Aware that she’d been openly appraising him and embarrassed to be caught in the act, she went to the parapet and peered down onto the patio as if there was something desperately interesting she really must check out this minute. The round metal table held two empty wine glasses. She and Andrea must have left them there last night. When she turned round, as eventually she had to, Jonno’s gaze instantly latched on to hers and the roof terrace seemed to shrink to the size of a Scrabble tile.
She wished he wouldn’t keep doing that, the eye thing. It was probably just something he did without thinking about it. It wasn’t flirting, not that. Under the circumstances that would be too ridiculous for words. Even so, she felt wrong-footed, not knowing how to respond. Clearly it amused him to wind her up, as he had done, to some extent, the other day when he’d hurled himself on to the terrace like the Milk Tray man on an off-day. Not that he’d be old enough to remember the Milk Tray man. He probably wasn’t even born.
‘How’s the ankle?’ She supposed she should ask, even though she had no burning desire to know.
He bent forward and hitched up the leg of his jeans, revealing a white bandage. ‘It’s a bit swollen still and it hurts on and off but it’s only a mild sprain. I’ve had worse.’
Juliet was wondering whether to ask who had strapped up the ankle when Jonno said: ‘The nurse at the surgery put this on for me. She told me to put it up.’
‘And have you been? Putting it up, I mean?’
He raised his eyebrows and grinned. Juliet felt her face heat up. Trust her to add fuel to the fire. She couldn’t help smiling, though. Jonno obviously took this as a sign of encouragement.
‘Let’s go out. I’ll treat you to lunch,’ he said.
‘Lunch? What, now?’
‘Yes, why not?’
‘Look, it’s very kind of you but you’ve already apologised,’ – she gestured towards the yucca – ‘so let’s leave it at that, shall we?’ She stepped through the doorway into her studio, Jonno following so closely behind he was almost treading on her heels.
‘The plant isn’t an apology. I told you. It was a gentlemanly gesture on my part and the invitation to lunch isn’t an apology either. I don’t apologise.’
‘What, never?’
‘Never.’
‘Oh.’ Feeling slightly baffled by this turn in the conversation and wondering where it would lead next, Juliet went and stood behind her desk. Perhaps it would remind her uninvited guest that he was, yet again, keeping her from her work.
‘Well I do. Apologise, that is, and I’m sorry.’
Jonno frowned. ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’
‘For not being very nice to you the other day. I was tired and a bit stressed out and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It was an accident, after all.’
‘If you’d been that awful I wouldn’t be here now, would I?’ He rounded the desk and stood beside her. ‘I like the rabbits - you’re very good.’ He began turning the pages of her pad. It should have felt intrusive but somehow it didn’t. ‘They gave me a bit of trouble initially. They were wrong for the story but I got there in the end.’
‘Wrong in what way?’
‘The book is about a colony of rabbits living on a roundabout. Truck drivers throw them lettuces and things but then the council decides to concrete over the roundabout and the rabbits organise a protest and stop the diggers moving in, so they couldn’t be too pretty and sweet - they had to have attitude. Once I worked that out and edged them up a bit it was plain sailing.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I put them in baseball caps and gave them all some kind of quirk so they weren’t quite perfect. Bent whiskers, one ear longer than the other, that kind of thing.’
‘Well, I think they’re great.’ Jonno returned the drawing pad to its original page.
‘So, what do you do?’
‘Do, as in make a living?’
‘Of course as in make a living.’ What did he think she meant? And why did he have to string out even the simplest of conversations?
‘I work for my uncle. He owns a company that maintains squash courts, indoor bowling rinks, that kind of thing.’
‘You travel about, then?’
‘Only if I really have to. There are usually others who do that. I update the website and I get on the phone and negotiate the contracts. It does mean I can get a free game of squash whenever I want one, of course. Enough about that - it’s boring. Are we going out now?’
‘I can’t. I really haven’t got the time. But thank you for asking,’ she said, adopting a tone that had a ring of finality about it. There was quite enough going on in her life already without her haring off to lunch with strange men, and they didn’t come much stranger than this one. Why on earth would he want to take her out to lunch anyway? He’d made his peace offering, so why he felt the need to butter her up any further God only knew.
She hadn’t told anyone about his first appearance. She wasn’t sure why, except that the more she’d thought about it afterwards, the more far-fetched and unreal it seemed until she began to think she’d dreamed the whole episode, and then the moment passed and it was too late to say anything. Besides, Gray would only have fussed about her keeping the roof terrace door locked and Andrea would have found it a huge joke and gone on about it for ever more.
Well, she wouldn’t say anything about today either – she couldn’t very well without plunging into a long, ridiculous-sounding explanation. If someone happened to notice the triffid on the terrace, she would just to have to say it wasn’t new, that she’d moved it up here from the patio.
Having finally managed to usher Jonno to the front door, she watched from the step as he set off, with the slightest hint of a limp, down the street, as if she needed to reassure herself that he really had gone. At the bottom of the Gardens he crossed the road and let himself into a small, dark green car, an MG, possibly, with the top down. That must have caused a few heads to turn, the sight of a young fit bloke zipping through the streets of Brighton in a vintage sports car with his leafy companion giving the royal wave from the passenger seat.
Fit? Yes, she supposed he was. If you liked that sort of thing.
3
On Saturday morning, Juliet stumbled sleepily downstairs to make tea and found a square white envelope on the doormat. It was too early for the post and in any case the sealed envelope was completely blank - no stamp, no name or address, nothing. She opened it on her way to the kitchen, expecting to find an advertising leaflet of some kind, but when she drew out the contents she saw it was a greetings card, one of those without words that you could use for any occasion, except that no-one had written anything inside it.
Frowning, she examined the picture on the front. It was a pre-Raphaelite print of a forlorn-looking woman against an indeterminate background of sea and mountains. She turned it over. Absence makes the heart grow fonder it said, and underneath, the artist’s name, John Godward.
‘What’s this?’ Gray said later, picking up the card from the kitchen table.
‘Oh yes, I meant to show you,’ Juliet said. ‘It came this morning, not addressed to anyone. When I say it came, I mean it was on the mat. The post hadn’t even been. Peculiar isn’t it?’
‘Mmm.’ Gray opened the card and turned it over, as Juliet had done, then stuffed it back in the envelope. ‘Must have been put through the wrong door.’
‘It’s not even written or anything yet whoever sent it bothered to stick down the envelope. Don’t you think it’s strange? A bit creepy?’
Gray’s face clouded over. ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Does it matter? It’s only a card.’
The discovery of the card put a damper on the day. Juliet couldn’t explain why, except that Gray’s mood took a noticeable dive and he spent most of the day with his nose in a book.
Rachel threw herself on to the sofa and flicked disinterestedly through the evening’s TV schedules.
‘I could have gone to Sarah’s if you�
�d said you were going out. Where are you going anyway? Can’t I come?’
‘Out with Al and Karina, and no, you can’t. You’d only be bored.’
‘I thought we could have a girly evening, just the two of us. Be nice, don’t you think?’ Andrea said, bang on cue. She was on the other sofa with her legs curled beneath her, wearing jeans so tight it was a miracle she had achieved any kind of sitting position at all.
In response to Rachel’s shrug, Andrea applied a little gentle persuasion. Pizza from a favourite take-away was mentioned and a DVD Andrea happened to have bought this morning. Rachel’s expression behind the TV magazine began to melt and by the time Andrea played her trump card, a session with her posh hair-straighteners, Rachel was trying, and failing, to smother a grin.
Gray came in with a glass of red wine for Juliet and one for himself.
‘Oh, do you want one?’ He looked at Andrea as if he was surprised to see her.
‘No, you’re all right. I’ll help myself later.’
Juliet herself had been surprised Andrea was staying in, considering the impetus her social life had gathered lately. She’d joined the local am-dram company, not as an actor but as the director’s assistant, a role she had acquired with amazing speed considering her newness to the area and the number of hopeful hangers-on the group attracted. Juliet knew a few people who belonged, including the director, David Wellman. He and his wife, Fiona, lived in the double-fronted house at the bottom of Clifton Gardens.
It was an ideal way for her to meet new people, Andrea had said. Even so, Juliet hadn’t been prepared for Andrea throwing herself quite so wholeheartedly into this drama thing. She had half expected her to go a few times and then declare they were all a bunch of boring show-offs and she wouldn’t touch with them with a barge-pole. Not so, it seemed.
Gray sat down, realised his mistake and stood up again, twisting round to examine the back of his black chinos. ‘Damn cat! Hairs everywhere!’
‘That is his favourite chair,’ Rachel said. ‘Anyway, Sid can’t help malting, can he?’
‘It’s moulting, not malting.’ Gray slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Honestly, you’re as bad as your mother.’
‘Well thanks for that,’ Juliet said. ‘And there’s no need to snap at Rachel. She didn’t know, did she?’
‘Plainly not,’ Gray muttered, only just audibly.
Juliet bit back a retort - she had to if the evening wasn’t going to be ruined before it had even begun.
‘Rachel, go upstairs and fetch the clothes brush for Gray, will you please,’ she said, keeping her voice studiously neutral.
Gray’s shoulders rose about six inches and dropped again. ‘No, it’s all right, I’ll go.’
When Gray had plodded off, Andrea looked Juliet up and down. ‘I love the dress. That turquoisey colour really suits you’.
‘Does it? Thanks.’
‘Mind you, I’m not the one who should be saying it.’ Andrea nodded towards the door. Juliet glanced meaningfully at Rachel then frowned at Andrea. ‘Sorry,’ Andrea mouthed.
Gray picked gloomily at his stuffed vine leaves in their oily lake.
‘Don’t you want those? Pass them over here.’ Al took the proffered plate and set it down next to his own dish of humous and pitta bread. Karina raised her eyes and smiled indulgently.
It was a good thing they were such good friends, Juliet thought, otherwise Gray’s grumpiness would be an embarrassment. Al Thornes was Gray’s partner in their Hove-based management consultancy business. Gray’s interest in life coaching was a recent development, his one-to-one sessions a potentially lucrative side-line, he said, although Al as yet remained unconvinced.
‘Bet I know what’s wrong with him.’ Al inclined his dark, gel-spiked head towards Gray.
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. I’m not that hungry, that’s all.’
Gray scowled at the table-cloth like a recalcitrant child being told to eat up his cabbage. Behind the scowl there was something else, a kind of vulnerability that was new. Its discovery caused Juliet’s heart to contract. She reached across the table and touched his hand. He looked up and smiled at her.
‘One of Gray’s life-coach clients is giving him a spot of bother.’ Al winked at Juliet. ‘Keeps ringing him up. Says she can’t cope without him.’
Gray’s mouth re-set itself into an immoveable straight line. ‘It’s not like that, not at all.’
‘What is it like then?’
‘Stop making trouble, Al.’ Karina leaned across and whacked him on the arm. ‘Gray, take no notice.’
‘No, go on, tell us about it. I’m intrigued,’ Juliet urged. If Gray had a troublesome client it stood to reason it would play on his mind. He didn’t accept defeat easily and if he’d been struggling to come up with a solution he would be distracted at times, wouldn’t he? It was only natural.
Gray sighed. ‘It’s just this woman who keeps phoning to book more sessions when what she should be doing is putting in practice what I’ve taught her already. She doesn’t believe in herself. She applies too much logic as to why she can’t get to where she wants to be. It’s a classic case of self-sabotage - people do it all the time.’
How true, Juliet thought. ‘You mean they make excuses for not doing what they really want to do?’
‘Exactly,’ Gray said, topping up Juliet’s wine glass and his own and passing the bottle to Al. At least he’d brightened up a bit.
Karina frowned. ‘So why do they make excuses? Is it fear? Are they afraid of actually getting what it is they want?’
‘Sometimes, yes, that’s exactly what it is. It’s fear of change too. There’s safety in the familiar, even if it is a compromise. We all do it – it’s part of the human condition, a means of self-preservation.’
Safety in the familiar. The phrase zipped around Juliet’s brain and slammed home with a jolt. Was that how Gray saw her, as the familiar, the safe option? Well, he could jolly well pack up and go if that was the case, see if he could find someone else to put up with him and his moods. She wasn’t holding him to ransom and she was damned if she was going to be anybody’s compromise. The sympathy she’d felt for him earlier had evaporated and now she felt positively mutinous.
‘So come on then - what’s the answer to it, this self-sabotage thing?’ She shot the question at him, aware of the others’ eyes on her.
Gray’s face registered momentary alarm. ‘There’s no straightforward answer. That’s why it helps to talk to someone who can dig deeper, try to get to the root of the fear.’
‘And that’s what you’re doing with this woman?’ She didn’t know why she was pursuing this conversation except that in some way she wanted to put Gray on the spot.
He nodded. ‘I’m trying to, only it’s taking a lot longer than I thought.’
‘Well if the silly cow wants to spend mounds of dosh while you work your way through all the tricks in the book it’s not all bad,’ Al said.
Karina smoothed her black and white dress over her baby bump. ‘I thought people who went for life coaching wanted to be able to fend for themselves, not end up relying on the coach.’
‘You’ve hit the nail right on the head there, Karina my love,’ Gray said. ‘Tell you what, you take her over. You couldn’t do any worse than me.’
Karina smiled. ‘I’m sure you’re doing just fine, Gray.’
‘Well if I were you I’d rope in Juliet as chaperone next time.’ Al wagged a finger towards Gray. ‘That’ll cool her ardour.’
‘For God’s sake, man, there isn’t any ardour. She’s a bit needy, that’s all. That sort of thing’s all too common in our game, as you know full well.’
‘If you say so, mate, if you say so.’ Al switched his gaze to the ceiling and cupped his chin as if he was trying hard to remember something. ‘What was that old Willy Shakespeare said about protesting too much?’
He winked at Juliet again and pressed his foot lightly over hers. At least she was fairly sure it was Al’s foot
and not Gray’s. She shifted her legs pointedly to one side and turned to Karina. Gray had clearly had enough of this topic of conversation. It wouldn’t hurt her to rescue him.
‘So when are you giving up work?’
Karina had a shop in the Lanes where she sold exquisite jewellery, scented candles and carved wooden animals. It was a narrow sliver of a shop, squeezed in between Costa and a place that did tattoos and hair braiding.
‘That’s what I’d like to know.’ Al looked around at them all.
‘Oh, don’t get him started, for goodness sake. I hardly lift a finger. Tallulah does everything – I do less in the shop than I would at home.’
Juliet doubted this was true. Tallulah was a sociology graduate who occasionally baby-sat for Al and Karina and assisted in the shop while she waited to break into the world of top modelling. Whenever Juliet went in, Tallulah seemed to be in a bit of a dream.
‘It pains me to say it but I’m with Al on this one. Can’t you do half days or something?’
It was no use suggesting Karina stopped work altogether. Juliet knew from experience that she wouldn’t hand over the running of the shop to her friend, a fellow jeweller in the Lanes, until she could no longer squeeze behind the counter or she was actually in labour, whichever was the sooner, but meanwhile surely Tallulah could get off her doll-sized backside.
Karina sighed. ‘We’re having a bit of a crisis, Tallulah-wise.’
Al leaned across the table. ‘Daft mare’s gone and got herself in the club. That’s her modelling career out the window.’ He nodded triumphantly.
‘Not necessarily,’ Karina said. ‘Don’t be so horrible. Tallulah’s in an awful state. She was in floods all day yesterday.’
‘Oh?’ Juliet looked at Karina. Al opened his mouth to say something but Karina hushed him.
‘Yes, apparently – well, obviously – she didn’t mean to get pregnant. She lives with a guy but it’s not the most stable of relationships, from what I’ve gathered.’
Falling to Earth Page 3
