by Jill Mansell
‘Riley! Which is actually better, when you come to think of it. If you want to make those other girls jealous, Riley’s far more the kind of boyfriend to do it. He’s so much fun, and he’ll charm the socks off them!’ She was saying it like a mum persuading a small child that the sandwiches were actually much nicer than the cakes.
‘OK.’ Tula exhaled, awash with disappointment. Dot might be right in one way, but she’d so badly wanted it to be Josh.
‘Oh dear. Don’t you want to go with Riley?’
She gathered herself. ‘Sorry, I know he’s fun. It’s just when they ask him what he does for a living, he’ll say, “As little as possible,” and look pleased with himself. He’s not bothered that other people might look down on him for not caring that he doesn’t have a job. And then they’d be secretly laughing at me for going out with such a loser.’
‘Darling, it’s only for one day. Tell everyone he’s a merchant banker or a physicist or something! Anyway,’ Dot reached for the mouse and refreshed the computer screen, ‘Josh can’t make it on Saturday. He called Riley and Riley said he’s happy to go along with you, but if you’d rather not …’
Tula was no longer listening; she was staring at the screen, now showing the most recent bookings. One name was leaping out at her, the name of someone booked into the hotel next week. Surely, surely it couldn’t be him. Oh God, but what if it was?
‘Hello?’ Sensing she’d lost her attention, Dot waved a hand in front of Tula’s face. ‘All OK?’
‘I’m not sure. This one.’ Tula pointed to the screen. ‘T. Pargeter, booked in to room seven. Any idea what the T stands for?’
‘Oh, do you think it might be someone you know? I booked him in myself last night. Hang on a moment, let me have a think …’ Dot tapped her index finger on the desk and closed her eyes. ‘It’s almost there …’
‘Theo?’ Tula blurted the name out, her voice a bit high. ‘Is it Theo?’ Because if Sophie’s ex-husband was booked into the hotel … well, Sophie definitely needed to know.
‘Terence! That’s it.’
‘Terence? You’re sure?’
‘Oh yes. I can picture him now. He stayed with us a few months back.’ Dot mimed a huge stomach with her arms. ‘Quite overweight. Twinkly eyes, big red nose … I was terrified I might accidentally call him Toby, like the jug. But his name isn’t Theo,’ she concluded. ‘Definitely. My word, you do look relieved!’
‘I am.’ Tula fanned herself.
‘One of your exes?’
‘Not mine, someone else’s. Let’s just say I’m glad it isn’t him.’ She grinned. ‘Could have been awkward.’
Changing the subject, Dot said, ‘So what are you going to do about this wedding, then? Take Riley along or just go on your own?’
The phone on the desk began to ring and Dot waited for her to reply before picking up the receiver.
Tula mentally ran through the options. Riley had offered himself, and if she turned him down, it wasn’t as if Josh would suddenly change his mind and decide to accompany her. Plus, she did hate turning up at social events as a singleton.
‘I’ll go with Riley,’ she said, and saw the look of satisfaction on Dot’s face.
‘Excellent.’
‘And thanks,’ Tula added.
In a situation like this, let’s face it, any fake boyfriend was better than no fake boyfriend at all.
Chapter 31
‘Oh my God,’ Tula wailed when the red open-top Mercedes finally crunched to a halt on the gravel outside the hotel. ‘You’re late! Where have you been?’
‘Getting petrol. There was a queue.’ Riley flashed his trademark carefree smile. ‘Hey, don’t panic. We’re leaving too early anyway.’
If you were a punctual type of person, was there anything more frustrating than having to travel in the company of a non-punctual one? Tula had triple-checked with Google: from St Carys to Brecon was one hundred and eighty-seven miles, and the journey took four hours. The wedding was due to start at three, and she’d factored in an extra hour for safety. Which was why she’d told Riley to make sure he was here no later than ten o’clock.
It was already ten fifteen.
Riley saw her check her watch and said, ‘Calm down.’
‘I told you. It takes at least four hours to get there.’
‘According to Google. Who drives like a little old lady in a bonnet. I bet I can do it in three.’
Tula exhaled; there was a limit to the amount of complaining she was allowed to do. Riley was helping her out, after all. He was also driving, which was good of him, even if this was only because she knew he couldn’t bear the prospect of spending hours cooped up in her rickety old car.
She forced herself to relax. ‘OK, sorry. I just hate being late for things.’
‘You won’t be, I promise. And you’re looking fantastic, by the way.’
‘Am I?’ Mollified, Tula looked down at the geranium-red dress she’d discovered just yesterday in the vintage shop in one of the narrow cobbled lanes behind the esplanade. It fitted like a dream, made her look a bit Audrey Hepburn-ish and exactly matched her favourite red shoes. Modesty aside, she was looking pretty amazing.
It was also really nice to be told you were.
‘Is it linen?’ said Riley.
‘Yes!’ Even more impressed, she lovingly stroked the skirt of the dress. ‘I can’t believe you know that! I’ve never had anything linen before.’
‘You need to change.’ He was shaking his head.
‘What? Why?’ Horrified, Tula stared at him.
‘For the journey.’ He grinned. ‘Linen creases like nobody’s business. It’ll look awful if you wear it now. Change into something else and put the dress on just before we get there. That’s what Marguerite always does before an event.’
‘Oh God, really? But we’re already late …’
‘We’re not. And you want to look good in front of your friends. Go and change,’ Riley ordered. ‘It’ll take less than two minutes.’
Two minutes later, Tula raced back downstairs wearing flip-flops, denim cut-offs and a grey and white striped T-shirt. She waved the carrier bag containing the dress and shoes and said, ‘Won’t it get creased up in here?’
‘Yes, it will. That’s why you’re going to lay the dress across the back seat, along with my suit.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Tula shook the dress out of the bag and did as he said. There, much better.
‘Look at our clothes, all cuddled up together. Don’t they make a great couple?’
‘Don’t even think about it.’ She briskly tucked the bag containing the shoes into the corner.
‘There, sorted.’ Riley ostentatiously tapped his watch. ‘Can we finally set off now, please? Otherwise we’re going to be late.’
They made their way inland, passed Okehampton, then reached Exeter and joined the M5. The sun continued to shine; speeding along in the Mercedes with the top down, they were drawing envious glances from fellow travellers, and Tula felt herself begin to relax. She had her best sunglasses on and her hair was streaming out behind her, movie-star style. Riley was a skilful driver. He was also good company. It was going to be a fantastic day.
‘OK, we need to get our stories straight.’ She had to raise her voice to be heard above the noise of the car engine and the air rushing past them. ‘We got together just a couple of days after I moved down here, and it was pretty much love at first sight.’
‘So far, so true. What’s my name going to be?’ Riley looked hopeful. ‘Can it be Cedric Moose Hufflepuffington the Third?’
‘Let’s stick to the truth wherever we can. We just need to know a bit more about each other, in case people ask questions. Now, favourite music,’ Tula demanded.
‘Barry Manilow.’
‘No, really.’
‘Really. He’s amazing. Can’t beat a bit of “Copacabana”.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘The whole point of this exercise is that I don’t end up a laughing stock. Favourite film?’
‘Amélie.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Ha, what am I, some sort of girl? Anyway,’ he said cheerfully, ‘you already know my favourite film. Star Wars.’
Oh God.
‘Fine. Now, I want you to have a proper job.’
Riley looked appalled. ‘What kind of proper job?’
‘Something that sounds impressive. How about corporate banking?’
‘I don’t know anything about corporate banking. And they might. Can’t I be an international spy? Like James Bond?’ An eyebrow went up. ‘Oh come on, Mish Moneypenny, please let me be a shpy.’
‘Because that wouldn’t sound made up at all. No,’ said Tula, ‘that’s stupid.’
‘I could be a brilliant world-class surfer.’
‘What don’t you understand about the words proper job?’
‘Fine, then,’ said Riley. ‘I’ll be a research scientist specialising in clinical neurophysiology and electroencephalography.’
‘Say that again?’ Tula blinked; it was like hearing a small child suddenly launch into fluent Russian.
Riley rattled the words off again and winked. ‘I know. Pretty good, eh?’
‘Just a bit. Where did you get it from?’
‘It’s my party trick. Last year of uni, I shared a flat with a guy who did that for a job. It was a great pick-up line, because no one ever had a clue what it meant. He just told them he had the ability to know everything that was going on in their brains. It never failed to impress. So I learned a bit more about it, and the two of us used to go out on the pull together, pretending we were both research scientists specialising in clinical neurophysiology and electroencephalography. And let me tell you, it worked like a charm every time.’
‘But what does it mean, exactly?’
Riley shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. You just make it up, say anything you like. Nobody knows any different.’
‘Fine.’ Tula gave up; if anyone could blag their way through a bizarre job description it was Riley. ‘But make sure – oh shit …’
Ahead of them, brake lights were coming on. Riley slowed the car. Within thirty seconds, three lanes of traffic had ground to a halt and Tula’s intestines had wound themselves into a tight, anxious knot. There must have been an accident up ahead.
‘Why does this always have to happen to me? I knew we should have set off earlier.’
‘OK, deep breaths. See all these cars?’ Riley gestured around them at the gigantic traffic jam. ‘It’s happening to everyone else too. And look on the bright side: at least we aren’t the ones who had the accident.’
Which succeeded in making her feel ashamed, even if he was probably only laying on the guilt trip to divert attention from the fact that it was his fault they were late.
‘If we’d left at ten, we wouldn’t be stuck here now.’
‘You’re right.’ Riley nodded. ‘We might have been involved in the crash. We could be lying injured or dead now.’
See? Bastard.
‘Of course. We’re still alive. Hooray for us, we’re sooo lucky.’ She exhaled. ‘How long do you suppose we’re going to be stuck here?’
‘The first rule,’ said Riley, ‘is there’s no point in worrying about something you can’t do anything about.’
‘That’s the stupidest rule I ever heard. You’re telling me that if you were in a plane that was about to crash, you wouldn’t be worried about it?’
‘OK, plane crashes are different. Although there still wouldn’t be any point in worrying. It’s not going to help. Anyway, open the glove compartment.’
‘Why? Do you have a mini motorbike folded up in there?’
‘Better than that,’ said Riley. ‘Liquorice Allsorts. We can have a picnic.’
‘I don’t like liquorice.’ Tula pulled a face.
He reached across her and opened the glove compartment himself. ‘Brilliant. More for me.’
Police cars and an ambulance whizzed past them up the hard shoulder. The minutes ticked by. Riley ate his way through most of the bag of Liquorice Allsorts and Tula impatiently played patience on her phone. After thirty minutes that felt more like thirty hours, the traffic began to move again at approximately one mile per hour. Another half an hour later, they finally crawled in single file past the site of the accident, in which a trailer had tipped on to its side, shedding a full load of hay bales.
Not a multi-car pile-up, then. Hopefully the driver was all right.
‘We’ll be fine. I can make up the time, no problem,’ said Riley as the Mercedes gathered speed and they resumed their journey. Before long they’d be passing Bridgwater, then Weston-super-Mare, then Bristol …
Twenty minutes later, Riley murmured, ‘OK, we could have a slight problem.’
Tula’s head shot up like a meerkat’s. ‘What? What kind of a problem?’
‘Think we’ve got a flat.’
‘A flat what?’
He gave her a look. ‘Well it isn’t a flat can of lager.’
‘We’ve got a flat tyre? Oh my God, stop the car!’
‘Not completely flat. It’s just feeling a bit heavy. There’s a services ahead; we’ll pull in there and get it sorted.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Tula fretted. ‘This is crazy. How long’s it going to take to change the wheel?’
‘Don’t get wound up. Not long at all.’
Having slowed right down, they took the next exit and crept into the service station. Riley parked in a distant corner, where there was enough room to perform the changeover.
Out of the car, they both stood and surveyed the visibly flat tyre.
After twenty seconds of surveying, Tula said, ‘Are you mentally willing it to inflate? Because that probably isn’t going to work.’
This earned her another look. Finally Riley opened the boot and took out the necessary bits of equipment. Then paused again.
Tula said, ‘We haven’t got all day.’
‘OK, there’s the jack. Why don’t you do it?’
‘Because it’s not my car. And I don’t know how.’
‘Look, shall we call the RAC?’ said Riley.
She turned to stare at him. ‘You mean you don’t know how to do it either?’
He exhaled. ‘It’s my phobia, OK?’
‘You have a phobia of changing wheels on cars? Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I was seventeen, I’d just passed my test and I was driving on my own up to Scotland. At one o’clock in the morning I got a flat tyre. The car was old, it was dark, I couldn’t see where to put the jack and it ended up going through a rusty bit. The car crashed down on my arm and broke it. So there I was, stuck on a deserted road for the rest of the night. And that’s why I have a phobia about changing wheels on cars.’
‘So what do we do now?’
Riley said, ‘I told you. Call the RAC.’
Tula wanted to cry. ‘But how long will they take to get here? It could be hours.’
He spread his hands. ‘It might not.’
‘Oh my God, this is—’
‘Hello there! Problem?’
Tula swung round to the dusty red builder’s van that had just pulled up behind them. A thirty-something male with curly fair hair was surveying her with bright-eyed interest from the passenger seat.
‘We have a flat tyre and he doesn’t know how to change the wheel.’ If she was selling Riley down the river, she didn’t care.
‘No? Nice car.’ The man jumped out of the van and admired it. ‘Want a hand?’
‘That would be fantastic!’ Oh, the relief. ‘That’s so kind of you … We’re on our way to a wedding in Wales and we can’t be late …’
‘No problem at all. We can do that for you, can’t we?’ Curly hair checked with his companion, who was tall and bald. Neither of them were what you’d call lookers, but they had nice cheery faces.
And they weren’t scared to change a wheel …
‘We’ve got time.’ The bald one checked his watch. ‘We can manage it. Do
n’t fret, Cinderella, you shall go to the wedding.’
Tula clasped her hands in gratitude and decided she loved them both.
Next to her, Riley said, ‘That’s great. Thanks so much.’
The two men set to work as a team. They knew exactly what to do and they got on with doing it. Realising that the next bathroom break could be a while away, Tula said, ‘Back in a minute.’ She headed over to the service station building, leaving them chatting about cars to Riley.
By the time she returned, five minutes later, the job was done and the two men were driving off. The curly-haired one leaned out of his window and called, ‘Bye, love. Have fun at the wedding!’
‘We will! Thank you so much!’ She waved back at them before jumping into the Mercedes.
Riley, already revving the engine, said, ‘Happier now?’
‘Yes, I am. Thanks to them. Red-van men to the rescue.’ Tula fastened her seat belt. ‘Aren’t some people just lovely? So kind.’
‘They did ask for payment.’
Oh. ‘How much?’
‘Thirty.’ He paused. ‘I gave them fifty.’
It was a cheap shot but she said it anyway. ‘You could have done it yourself if you didn’t have your phobia.’
Ahead of them, the red van took the third exit off the roundabout and began making its way south towards Exeter. Riley took the first exit heading up to Bristol. Without looking at her, he said, ‘I know.’
‘Sorry.’ Tula felt the need to explain. ‘It’s just … I get stressed sometimes.’
‘Do you really?’ He kept his tone deadpan.
‘The thing is, you see, my dad wasn’t a great dad. If anything was broken and needed mending, he could never be bothered to fix it. Then when I was ten he left us, and you’d think my mum would have gone for someone a bit more capable instead. But she didn’t, she just carried right on choosing hopeless men. They never held down jobs, never did anything useful and always ended up buggering off. At the moment, she’s running a bar in Corfu with a complete loser who gambles away all the profits …’ Tula paused and shrugged; that was enough. ‘So anyway, that’s why I’m the way I am. In case you were wondering. I love my mum to bits, but I never want to end up like her.’