by Karen Clarke
Nicely put, Megan. She’d always had a talent for cutting people down to size in the friendliest possible way. ‘The smiling assassin’ my sister once called her, but I hadn’t seen it back then, too caught up in our shiny friendship.
Catching a desperate grimace from Jane, I remembered I was supposed to secure this booking, but couldn’t bring myself to respond politely to Megan’s patronising comment, and gave a little shake of my head.
Jane adjusted her face into a smile. ‘We can’t promise a bouquet in the shape of a handbag, but give us a chance to show you what we can do,’ she said.
Megan was scrutinising me. ‘You don’t seem too well yourself, Carrie,’ she said smoothly. ‘You were never very good in the sun, with that hair and skin.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, a hand shooting to my cheek. Was she remembering the time I got badly burnt, trying to attain a tan like hers during the summer holidays? All I’d got was peeling shoulders, and a skin-cancer lecture from Mum.
‘Why don’t you pop to Cooper’s Cafe, and Carrie will show you our portfolio?’ Jane said anxiously.
Megan eyed the stall doubtfully, as if it might be about to collapse. ‘We-e-ell,’ she said, tapping her chin with her fingers. ‘Jay was doing the flowers at a discount as a favour to my father. He was only charging a couple of thousand, so maybe if you could match that?’
A couple of thousand, and that was a discount?
‘I’ll get the portfolio,’ Jane squeaked, and scurried off.
The sun pulsed down, and I felt an answering throb in my temples.
Megan cast her eyes over the range of flowers and seemed to make up her mind.
‘Hey, look, why not?’ she said with a magnanimous shrug. ‘I obviously bumped into you for a reason, after all this time, so why not help each other out?’ She gave a sugary smile, and I refrained from reminding her that she’d bumped into me by appointment, rather than chance. ‘My mother wanted to be with me, to approve,’ she added, glancing over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know where she’s got to. I left her parking the car.’
Should I ask her why she’d told Tom I’d been planning to move to Manchester? No. Too tragic. Plus, she’d know I’d spoken to him.
Instead, I tried to form an open and friendly expression. ‘My aunt’s the best in the business—’
‘There’s something else you’ll never guess!’ Megan gripped my arm as a grin spread over her face. ‘I’m having a baby!’
I swayed slightly, as my eyes slid to her stomach.
A baby.
Tom’s baby.
There was no sign of a baby. Her stomach was ironing-board flat.
Megan was still speaking. ‘It’s very early days, but I wanted to get married before I started to show.’ Her smile grew to epic proportions, lifting the blades of her cheekbones.
‘A baby,’ I echoed, as if she’d spoken in code and it might mean something else.
‘That’s right.’ Her head bobbed. ‘Michael’s hoping it’ll be a boy.’ It took a second to realise she meant Tom’s father. ‘Ooh, did you know I’ve been working for him for years?’
Mum might have mentioned it in passing. ‘No,’ I said weakly.
‘Of course not, why would you?’ She slapped a hand to her cheek, and hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, not long after the party, Michael offered me a job in HR, overseeing the hiring and firing of staff at all the hotels, which I have to say I’m very good at, but I also think he wanted to keep me close. He always hoped Tom and I would get married one day,’ she prattled on, while my spinning mind tried to process it all. ‘I’ve really helped build his hotel brand into what it is today.’ She flapped a hand, as if waving away congratulations, though I hadn’t uttered a word. ‘Anyway, Tom’s mum got ill earlier this year, and Tom was really moved by how I’d helped to take care of her and,’ she waggled her fingers, ‘voila!’ Her eyes were as sparkly as her ring. ‘He popped the question!’
My brain was a seething mass of confusion. According to Mum’s source, Tom had moved to Scotland, alone. So he and Megan had broken up, then got back together nearly ten years later? But why had they broken up in the first place?
Then it hit me. Tom had needed to go, in order to find himself away from family pressures, but Megan wouldn’t have wanted to – not with her shiny new role at Hudson Country Hotels. And Tom wouldn’t have liked that – her choosing the job over him. But then his mum got ill and, when he came back, he realised he still loved Megan.
And what about her? Had she waited, knowing he’d return?
I tuned back into her voice, feeling sick.
‘Between you and me, we’re hoping Tom will give up this vet thing and take his father’s place as head of the company,’ she was saying. ‘Michael’s hoping to retire, you see, which we never thought would happen, but he’s got this urge to travel since Fiona died, and he won’t go until Tom’s at the helm.’ She gave a theatrical sigh, and I remembered how she’d loved drama at school, performing in the end-of-year plays to rave reviews. I’d been her biggest fan. ‘It’s always been his dream to have his son take over, and I think we’ll be a perfect team…’
I zoned out again, feeling as if I’d done some strenuous exercise – climbed a mountain, perhaps, or cycled to Cornwall and back on a penny-farthing. I really needed to sit down.
‘Though, obviously, I would say that.’
‘Sorry?’ I blinked.
Megan paused, and for the briefest second I caught a gleam of malice in her smoky eyes. ‘I was saying, I think Tom will be a wonderful father, don’t you?’
Chapter Ten
Before I could respond, Megan dug her hand in her bag and pulled out her phone.
‘Mum,’ she said, after pressing in a number, ‘I’ve seen the florist already, so I’ll meet you back at the car.’ She waited while her mother presumably protested. ‘I know you did, but I can manage on my own, I’m not two years old.’ Megan rolled her eyes at me, and a memory of Mrs Ford wormed through the static in my head; a tall, bony blonde, with a permanently anxious air. She couldn’t have looked more different to Megan, who took after her father, a handsome physician who specialised in skin disorders.
I’d only visited their house a couple of times, because Mrs Ford didn’t approve of her daughter bringing home ‘unsuitable’ friends. By ‘unsuitable’ she meant poorer than them, which ruled out nearly everyone. They lived in the poshest part of Dorchester, in a Georgian-style house on an elegant crescent, behind wrought-iron gates. In comparison, my home, though perfectly adequate, was the size of a shed.
‘What do your parents do?’ Mrs Ford had asked on my first visit, and an unusually rebellious impulse had prompted me to say ‘they’re porn stars’, eliciting a delighted hoot of laughter from Megan. The colour had drained so rapidly from her mother’s face that I’d thought she was going to faint.
‘She didn’t think there would be girls like you at Bedworth,’ Megan had said afterwards. ‘She thought scholarships went out in the fifties.’
It was the first time I’d felt ashamed to be there on merit, rather than because my parents could afford it.
‘I wish she would find something else to focus on,’ Megan said now, abruptly ending the call. ‘She’s been unbearable about the wedding.’
Megan’s pregnant, Tom’s the father kept dancing around my brain. An image zapped into my head, of an angel-faced boy with slicked-down hair, wearing a buttoned-up shirt. I swiped it aside, aware of Megan’s scrutiny, relieved when Jane finally returned, her hair flattened under a straw hat.
‘Here we are!’ She flapped open the portfolio, and held it under Megan’s nose.
‘Actually, I don’t have time for this,’ Megan said, glancing again at her watch. ‘I’ve a dress fitting in an hour.’ Her luminous gaze met mine. ‘I’ll email you the details of what I want instead.’ She was all smiles again – lady bountiful, blessing the peasants. ‘If there are any problems get back to me asap. Time is of the essence.’
‘We won’
t let you down,’ Jane said, keenly. ‘You can rely on us.’
‘You do have an email address?’ Megan looked dubious suddenly, as if running a flower stall was such a Dickensian concept she suspected we didn’t even have electricity.
Did we have electricity?
‘Of course.’ Jane fished a business card out of her dungarees. ‘Always carry a few with me,’ she said, handing it over.
There was humour in Megan’s smile as she caught my eye, and for a pinprick of time I felt myself being pulled in – remembered what fun she could be.
I tore my gaze away. ‘We’ll be in touch,’ I said, noticing a toddler pick a flower out of one of the buckets and pull its head off. Jane hurried over as his fingers shot out to grasp another. ‘Congratulations on your wedding, and the baby,’ I felt compelled to add.
‘Thanks,’ said Megan, loftily. ‘You know, I’d invite you but the invitations have gone out.’
‘Oh god, no, that’s fine, I couldn’t have come anyway, I’m…’ I racked my brain for an excuse. ‘My boyfriend’s up next weekend,’ I said, my scalp prickling with sweat. ‘He’s been overseeing our house repair… renovations, and there’s some paperwork to go over.’ I groaned inwardly. If I was going to invent a boyfriend, I could have at least made him sound exciting. ‘He’s just stopping off for a couple of days before he goes back to – to Budapest.’
Megan was agog. ‘Budapest?’
‘He’s a journalist… a war correspondent,’ I said, gripped by an urge to prove I’d moved on, and wasn’t remotely bothered that she was pregnant and marrying Tom.
‘I didn’t realise there was a war in Budapest.’
‘Ah, yes, well,’ I stuttered. I remembered how Megan’s disdainful attitude to education had hidden an intelligence she’d never bothered to foster, preferring to party while I swotted for A levels.
‘There isn’t,’ I said, cheeks stinging with tell-tale colour. Hopefully, she’d think it was sunburn. ‘He’s reporting on something else,’ I improvised. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘Sounds exciting,’ she said in a conspiratorial way, and I wanted to kick myself. It now sounded as if I was trying to revive our friendship, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. ‘We should make up a foursome, go out for dinner before the wedding.’ Her face lit up. ‘I know Tom would love to see you.’
I nearly laughed, the idea was so preposterous. I couldn’t imagine him agreeing to come anywhere near me, let alone sit through a meal with me and my fake boyfriend.
‘What’s he called?’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your chap. I’ll look for a date in my diary and pop you in.’
‘Oh, um,’ I cast my eyes around and spotted the sign in the shape of a coffee cup, outside Cooper’s.
‘Cooper,’ I said quickly. ‘Bradley.’
‘Bradley Cooper?’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘Like the actor?’
‘No, er, Cooper Bradley.’ Oh god.
Her laugh was like the shriek of a saw on metal. ‘That’s so typical of you, Bagsy!’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said. But I did. She’d wangled her way into the Hudson family and was finally marrying Tom, while I was dating a man with a silly name, whose job I couldn’t describe. And he wasn’t even real.
‘Do say you’ll come,’ she pleaded, pressing her palms together. ‘It’ll be like old times.’
That’s exactly what I was afraid of.
‘I think he’ll want us to spend some time alone together.’ I was going to trip up if she asked me any more questions about my fictitious boyfriend. ‘We haven’t seen each other in a while.’
Megan gave a filthy smile. ‘I get it.’ She winked. ‘Although if your aunt’s not well, she might not want to hear you two at it in the next room. I take it you’re staying at her place?’
My nod was accompanied by a surge of nausea. The exchange felt way too intimate.
‘Listen, I should get on,’ I said, looking at the queue building up. Jane was dipping and darting like a robin, her glasses at the end of her nose. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Look forward to it.’
My muscles were clenched with the effort of willing her to go away.
‘I have a lot to thank you for,’ she said, without warning. ‘I’d probably never have met Tom, or his father, if it wasn’t for you.’ Swooping in, she squashed her lips to my cheek, and I remembered briefly how special it had felt to be friends with Megan Ford. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
I watched her stride away, drawing eyes with her sassy strut, and wished I could time-travel back to the previous week.
I should never have come to Shipley.
Chapter Eleven
I entered Ruby’s bedroom and yanked the curtains back.
‘Could we check your emails?’ I said. ‘It’s about that wedding I mentioned. I can’t access your account and Jane’s on holiday now.’
She’d driven off with a cheery, ‘See you next week!’ once we’d closed the stall, and I’d decided my best plan of attack was to get Ruby involved in the wedding. I simply couldn’t face liaising with Megan again.
‘Ruby?’
A stillness in the room alerted me to the fact that she wasn’t there, and I spun around to stare at the bed. In the rosy evening sunshine, it looked rather magnificent with its thrown-back duvet, rumpled sheets and heaped-up pillows; as if it had staged a passionate encounter, rather than harbouring an unhappy woman with a growing food addiction. ‘Ruby?’
It was the first time I’d seen the bed empty. I scanned the room as if she might be hiding, but saw only the usual chaos, which looked even worse with the curtains drawn back – as if someone had been abducted in the middle of a decluttering session.
‘Ruby?’
A splashing sound reached me from across the landing. My shoulders unclenched. She was in the bath. Surely a good sign.
Then another sound emerged: distressed and high-pitched, like a tiny bird being strangled.
My blood froze.
Heart thumping, I raced from the bedroom and slammed my fist on the bathroom door. ‘Ruby, are you OK? Aunt Ruby, answer me! RUBY!’
Nothing, apart from those odd little noises.
I turned the handle, heaving my shoulder against the door. It flew open, propelling me into the steam-fogged room, and I almost toppled headlong into the bath, where Ruby was reclining, up to her neck in bubbles. Her eyes were closed, and she was wearing a set of headphones, singing off-key snatches of an Adele song.
As I gripped the side of the bath, the lavender-scented air flew up my nostrils, prompting a sneeze.
Ruby’s eyes flew open.
‘AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!’ she screamed, rising from the water like a hippo. She yanked her headphones off and whacked me round the head.
‘Ruby, it’s me!’ I said, grabbing hold of them.
‘Are you trying to kill me?’ She slid back down, so only her face was visible above the water. ‘I’m just the right age to have a stress-induced heart attack.’
‘I thought you’d tried to kill yourself,’ I said, a sob blocking my throat. ‘You weren’t in bed and I heard a funny noise…’
Ruby reared up again. ‘Oh, Carrie, I’m sorry,’ she said. Resting a soapy hand on my arm, she leaned forward to kiss my fingers. ‘I had an urge to get clean, that’s all, and I like listening to music in the bath.’ She nodded to her MP3 player on the side. ‘I was singing along.’
‘It didn’t sound like it.’ A tear plopped into the water. It was suddenly too much on top of seeing Megan, and the news about the baby, and Jane swanning off on her sex-break. ‘I’d forgotten you can’t hold a tune.’
‘Oi, I’ll have you know I sing in a choir, young lady.’ There was the tiniest twinkle in her eyes.
‘Do you?’ Dad had mentioned once that Ruby was always singing into a hairbrush in front of the mirror when she was young, and had got into trouble for applying to go on a talent show called Opportunity
Knocks.
Ruby nodded. ‘We meet up once a week. At least I used to go, until…’ She paused. ‘I’ll get back to it,’ she said. ‘It’s a soft-rock choir, and belting out a bit of Bon Jovi is a pretty good outlet.’ Her clinging wet hair gave her the appearance of a shipwreck survivor, but she suddenly seemed more present – as if the water had washed away some of her sorrow. ‘You should try it some time.’
‘I’m tone-deaf,’ I admitted.
‘I know,’ Ruby said gravely. ‘I came to see you in a school assembly when you were little, and thought there was an injured cat behind the radiator.’ Her smile was like a burst of sunshine through a rain cloud.
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘I was on a flying visit to the UK,’ she said. ‘It was only the second time I’d seen you since you were born.’ I wondered if visiting had been too painful, after giving up her own child. ‘You were a cute little thing.’
‘Sarah was the pretty one.’
‘So were you,’ she said. ‘The water’s going cold.’ She clamped her arm cross her chest. ‘Can you pass me a towel?’
I stood up and handed her one off the back of the door.
‘I thought we could order fish and chips for dinner,’ she said, wrapping herself up.
‘I don’t mind cooking,’ I lied. I’d never felt less like cooking, and the thought of battered cod and chunky chips, doused in salt and vinegar, made my mouth water. I hadn’t eaten all day, my appetite non-existent after Megan’s visit.
‘No need,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s my treat.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, I could pick some up while you get dressed. Which chippy is it?’
‘There’s only one.’ Ruby stepped daintily out of the bath. She was short, like me, and cuddly, but light on her feet. It was oddly disconcerting to see her upright for once – like seeing a teddy bear come to life. ‘Kerrigan’s,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder. ‘It’s at the bottom of the road, before the parade of shops.’