“Nah. I’ll catch her another time.” He said, “Just tell her I was asking after her.” He disappeared down the drive, waving out as his Jeep passed Jennifer. Her sister didn’t return the wave, and Rebecca registered her sister’s obvious annoyance with surprise. Mind you, in her current state of mind, she probably wasn’t in the mood to catch up with anyone.
The grinding of gears distracted her—a coach was labouring up the driveway’s steep incline. This place was busier than Grand Central Station, she thought, watching the Nifty Knitters elbow one another out of the way as they jostled to climb aboard their waiting coach. The driver, who was throwing suitcases into the luggage hatch, paused to shoot a petrified glance in Betty’s direction. She was attempting to herd the ladies aboard in an orderly manner and, catching his expression, grinned and mouthed, “You’ll be fine.” The driver was not a bingo player, and so he had never seen so many plump elderly women all at once. At last the door hissed shut, and the engine chugged into life. The coach slowly moved off, and a sea of grey, blue, and purple perms bobbed up and down as they fought over the window seats.
As it rounded the bend, they heard a rousing rendition of “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain” being struck up. Melissa, Betty, and Rebecca collapsed against one another in a fit of the giggles.
Chapter Twenty
“SO WHAT HAD JENNIFER’S knickers in such a knot tonight? The last time I saw her that pissed was when you stole her new Revlon blusher.” Melissa reached over for her mug, and then, gazing petulantly at its chocolaty contents, asked, “Um, where are the marshmallows?”
Rebecca ignored the request for marshmallows and shook the image of Ciaran dining alone in a café away. Blowing over the top of her drink, she took a tentative sip before replying, “I only borrowed her stupid blusher—she totally overreacted then, and she totally overreacted today too.” She shrugged. “She had a face on her like she had been sucking on a lemon as soon as she got back from town, and it turns out it was because David had been here.” Rebecca frowned; she had it with pussyfooting around her sister, not after the way she’d spoken to her this afternoon.
“What was he doing here?” Jennifer had demanded as soon as Rebecca had walked back inside the house. The smile she had on her face in anticipation of sharing the success of the luncheon with her sister vanished upon finding her pacing the lounge. She had flashed back to the way their father used to look when he was waiting up for her if she’d broken curfew.
“Are you talking about David Seagar?”
“Yes, David Seagar. Though I am having trouble keeping up with all the men you seem to have coming and going.” Her voice was clipped.
“Ciaran showing up was not my doing and as for David, I invited him and Ben for lunch. Is there a problem?”
Jennifer stopped pacing and squared up to Rebecca angrily. “Yes, there is a problem. I don’t like the man and I don’t want him on the property—how do you even know him?”
Rebecca told her how they’d met doing the school run. “I don’t get it. He implied you were friends.” She frowned, unable to comprehend the vitriol coming from her sister in waves. “What’s he done to make you dislike him so much?”
Jennifer made a sort of strangled noise. “Never mind; just trust me on this. We are not and never have been friends. I commissioned him to make a table for the cooking school, and that is the extent of our relationship. It’s our boys who have a friendship.”
“I still don’t understand what the problem is.”
“I just don’t want you hanging around him, that’s all.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jen, don’t be ridiculous. Listen to yourself—you sound just like Dad used to. And I am not hanging around him, as you so eloquently put it.”
“Yes, well, maybe Dad knew what he was talking about after all,” she muttered.
“So was it to do with the table? Did he overcharge you or something?”
“Or something—like I said, it doesn’t matter. I just don’t want you seeing David again. He is not a man you can trust.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. And the Oscar goes to....”
“Don’t take the mickey, Rebecca. I am serious.”
“I can see that. I just don’t get it, that’s all, and you can’t tell me who I can and can’t see.”
“Don’t be childish.”
That was the second time in the space of twenty-four hours she had been called childish and had to vigorously deny it. “I’m not! I happen to like the man and as a grown woman, I will decide whom I choose to see, thank you very much.”
Jennifer snapped then, her eyes flinty. “For goodness’ sake, Rebecca, you are worse than a Mills and Boon heroine. You always gravitate towards the bad boys and what was with the big boss man’s impromptu appearance last night?”
“He’s flown out to try to make amends and to tell me that he thinks he loves me, and I do not always go for the bad boys.”
“Oh yes, you do. That Ciaran is a womaniser. He’s proved that to you, yet all he has to do is make an idiotic grand gesture, and you go all weak at the knees. Melissa told me he can’t keep it in his pants, for chrissakes!”
“Well, then you should be pleased I have met David because he might be the one to help me get over Ciaran.” Rebecca’s voice was raised now too.
“Oh grow up, Rebecca! Bouncing from one male root bag to another is not going to make you happy.”
Ah-ha, Rebecca thought, cringing at her sister’s crass terminology; now she was getting somewhere. “So David is a bit of a lad about town, so what? I’m not exactly virginal myself, you know. Why do you always condescend to me?”
Jennifer looked more like a coiled snake ready to spring as she hissed, “Because you always make stupid choices, that’s why. I haven’t got the energy this time to pick up the broken pieces. Not if you go down that track with David—or Ciaran, for that matter.” She shook her head. “Is it any wonder I treat you like a child? You have always played the baby.”
Rebecca shook her head and opened her mouth to issue a rebuttal, but Jennifer wasn’t going to let her get a word in.
“You drift along, never sticking at anything or seeing anything through, expecting me or Mum and Dad to pick you up and dust you down each time you stuff-up. But for some reason, I’m always supposed to have my life in perfect working order.”
For a moment, it seemed as if Jennifer had stepped back in time to her teenage years. It was how she used to be, raging in frustration at her parents. Only now, it was Rebecca on the receiving end. Tears trickled down both their cheeks. “You have no idea how damned hard it is having to get it right all the time.” The fight went out of her then, and she flopped down on the couch.
Rebecca wondered how an innocent visit from David Seagar had ended up like this.
Jennifer’s head was in her hands, and Rebecca’s back was to the stairs, so neither woman noticed Jack. He was rubbing his eyes ferociously as he spied down on his mum and her sister from between the balustrade at the top of the stairs.
Taking an audible ragged breath, Jennifer looked up; she hated feeling like this. Running her fingers through her hair, she looked at Rebecca’s face and knew she had overstepped the mark. She couldn’t afford to alienate her, not when she needed her so much. “Look, Becs, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to be attacked like that. What you decide to do about that boss of yours is your decision, but I do stand by what I said about David—stay away from him.”
Rebecca bit back a terse reply and decided to accept the white flag. What Jen had said couldn’t be unsaid, though, and the worst thing of all was that deep down she knew that the stuff her sister had said about her was all true.
“Bloody hell, I wonder what her problem is?” Melissa pondered, bringing Rebecca back to her Milo. “That was a bit OTT, even for Jennifer.” She tapped the side of her mug thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s something to do with David’s ex-wife?”
Rebecca shrugged, and her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Mayb
e. I don’t care because whatever it is, it’s her problem, not mine.” She wasn’t just annoyed at her sister’s abhorrence of David or what she’d said about Ciaran. It was the fact she had made her think about the very thing that had been teasing the periphery of her brain for the last few days. What the hell was she doing with her life?
“What about Ciaran?” Melissa leered over at her. “I bet you’re tempted to whip down to that B&B for a good old rodgering?”
“Nope. I would rather sit here and watch Coronation Street,” she lied.
Upstairs huddled under her duvet, Jennifer hugged the pillow that Mark’s head had once upon a time lain onto her chest. She felt the weight that always bore down on her when she thought of her husband settle on her chest. She thought back to a movie she had adored when she was a little girl, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. She craned her neck to look at the headboard and wished she could rub the bedknob and magic herself and the children away somewhere. Anywhere but here.
She had enough to worry about without throwing Rebecca into the mix. She was worried for her because she knew that the one thing she had forgotten to point out during her personality assassination that afternoon was how her little sister always did exactly the opposite of whatever she was told. She’d driven their mum to distraction with her contrary Mary ways as a child. Always digging her heels in and going in the opposite direction. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the nothingness of sleep. She’d said her piece where David was concerned but at the end of the day, she knew that nothing she had to say would matter except the one thing she could never say.
The next morning, deciding to act like yesterday’s fight had never happened, Jennifer forced herself to put on a cheerful face. Taking a deep breath as though she were about to go on stage, she’d sailed down the stairs and plastered a smile firmly on her dial before clapping her hands together and with the enthusiasm of a kid’s camp leader announcing, “Come on, we’ve got places to go and things to do, guys. It’s time to get dressed.”
Famous last words. Bedlam ensued as Hannah couldn’t find her pink boots. “The ones with da zips on dem,” she lisped before insisting with the single-mindedness of a preschooler that no other footwear would do. Recognising the steely look on her daughter’s face, Jennifer began to search, eventually locating the errant boots behind a plant pot on the veranda. Then it was Jack’s turn to perform. He began by refusing to get dressed and wouldn’t be bribed into doing so, choosing instead to lie on the couch, watching the TV.
His deliberate obtuseness irked his mother. She was having none of it, and her patience was wearing thin. She stormed over and switched the television off. Jack just smirked, though, and flicked it back on using the remote. Jennifer’s blood boiled, and a wrestling match ensued as she leapt on the couch and tried to confiscate it to no avail. Then, standing up in desperation, she screeched, “Right, that’s it! Enough is enough,” before planting her frame in front of the television to obscure his vision. Eventually, the little boy decided he was sick of looking at his dressing gown-clad mother and swung into action.
“Bloody hell,” Jennifer swore softly, all her nerve endings jangling. “I’m never going to get them to school.”
Rebecca, who had been up and dressed since the dawn chorus began outside the bedroom window, now stood in the doorway, chewing on a piece of toast. She was relishing the sight of her unflappable sister flapping and would offer to drop the kids off herself but after yesterday, Jennifer could bloody well ask her herself if she wanted help.
Asking for help was something that didn’t come easily to Jennifer, especially as doing the school run was how Rebecca had met David in the first place. Her brow furrowed as she debated the odds of getting up the stairs, throwing on her clothes and getting out the door in the space of two minutes. It was all too much, and she knew it wasn’t going to happen; she didn’t have a choice. “Uh, Becs, seeing as you’re dressed, do you think you could do me a favour and drop the kids off for me?”
“Sure,” Rebecca answered, scooping up the car keys, revelling in being the cool, calm, and collected member of the family for a change. “Come on, guys. We are out of here.”
As she crawled into the car park, it was like the sun had suddenly come out from behind the nasty black cloud that had been hovering since her fight with Jennifer. There, standing by the school gates with Ben nowhere in sight, was David. That could mean only one thing. A tight ball of nervous excitement formed in the pit of her stomach as she realised something: he was waiting to see her. Jennifer and her overprotective ranting could just bog off, she thought, pleased she’d taken that extra five minutes to get ready. Risking a quick check in the mirror, she decided she was not looking too bad, not too bad at all. Ha! Eat your heart out, Ciaran.
“Watch out, Auntie Becca!” Jack shrilled over her shoulder as she nearly rear-ended a Mr Bean-style Mini. “That’s my teacher, Mr Reynolds’s, car.”
Flustered now, she hissed, “The silly man shouldn’t have such a small car; I can hardly see it.” A moment later, she parked without mishap and switched the engine off. Having learnt her lesson the other day, she went round to Hannah’s side first and, freeing her niece from her restraints, swung her up onto one hip. Jack had already opened his door and, slamming it shut, slung his backpack over one shoulder.
“See ya,” he called, and then he was off and running across the asphalt without so much as a backwards glance.
“That was close.” David indicated towards the mini with a smile. Rebecca blushed.
“It was Jack’s fault; he distracted me by undoing his seatbelt. It’s one of my rules, you know, that seatbelts are to stay on until the car is turned off.” Good save. However, he looked more amused than impressed by her sense of responsibility.
“I hung around to see if you fancied meeting me for a coffee in the village after you drop Hannah off. I thought we could have a chat about the swimming with the dolphins?”
She’d dance the bloody tango naked with a dolphin if it meant spending time looking at him. “I’d love to. Where did you have in mind?”
“Do you know Cleo’s, down by the water?” She nodded, pleased with his choice of café, which she knew to be very quiet and intimate.
“Okay then, I’ll see you there soon.”
As he walked away, she admired the way his rear fit ever so snugly into his jeans. Returning his wave as he drove off, she secured Hannah back into her car seat, asking, “Did you hear that, Hannah? Your Auntie Becca’s got a hot date. Oh yes! A bit of the old morning delight is coming my way.”
Hannah giggled, and she found herself getting on a bit of a roll seeing as she had an audience. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s rumpy-pumpy time,” she growled in her best Fat Albert voice before winking over her shoulder at her niece and then, being careful to avoid Mr Reynold’s Mini, she reversed out of the car park.
Five minutes later, she was clapping her hands as she frogmarched Hannah into preschool. “Chop, chop, now; we haven’t got all morning,” she bossed, opening the door to the playroom.
“Morning, Hannah.” Anna greeted the little girl as chipper as a children’s television presenter, saving her grumpy cow impersonation for Rebecca.
She could almost empathise with the poor woman, Rebecca thought magnanimously. She obviously wasn’t getting any. Producing Hannah’s Hi-5 lunchbox, she placed it on the trolley beside the kitchen alongside all the others. Unlike moi, if I play my cards right, she thought. She blew a kiss across the room to where Hannah was now sitting at a play table, sinking her hands into a mound of wet clay.
“See you, sweetheart. Either Mummy or I’ll be back at half past twelve to pick you up. Have a great morning.”
“Half past twelve sharp, if you don’t mind, Ms Loughton,” Anna shot back with a condescending smile from the other side of the room. Rebecca ignored her; nothing was going to take the shine off her morning. Giving a final wave in Hannah’s direction, she pulled open the door.
Her niece’s voice rang out proudl
y as she did so, “My Auntie Becca’s gonna have some rumpy-pumpy dis mornin.”
Chapter Twenty-One
BY THE TIME REBECCA had pulled into a convenient park right outside Cleo’s, the violent flush that had spread up her neck and worked its way up her entire face was beginning to settle down. Stepping out of the car and locking it, she glanced furtively round in case Ciaran was out for a morning stroll along the waterfront and then wondered what exactly it was she was feeling guilty about. Nevertheless, she was relieved to find the coast clear and so took a moment to peer at her reflection in the car window. She was pleased with what she saw. She’d teamed a soft pink angora jumper with her jeans. Its boat neck was flattering and with her hair falling over the top of her shoulders, the overall effect was soft and feminine. The colour suited her, giving her skin a warm glow. Or was that just the remnants of the flush? Whatever it was, she couldn’t be worrying about it now, not when she had a hot date waiting for her over on the other side of that wall.
Tucking her hair behind her ears and licking her lips, she tottered into the café. Her footsteps echoed forlornly around the empty café and, upon hearing them, a tall blonde girl dressed in a white skivvy and jeans appeared from the kitchen.
“Good morning.” She smiled.
One of those attractive Nordic types who didn’t need any makeup, Rebecca surmised, managing a smile and cordial greeting back at her. Through the French doors, she saw a courtyard dappled in the morning sunshine. There was David, sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables, toying with a little pot full of salt, pepper, and sugar sachets.
Miss Sweden shot round from behind the counter to beat her to the French doors. “I think I’ll open these right up since it’s such a lovely morning.” The woman sent a cacophony of seagulls up into the air as she did so. Startled at the whining bird outburst, David looked up and then relaxed into a smile as Rebecca slid into the seat opposite him.
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