‘At least if he knows we’re slightly related it might put him off chasing you. Because obviously you don’t want that.’
That was another ouch moment. Viola let it pass. Kate went blithely on, ‘He’s been here, though, hasn’t he? Since our dinner here the other night?’
‘No, he hasn’t. Why do you say that?’
‘Just the roses at the front, looking all glossy and tidy and no old dead petals. Or have you got yourself a real gardener? No – you couldn’t afford one. You didn’t dead-head them yourself, did you? I hope you didn’t go up a ladder. Miles would have a fit if he knew. So would Mum.’
Viola felt cold. Why would Greg come and do her gardening? After her negative attitude on the phone, he certainly wasn’t likely to come round and trim her roses. Kate couldn’t be right, surely; the dead petals must simply have fallen off.
‘No, it wasn’t me. I hadn’t noticed. Like I said, I’ve been up to here in books for next term while Rachel’s away, sorting lesson plans for the new intake and the new syllabus. I don’t think I’d have noticed if someone had taken the roof off the place. But hey, I’m going to look.’
She went to the front door, followed by Kate, and opened it warily, as if Greg (or whoever the phantom rose-tidier was) might be waiting in the porch to pounce. It could be the gladioli-sender. Who might also be the person who sent the horrible anonymous cards. If so (though why they’d want to take on garden chores was a mystery), it could all add up to another dose of full-scale stalking. Worst of all, how terrifying if it were the woman Rhys had gone off with, coming back, haunting, blaming, hating her. This was far more disturbing than back at the beginning, when Rhys first died. At least then it hadn’t been just one lunatic obsessive, but several hysterically silly overreacting fans. How could she ever, back then, have known she’d feel safer with the numbers? Too late now, though – no way was she going to move out of her home and hide away again. This had to pass.
Kate’s dog Beano was in the porch pawing at something behind the big stone pig that Marco had given her years ago as a birthday present.
‘What’s he got?’ Viola
said as Beano dragged what looked like muddy paper out from behind the statue.
‘Looks like something the postman dropped, I think,’ Kate said, pulling him away. ‘Here, some sort of card by the looks of it. Maybe a welcome-back one from a neighbour. Did you get any of those? Anyone send you anything?’
Viola shook her head. ‘No. Next door came round with an apple pie and to tell me she hoped there wouldn’t be any more of “that nonsense like before” but that’s all.’
‘Oh. Nice and sympathetic then.’ Kate sounded despondent.
Viola took the envelope from Kate, her hand trembling. It had been hand-delivered and her name on the front was not – she was glad to see – in the same tremulous capitals as the kitten card had had. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She’d look at it later, when Kate had gone, but not now in case it was vile and frightening. It would be hard to hide a reaction to that, which would result in Kate talking to Miles and them ganging up on her in an onslaught of I-told-you-so.
She stepped further out into the garden and looked up at the roses. ‘Oh, wow, how could I have not noticed? They look amazing!’ The flowers were luxuriantly thriving, but with all the tatty, browned blooms cut off. With treatment like that, they’d probably still be flowering at Christmas. ‘It must have involved a ladder but I haven’t got one, so you don’t need to worry about it being me up there, Kate.’
Aaagh – another lurch of the stomach. Whoever it was had taken the trouble to do even the highest ones, up by her bedroom window. Which meant someone had been up at looking-into-the-room level. This was beyond creepy. And yet, if it was Greg, what was there to mind? If things had worked out he’d have seen the inside of the room soon enough. This could only have happened when she and Lisa were having their Paris day.
‘Well, it looks pretty damn professional,’ Viola said, going to sniff one of the lower blooms and trying to sound a lot more upbeat than she felt. ‘And if they’d like to come back and tackle the jungle in the back garden they’d be very welcome.’
