Three Amazing Things About You

by Jill Mansell

  As he spoke, he was efficiently unpacking the three supermarket carriers on the table. She’d pretty much run out of all the essentials, so there was fresh milk, bread, butter, eggs, coffee and tissues, along with ham, Marmite, two packets of liquorice allsorts and three bottles of Tabasco.

  ‘OK, all that chilli sauce isn’t for me.’ Feeling the need to explain, Flo said, ‘I work at Nairn House, and one of the residents asked me to get it for her. She likes to keep a good supply . . . oh.’

  Her voice faltered as Jason took the last item out of the carrier bag and said mildly, ‘Is this for one of the residents too?’

  Flo sat down at the kitchen table and felt her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. She’d compiled the shopping list during her lunch break, sitting outside in the shade with Annie and Bridget. Annie, as nosy as ever, had peered over and said, ‘Two packets of liquorice allsorts? Really?’

  ‘I’ve eaten most of Margot’s, so I’m replacing them. And the other bag’s for me.’

  ‘Didn’t think you liked liquorice allsorts,’ said Bridget.

  Flo had shrugged. ‘I just fancied them for a change.’

  And Annie, never backward in coming forwards, had said bluntly, ‘Oh love, you’re not pregnant, are you?’

  It was a completely ridiculous question. For a couple of seconds the possibility skittered through Flo’s brain . . . They’d been careful, hadn’t they? And her period was late, but after the shock of the accident, that was only to be expected. Oh no, the prospect was too terrifying to contemplate; she shook her head rapidly, let the idea scurry away and said, ‘No, of course I’m not.’

  But while she’d been adding Tabasco to the list, she’d been aware of Annie and Bridget exchanging significant glances.

  It couldn’t happen. She wasn’t even going to think about it.

  Now, her hand trembling slightly, she said, ‘Can you pass me the shopping list, please?’

  There were all the items she’d written down in blue ballpoint. And there at the bottom of the page, in Annie’s handwriting in black felt-tip pen, was: pregnancy testing kit.

  Subtle as ever.

  ‘Sorry.’ Jason followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Was I not supposed to buy that?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. You were.’ Oh God, and she’d fainted; was that another sign?

  ‘Right.’ He pulled a face. ‘Thought for a moment it was some kind of joke.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’ The effort of not thinking the unthinkable was making Flo’s mouth dry and her jaw ache. ‘Thanks for getting it.’

  ‘Caused a few raised eyebrows, I can tell you.’ Reassured, Jason broke into a grin. ‘They all know me in that supermarket, and you know what Clifton’s like for gossip. Mary on the checkout whispered, “Oh dear, good luck, love,” whenƒshe put it through the till. Anyway, here you go.’ He’d reboiled the kettle and made her the promised mug of tea. ‘I’ll be off now. Want me to carry this into the living room for you?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Flo followed him across the hall and settled herself back on the sofa.

  ‘You’re still not looking well,’ said Jason. ‘Might be an idea to see your doctor. Especially if you’re . . .’ He gestured awkwardly in the vicinity of his own flat stomach.

  ‘I will.’ Flo nodded and saw him notice for the first time the sympathy cards lined up on the mantelpiece.

  He turned and said with compassion, ‘Oh dear, poor you, looks like it’s all happening at once. Who died?’

  Poor Jason was unprepared for the answer she was about to give him. ‘My boyfriend,’ said Flo.

  ‘Here we are.’ Flo held up the bottles of Tabasco. ‘Did you think I’d forget them?’

  ‘Honestly?’ said Margot. ‘Yes, I did. Not that it would have mattered a bit,’ she went on as Flo lined up the bottles on the kitchen worktop. ‘And I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. After Yves died, my memory was like a smashed mirror. I could barely remember my own name.’

  ‘Same here. That’s why I wrote a list. And I bought these for you too.’ Flo produced one of the packets of liquorice allsorts. ‘To make up for eating the last lot.’

  ‘Oh darling, you didn’t need to do that.’

  ‘Well I thought I should. This way I’ll be able to pinch a few more while I’m working.’ She paused. ‘I never used to like liquorice.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  Flo shook her head. ‘When I told Annie I’d started eating it, she asked me if I was pregnant.’

  Margot put down her iPad and removed her reading glasses. ‘And?’

  ‘I took a test last night.’ It had taken her until midnight to pluck up the courage to do it.

  ‘And?’ said Margot again.

  Just say it. Flo took a deep breath. ‘And . . . it turns out Annie was right.’

  ‘Oh goodness. Oh my darling.’ Margot reached out to clasp her hand. ‘It’s not often I’m at a loss for words, but this is one of those moments.’

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve told.’

  ‘And how are you feeling about it?’

  ‘Shocked. Scared. Overwhelmed.’ Flo paused, eyeing the packet of allsorts on the worktop and yearning to open it. ‘Confused. That was last night. Then I went to bed, thinking I wouldn’t get any sleep at all. But I did sleep, better than I have since the accident. And when I woke up this morning, it suddenly seemed like a good thing, a perfect present from Zander. And I’m just so glad it’s happened, I really am.’

  Margot nodded with satisfaction. ‘In that case, come here . . .’ She threw her arms around Flo and hugged her. ‘It is a good thing, I promise you. The best surprise present you could have. Congratulations!’

  ‘Thanks.’ It wouldn’t be easy, Flo knew that, but it felt right and she was going to give it her very best shot.

  ‘I’ve just thought of something,’ said Margot. ‘That ridiculous fortune-telling woman at the summer fair who got everything wrong . . .’

  ‘I know.’ The irony of it hadn’t escaped Flo either.

  ‘Didn’t she say you and Zander would have two children?’

  How they’d laughed at hopeless, incompetent Madam Zara with her wild guesses and her wonky eyeliner.

  Flo pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure I could cope with twins.’

  Chapter 50

  It was the last week of September, and the first signs of autumn were making themselves known. Through the windows, the leaves on the trees outside were starting to turn, various shades of green edging into ambers, pinks and browns.

  Hallie’s phone began to ring. She saw who was calling and pressed Answer. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Bea. ‘Where are you? What are you doing?’

  The questions her oldest friend had been habitually asking her for years. ‘Oh, nothing much. Just finished a 5K run. I’m going to dive into the pool next, probably swim twenty or thirty lengths. Then after that I’m planning to head over to the restaurant and have a nice lunch with this friend of mine, I forget her name . . .’

  ‘Her name is Bea, and she’s wondering if you’ve happened to notice the guy over to your right.’

  ‘Which guy?’

  ‘The one on the cross-trainer. Black vest, gorgeous biceps. Gorgeous everything.’

  ‘I may have noticed him . . .’

  ‘Yay!’

  ‘No, not yay.’ Twisting round to survey Bea over by the rowing machines at the other end of the gym, Hallie said, ‘I also noticed his wedding ring.’

  ‘Oh bum, that’s a shame. You could have asked him to join us for lunch.’

  ‘Will you stop trying to set me up? If I wanted a man, I’d organise it myself.’

  ‘OK, fine. How are you feeling, anyway?’

  Hallie smiled, because she’d just told Bea she’d completed a 5K run on the treadmill and it had been true. ‘I’m great.’

  And this was true too. It hadn’t all been plain sailing, of course. The first few days following the transplant had passed in a muggy haze of sedation, discomfort and tubing, pep
pered with endlessly being woken up when she’d far rather be asleep. But from day one the hospital staff had informed her that the surgery had been a success, and even in her drugged-up state, Hallie had been aware that breathing was easier, that the endless weight of the cystic fibrosis in her lungs was gone.

  She’d been lucky not to succumb to any infections. After the initial post-op period, recovery had been smooth and utterly miraculous. The fog had cleared, physiotherapy had intensified and eventually visitors had no longer needed to be masked and gowned-up when they came to see her.

  A stranger’s heart and lungs were now functioning beautifully inside her chest, and somewhere, hopefully, her own heart was beating inside another person’s body. It was just the most extraordinary thing . . . yet it didn’t feel extraordinary; it just felt normal and right.

  Two and a half weeks after the surgery, she’d been discharged from the hospital. And yes, she still had plenty of tablets to take and regular tests to undergo – that went without saying – but it didn’t matter; it was a tiny price to pay in return for the unbelievable gift she’d received.

  And now, three months on, Hallie found herself appreciating each day more and more, jogging and cycling and amazing everyone with her achievements. This was the new life she’d never truly expected to get the chance to live, and she wasn’t going to waste a moment of it. In due course she planned to do all the things other people took for granted – get a proper job, take foreign holidays . . . even having a baby at some stage was now a possibility.

  Basically, who knew what the future held?

  As they drove back to Carranford later on that afternoon, Bea said, ‘I was reading some of the problems on your website last night.’

  Since Hallie had outed herself on the night of the transplant, it had become common knowledge that she was Dear Rose; even Carranford’s least internet-savvy inhabitants now knew about threethingsaboutyou.com. Hallie said, ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘There’s something I feel really bad about.’

  Mystified, Hallie looked at Bea. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There was a message from a girl called Fran who had loads of scars after a car accident. She was in love with her best friend’s boyfriend but knew he’d never be interested in her.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘And you said you knew exactly how she felt.’

  ‘Yes.’ Hallie nodded. She remembered that too.

  ‘And I saw the date you replied to that message. It was the night of Marilyn’s party at the pub,’ said Bea. ‘When you first met Ross and he didn’t know you were ill.’

  ‘Right.’ Baffled, Hallie tilted her head. ‘Why are you being weird? What’s he got to do with anything?’

  ‘Because you told me you didn’t fancy him, but when I read that, I realised you must have done . . . and it just made me feel terrible all over again . . .’

  Hallie started to laugh. ‘Well you can stop feeling terrible, because I wasn’t talking about Ross!’

  Then she abruptly stopped laughing, because Bea had done a double-take and was now raising her eyebrows in Miss Marple fashion.

  ‘No? So who were you talking about?’

  ‘No one. Just not Ross.’

  ‘Come on, I heard the way you said it. You weren’t just telling me it wasn’t anyone, you were stressing that Ross wasn’t the one. You emphasised his name,’ Bea pointed out. ‘Like, it wasn’t Ross, but it was definitely someone else.’ Her eyebrows were still up. ‘See? I know I’m right. I’m not stupid.’

  God, she was like a ferret when she got her teeth into an idea. To change the subject, Hallie said, ‘Although we did lose the last pub quiz because you thought the capital of Azerbaijan was Baklava.’

  ‘And now you’re trying to change the subject.’ Bea was triumphant. ‘But it won’t work. Because I’m not going to give up until I find out who it is.’

  ‘Well good luck with that.’ Hallie surreptitiously wiped her palms, slick with perspiration, against the sides of her jeans. ‘Because there isn’t anyone. I just made it up to make the girl feel better.’

  ‘Don’t believe you.’ Narrowing her eyes, Bea tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she gave the matter some thought. ‘OK, is it Brendan?’

  Brendan ran the hotel across the river from the pub.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Hallie nodded.

  ‘Shut up, it isn’t. How about Den Simpson?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Den Simpson.’

  ‘OK, it’s not him. Is it Steve from the rugby club?’

  ‘Yes, it’s definitely him. All these years I’ve been secretly in love with Steve Biggins.’

  ‘No you haven’t. You don’t like his ears.’

  Was it any surprise, seeing as they were as weird and curly as cooked snails?

  Hallie said, ‘Maybe I was only pretending not to like his ears. Maybe I actually find their curliness completely irresistible.’

  ‘Don’t you make fun of me. I’ll figure it out sooner or later. Ooh look, there’s Christina.’ Driving past Luke’s cottage, Bea tooted and waved as Christina and Daley emerged from Christina’s car. ‘Anyway, are we going to the pub tomorrow night? It’s Luke’s thing, remember.’

  Luke. Hallie inwardly jumped, bracing herself for yet more suspicious questioning, but it didn’t happen. Bea’s interrogation had concluded; this time the subject really had been changed and she’d moved on to tomorrow’s meet-and-greet.

  ‘We should go.’ Hallie nodded in agreement. ‘Everyone else is. And I know Marilyn’s doing food.’

  As she’d guessed they would, her friend’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Brilliant. I wonder if there’ll be Scotch eggs?’ said Bea.

  Luke was in the living room, checking emails on his computer, ensuring that the changeover would be smooth. Yesterday Jennifer, his ex-colleague, had left Carranford and was at this moment aboard a flight to Uganda. Tomorrow evening her replacement at the practice would be introducing herself to the villagers by way of an informal get-together at the White Hart. Which might not be standard GP practice but seemed like a pretty good idea all the same.

  Dr Tess Hannigan was about as far removed from her predecessor as it was possible to be. The other week Jennifer West had pursed her lips and said, ‘Hmm, I’m not sure, is she really the kind of person you’d want working here?’ Whereupon Luke had replied with great firmness, ‘Oh yes.’

  Tess was in her forties, happily divorced, chatty and friendly, with a frizz of chestnut hair, crimson lipstick and oversized jewellery. Plump, curvy and given to bright outfits and elaborate shoes, she was extrovert but also evidently extremely bright, incisive and hard-working. Most importantly, Luke knew the villagers would like her.

  He pressed Print on the computer, and the printer next to him trundled into life.

  He’d left the front door on the latch, and now it creaked open as a small, determined animal pushed its way through the gap. Luke turned as Daley came skittering across the floor and launched himself on to his lap.

  ‘Hey you, hello! Where’ve you been then? Careful now . . .’ He swung round in his chair before Daley’s enthusiastic tail-wagging could send flying the sheets of paper that were being rhythmically churned out by the printer. Then he tickled the dog’s ears and paddled his paws in the air. ‘Look at you, who’s a good boy?’

  ‘Hi,’ said Christina, watching them from the doorway.

  Luke smiled at her. ‘Hi.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Crossing the living room, she picked up one of the printed sheets.

  ‘That’s Tess. It was her idea to put up a few photos of herself, then people would know what she looked like. So I took some of her this afternoon.’

  Christina eyed the end result. ‘Hmm. Thought she’d be prettier. I mean, I suppose she’s not bad, if you like that sort of thing. Not exactly stunning, though.’

  ‘She’s a very nice person,’ said Luke.

  ‘You’re looking forward to working with her, aren’t you?’ There was a slight edge to Christina
’s voice.

  ‘I am.’ Luke nodded, outwardly calm. Inside his brain, however, a switch had been flicked, the decision made. The time had come; he simply couldn’t do this any more. Once his mind was made up, that was it. ‘OK, we need to talk.’

  ‘About what?’

  He looked at her steadily. ‘Come on, you know the answer to that. This isn’t working out, is it?’

  She froze. ‘Is it her? Tess?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. And it’s not your fault either. It’s no one’s fault,’ said Luke. ‘We tried our best, but it isn’t happening. Be honest, you know it as well as I do.’

  All the tension slid from Christina’s shoulders and she nodded slowly. ‘Oh God, I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Luke. He meant it, too; since getting back together, they’d both been doing their level best to pretend that everything was fine, but the basic central premise – the bit where genuine love was called for – simply wasn’t there. They’d hoped they might be able to recreate it, but it hadn’t happened.

  ‘It’s all right. I thought I was making such a grand romantic gesture, turning up at Marilyn’s party that night.’ Christina’s slim fingers fiddled with the rolled hem of her pistachio silk scarf. ‘I think I thought it would make you love me more. But all it did was railroad you into going along with the whole thing. You didn’t want everyone to see me make a big fool of myself, so you pretended to be happy about it.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Luke shook his head. ‘Don’t put yourself down. I didn’t pretend to be happy. I genuinely thought it might work. We both gave it our best shot.’

  ‘But it wasn’t enough,’ said Christina. There was sadness in her voice, but also acceptance.

  ‘No,’ he reluctantly agreed. ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘Shame.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘Oh well, at least we tried. Shall I tell you what’s ironic?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Last time you finished with me, it was partly because you didn’t like my beautiful snakes.’ Christina glanced at Daley, still lying happily against Luke’s chest. ‘And this time I’m pretty sure you stuck it out a bit longer than you wanted because you like my beautiful dog so much.’