8
She spun out of his arms, staring at him in disbelief.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He let go of her and gazed levelly back, looking anything but remorseful. ‘One kiss?’ He gave her a hopeful smile.
‘Huh!’ Her breath came out in an angry rush. ‘Is this what it’s been about all along? Did you make up that stuff about your girlfriend just to get me over here? Come on, the truth please!’
His face darkened. ‘No, of course I didn’t. I’m not in the habit of seducing women with made-up sob stories and I’m not a liar either.’
She hesitated, trying to read his expression. It looked genuine enough. His eyes were almost beseeching her to believe him.
‘No, I don’t suppose you are but you stepped right out of line there and it gave me a shock.’
He shrugged. ‘Can I help it if you’re so devastatingly irresistible?’
He was teasing her now in true Jonno style - the tone of his voice and his cheeky grin told her that. Even so, she knew irrevocably that she’d been right to send him packing and now, because of her own stupidity, she had to do it all over again.
‘So am I forgiven then?’ He peered at her closely, brown eyes narrowing, seeking hers.
She wished he’d stop all this play-acting. Her heart was racing. She fought to control it. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Right then. How about I make some more tea – I’ve got some cake somewhere - and we pretend the last bit never happened?’
God, he was priceless! Juliet was just wondering at Jonno’s bare-faced cheek and, more to the point, what had prompted her to land herself in this situation in the first place, when her mobile phone burst into life. She drew it from her jeans pocket and clicked the button.
‘Mum? Where are you?’
Rachel! What time was it? Quarter to five! What had she been thinking about? Not her daughter, for a start. She should have been home ages ago! Rachel had a key but that wasn’t the point. She should be there.
‘Rachel, I’m so sorry darling, I got held up,’ she managed to breath into the phone. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes of course I’m all right. I’m at Sarah’s so there’s no need to rush. It’s cool. I just wondered where you were, that’s all.’
So Rachel had arrived home from school, discovered her mother had done a disappearing act and swanned off to Sarah’s to get fed and watered there. Great.
‘I have to go.’ She shot out of the door, Jonno following.
‘Will I see you again?’ he said, as she opened the front door.
‘No. Jonno, nothing’s changed, or rather, everything’s changed, or rather it hasn’t but it could do...’ Juliet heard herself wittering on. All she wanted to do was get out of here. Couldn’t he see that? He could, apparently.
‘It’s cool. I expect you’re right.’
‘I really hope everything works out with you and Lou and ... well, I’m sure it will, in the end.’ She gave him an encouraging smile.
‘I’ll walk you down.’
‘No, no, I’ll see myself out.’ She couldn’t afford any further delay.
The clatter of footsteps on marble was still bouncing off her ear-drums as she charged through the streets towards the car. Why on earth hadn’t she trusted her instincts and refused to be cajoled into seeing him? She’d been enough of a fool in the first place not to realise that platonic friendship was the last thing on his mind – no such thing, her mother’s voice insisted - and worse than that, much worse, was the sudden recognition that it wasn’t what had been on her mind either. A disgrace, that’s what she was. For heaven’s sake, his razor was barely out of its wrapper and neither had it escaped her notice that he shared the same vernacular as her twelve-year-old daughter!
And what about Gray – what had she done to him? She loved him and yet she’d been unfaithful to him, not technically, granted, but she’d thought about it, hadn’t she, and that was nearly as bad. Gray might have been pretty hard to live with at the moment but that didn’t mean she could go around merrily entertaining fantasies about athletic young men, did it? She’d wanted Jonno to kiss her, she could see that now, and it had only been by some fluke of inner strength that she’d managed to stop it. She was so ashamed. She’d be so dead too, when Gray found out she’d turned Rachel into a latchkey kid. If she was dead, it wouldn’t matter if she was ashamed, though, would it?
A car hooted from a side-road as Juliet whizzed by, preventing it from pulling out. She tooted back-temperedly back, although she slowed down a bit. It would be better if she arrived home in one piece before Gray killed her anyway.
The house was mercifully silent when Juliet let herself in at twenty-five to six. Sitting in traffic at the bottom of West Street while the temporary lights around the road-works changed and changed again, panic had subsided – she was already so late it was pointless to worry any more. Even so, it was a relief to find that no-one would know what time she’d got home.
She made a quick call to Kate Schofield, Sarah’s mother. It appeared that Rachel and Sarah were busy doing something on the computer. She would drop Rachel home later, she assured Juliet, and no, of course it wasn’t any trouble.
Sidney arrived, winding himself round her legs. She squeezed a sachet of turkey mush into his bowl and watched as he wolfed it down. It was only then that she spotted the note on the table, anchored by an empty Coke can. Have fed Sid. R. Guiltily, she eyed the purring, replete mound on the floor, then, taking a screw-top bottle of white wine from the fridge, she poured herself a very large glassful.
Ten minutes later, she slid down in the bath, immersing herself up to the chin in mango-scented bubbles. She tried not to think about Jonno but her mind kept drifting back to the events of the afternoon. Had he really wanted to pour out his heart to her over Lou and the baby or had he asked her there for the sole purpose of enticing her into bed? She still wasn’t sure and, likely as not, she never would be. She had seen with her own eyes, though, how upset he was while he’d been telling her the story. Now she’d calmed down she was prepared to believe that his attempt to kiss her had been a spur of the moment thing, arising out of a need for comfort – it was easiest that way. She was never going to see him again, anyway, so it hardly mattered now what was true and what wasn’t.
The wine slid icily down her throat. She felt safe now, and sufficiently in control of her emotions to indulge in a little daydream. No harm in that, surely. Jonno was just a bit gorgeous, wasn’t he? Had he thought the same about her? She doubted it, yet she must have something he’d liked the look of. What was she saying? Of course she had – a pretty face, by all accounts, silky hair and a curvy figure for a start, even if there seemed to be rather too much of it lately. She shouldn’t do herself down – she never used to be so self-deprecating. This afternoon, when his lips had been just inches from hers, just for the tiniest maddest nanosecond, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Oh well, c’est la vie, apparently.
She drank some more wine, stood the almost empty glass on the tiled surround and lifted one leg out of the scented water, passing the sponge languidly over it. The bathroom door opened and Gray put his head round. She hadn’t heard the front door.
‘Hello darling.’ Smiling up at him, she scooped up a palm-full of bubbles and blew them in his direction.
Gray looked at her, then at the wine glass. ‘What’s going on? Why aren’t you ready? And where’s Rachel?’
‘Ready?’
Gray seemed awfully cross about something. Nothing new there then. She giggled.
He flung the door wide open, letting in a draught, and stood in the doorway, arms folded, jacket open, tie askew.
‘This is just great, isn’t it? We are due at Al and Karina’s in precisely’ - he looked at his watch – ‘thirty minutes. By the look of it there’s no hot water left - not that I’ve got time for a bath now. Rachel appears to be missing, you are plainly nowhere near ready and to cap it all you’ve been drink
ing when you’re supposed to be driving tonight.’
Al and Karina’s? Oh yes, that’s right, she remembered now. There was no need for all this fuss, though, was there?
‘I haven’t been drinking. I’ve had a drink.’
‘Don’t split hairs. Where is Rachel anyway?’
Juliet hitched the plug out with her toe and climbed out of the bath. She felt a bit unsteady. The water must have been too hot. Failing to catch the towel that Gray flung at her, she picked it up off the floor and wrapped it around her lower half.
‘She’s at Sarah’s. We’ll collect her on the way. It’s not a problem.’
‘Sarah’s isn’t on the way.’
‘Well then, we’ll make a detour. Now who’s splitting hairs?’
She stepped up to Gray and kissed him but the unresponsiveness of his firmly set mouth told her he wasn’t going to be mollified that easily. Dark saucers of dampness had appeared on the white cotton of his shirt where her breasts had pressed against him. She giggled again. Gray raised his eyes and stomped off to the bedroom, Juliet padding after him.
‘I presume you did tell Rachel we were going out?’ Gray flung his jacket on the bed and tugged at the knot in his tie.
Juliet dried herself perfunctorily and let the towel drop to the floor. ‘No, I didn’t because you said you’d tell her when you went up to say goodnight, remember?’
This was true, she was almost certain, but it was a bit unfair of her to mention it considering she’d totally forgotten all about this evening. Oh well, she’d said it now.
Gray stepped out of his trousers. ‘Actually I don’t think I did say that but never mind, it doesn’t matter now. Look, I’m sorry. I’ve had a really bad day. Let’s just concentrate on getting ready, shall we?’
‘I do think somebody might have told me we were going out for supper,’ Rachel said, yanking her seat belt into place as Gray wrenched the car through a three point turn and drove it at speed out of the Schofields’ drive, flinging up a scurry of gravel and narrowly missing a red Nissan Micra that was parked very close to the gate.
‘I know. I’m sorry, darling. We forgot,’ Juliet said, avoiding Gray’s eye.
‘Because if I had known I’d only have had a small portion of spaghetti carbonara. You never make that - shall I get the recipe off Sarah’s mum?’
‘No, thank you. Just don’t tell Karina you’ve already eaten.’
‘But I’m not hungry.’
‘Do as your mother says, please Rachel,’ Gray said, scowling into the driving mirror.
‘Yes, all right. Just don’t blame me if I’m sick in the night.’
The back seat creaked as Rachel settled into sulking mode.
Juliet had a headache, despite having downed a couple of Neurofen and half a gallon of water in an attempt to wipe the slate clean, alcohol-wise. She felt a mess. She looked a mess. Her trousers were creased, the tunic top she’d thrown over them had a brown stain on the front and her fringe was still damp which meant it would dry sticking out. She hadn’t had time to moisturise or put on any make-up but it was all in her bag. She’d bolt to the bathroom as soon as they arrived and sort out her face.
Meanwhile all she had to do was sit tight and refrain from any sharp intakes of breath as Gray white-knuckled the steering wheel and raced through the lights, apparently intent on beating the Micra that was now close behind. A look of satisfaction crossed his features as the Micra’s driver rammed on its brakes at the red. Juliet kept quiet. Somehow she felt a comment on Gray’s newly-acquired boy-racer tactics would not be appreciated.
As the evening progressed, Juliet felt herself drifting into a state of almost complete relaxation, which, considering the day she’d had, was some sort of feat. In the background of her thoughts, however, Jonno stubbornly remained, although his image was growing fuzzier by the minute. One good thing had come out of today, and that was the certain knowledge that if he did have the gall to phone her again she’d have the strength and presence of mind to resist.
They’d migrated to the sitting room after supper in the downstairs kitchen. She and Karina were in armchairs, Al was on the sofa with Aphra fast asleep beside him and Gray and Rachel were on the floor at the other end of the room, teaching Clemmie to play ‘sevens’. The oversized footstool around which they were gathered contained several wobbly lines of playing cards. Gray had taken off his shoes and his feet seemed incongruously large next to Clemmie’s little pink-socked ones. The sight made her smile.
She looked at Karina and caught her bestowing a look upon Al of such unmitigated affection as he abstractedly stroked Aphra’s hair that it felt almost intrusive to be witnessing it. Behind Karina’s indulgent smile, though, was the knowledge that Al was an incorrigible flirt and that no passably attractive female who came within eyeing-up distance went away without sampling the Thornes special brand of chocolate-coated chat. But that was as far as it went. Al looked but never touched and if he ever did, Karina would eat him alive. Karina had Al well and truly sussed and that suited Al just fine. As a couple they had it all worked out, and Juliet could only watch with wide-eyed admiration.
Juliet recalled Karina’s story of how her parents had openly disapproved of Al upon first meeting, and for some time afterwards. Looking at Al with his roving eye and devil-may-care facade, it was easy to see why. Was it ever so, Juliet thought, her mind wandering back to the battles with her own parents, or to be precise, her mother. Before Charlton appeared, Pamela Cole had not considered any of her daughter’s boyfriends to be up to scratch, the reasons for which were many and varied and ranged from dubious family background to unrefined behaviour or untrustworthy physical attributes. If the boy in question managed to pass these initial tests, then his trousers were too tight and he trod mud into the house.
Charlton Dane was a different matter entirely. He had weekly-boarded at public school, albeit a minor one, before going to Durham University, his timbered family home in rural Surrey twinkled with authentic leaded-lights and the garage had proper doors that fanned outwards and not up-and-over. By the time Juliet met Charlton which, according to her mother, was a miracle in itself considering the circles she, Juliet, moved in, he was well up the ladder of an international banking corporation.
The second miracle was that Juliet fell in love with Charlton from the first moment she clapped kohl-ringed eyes on him at a Halloween party given by a friend of a friend of Andrea’s. Charlton - tall, broad-shouldered and eye-poppingly handsome, despite the blood-spattered plastic fangs which protruded from his mouth at the time - had conveniently fallen in love with Juliet at the same moment and it all looked to be plain sailing from there. Except that it wasn’t.
Ensconced in the lower half of an Edwardian villa within spitting distance of Little Venice, domestic bliss should have been a given but after the first eighteen months or so, a restlessness suffused Juliet and she began to fight against Charlton’s expectations of her, some of which were somewhere close to reasonable while others were most definitely not. Like the time he announced he was off to Hong Kong on a business exchange jaunt, leaving her to play unwilling host to his opposite number plus non-English speaking wife and three stolid children for a whole week, with complete disregard for her own work and plans she might have made. Some women might have relished the challenge, the problem being that she wasn’t one of them.
Then there was the occasion when Juliet accompanied Charlton to a company-sponsored art exhibition. Finding her holding forth on the technical merits of one of the exhibits, to the obvious delight and admiration of the group around her, Charlton had broken in and hustled her away, ostensibly to introduce her to some of his colleagues who were gathered boringly around the buffet table.
‘Are you with the company?’ one of them had spluttered, spraying her with flakes of puff pastry.
‘No, I’m an artist,’ she’d explained, as Charlton’s indulgent smile appeared in her peripheral vision and she felt a proprietary hand on her shoulder.
‘Juliet works in the art department of an advertising agency, but not for much longer,’ he said, as a Mexican wave of knowing nods went around the group. Juliet’s foot had twitched inside her stiletto-toed shoe. How she’d stopped herself from inflicting permanent damage on Charlton’s trouser region she never knew.
If she loved Charlton enough, she’d reasoned with herself, then none of these things should matter, but the unavoidable truth was that they did. For a while she soldiered on, trying not to let her brewing resentment take over and spoil everything, because, after all, Charlton was the same man she’d fallen instantly in love with and so it stood to reason that the fault must lie with her. Deep down, though, she knew that it didn’t.
Charlton had been dismayed when, eventually, Juliet explained to him how she felt. Even as he was promising he would change, telling her she could have her own career, her own life, if that was what it took to make her happy, she’d seen the panic in his eyes. He was losing control - his master plan was failing.
She’d felt almost sorry for him, especially when it dawned on her that, underneath his arrogance, Charlton must be desperately insecure and that the reason he wanted to chain her to the kitchen sink was not because he had a prehistoric attitude towards women – well, not entirely – it was the idea of her equalling him in any professional sense that he couldn’t countenance, no matter that they worked in entirely different fields. He had told her once, proudly, that his mother had never needed to earn a penny on her own account since the day she became engaged to his father and neither had she wanted to.
Then Juliet discovered she was pregnant and there, handed to her on a plate, was a whole new reason to be happy, and she was, until Charlton, tethered to the gatepost of his own conventionality, quickly asked her to marry him, having already chosen the date and booked the venue.
Now it was Juliet’s turn to panic. The baby, yes, she wanted the baby more than she could ever have imagined. Spending the rest of her life shackled to Charlton? No, not if she could help it, but there was another person to consider now, a tiny peach of a person as yet unborn whose needs came very firmly before her own. Yet, if that was so, why were her dreams filled with escape plans instead of empire-line wedding dresses, paint charts and cot mobiles?
Falling to Earth Page 9
