by Jill Mansell
‘Lemonade?’
He shook his head. ‘Soda water. Trust me, it’s better than anything else. The carbon dioxide helps to break up the stain.’
She looked around. ‘Whose drink was it meant to be?’
‘Don’t worry, they’re both for me. I was late getting here. Marilyn’s son invited me . . . we’ve known each other for years. I haven’t even seen him yet.’
Hallie indicated the lit-up marquee. ‘He’s in there with his friends.’
‘That’s OK, I’ll catch up with them later. I’d much rather stay out here and talk to you.’ He was leaning towards her now, patting the soda water into the material with his clean handkerchief, holding it away from her skin and patiently working at the stain left by the red wine. ‘If you keep it damp, you’ll have more chance of getting the rest out when you get home.’
‘Well, you’re either a world stain expert or incredibly clumsy,’ said Hallie. ‘So which is it?’
Ross laughed. ‘That’s for you to find out. Looks like you need to get to know me a little better. You have incredible eyes.’
‘Clumsy with drinks but smooth with the compliments.’ Maybe even too smooth, but Hallie was smiling too; when someone was gazing into your eyes like that, it was kind of hard to look away.
‘I wish. I can be clumsy with compliments too. I once got nervous and told a girl that she had fantastic long teeth and white legs.’ He shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘Funny how I’m still single.’
Everyone in the pub was now leaping up and down, dancing and bellowing along to Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’. It was one of Marilyn’s favourite songs. Hallie had always found it hard to sing those lyrics; it felt like tempting fate.
‘Are you wishing you could join in?’ Ross observed her listening to the music. ‘It’s fine, if you’re desperate to get away from me. I’ll understand.’
But he was joking; had any girl ever been desperate to get away from him? When you were that good-looking, it simply didn’t happen.
As if she could physically get up and dance at the moment anyway; the effects of doing without the extra oxygen were really making themselves known now.
Still, just ignore it. Mind over matter.
‘I’m happy to stay here.’ Hallie found herself gazing at his mouth; it was possibly one of the most beautiful mouths she’d ever seen.
‘I’m so happy you’re happy,’ said Ross. ‘In fact I’m so very happy you’re happy. Can we stay out here all night and get to know each other? Would that be OK with you? Shall we hide away down here at the end of the garden and really get to know each other? Aarrgh.’ He clapped his hand to his head in comical despair. ‘See what I mean? It just happened again . . . that sounds so bad. I mean in the gentlemanly, non-physical, just-asking-questions sense, I promise.’
There were garlands of multicoloured fairy lights festooned from the branches of the tree above them, and warm yellow uplighters in the shrubbery bordering the garden. Otherwise they were sitting in near-darkness. If it had been bright daylight, there was a chance that Ross might have been able to make out the faint blue-grey tinge to her mouth – she didn’t need a mirror to know that her oxygen saturation levels were decreasing. The sensation of pressure in her lungs and increased difficulty in breathing told her that.
But with the lighting this dim, she was pretty sure she could get away with it. Just this once, she was out of the house and being flirted with by an attractive man who didn’t have a clue about her condition. As far as he was concerned, she was just another twenty-something girl. He thought she was normal, was treating her as if she were normal and, given the chance, would probably invite her to do all sorts of completely normal things with him.
Not that she would, of course, but it was doing her ego no end of good to be treated as if she might.
God, it was such a fantastic feeling.
See? And this is par for the course if you’re healthy. This is what evenings out can be like.
‘What?’ Ross tilted his head. ‘Why are you smiling like that?’
Because you think I’m normal. Aloud, Hallie said, ‘Because I’m having a nice time.’ She pointed to her shoulder. ‘Thanks for getting the stain out.’
‘Well, nearly getting it out.’ There was still a faint lilac mark there, but he put down the damp handkerchief. ‘Do you have a husband?’
Hallie held up her ringless left hand. ‘No.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘No.’
‘Just checking. I like those answers, by the way. Where d’you live?’
‘Right here in Carranford.’
‘Cool,’ said Ross. ‘I’m in Oxford. And what do you do?’
Hmm, let’s see. Cough a lot? Lie in bed for days on end with attractive plastic tubes up my nose? Battle against infections and take more antibiotics in a year than some people take in a lifetime? Imagine my own funeral and wonder what people will say about me after I’m gone?
Was that an enticing list of pastimes guaranteed to enthral and entice any potential boyfriend?
No. No, it really wasn’t.
Chapter 35
‘I work in IT. Kind of . . . problem-solving.’ Hallie pictured the home page of www.threethingsaboutyou.com. That counted as IT, didn’t it?
‘So you’re a troubleshooter,’ said Ross.
‘That’s right.’ She nodded firmly; a troubleshooter for other people’s emotional dilemmas was exactly what she was. ‘How about you?’
‘Me? Would you hate me if I told you I was an estate agent?’ He sat back, holding up his hands in self-defence.
‘Are you one of those ruthless ones who strings people along and crushes their dreams?’
‘I’m actually one of the nice, helpful ones who tries his level best to make people’s dreams come true. Believe it or not,’ he confided, ‘we don’t want property sales to fall through. Mainly because it means we lose our commission.’
‘Then I won’t hate you,’ said Hallie.
‘The feeling’s mutual.’ His smile was playful. ‘I won’t hate you because you’re a computer geek.’
She nodded gravely. ‘Thanks.’
‘Although you don’t look like a geek.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Anyway, I’m glad I came along here tonight. Imagine if I hadn’t. Am I being too forward?’
‘Yes, but don’t stop.’
‘What happened to your last boyfriend?’
‘He moved to Australia. I chose to stay here.’
‘He made a huge mistake,’ said Ross.
‘We’re still friends.’ Hallie shrugged. ‘Your turn.’
His eyes lit up. ‘My turn to be your boyfriend?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Oh dear. You really want to know?’
‘More than ever,’ said Hallie, ‘now you’ve said that.’
Ross heaved a sigh. ‘It’s a very sad story, so you’ll have to brace yourself. Her name was Eva and she was beautiful. Perfect. We were getting on so well together.’
‘Go on.’
‘Then she decided to sell her flat and asked me to put it on the market for her. I showed a potential buyer over the property a week later, while she was there, and he told me he was definitely interested.’ Ross raised an eyebrow. ‘It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I discovered it wasn’t the flat he’d been interested in.’
‘Oh no. Are they still together?’
He nodded. ‘Still together.’
‘Was your heart broken?’
‘Shattered beyond repair for all eternity. Well,’ he amended with a grin, ‘for at least the next fortnight.’
‘You poor thing.’
‘I know.’ He nodded bravely.
Hallie said, ‘It’s not true, though, is it. Didn’t really happen.’
Ross burst out laughing. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s a gift I have. I can always tell when people are lying.’
‘That’s both impress
ive and terrifying.’
‘Let me guess. You get bored with girlfriends, drop them, move on to the next.’
‘This is true.’ Ross nodded in agreement. ‘Because I’m always looking for something better, someone who really understands me. I always knew that one day I’d meet my match.’ His blue eyes crinkled. ‘It was just a question of being patient and waiting for her to turn up.’
It had been worth coming to the pub tonight just for this. To feel like a normal girl. Even though it was becoming more and more difficult to suck enough air into her lungs.
Not to mention successfully concealing the fact that it was becoming more difficult.
‘And I have to say, you took your time.’ His teeth gleaming white in the darkness, Ross leaned forward and murmured, ‘But better late than never.’
‘THERE SHE IS,’ bellowed a voice at the other end of the garden. ‘It’s OK, I’ve found her! She’s out here!’
And that was the end of feeling normal. Hallie turned to see Bea standing in the doorway to the pub, opening the door wide so that the wheelchair could fit through it.
‘My God, you gave us the fright of our lives,’ Bea shouted, hair flying as she raced across the grass. ‘We were on the dance floor and I thought you were in the corner talking to the Wilkinsons, then they moved away and I saw they’d been standing in front of an empty chair. And nobody knew where you’d got to! You can’t do this . . .’
Hot on Bea’s heels was Luke, pushing the wheelchair at speed over the bumpy ground so that the portable oxygen cylinder clanked against the back of it. And completing the entourage came Christina, wobbling in her elegant stilettos and looking concerned.
It was like a team of paramedics arriving at the scene of an accident. The look on Ross’s face was a picture as they came hurtling down the garden towards him.
‘Can you stand? Bea, take her other arm. Careful . . .’ Luke was lifting her out of her seat, manoeuvring her across into the wheelchair, uncoiling the plastic tubing and fitting the nasal specs on her face. He turned up the oxygen and stood back to watch her intakes of breath.
Hallie knew she’d left it too long. As the minutes had ticked by, each breath had become that little bit harder to draw in, but she’d forced herself to resist the urge to take massive, gasping gulps of air because that would have given the game away and had Ross wondering what on earth she was playing at.
As if he weren’t doing that now.
‘Don’t ever do something so stupid again,’ Bea ordered. ‘We were so worried. Anything could have happened and we wouldn’t have known about it!’
Hallie gazed past them and said nothing, concentrating on sucking the oxygen back into her lungs.
‘Jesus,’ Ross said finally. He looked over at Luke. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
There it was. How many times had she experienced this over the years, since the wheelchair had come into her life? Pair it up with oxygen canisters and tubes across the face and so many people – not everyone, but more than you’d think – automatically assumed you were incapable of answering simple questions.
She looked at Ross. ‘I have CF.’
He actually seemed surprised she could still speak. ‘What’s that?’
‘Cystic fibrosis. Have you heard of it?’
‘Of course I’ve heard of it. Lungs, right?’ A mixture of horror and sympathy flickered across his face as the information sank in.
‘Correct.’ Hallie nodded. ‘Well done.’
‘Wow.’ He leaned forward, picked up the pint of lager from the table, then put it down again. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Did he really not have a clue? She shrugged. ‘Sorry. Slipped my mind.’
‘How are you feeling?’ Luke had his professional face on.
How am I feeling? Disappointed.
Oh well, at least it hadn’t come as any great surprise.
Aloud, she said, ‘I’m OK.’
There followed a brief awkward silence, broken by Bea saying, ‘Well, what are you going to do now? Do you want to come back inside with us? Or stay out here for a bit longer?’ She glanced at Ross. ‘Because if you do, that’s fine . . .’
Ross had the kind of body language going on that indicated he’d been having fun getting flirty with a girl and had just discovered she was his half-sister.
To put him out of his misery, Hallie said to Bea, ‘It’s all right, I’ll come back in with you.’
‘Sure?’
‘Very sure.’ She met Ross’s uncomfortable, trying-not-to-look-shifty gaze and managed a brief smile to let him know she understood. ‘It’s fine. I’d rather be inside. Bye.’ She did a little wave as Luke swung her chair round, ready to push her back up the garden. ‘It’s been nice talking to you.’
‘Yes. You too.’ Ross nodded; the relief was there in his voice, in the relaxation of his broad shoulders beneath that crisply ironed pink Ralph Lauren shirt.
They were, Hallie noted, physically broad shoulders rather than metaphorical ones.
Ah well, what could you expect? He was an estate agent.
Chapter 36
The party over at the White Hart was still going strong. Hallie could hear the music, the whoops of laughter and other sounds of revelry through her open bedroom window. Everyone was having a great time; yet again Marilyn was celebrating her birthday in style.
And Ross would undoubtedly have found another girl to chat up by now.
She switched on her laptop and concentrated on not feeling as if she were missing out on all the fun. It was an indication of the worsening condition of her lungs that those twenty minutes off oxygen had wiped her out to such an extent. Tomorrow, she knew from experience, she’d be feeling even more exhausted.
Had it been worth all that effort, just to be treated like a normal person for once and receive a bit of attention from someone who, once the truth had come out, couldn’t have gone off her quicker if she’d told him she had suppurating leprosy?
Yes, in all honesty it had. Poor Ross, she’d almost felt sorry for him after that. On a couple of occasions, once they were back in the pub, she’d caught him looking over at her, and he’d given her an embarrassed nod and a smile. What he didn’t understand was that she hadn’t expected anything different, hadn’t even secretly yearned for him to say, ‘Who cares if you have cystic fibrosis? I want to see you again anyway!’
Because she didn’t want to see him again. He had been fun, but he wasn’t her type. He might be physically attractive, but she hadn’t been attracted to him, either physically or mentally.
That dubious honour – sadly for her and unbeknown to everyone else – appeared to be reserved solely for Luke Hilton.
Hallie gave herself a mental shake. OK, don’t even think about it. Luke had Christina now. They were a happily reunited couple. And since there was no point in being jealous of Christina – because it simply wasn’t one of those me-or-her situations – she might as well be as pleased for them, as she’d pretended to be earlier.
It might even make a difficult situation easier and put a stop to the hopeless fantasies that could never be more than fantasies anyway.
She turned her attention to her emails; several new letters had come in and she began skimming through them:
Dear Rose,
I’m thirty-seven years old and would love to settle down and have a family.
I love my three cats more than anything.
Six months ago, I met the most wonderful man.
So here’s the thing: he’s perfect in every way . . . except one.
He really hates all animals, especially cats.
He says we can move in together but only if I get rid of them. Rose, this is so hard for me. It’s like asking me to give up my children. He’s such a lovely man, I know we could be happy together, but the thought of never having another cat in my life is hard to imagine. (He’s not allergic to them, he just doesn’t like them.)
This situation is breaking my heart. If we don’t move in together, he s
ays we’ll have to call it a day. But this could be my last chance to have children. I’m so confused. What do you think I should do?
Yours, Maggie
Sometimes the answers were so easy they wrote themselves. Hallie rapidly typed:
Dear Maggie,
Oh dear, I don’t mean to doubt your judgement, but are you sure this new boyfriend of yours is wonderful, lovely and perfect in every way? Because I can’t say he sounds it. If someone issued those kinds of ultimatums to me, I’m afraid I’d retaliate with one of my own, along the lines of: Please get out of my life and never even try to contact me again.
I certainly wouldn’t want to hang around in the hope of getting my eggs fertilised by such a charmer – imagine what kind of a father he might turn out to be. If he decides he doesn’t much like his children, he might order you to give them away too.
Seriously, you deserve so much better than a man like that.
Was that too harsh? Hallie saved the reply but didn’t send it. Tomorrow morning she’d read it again before deciding whether or not to upload it to the site.
OK, next:
Dear Rose,
When I was twelve I was involved in a terrible car crash.
I know how lucky I am to still be alive.
Sometimes when people tell me how lucky I am, I just want to scream at them to shut up.
I suppose that makes me a horrible person. I think I probably am. You see, I’m twenty-three years old now, and last year I met – but didn’t go out with – the man of my dreams.
The problem is, he turned out to be the man of my best friend’s dreams as well, and now they’re really happy together. I’m crying as I’m writing this, because I feel so mean, but just for once I wish someone could fancy me. Except it’s never going to happen because of my face. It got badly injured in the car accident and I’ll never look normal. I’m so ugly I could burst into tears every time I see myself in the mirror. No one is ever going to look at me and think, Wow, she’s nice. Instead, people point and whisper. Some laugh and do Quasimodo impressions. Other people give me sympathetic smiles. (Sometimes that makes me feel even worse.)
