Don't Want To Miss A Thing

by Mansell, Jill

  ‘Were they saying that?’

  ‘Oh yes, all the time. It was extraordinary. Well, now we know why.’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Dex.

  ‘And that’s what scared you,’ Amanda continued, visibly relieved. ‘But there’s no need to be scared. My symptoms are only mild, the chances of me not being able to conceive are really low . . . in fact, pregnancy is one of the best ways of alleviating the problems! So there’s really no reason why we can’t carry on seeing each other and—’

  ‘Hang on, no, sorry.’ Dex hastily held up his hand to stop this train of thought in its tracks. ‘I’ve said everything now . . . I still think we’ll leave it as it stands.’

  A wry look, then Amanda said with good humour, ‘Oh well, it was worth a try. And I still think there’s someone else you’ve got your eye on. Would you like me to take a wild guess as to who it might be?’

  In the pit of his stomach, he felt the knot tightening. ‘No,’ Dex said steadily.

  ‘Sure?’ Amanda’s smile was brave, but tinged with sadness. ‘Because I bet I could.’

  Chapter 53

  The finished painting stood on the easel in the centre of her living room, covered with an old lilac pashmina, all ready for the big reveal. Molly, leading the way into the room, wondered if non-artists could ever begin to imagine the sensations she was experiencing now. It was always a nerve-wracking moment. Each time, while the sitter was studying the painting, she was watching them for signs – microsignals, sometimes – that they either loved the end result or were disappointed with it.

  ‘This is exciting,’ said Dex, with Delphi on his hip. ‘You’d better have made me look like Johnny Depp or there’s going to be big trouble.’

  By accident rather than design, he was wearing the same white shirt as in the painting, with different jeans. His hair was a fraction longer now, his tan deeper as a result of the blazing heat of the last few days.

  ‘Oh no, that’s a shame, you should have said Johnny Depp before,’ said Molly. ‘I’ve given you more of a Jeremy Clarkson look.’ And reaching forward she pulled away the tatty pashmina to reveal the painting beneath it.

  ‘TAAAGH!’ Not remotely interested in what was on the canvas, Delphi let out an excited squawk and made a grab for the still-billowing pashmina. Molly exhaled with relief and let her have it to play with because Dex was happy, she could already tell, with the end result.

  ‘Well, I have to say, Jeremy Clarkson never looked better.’ Moving closer in order to study the fine detail, he shook his head in appreciation. ‘Seriously, this is amazing. Look at Delphi . . . look at me. You’ve made us look more like ourselves than we do in real life.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Anxiety over, Molly basked in the warm glow of satisfaction, the knowledge of a job well done. ‘The aim is to make you look like who you really are. I think it helped that there’s such a connection between the two of you. The way you interact with each other. It’s like . . . you can feel the love.’ OK, stop now, that just sounded over the top.

  But it was true.

  Delphi was wriggling to be put down. Lowering her to the floor, Dex said, ‘Watch what she does now. It’s her new trick.’

  Molly’s heart gave a squeeze of love and they both watched as Delphi sat on the rug and covered herself in the pashmina like a mini version of E.T. out on his trick or treat adventure. Then Dex returned his attention to the painting on the easel, examining it closely for some time.

  At last he smiled at her and said, ‘Aren’t you clever?’

  Modesty aside, sometimes you just had to come out and admit it. ‘Yes, I am.’ Molly nodded. ‘I’m really pleased with it.’

  ‘Waaah!’ From beneath the pashmina, Delphi waved her arms at them like a small, attention-seeking ghost.

  ‘Thank you. It’s even more perfect than I’d hoped.’ Digging in his jeans pocket, Dex said, ‘Here, I got you this . . .’

  ‘Why?’ Molly saw that he was holding out a small flat leather case. ‘You already paid me.’ He’d insisted on paying her usual commission fee in advance. She had offered to do it for nothing but Dex, typically, had refused to hear of it.

  And now he was rolling his eyes in amused exasperation. ‘Can you not let me give you a present without getting your knickers in a twist about it? It’s just my small way of saying thank you. For being a good friend . . . and helping out with Delphi . . . for just, well, everything.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Hey, do me a favour. It’s not a big deal. I like buying presents. Don’t make me feel awkward and wish I hadn’t done it.’

  Had Dex ever felt awkward about anything? Molly seriously doubted it was an emotion he’d experienced in his life. Still, she gave in with good grace and took the case from him.

  Then lifted open the lid and felt the breath catch in her throat.

  ‘Dex!’

  He shrugged, half-smiled. ‘If you don’t like it, you can change it for something else.’

  ‘Are you kidding? I love it. Oh my God, but this is amazing . . . this is the bracelet I saw in the magazine last week when we were over at the café.’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘But I showed it to Frankie, not you. You were taking photos of Delphi over by the window. You didn’t even see the magazine . . . oh my God, this is spooky.’

  Dex, evidently enjoying her bafflement, lifted the bracelet out of the case and unfastened it, indicating that she was to hold out her arm. In a daze, Molly did so and watched him refasten it round her left wrist. The bracelet was made of rose gold and constructed from flattened links of varying shapes; some were oval, others were round, rectangular and diamond-shaped. The end result was quirky, different and an intriguing mix of modern and antique. She’d spotted it in the magazine, on the arm of a glamorous blonde Olympic swimmer, and had looked to see if there was any mention of where you could buy it. But there hadn’t been.

  She looked at Dex. ‘I don’t get this. How did you do it? How did you know?’

  He looked pleased. ‘I was at the other end of the café with Delphi. I couldn’t see what you were looking at but I heard you telling Frankie you’d love one of those. So I went back later and asked her to show me what it was you’d liked so much.’

  Impressed, and touched by the thought that had gone into it, Molly said, ‘But it didn’t say in the magazine where the bracelet had come from. I double-checked.’ Not that she could have afforded to buy it for herself anyway.

  ‘I know. I did that telepathic thing,’ said Dex. ‘You know, where you send a message out to the cosmos . . . astral projection . . . and ask the question. And the answer came back to me. It just magically appeared in my head.’

  She gave him a look, raised one eyebrow.

  ‘OK,’ said Dex. ‘I contacted the swimmer on Twitter, asked her where it came from. She told me the name of the jeweller. Luckily, when I contacted him, he had another one in stock.’

  ‘Well, that’s very clever. You didn’t have to do that, but I really love it. So . . . thank you.’ Molly wanted to kiss him but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Because what if she couldn’t stop?

  ‘Good. I’m glad you like it.’ Dex looked as if he might be waiting for a kiss. When it didn’t happen, he said, ‘You’re going to wear it, then?’

  ‘Of course. I’m never going to take it off!’

  ‘And Vince’ll be OK with that, will he? He won’t mind you wearing a piece of jewellery given to you by someone else?’

  ‘He won’t mind.’ An idea popped into Molly’s head and she said, ‘Ooh, let me go and find something. Back in a sec.’

  Upstairs, she rummaged through the top drawer of her bedside table, finally locating what she was searching for among a tangle of necklaces and other random items of jewellery.

  Clattering back down the staircase, Molly said cheerfully, ‘Look at this, it’ll be perfect on the bracelet! I’ve always wanted an excuse to be able to wear it.’ Dropping the charm into Dex’s open palm, she watched him study the quirky little rose-gold fr
og on a shovel. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous? And they go so well together – it’s like they were made for each other.’

  Then Dex raised his gaze and she saw the expression in his eyes. Did this mean he didn’t like it after all?

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Well, it was the weirdest thing. I found it. Guess where?’

  He shook his head slightly. ‘No idea.’

  ‘In my coat pocket! In the pocket,’ Molly mimicked putting her hand into an imaginary pocket, ‘of my coat. Can you believe that? And I have no idea how it could have got there!’

  Dex said, ‘I bought it for Laura.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This charm.’ He was turning it over in his hand. ‘I bought it for her for Christmas, from an antiques shop in the Burlington Arcade.’

  Molly stared at him, dumbfounded.

  ‘And she wore it on a bracelet? I mean, I did see her down here that one time . . . but—’

  ‘She didn’t wear it. I was planning to get her something else instead. It was in the pocket of my jacket . . . then it disappeared.’ He was frowning, struggling to remember more detail. ‘It just wasn’t there any more . . .’

  Her heart gave a double-thud of realisation.

  ‘It was the night after Laura died,’ Molly exclaimed. ‘When you came into the café after my evening class had left. I made you a coffee, remember? Then I brought you back here and you ended up falling asleep on the sofa.’ Terrified that he might think she’d stolen it, she blurted out, ‘I didn’t take it out of your pocket, though, I promise!’

  Dex broke into a smile. ‘I know that. Don’t worry, I wasn’t about to accuse you of theft. And I was pretty much in a state of shock that night. I can’t honestly remember a great deal about it. Except that it was hammering down with rain.’

  ‘OK, hang on. Let me just go through it.’ Molly closed her eyes in order to concentrate; with her artist’s eye for detail she was pretty good at recreating scenes in her mind. The weather had been horrendous that evening, the rain torrential. Dex had been wet and shivering, which was why she’d insisted he take his jacket off in the café. And she’d hung it next to the radiator, over a chair . . . The same chair over which her own coat had already been draped . . .

  She opened her eyes and looked at Dex. ‘That night, did you take the charm out of your pocket while I was in the kitchen making you a drink?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Could have done. Hang on . . .’ the cogs in his mind were visibly clicking into place. ‘Yes . . . yes, I did. I did.’

  Molly nodded slowly, relieved the mystery was solved. ‘Your jacket and my coat were both on the same chair. You took it out of your pocket and put it back in mine. That’s how it happened.’

  He looked at the charm again. ‘And you’ve kept it ever since.’

  ‘I put notices up in the café to try and find out who’d lost it. And in the Swan and the village shop. But nobody ever came forward. Well, you’ve got it back now. That’s brilliant, I’m so glad.’

  ‘Hey, I don’t want it back.’ Dex held the charm out to her. ‘What would I do with a frog on a shovel? Wear it as an earring? Come on, take it. It’s yours now.’ Placing it into her hand and folding her fingers closed, he said, ‘I think it’s great that it found you.’

  They stood there for a long moment, facing each other, his warm hand enclosing hers. Molly concentrated on keeping her breathing under control; Dex couldn’t begin to imagine the effect he was having on her adrenalin production.

  ‘Dada . . .’ Delphi, her eyelids drooping, had clambered on to the sofa and was now ready for a nap. Pointing to the pashmina on the floor, she kicked her legs, shorthand for: pick that thing up and use it to cover me like a blanket while I sleep.

  Dex did as he was instructed and Molly experienced an acute sense of loss when he let go of her hand. Honestly, talk about a hopeless case. Get a grip.

  ‘Have a sleep.’ Dex ruffled Delphi’s hair and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  ‘’eep.’ Delphi stroked the edge of the pashmina against her cheek.

  ‘Do you think Amanda will like the painting?’ Molly’s heart ached as she said it. Who knew, maybe in a year’s time Dex might commission another portrait of the three of them together, himself and Amanda with Delphi between them, the perfect happy family.

  When she turned to look at Dex, to see why he hadn’t replied, he said, ‘I’m not seeing Amanda any more.’

  What?

  The words seemed to crackle in the air between them like electricity. Molly felt the tiny hairs quiver on the back of her neck. Her mouth dry, she said, ‘No?’

  Dex shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She wasn’t right.’

  Oh, the inappropriate rush of relief. But also, poor Amanda. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘I told her yesterday.’

  ‘And was she . . . upset?’

  ‘A bit. Only at first. She’ll be fine.’

  ‘But . . .’ Molly glanced over at Delphi, now sound asleep on the sofa; should she tell him? God, Amanda might have put on a brave face in front of him but she had to be devastated.

  Dex said drily, ‘So you knew about that too.’

  Yikes. ‘About what?’

  ‘You’re rubbish at trying to look innocent. Amanda not being able to have children.’ Dex half-smiled and said, ‘It’s not true, by the way. Turns out everyone in the village knew about it except Amanda.’

  Was this how it felt to have an out-of-body experience? In the distance, Molly could hear him explaining how the misunderstanding had come about. The rest of her brain was digesting the fact that the couple were no longer a couple. Just last night she’d had a hideous dream that Dex and Amanda were getting married in the village church and the vicar had kept having to raise his voice so the vows could be heard above the sound of her own anguished sobbing. And now this. The relationship was over. Amanda wasn’t infertile. She was also out of the picture.

  And I can’t feel my feet. Or my knees, come to that . . .

  OK, awkward now. Dex had been talking and she’d missed it completely.

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’

  ‘I said, so there won’t be any more dinner parties. Not with the four of us, at least.’ He shrugged. ‘Although if you and Vince wanted to take pity on me and invite me over for fish finger sandwiches I probably wouldn’t say no, what with being a desperate singleton and having no shame.’

  It was as if someone had wrapped elastic bands around her throat. Molly swallowed with difficulty. ‘Um . . . I’m not seeing Vince any more either.’

  Dex’s expression changed. He grew still. Finally he said, ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No.’ More elastic bands.

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Since a couple of weeks ago. Before he left for Canada.’

  Dex was now slowly shaking his head. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Molly felt her cheeks heating up; it would hardly be appropriate to say, because you had Amanda. ‘Just seemed easier, I suppose.’

  ‘I wish you’d told me.’

  ‘Why?’

  Silence. Her heart rate increased. Dex looked as if he was about to say something important. Then he exhaled and turned away. ‘No . . . just . . . you should have said.’ He swung round to check on Delphi, then distractedly raked his fingers through his hair and turned his attention back to the portrait on the easel.

  Another silence. Protracted, bordering on embarrassing. Molly turned to look at the painting again too, zingily aware that they were now standing side by side, their arms just a couple of inches apart. If she moved hers now, maybe to casually rest her hand on her hip, skin-to-skin contact would be made.

  No, stop that, don’t even think about it.

  ‘Which bit was the most difficult?’ Dex’s voice made her jump.

  This. This is the most difficult bit, right here, right now.

  ‘To paint? Um . . . well, ha
nds are always hard to get exactly right.’ To give her own hands something constructive to do, Molly reached out to indicate which part of the portrait she was referring to. Just in case he had no idea what hands looked like.

  ‘And getting the eyes right. That can’t be easy.’

  ‘No.’ Molly gazed into the painted eyes on the canvas, dark coffee-brown with even darker rims around each iris, glinting with amusement as they watched her in return. It had been quite a challenge, staring into those eyes for so long.

  ‘Teeth must be hard too,’ said Dex.

  ‘They are. That’s because they’re made of tooth.’ OK, that was just stupid. And looking at his painted mouth was getting her too flustered. Molly surveyed the shaded hollow at the base of his throat instead. While she’d been recreating it on the canvas, how desperately she’d longed to reach out, brush the tips of her fingers over the real hollow and feel the warmth of his skin. How she longed to do it now.

  ‘I wish you’d told me about Vince,’ he repeated.

  Was the air in the room vibrating? It felt as if it was. Trying to breathe normally, Molly said again, ‘Why?’

  But Dex shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. I just . . . oh God, this is crazy, I can’t believe I’m going to say it. The only reason I carried on seeing Amanda was because you were with Vince. And I know how that sounds, but it’s the truth. I knew he wasn’t right for you and it killed me, seeing you together . . . I was jealous, OK? I can’t help the way I feel and I know you aren’t interested in me . . . and I definitely know I shouldn’t be saying this now because I’m just making everything worse and last time I tried I made such a mess of it and it was all awkward for ages afterwards. So God only knows why I’m doing it again, but I can’t carry on not saying it. Because it’s true. Oh shit, I’m sorry.’ He closed his eyes and half turned away, exhaling in despair. ‘I’m such an idiot . . .’

  Molly didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. She could barely think. Reaching out and pulling him back round, she took his face between her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Gently at first, then harder as his arms came around her and every nerve ending in her body jangled with joy. Oh God, had anything ever felt so right?