Three Amazing Things About You

by Jill Mansell

  And really, how could he not? Luke had kindness, strength and compassion; he was as perfect as the film itself. It couldn’t fail to touch his soul.

  ‘Can you pass me a tissue?’ she murmured as, on screen, Andy Dufresne found himself alone in the Governor’s office overlooking the exercise yard.

  Luke reached across for the box on the table in front of him. ‘Are you OK?’

  Oh, the glamour: he thought she needed a good old chest-clearing cough.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Hallie braced herself; this part of the film always made her cry. She couldn’t wait to see if it had the same effect on Luke.

  Andy Dufresne had found the record and taken it out of its dusty sleeve. He carefully placed it on the record player and listened as the first glorious bars of the Letter Duet from Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro began to play. Then he plugged the record player into the main speakers that broadcast throughout the prison and sat back with his hands clasped behind his head, transported along with the rest of the incredulous inmates by the beauty of the aria.

  And when the warden hammered furiously on the door, yelling at him to stop it, Andy turned the music up. For those few magical minutes he was no longer a prisoner . . .

  Under cover of wiping her eyes, Hallie glanced sideways at Luke and saw that he was breathing in that juddery way people do when they’re struggling to control their emotions. His jaw was rigid and his own eyes were glistening . . . oh yes, it had got to him too.

  Unable to resist it, she reached across, gave his arm a gentle nudge and whispered, ‘You OK?’

  ‘Great, thanks. Absolutely fine.’ As he murmured his reply, Luke kept his gaze fixed on the screen. ‘Not remotely affected.’

  She grinned. ‘Don’t worry, it gets better. This is just the start.’

  DDDDDRRRINNNGGGGG.

  The shrill of the doorbell shattered the moment. They both jumped a mile.

  ‘What should I do?’ Hallie looked at him. ‘Hide?’ They weren’t doing anything wrong, but she was supposed to be in Paris.

  ‘Let me go and see who it is. It’s OK, I won’t let anyone in.’ Already on his feet, Luke went to answer the front door. Reaching over for the remote control, Hallie pressed Pause and listened. Hopefully he’d get rid of whoever it was and they could carry on watching the rest of the film. If he was loving it so far, just wait till he got to the bit at the end where—

  ‘Oh.’ She heard Luke sounding genuinely startled. ‘Hello . . .’

  What if it’s Christina?

  Then she heard the visitor say, ‘Hello, Luke, can I come in?’ and the shock caused the remote control to slip out of Hallie’s hand. It clattered on to the glass-topped coffee table, then bounced on to the carpet at her feet.

  ‘You may as well let me in,’ the visitor continued. ‘I know she’s here.’

  Hallie heard them coming through to the living room. Luke and her mother.

  OK, this is mad . . .

  ‘There you are.’ Her mother wasn’t looking remotely amused. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing, I just—’

  ‘You lied to me! I can’t believe you did that. Hallie, listen to me, this is serious. Luke’s your doctor, and if you’re having an affair with him, he could get struck off!’

  ‘Mum, stop it!’ Oh God, talk about mortifying; Hallie could feel herself going bright red. If there was anything worse than being wrongly accused of having an affair with someone, it was being wrongly accused right in front of them.

  And if there was anything worse than that, it was having it all happen when you secretly fancied the person rotten and wished more than anything that you could have an affair with him.

  ‘Fay, there’s nothing going on,’ Luke said evenly. ‘I’m not having any kind of affair with your daughter.’

  Fay stared at him. ‘So what’s she doing here, then? Why would she tell me she was going to Paris . . . why would she pretend she was there?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to spoil your weekend away,’ Hallie blurted out. ‘Because I knew you’d come home if you found out I hadn’t gone to France. Mum, don’t look at me like that, it’s the truth. We got to the airport but I was feeling too ill to travel and there wasn’t anyone else to stay with me because my friends were all in Paris. So I called Luke and he said I could come here . . . and yes, I could have gone home, but it’s actually been quite nice having a change of scenery.’ She gestured around the cosy firelit living room. ‘But you have to believe me, there’s nothing going on, and the fact that you’re even thinking that is really embarrassing.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her mother’s fury abruptly subsided. ‘You promise that’s true?’

  Together Hallie and Luke chorused, ‘Yes.’

  Fay bit her lip. ‘OK. Well I’d better tell you now, I’m not the only one thinking it.’

  ‘What?’ Hallie sat up.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. It’s your fault for sending me those photos.’

  ‘Why? What did you do?’

  ‘Well, Marilyn called me this morning for a chat and I told her we were having a lovely time in Edinburgh but I was a bit worried that the hotel people in Paris were ripping you off, dumping you in a room that wasn’t as nice as the others. So Marilyn asked to see the photos and I showed them to her. And the moment she saw them, she said that was no Paris hotel room you were in, it was Luke Hilton’s cottage.’

  Oh God, of all the people her mother could have shown the photos to, she’d had to choose Marilyn, who had lived here in this very cottage before Luke had come to Carranford. How typical. And Marilyn, who now lived above the pub since taking over the running of it, was a brilliant person, but she did love to gossip.

  Hallie said firmly, ‘You’re going to have to tell her the truth and ask her not to spread rumours. You know what people are like around here. It wouldn’t be fair on Luke.’

  ‘Right. I’ll do that.’ Fay nodded, apparently less than reassured. ‘OK, the thing is, when I say I showed Marilyn the photos . . . well, I kind of put them on Facebook.’

  Hallie briefly closed her eyes. ‘Seriously? You told me you didn’t know how to put photos on Facebook!’

  ‘I know, I didn’t, but Marilyn showed me how to do it last week. It’s really easy. I had no idea!’

  ‘So everyone saw them,’ said Hallie.

  ‘Well, yes. That’s how we knew you were in Luke’s bed. Lynette recognised the pillows and that duvet cover straight away.’

  ‘I don’t believe this.’ Hallie winced and turned to stare at Luke. ‘How does she know what your bedding looks like?’

  Because not being judgemental, but curly-permed Lynette was in her fifties and Hallie really wouldn’t have had her down as Luke’s type.

  ‘Lynette does all my laundry.’ Luke sighed. ‘Washing and ironing, once a week.’

  ‘When she isn’t busy on Facebook,’ said Hallie. Honestly, what were people like her mum and Lynette even doing on social networking sites? Didn’t they know they were too old to be meddling with such things?

  ‘Well I didn’t know, did I?’ Fay was defensive. ‘I thought you were in Paris!’

  ‘You’ll have to delete the photos,’ said Hallie.

  ‘OK, I’ll do that.’

  From the look on her face it wasn’t hard to guess what was going through her mother’s mind.

  ‘But this all happened this morning, so it’s basically too late now,’ Hallie guessed. ‘Everyone’s already seen them.’

  Fay pulled a face. ‘Pretty much. We’ll just tell them the truth, though. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well,’ Fay said brightly, ‘at least you two aren’t having an affair. That’s good!’

  And yes, it was still embarrassing, too. Hallie said, ‘Mum, could you please stop saying it?’

  ‘OK. Anyway, we’d better get your stuff together and make a move.’

  ‘What, now? But we’re watching a film. Shawshank!’

  ‘Oh, that one. You’ve seen it a million
times already.’ Morphing into bossy mode, Fay jangled her car keys at them. ‘And I’m back now, so you need to come home with me if you don’t want the whole village to explode with gossip. Luke, it was very kind of you to look after her, but we’ll leave you in peace now. You can have the rest of your weekend back. Oh, and by the way, guess who Marilyn bumped into the other day in Cheltenham? Christina!’

  ‘She did?’ Luke looked suitably interested and polite.

  ‘In the hairdresser’s. Marilyn said she was looking fantastic. And she’s still single,’ Fay went on as she started throwing stuff into Hallie’s suitcase. ‘You know, you two really should get back together. We all liked her so much!’

  And that was it. Within ten minutes, everything had been loaded into her mother’s car and Hallie found herself being driven back to her own home. No more Shawshank, no cosy crackling fire, no takeaway pizza, good company and easy conversation . . .

  OK, maybe that wasn’t fair. She still had her mum, who had cut short her own mini break in order to race back and rescue her from the clutches of their unscrupulous and dastardly local GP. They would have a nice evening together, she was sure.

  But she’d been looking forward to spending the next twenty-four hours with Luke, and now it wasn’t going to happen.

  Hallie twisted her fingers together in her lap. She was only human; in a life with fewer than usual highlights and more than its share of restrictions, it was a disappointing change of plan, that was all.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Oh hi, is that Tasha? This is Joe, Rory’s friend. Just calling to let you know he’s absolutely fine.’

  ‘Hello, Joe, you’re lucky this is my favourite scarf,’ Tasha replied patiently. ‘Otherwise I might wrap it round your neck and strangle you with it.’

  Joe cackled with laughter into his phone. The four of them were in the car heading down the M4 to Bristol. Rory was driving, Joe was in the passenger seat directly in front of Tasha, and Carmel was to her right, rolling her eyes and smiling despite herself, because although Joe’s endless capacity for silly pranks drove her demented, he could be quite funny sometimes.

  ‘Aarrrghh.’ Joe clutched his throat as if Tasha had thrown her scarf around his neck and was pulling it tight, Bond-villain style.

  ‘Bristol fifteen miles.’ She pointed to the sign as it flashed by. ‘Nearly there.’

  ‘Great,’ said Carmel. ‘Just enough time to saw almost all the way through Joe’s climbing rope.’

  Some people had the oddest ideas of what constituted a good time. It was a freezing day in early February, with remnants of snow and frost on the ground, yet Rory and Joe were planning to spend the day climbing up the Avon Gorge and abseiling back down it.

  The mad fools.

  Tasha quelled her inner anxieties. Ah well, it took all sorts. She was determined to be brave this time, and at least she wouldn’t have to watch. While the two boys were out in the cold, risking life and limb, she and Carmel were going to spend the day exploring Bristol, shopping in Clifton and enjoying a fantastic lunch.

  When they reached the centre of Clifton, Rory pulled up to let them out before he and Joe headed off to the lay-by on the Portway where they were meeting up with the rest of the rock climbers. As Rory jumped out of the car, Tasha’s phone began to ring with yet another unknown number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, this is Joe, just letting you know that Rory’s jumped out of the car. Ow,’ he added as Carmel leaned in and gave him a playful swipe around the ear.

  ‘OK, have a good time.’ Tasha lifted her face for a kiss from Rory. ‘We’ll see you in a bit.’ Then, giving Joe a meaningful look, ‘And no more prank calls, OK? Promise. Otherwise I’ll never be able to relax.’

  ‘OK.’ Joe nodded, because beneath the teasing, he knew what she was like.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let him do it. We’ll phone you when we’re finished.’ Rory gave her another hug and a kiss. ‘You two have fun as well.’

  Joe blew Carmel a teasing kiss. ‘Don’t forget, they do great food at the Town House on Whiteladies Road. You won’t regret it if you go there.’

  Carmel shrugged. ‘Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. We might find somewhere else we’d rather eat.’

  Joe was grinning. ‘I love it when you play hard to get.’

  ‘And you have fun with your rock climbing,’ Carmel replied smoothly. ‘Break a leg. In fact, break as many as you like.’

  ‘Honestly, you two.’ Tasha shook her head at Carmel as the car disappeared from view. The bickering and sparring between them was endless, despite Carmel still insisting she wasn’t attracted to Joe.

  ‘I know. Let’s not go to that restaurant, though. If we do, he’ll just think he’s won.’

  Two hours later, having walked across the suspension bridge and back, explored Clifton village and the Downs and made their way down Blackboy Hill and Whiteladies Road, they came across the Town House restaurant.

  The menu pinned up outside sounded fantastic. The smell was enticing. It was one o’clock, and the place was busy.

  ‘Looks great,’ said Tasha. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

  ‘There are loads of other restaurants.’ Carmel pointed to one across the road. ‘That one might be better.’

  ‘This place might be booked up anyway. Shall I just see if they have a table?’ When Carmel hesitated, Tasha said, ‘We could always eat here and tell Joe we went somewhere else, if that’ll make you happy.’

  Honestly, mad or what? It was like being seventeen again.

  There was a free table for two. There were seared scallops – Tasha’s favourite – on the menu, and the lunchtime atmosphere was fun and buzzy. They ordered a bottle of wine.

  ‘Cheers.’ She clinked glasses with Carmel. ‘While we’re here, Rory and Joe are out in the cold, clinging to a sheer rock face. I know where I’d rather be.’

  Carmel grinned. ‘We win.’

  An hour and a half later, they asked the waiter for the bill.

  ‘No need to do that,’ he told Tasha as she took out her credit card. ‘The bill’s been taken care of.’

  ‘What? By who?’ Carmel’s head swivelled round as she searched the restaurant for a likely admirer.

  ‘I believe it’s a friend of yours, a gentleman called Joseph James.’

  ‘Are you serious? Where is he?’

  ‘He called the restaurant earlier, described what you were both wearing and asked us to call him back if you turned up. We did, and he was delighted you had. He also gave us his card details to settle the bill.’

  ‘Oh God,’ wailed Carmel. ‘That’s so annoying.’

  Tasha marvelled at her friend’s definition of annoying. ‘He bought us lunch. Is that so bad?’

  ‘He’ll think we came here because he told us to! He’ll be so smug.’

  ‘He’s smug anyway,’ said Tasha. ‘But we’re going shopping now, and it means we’ll have more money to spend on clothes.’

  They caught a cab back to Clifton village, ready to hit the shops with a vengeance. As Carmel paid the driver on Princess Victoria Street, Tasha’s attention was caught by a girl with long auburn ringlets making her way past, lugging a red pet carrier. A tirade of outraged yowling was clearly audible from inside it. The girl, wearing jeans and a pink jacket, paused to lift the carrier to eye level and in a firm voice said, ‘Jeremy, you’re being embarrassing. Stop it.’

  ‘They don’t like being carted around in those things.’ Her tongue loosened by unaccustomed lunchtime wine, Tasha added, ‘My mum’s cat was just the same. He once yowled in the car all the way from London to Manchester.’

  The girl laughed. ‘Jeremy would make a racket all the way from here to Timbuktu, he hates it so much. Don’t you, sweetie?’

  With his snub nose pressed against the plastic bars of the pet carrier and his green eyes radiating hatred, Jeremy hissed at them murderously.

  ‘Come on, the quicker we get you to the vet, the quicker you can take your fury out on him.’ Th
e girl lowered the carrier and said with amusement, ‘The joy of cats, eh?’

  But she loved hers, you could tell. ‘Good luck,’ said Tasha.

  ‘Thanks, I’m going to need it.’ And with Jeremy still howling like a banshee inside his cage, the girl headed off down the street.

  Carmel, having paid the taxi driver, was now gazing with rapt attention at the gorgeously lit display in the window right next to them. ‘And now the shopping starts. Oh God, look at that amazing velvet scarf . . .’

  The call came forty minutes later, while Tasha was in a changing cubicle trying on a midnight-blue silk dress. The cubicle was small and Carmel was standing outside it holding all their belongings when Tasha heard her own phone begin to ring.

  ‘Can you get that? Is it Rory?’ The zip on the side of this dress was tricky to do up. Twisting round and holding the edges together, Tasha wished she had three hands.

  ‘Number unknown,’ Carmel called back. ‘Want me to answer it anyway?’

  ‘Yes, go on. But if it’s Joe, just hang up. He promised not to do it again.’ If it was Joe messing about, she’d be furious.

  ‘And if he’s calling to gloat about the restaurant, I’ll tell him we put three bottles of vintage champagne on his bill.’ Pressing Answer, Carmel said, ‘Hello?’

  Two seconds later, she said, ‘What the hell?’

  Tasha opened the cubicle door. ‘Is it Joe?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know who it is.’ Baffled, Carmel turned on speakerphone so they could both hear what was going on. Tasha’s first thought was that the noises sounded like the cat she’d heard earlier, but the human version.

  ‘Could be some kids messing around,’ Carmel suggested.

  Maybe it was. Tasha took hold of the phone. ‘Hello, who’s there? What’s going on?’

  The muffled yells and shouts continued, interspersed with irregular crashes and scuffling sounds. Then someone bellowed, ‘For fuck’s sake, get me down, get me down. Is he OK?’

  Tasha’s blood ran cold, because that was unmistakably Joe’s voice. And he was sounding frantic. Oh God, what had happened? Was he talking about Rory? Had something terr—