The Unexpected Consequences of Love

by Jill Mansell

  It all went bananas after that. Josh’s phone never stopped ringing; the band was booked to appear on all the major TV shows. The whole of America fell in love with them, charmed by their winning ways, impish humor, and capacity for mischief, as well as by the insanely catchy debut single “Come Back to Me.”

  Over the course of the next year, what had initially been on par with a cottage industry became an unstoppable juggernaut. A huge record deal was struck and top songwriters were hastily drafted to create an album that would live up to all the hype. A stadium tour was put together. There were advertising deals. A TV series. Movie proposals were thrown at them.

  Basically, the world had gone crazy; it was all happening too fast. Realizing this, Josh began turning offers down but his protégés found out and objected: how dare he decide what they could and couldn’t do?

  This turned out to be the beginning of the end. As the months went by, being part of an unstoppable juggernaut stopped being thrilling and fun. Like overtired toddlers refusing to give in to their exhaustion and go to bed, the members of Go Destry morphed from cheerful teenagers bursting with gratitude and enthusiasm into irritable twentysomethings with huge egos, short tempers, and a massively inflated sense of their own invulnerability. They became snide, careless, and decidedly lacking in the manners department. Despite Josh’s best efforts, a couple of them also started dabbling enthusiastically in drugs.

  It became harder and harder for him to keep everyone on track. Allegiances were endlessly shifting within the group and rivalries didn’t contribute to a calm atmosphere. There were several poor reviews in the press, and the band’s popularity showed the first signs of sliding into a decline. Outraged, Dizzy and Cal made their displeasure known and were promptly approached by another management company promising to give them the extra boost they needed to get back on top. Within forty-eight hours, summoned to a meeting with his protégés, Josh found himself peremptorily informed that unless he got his act together, he was out on his ear.

  He responded calmly with a comment along the lines of maybe, since they were the act in question, he wasn’t the one needing to get them together. He then announced that if this was how they felt about everything he’d done for them, they should sever their business relationship forthwith.

  And that was it; after three tempestuous years, the adventure was over. The split caused a storm of speculation, and several other bands approached Josh, desperate to be taken on by him. But he turned them all down; he’d had enough of the entertainment industry in general and spoiled brat pop singers in particular. He’d built up a fortune and frequently worked twenty-hour days in the process. His own social life, due to pressure of work and all the traveling involved, had become pretty much nonexistent. He was ready to get out now; there was nothing to keep him in LA any longer and there was definitely more to life and better ways to earn a living than by half killing yourself looking after people who were happy to sell you down the river.

  Furthermore, Dot was a marvel for her age, but even she had let slip once or twice that running the hotel single-handedly might soon start to become too much for her.

  Josh had made up his mind: it was time to go home to the UK. To Cornwall. To St. Carys.

  Chapter 6

  “Waaah, stop it,” shrieked Tula as Riley scooped her up into the air. “Put me down! I’m too heavy…”

  “Don’t give me that. You’re light as a feather. Okay, hang on tight…”

  “You hang on tight,” Tula retorted, before letting out another yelp as he expertly threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  In front of them in the parking lot of the Mermaid Inn, CJ called out, “Everybody ready? Down to the beach, around the rocks at the end, and back again.” He raised two ominously murky pint glasses like trophies. “Losers have to drink these.”

  There were six couples taking part. Tula was just glad she wasn’t wearing a short skirt. But the party was brilliant, everyone was incredibly friendly, and the drinking games had been hilarious. So long as they didn’t lose this one; God only knew what had gone into making that muddy-looking brew.

  “Three…two…one…GO,” bellowed CJ, and they were off.

  Urgh, being carried in a fireman’s lift was a bumpy experience. Clinging on for dear life, Tula admired Riley’s physique; his shoulders were broad and his biceps rocklike as he ran out of the parking lot and down onto the beach.

  “Don’t be sick down my back,” he warned as they headed for the outcrop of three rocks exposed by the low tide at the far end of the beach.

  “I’m never sick.” Raising her head and seeing the rest of the party cheering them on, her heart clenched with joy at the sight of Josh’s instantly recognizable figure among them. He was here; at last he’d turned up. Hooray!

  It was dark, but the full moon and the strings of lights looped between each of the street lamps along the esplanade went some way toward illuminating the beach. She could see and hear the white, foamy waves breaking along the shoreline. The whoops and shrieks of the other contestants mingled in the warm night air with the yells of encouragement from the pub behind them. Just as they reached the rocks, Riley tripped, lost his footing, and stumbled…

  And then they were lying on the sand, tangled up in each other, and he was saying, “Sorry, that was the seaweed. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He’d been the one who’d broken her fall; she’d managed to land inelegantly on top of him. “How about you?”

  “Never better.” He was grinning up at her, his long, blond hair spread out on the sand beneath his head. His eyes glinted with mischief as he slid his hand around the back of her neck. “Well, now we’re here, seems like an opportunity too good to waste…”

  “Losers!” bawled one of the other couples, racing past them.

  “That’s what they think,” Riley murmured. “Sometimes losers win.”

  “Ooh no, no no no.” Before he could guide her mouth down to meet his, Tula vigorously shook her head and wriggled away.

  “No?”

  “No.” Glancing over in the direction of the Mermaid’s parking lot, she could still see the others outside, watching the racers. And if she could see Josh from here, the chances were that he could see her.

  “Oh dear. Someone else you’ve got your eye on?” Riley’s tone was playful.

  “No.”

  Ignoring her protest, he raised his eyebrows. “Josh?”

  “No!”

  “Come on. I saw the way you were looking at him this afternoon. It was pretty obvious.”

  “Oh God. Really?” Tula’s heart sank; just for once in her life why couldn’t she be the cool, enigmatic type?

  “To be fair, I’m pretty much an expert.” Rising to his feet and brushing the sand off his jeans, Riley added, “Although I’m usually the one on the receiving end.”

  “Sorry.” She smiled at his wounded expression.

  “And I really liked you too. This is crushing.” Holding out his hands, he hauled her upright. “I’ve lost all my confidence now.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “I’m not that ugly, am I?”

  “You’re beautiful,” Tula assured him as her phone beeped.

  It was a text from Sophie:

  What are you two DOING out there??

  Leaning in to read it, Riley said, “Nothing, sadly.” Then he took the phone from her, switched it to camera mode, and held it at arm’s length, capturing both their faces on the screen. “There you go, a little something to remind you of the time we met, that romantic fireman’s lift you were given on the beach. In years to come, you’ll look at this photo and think, damn, what an idiot I was to turn him down, the one who got away.”

  “I had my chance and I blew it.” Tula nodded sympathetically.

  “You’ll probably regret it for the rest of your life. Your friends will see th
is picture of us and go, ‘Wow, who’s that? He’s gorgeous!’”

  “They will say that.” If she’d thought for one second he meant any of this, Tula wouldn’t have been able to joke about it. “I’ll probably have this photo blown up to poster size and hung on my bedroom wall. I expect I’ll cry myself to sleep every night in my lonely single bed.”

  Riley slung a companionable arm around her shoulders as they made their way back up the beach to the Mermaid. “I really hope that happens. It’s no more than you deserve.”

  ***

  Okay, downing that drink as a forfeit probably hadn’t been the best idea. Having spent the last hour dancing madly along to the band, Tula headed out to the balcony for some fresh air. It was hot inside the pub. She’d danced with CJ, and with Sophie, and with several other people too, even the posh girls, who were good fun once you got to know them…

  Hearing low voices on the beach below the balcony, she bent over the wooden railings and saw a couple leaning against the wall beneath her. One streaky blond, one dark haired. Their bodies were pressed together and they began to kiss. Smiling to herself, Tula wondered what Riley would do if she were to tip her glass and allow a few drops of icy white wine to land on his head.

  Then the door opened behind her and someone else stepped out onto the balcony. Tula’s stomach did a giddy flip when she half turned and saw it was Josh. Honestly, the effect he was having on her was just ridiculous. Also, had he noticed her leaving the pub and deliberately followed her out here? Because if so, that was exciting.

  “Hi.” His smile was brief. Oh, but still bone-meltingly gorgeous.

  “Hot.” Bugger, that came out wrong. Fanning herself energetically, Tula said, “In there. Needed some fresh air. Anyway, hi to you too. Again!” A few drinks and a fanciable man tended to have this effect, rendering her stupid.

  “So how long have you and Sophie known each other?”

  “Four years now. She moved into the flat above mine in Aston and we’ve been friends ever since.”

  Josh nodded. “Right. And what’s she like?”

  “Mean. Nasty. Not a nice person at all.”

  He smiled. “I can see that. So, does she have a lot of boyfriends?”

  “No.” Oh, that dismal sinking feeling when you realize he’s only talking to you in order to find out about your friend.

  “Any boyfriends?”

  “Why?”

  “Just interested. Did she tell you I asked her out the other day?”

  Tula shook her head; how like Sophie not to mention it, so as to spare her feelings. “No, she didn’t.”

  “She turned me down.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I know.” Detecting the note of sarcasm, Josh said wryly, “I just wondered why.”

  “If it helps,” said Tula, “she did tell me she wasn’t interested in you.”

  “Right. Well, thanks for that.”

  “Just letting you know.” Tula sensed that offering herself up as a willing substitute probably wouldn’t be the best idea. Which was disappointing, but oh well. Taking a glug of wine, she changed the subject. “So, I hear you used to manage Go Destry.”

  “That’s true, I did.”

  “My friend Danny loves them; they’re his all-time favorite band.” Was it an unbelievably dorky thing to do? On impulse, Tula took out her phone and said, “Could I have a photo with you to make him jealous?”

  Josh’s shrug was good-natured. “If you like.”

  She took the photograph quickly, already embarrassed. Enough humiliation; time to play it cool.

  “Right, thanks. I’m going back inside now. Bye!”

  If he followed her in, it would be a good sign, wouldn’t it?

  But all he did was smile, stay where he was, and say, “Bye.”

  In her fantasy, this was because he was playing hard to get.

  Chapter 7

  “Feeling better?” asked Patrick when Tula turned up for work on Sunday evening.

  “Yes, thanks.” She patted her stomach and looked brave. “Sorry about yesterday. Won’t be having any prawns again for a while.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” He peered at her face. “Looking a bit pale.”

  This was because she’d covered up the slight sunburn with a hefty coat of ivory foundation. But it was nice of Patrick to be asking, even if it probably just meant he didn’t want her keeling over in front of the customers. “Really,” Tula reassured him, touched by the unexpected concern. “I’m fine.”

  ***

  By eleven thirty, she was hot and tired and her legs ached. Between Saturday’s dancing and this evening’s relentless work, it had been a strenuous weekend for her feet.

  Once the cleaning up had been done, Patrick beckoned her into the office. Without preamble he announced, “Don’t bother asking for a reference, as a refusal often offends.”

  Tula’s heart began to thud. “Sorry?”

  “And spare me the wide-eyed orphan look too. It’s game over, okay? You’re out of here.”

  He knew. Shit. How did he know? But even as the question was racing through her brain, Patrick was holding up his phone to show her.

  And there it was, the evidence: the two photos she’d posted on Facebook last night. Like an idiot.

  “Bit of a giveaway,” said Patrick, clearly relishing every second. “Not very clever of you, was it? Boasting about the great time you were having down in Cornwall.”

  “But…” Tula felt sick. Her privacy settings were friends only. Patrick was about as far removed from a friend as it was physically possible to be. How could he have seen the private photos she’d posted on her private account, purely to show off to Danny the fact that…

  Oh God. Realization flooded through her. What an idiot. The other day at work, Danny’s brother had wanted to see the pictures she’d taken at last weekend’s party, and she’d switched the settings to friends of friends, meaning to change them back again afterward.

  Except she hadn’t, had she? It had slipped her mind. Talk about bad timing. And Patrick, already suspicious, had typed in her name and struck lucky.

  Bastard.

  ***

  On the way home, Tula made the connection. Putting Patrick’s name into the search box brought up the name of the friend they had in common, a girl who had briefly worked at Bailey’s Bar over Christmas. What she was doing being friends with him on Facebook was anybody’s guess. But there it was, the link that had unwittingly connected them and enabled Patrick to catch her out.

  And why did he have a Facebook account anyway? The man was in his fifties, for God’s sake. He was too old.

  ***

  Arriving home twenty minutes later, she found the sofa occupied, a sci-fi movie playing on the TV, and flatmate Coral curled up with her boyfriend, Evan. Twisting around to greet Tula, Coral said, “Hiya, good night?”

  “Not so you’d notice.” She may as well come straight out and say it. “I’ve been sacked. Patrick found out where I was yesterday. We were short staffed, so he made me work the whole shift before telling me.” Tula threw herself down in the uncomfortable chair. “So that’s it, no more job. My life just got even crappier. Go me.”

  Coral said, “Oh no, what a pain.” Then she looked at Evan and gave him a shall-we-tell-her-now eyebrow raise.

  Evan nodded and Coral smiled before turning back to face Tula. “Actually, we’ve got some news too. I checked with the landlord today and asked if it was all right, and he said it’s fine by him if Evan wants to live here too. So he’s moving in next week!”

  Tula froze. Oh God, hadn’t she been punished enough for one night? Not this, not now, not Evan.

  “And it’ll help you out too,” Evan chimed in with enthusiasm, “because your share of the rent will come down. So that’s good, isn’t it?” His moon face grew moonier. “Can’t
say I don’t have my uses!”

  What could she do? What could she say? The two of them had been so certain she’d be happy about this thrilling newsflash, it hadn’t even occurred to them to ask first. And the awful thing was the fact that the prospect filled her with horror was all her own fault.

  Because Coral was wonderful, the best flatmate anyone could ask for. And Evan was lovely too, a genuinely nice person. He was kind and clever, thoughtful and sweet-natured, and not afraid of a bit of washing up. He was even happy to carry perilously overfilled trash bags down the narrow, rickety stairs. In so many ways he was everything you could possibly want in a flatmate.

  If only he didn’t have some of the most annoying habits known to man. For some reason they didn’t bother Coral at all, but these irritating traits drove Tula to distraction. When he ate, he made the kind of sloshing, chomping noises a pig might make. When he wasn’t eating, he repeatedly cleared his throat and sniffed. He also breathed really noisily. All the time. And finally, he had a habit of chewing the skin around his fingernails and making tiny wet sucky-bitey noises that meant Tula spent every minute in his company wanting to scream at him to STOP IT, STOP IT, JUST BLOODY STOP IT.

  And failing that, to drive a sharpened stake through his heart.

  She’d tried discreetly raising the matter in the early days when Coral had first started seeing Evan, but Coral had been genuinely mystified by the idea that anything like that could bother anyone, or indeed be annoying in any way.

  And the thing was, Evan was just so nice. Concluding that her hypersensitivity and low irritation thresholds were her own problem, Tula had gritted her teeth and forced herself to tolerate the various tics and noises, for all their sakes.