by Jill Mansell
‘I don’t believe it!’ Orla exclaimed as the surfer, flicking his wet blond hair out of his eyes, momentarily glanced across at them. ‘It's Hugh Emerson! Hey, Hugh, over here!’
Oh good grief. Oh well. We can be adult about this, thought Millie, biting her lip as Orla waved delightedly at Hugh and beckoned him over. No need to get het up about it. In fact, a couple of minutes of easy conversation might be just the thing they both needed to break the ice and get them back to normal.
Hugh was less than forty feet away and Orla's arms were going like cartwheels, but the next moment he turned, tucked his surfboard under his arm and headed back into the sea.
‘Oh.’ Disappointed, Orla shrugged. ‘He didn’t see me.’
Wrong, thought Millie, who knew perfectly well that he had. He saw you all right. He just didn’t want to see me.
‘Nevermind.’ Orla brightened. ‘We can catch him when he comes in on the next wave.’
Catch him. Like a prize fish, Millie thought. Except Hugh was the one destined to get away.
‘I’m hungry,’ she lied. ‘Couldn’t we go and find somewhere to eat?’
Manchester, perhaps?
‘Darling Hugh, I haven’t even thanked him yet for coming over and putting my computer right.’ Orla gazed fondly out across the glittering water, to where Hugh was lying on his surfboard, lazily paddling with his arms as he headed out beyond the breakers.
‘Have you read that other book yet?’ As she changed the subject, Millie began making her way towards the steps leading off the beach.
‘You mean the poison leprechaun's?’ Gathering the sea-soaked hem of her long violet dress in one hand, Orla hurried to catch up. ‘Only about six times.’
Any mention of the poison leprechaun was a surefire way of distracting her attention from Hugh.
‘Written your review?’
‘Ha! I’ve written at least twenty of the things. Fabulously vile.’ Orla spoke with relish. ‘Really sticking the knife in. It's so much fun, thinking up more and more hideous insults.’
Millie was bemused. ‘I thought you were going to do a nice one.’
‘Oh darling, I am. And I will, eventually. But in the meantime I’m getting all the bitterness out of my system, saying all the things I’d really like to say. I’m telling you, it's better than sex—which is just as well,’ Orla pulled a face, ‘seeing as I probably won’t be having sex for the next fifty years. Ooh, that reminds me, bad news for you too.’ Sympathetically, she clutched Millie's arm. ‘I had a phone call yesterday from Richard. His father's died and he's had to go up to Carlisle. What with arranging the funeral and having to sort out the house, he thinks he's going to be tied up there for the next fortnight at least. He wanted me to let you know, so you won’t wonder why he hasn’t been in touch. Bless him, he was really apologetic, but he says as soon as he gets back he’ll give you a ring about fixing up that dinner date.’
A reprieve. Phew.
Aloud, Millie said, ‘Oh, that's a shame. Poor Richard.’
‘Poor us!’ Orla sounded disgusted. ‘I was pinning all my hopes on this story line.’
‘I wasn’t actually planning on having sex with Richard,’ Millie protested.
‘But you can’t plan these things. You might have done. All this celibacy's starting to get monotonous.’
As they climbed the steep road leading away from the beach, Millie glanced briefly over her shoulder. Now that they’d retreated, Hugh was surfing again. From this distance she shouldn’t have been able to pick him out from among the hundreds of other wet-suited surfers, but she still could.
‘We need some romance in your life,’ Orla persisted. ‘We need excitement and suspense. And we definitely need a lot more shagging.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll do my best.’ Millie grinned. ‘Was there anyone in particular you had in mind?’
‘Well, Con would be great, but the selfish sod's flown over to New York to talk to some producer chappie about a show they’re putting together for Broadway.’
‘Damn, that is selfish.’
‘So we’ve just got to come up with an alternative.’ Orla fixed her with a look that was half confident, half ultra-persuasive. ‘Okay, and I know I’ve said this before, but are you sure you wouldn’t fancy a bash at Lucas?’
It was like trying to hold a conversation with a double-glazing salesman, Hester realized, after the job had been done. Initially they were charm personified, nothing was too much trouble, and they couldn’t be nicer to you. But try contacting them a fortnight later to complain about the draughts whistling through your newly installed window frames and they couldn’t get you off the phone fast enough.
This was exactly what it was like, these days, trying to talk to Nat.
No more Mr. Nice Guy, oh no. Then again, he wasn’t being Mr. Downright Horrible Guy either. Just ultra-polite, perfunctory, and oh-so-distant. As if he would rather be anywhere but on the phone talking to her, but was too well-mannered to say so.
Hester, her head aching with the effort of pretending nothing was wrong, clutched the receiver and said, ‘You sound tired. Are you sure you’re okay?’
Was that a sigh?
‘Of course I’m okay. We’re just busy, that's all.’
Busy doing what?
‘Look, maybe I could come up this weekend.’
‘I’ll be working. Not really much point.’
‘Nat.’ Hester closed her eyes and braced herself. ‘Who's Annie?’
Pause.
Hopefully not a pregnant one.
‘Annie who?’
‘Anastasia.’ There, she’d done it at last. Asked the question she’d been dreading asking for the last fortnight.
‘Oh.’ Nat sounded guilty. ‘Nobody. I mean, just someone we know.’
‘We? You might know her,’ said Hester, ‘but I’m fairly sure I don’t.’
‘No. Well, we met through the restaurant, that's all.’ Guardedly he added, ‘How did you hear about her?’
Tears began to roll down Hester's cheeks.
‘I just heard. Is she pretty?’
Nat hesitated again. It was rapidly becoming his party trick.
Finally he said, ‘I suppose so. Hess, I can’t stand here chatting, I’m supposed to be at work.’
‘Are you seeing her?’
‘Seeing her? I see her when she comes into the restaurant…’
‘I meant are you sleeping with her?’ whispered Hester.
‘No.’
Nat had always been a hopeless liar.
‘That means you are.’
He sighed.
‘Hess, she's an acquaintance, not a girlfriend. And I really have to go.’
Hester couldn’t bear it any more. She hung up.
Two hours later she rang the restaurant again. One of the waitresses picked up the phone.
‘Hello?’ Hester pitched her voice an octave lower than usual. ‘It's Anastasia here,’ she purred. ‘Could I have a quick word with Nat?’
Oh God, I don’t believe I’m doing this.
Watching her bare toes curling into the carpet, she braced herself for the worst. Moments later there was a clunk as the phone was picked up.
‘Annie, hi! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight. Does this mean you can come over later after all?’
Hester's toes were white and practically bent over double. She stared at them, unable to speak. This was it. The worst, the very worst had happened.
And it was all her own fault.
‘Annie? Is something wrong? Is there a problem with tomorrow night?’
It was the tone of his voice more than anything. He was clearly overjoyed to be hearing from Anastasia. He sounded happy. Enthusiastic. Warm. All the things he had once been with her. She hadn’t heard him sound this loving for weeks.
And it hurt. It really, really hurt.
‘Annie? Are you still there?’
For the second time that evening, Hester hung up.
There wasn’t enough wine
in the house to get drunk, only half a bottle of cheap Soave in the fridge. By the time Hester had finished it, she’d cried so much her eyes looked—and felt—like boiled lychees.
Desperate though she was for more alcohol to numb the pain, Hester was aware she looked too much of a sight to risk venturing down to the off-license. Thanks to Millie's selfishness in drinking the other half of the bottle the night before, she was still sober enough to know that inflicting her hideous appearance on the general public was both unfair to them and, more importantly, humiliating for herself.
The Tourist Board would probably have her arrested.
She needed more wine but she was too much of a cowardy custard to go out and get it.
She’d even run out of Twiglets.
When the doorbell went at half past nine it didn’t occur to her that it could be anyone other than Millie, having forgotten her keys.
‘Oh shit,’ Hester wailed, when she realized it wasn’t.
Chapter 38
‘WHAT?’ LAUGHED LUCAS, THE picture of injured innocence.
‘You. Turning up at the worst possible moment.’ Hester sagged miserably against the wall. ‘I’m beginning to think it's your specialist subject.’
To add insult to injury he was wearing his Officer and a Gentleman outfit. Opening her front door and finding the Newquay equivalent to Richard Gere framed in the doorway had always been one of her most cherished fantasies.
‘I just called by to drop off Millie's roller skate. I’ve had the broken wheel fixed.’ Lucas held out the roller skate, hesitated, then said, ‘Oh Hess, every time I see you these days you’re unhappy. What's going on?’
‘Didn’t you know? Being unhappy is my specialist subject.’ The mere fact that he cared enough to ask brought fresh tears to Hester's eyes. Shaking her head, she mumbled, ‘My rotten old life isn’t your problem. And you’ve got a job to get to. I’m fine, really I am.’
‘I’m on my way home from a job. And how can you say you’re fine?’ Lightly, he touched her tear-stained cheek. ‘Look, tell me to push off if you want to. But if you feel like talking about it, well, I’m a pretty good listener.’
Kindness only made Hester cry harder. It always had. She rubbed her hands in desperation over her salty, swollen eyelids.
‘Sshh, come on.’ Gently, Lucas guided her backwards into the house and kicked the front door shut behind him. ‘Tell me everything. If there's anything I can do to help, I’ll do it. There now, sit down, wipe your eyes,’ he passed her a box of tissues, ‘and give me the whole story. And don’t worry about the time,’ he added firmly, intercepting Hester's glance at the clock. ‘I don’t have to be anywhere. If you want, I can stay all night.’
Promises, promises, thought Hester.
‘… so that's about it,’ she concluded twenty minutes later, having brought Lucas up to date with the whole sorry saga. ‘Nat's found someone else. And there's nothing I can do about it. Basically, it's all my own fault.’
‘According to Millie, it's actually all my fault.’ Raising a humorous eyebrow, Lucas said, ‘For not sleeping with you on the night of Orla's party. And there was me thinking I was doing the honorable thing.’
‘Story of my life.’ Hester tried to smile. ‘Making a big show of myself in that swimming pool. Getting turned down by you, then ending up being dumped by Nat anyway. Basically, I’m just an all-round loser.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Too late to worry about it now. It's happened. Shit happens,’ she added with a fatalistic shrug. ‘Especially to me.’
Lucas shook his head.
‘You’ll get over Nat. Meet someone else.’
Raising her gaze, Hester looked at him. Sitting there on the sofa in his crisp, white officer's uniform.
He genuinely didn’t have a clue.
‘What?’ said Lucas.
‘Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me.’
Hester stared at the carpet.
‘No.’
‘Hester, what is it?’
In a flash, she knew she had to tell him.
‘Okay, if you must know, it's you. Thanks to you, I messed up with Nat. And if I ever do get over him and meet someone else, I’ll probably mess that up as well because I’ll still be comparing them with you. There, you see? Now I’ve said it. I’m sorry if it's embarrassing, but you did ask. And this is me being cringe-makingly honest. You’re the one I’ve had a crush on for years and I’ve never managed to grow out of it. I’ve tried to make it go away but it just won’t, it's still in here,’ Hester pressed her hand hard against her breastbone, ‘and I know it's stupid and pointless but I really can’t help how I feel. I really liked you and then you went away. It was all so… so… unfinished.’
Lucas looked at her.
Hester rubbed her forehead.
‘Sorry, sorry, I did warn you it was embarrassing.’
And now he was standing up, preparing to leave. Desperate to be out of here, probably, away from the madwoman who—
The next moment Hester found herself being hauled to her feet. Lucas put his arms around her.
‘I had no idea,’ he murmured.
‘Oh come on, you must have. Millie always says I’m about as subtle as a brick.’
‘I knew you had a bit of a crush on me,’ Lucas admitted, ‘but I thought it was a small one. The kind that would just naturally fade away. I never realized it was… well, like you just described.’
‘A great big out-of-control monster crush with bells on, you mean? And flashing lights and horns and miles and miles of ticker-tape?’ Hester rolled her eyes as she spoke, but this time it was relatively easy to smile. That was the great thing about having not even an iota of pride left. Once you’d hit rock-bottom, there was no longer any need to pretend.
Actually, it was quite liberating.
‘And this crush,’ Lucas said slowly. ‘Is it still there?’
‘Of course it's still there! Even being miserable about Nat hasn’t made it go away,’ Hester confessed. ‘It's like a completely separate thing, quietly burning away…’
‘Like the Olympic flame?’ suggested Lucas.
Hester shot him a suspicious glance.
‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘Absolutely not, I’m flattered. So if I were to do this,’ he ran his fingertips lightly down the side of her face, ‘what happens?’
She flinched away. ‘Lucas! You’re supposed to be being sympathetic.’
His voice low and insistent, he repeated, ‘What happens?’
‘It makes me go fizzy and all squirmy.’ Hester heard her own breathing quicken, like a panting dog's. Oh brilliant, now she was turning into Scooby Doo. ‘Lucas, stop it. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it's really not fair.’
‘Your boyfriend's seeing someone else. How fair do you call that?’
Closing her eyes, leaning her head against his shirtfront in defeat, Hester mumbled, ‘Not very fair at all.’
‘So why should I stop?’ Lucas paused, but his hand continued to stroke her face. ‘Unless of course you don’t want anything to happen.’
What? Was he serious?
Hester lifted her head slowly away from his chest.
‘You were the one who didn’t want to, last time.’
He shrugged.
‘That was then. This is now.’
Ohmygod, thought Hester, every nerve ending in her body jumping up and down and squealing like a teenager. Ohmygod, ohmygod, whaaaah!
‘Don’t read too much into this, okay?’ Lucas murmured the words against her ear, his mouth sending her body haywire. ‘You know me, Hess. All that lovey-dovey stuff isn’t my thing. But hey, there's more to life than relationships. What you need right now is some serious cheering up, and I know just the way to do it.’
‘Oh yes,’ Hester whispered as he pressed the length of his hard, muscled body against her, then masterfully swept her up into his arms, just like Richard Gere. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
>
Hester lay back on the bed amongst the tangle of sheets, panting for breath. It had happened, the miracle she had been yearning for all these years. It had actually happened at last.
She still couldn’t believe it.
Tilting her head to one side and shaking her hair out of her eyes, Hester glanced at the alarm clock for confirmation. When Lucas had swept her off her feet and up the stairs she had noticed the time— 10:07 p.m.—and known then that she would never forget it. After all, this was a momentous occasion. When you’d dreamed about something for as long as she’d been dreaming about this, you wanted to remember every last tiny detail.
And yes, there it was, just as she had suspected. The hands of her clock, arranged in a perfect V-shape. The time was now 10:10 p.m.
They had been in bed together for, ooh, all of three minutes.
No wonder she was in a daze. Since carrying her into the bedroom Lucas had stripped naked, launched himself at her, had sex, and then rolled over with a groan of contentment.
In one hundred and eighty seconds flat.
Oh, and he had told her she was great.
Unbelievable.
Hester, gazing up at the ceiling, wondered if this was how it felt to have your handbag snatched in the street. A flurry of activity catching you by surprise, then before you knew what was going on, it was all over. Your mugger was pelting hell for leather up the pavement, leaving you wondering what the hell that had been all about.
Except Lucas, her own personal mugger, wasn’t pelting anywhere. He was right next to her, sprawled face-down across three quarters of the bed.
Snoring.
Too stunned to laugh, Hester replayed every moment in her brain in case she had somehow managed to miss a bit. Like when you settled down to watch a film and the next thing you knew you were waking up two hours later with the credits scrolling up the screen.
But that hadn’t happened. There were no excuses. Three minutes had been the sum of it, from start to finish.
And it hadn’t just been mind-bogglingly speedy either. It had been so… so bad. So unskilled, so completely lacking in prowess. Okay, Lucas might possess the necessary equipment, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea how to use it. He’d been clumsy, jerky, and uncoordinated. As incompetent as a frenzied fourteen-year-old, marveled Hester, spectacularly lacking in both rhythm and finesse.