‘That would be good,’ said Cat. ‘Let’s do it soon.’
‘One weekend next month, perhaps?’
‘You’re on.’
Cat stretched her legs out in the foot well, flexed her toes. She’d helped somebody else and it felt good. She now knew Adam Lawley just a little better and she liked what she had learned.
Adam was the sort of guy you needed in a crisis, who wouldn’t let you down, who would always know what he should do, what he should say.
They had almost reached the motorway when Cat heard a familiar jingle-jangle. She rummaged in her bag.
‘It’s probably just Tess,’ she said as she pulled out her phone and started scrolling down her texts. ‘God!’ she exclaimed.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Adam.
‘It’s a text from Jack.’ As she spoke, the sun was suddenly masked by banks of cloud, and then – as if on cue – a wind sprang up and raindrops pattered on the Volvo’s windscreen.
‘Bloody hell, he’s got a nerve,’ she muttered as she read Jack’s text. ‘He disappears for weeks on end. He doesn’t call, he doesn’t e-mail and his wretched phone is never on. But then, I get this text. Miss you, babe, where are you?’
‘Do you want to stop? Give him a ring?’
Cat started chewing at her lower lip. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked eventually. ‘Just for a couple of minutes? I won’t be very long.’
‘You take all the time you need.’
‘But aren’t we in a hurry now?’
‘Five minutes will be fine.’
Adam indicated left and pulled into a side road. By now, they’d driven through the shower, so Cat got out and walked a little way along the verge, tapping on her phone.
He watched her as she talked, as she gesticulated, as she threw her head back in – annoyance? In Christ-you’re-such-a-wanker irritation? In blood-and-thunder fury?
Jack was no doubt getting the third degree, decided Adam, and it served the bastard right.
He thought, when Cat comes back, and when we’re on the motorway, maybe I should tell her about Maddy? I could explain what happened, and then she’ll realise I understand?
Or would that be too much like comparing battle wounds? Look, mine’s bleeding more than yours? I’ve got a lot more stitches? Mine is going to leave a bigger scar?
If he started talking about Maddy, would he ever stop?
Cat was coming back towards the car, and he saw her face was one big smile of satisfaction. She’d obviously told Jack where he got off. Attagirl, he thought – I hope you gave the bastard hell.
‘You all right?’ he asked her, as she got back in. ‘You’re feeling better now you’ve cleared the air?’
‘Yes, much better, thank you.’ Cat was positively beaming. ‘Adam, could you drop me at the nearest station, please?’
‘I thought we were going to Wolverhampton?’
‘You’re going to Wolverhampton. I’m going back to Leyton. Jack has lost his keys.’
Adam dropped Cat off in Aylesbury where he reckoned she could get the fastest train to London Marylebone. It should take about an hour, he added. She would soon be safely home again.
As she said goodbye, she smiled at him.
He did not return her smile.
But she didn’t care.
As she sat on the train going back to London, she knew that she had never been so happy – so genuinely, gloriously happy. Jack still loved her, still wanted to be with her and was sorry he had ever left.
What the hell had she been doing, driving off to Wolverhampton with another man – with a man she hardly knew, who almost never smiled, who said he didn’t do relationships, who could have been a serial killer, serial rapist, anything – going off to look at some old house?
Or that was what he said they would be doing.
He might have meant to cut her up and throw her bits and pieces down a well. Then she would have made the Daily Mail, but not in the way her parents might have hoped to see their daughter in their favourite newspaper.
But he had helped that poor old man.
Oh, for goodness sake, she told herself – serial killer, serial rapist, good Samaritan or wolf in sheep’s smart casual, Adam doesn’t matter, anyway.
Adam might be the sort of man who’d make a great best friend.
But she didn’t need a great best friend.
She needed Jack.
Cat and Jack arranged to meet at Mo’s, a coffee shop a block or two away from Cat’s own flat where Jack could get a coffee while he waited.
As she came round the corner, she saw him lolling in a window seat. He had his feet up on a stool and he was reading, lost in a magazine.
She stopped to watch him, take him in. He was still astonishingly handsome. He still had that lovely, charming smile – she knew because he smiled at the waitress who refreshed his coffee.
Then, as if on cue, he turned, he looked straight through the window. As soon as he saw Cat, his eyes lit up. He was on his feet and at the door as she walked in.
Then he was holding out his arms.
She ran straight into them.
‘You’ve come home,’ she cried, and she was almost sobbing as she breathed him in, as his familiar scent assured her that he must be real – that he was in her arms, her life again.
‘Yes, sweet babe, I’m home,’ he said and then he stroked her hair back from her forehead, kissed her lightly on the temples.
Cat heard the waitress sigh.
He drew back then and gazed into her eyes. ‘Do you have a tenner, honeybee?’ he whispered softly. ‘Only I’ve run out of cash.’
Jack was back in London where he said he meant to stay.
He’d done a bunch of gigs in clubs up north. He’d even earned some money, so he said. He didn’t add how much, of course, and Cat sort of suspected he had spent it, anyway. When they stopped off at a supermarket to get in some supplies for the weekend, she’d been the one who paid.
But this didn’t matter, because to her relief and great delight he was thrilled about the competition.
‘So we can have champagne?’ he asked, after he and Cat had got to know each other again, which of course had taken several hours, and they were lying showered and exhausted on the sofa, looking through all the brochures while they played the DVDs, and Cat explained to Jack about the Melbury Court Hotel, about meeting Fanny and the others, and about Fanny saying she would get them in Hello.
‘We get the bridal suite, the five course wedding breakfast for what is it, fifty guests?’ demanded Jack. ‘This Supadoop Promotions lot, they’ll pay for everything?’
‘Well, not quite everything,’ admitted Cat, as she snuggled up to Jack and thought, my God, he’s gorgeous. I’m so lucky! ‘We might have to buy a suit for you. Or maybe we could hire one?’
‘I’m not getting married in somebody else’s trousers,’ muttered Jack. ‘I won’t know where they’ve been. Okay, what else?’
‘There’ll be our rings, of course, and then there will be outfits for the bridesmaids and the pageboys. That’s if we have pageboys. I’m sure my cousin Alice will expect me to ask her little boy, and I think we should, because he’s cute. You mustn’t worry, darling. Dad will pay for all that stuff.’
‘You reckon?’ Jack looked doubtful. ‘Your parents, honeybee – they don’t exactly like me.’
‘They don’t exactly know you.’ Cat smiled at him and kissed him on his lovely, lovely mouth, and then she ran her fingers through his hair, his heavy mass of corkscrew curls, all glossy and blue-black. ‘Once they get to know you properly, they’re going to love you.’
‘Do they know we’ve had this little blip?’
‘No, of course they don’t.’ Cat shook her head. ‘I don’t go running to my friends and my relations with
every little thing. I know you sometimes need to take time out. But I also knew you’d soon be coming home again. You wouldn’t stay away forever. We love each other, right?’
‘Cat, you mentioned being in Hello.’
‘Yes, Fanny said she hoped she would be able to get us in the weekly magazines, and I think she has contacts at Hello.’
‘But we’re not celebrities,’ said Jack. ‘So how can we be in Hello?’
‘I’m only telling you what Fanny said.’ Cat could not stop touching Jack, could not stop kissing him. It was as if he were a power source and she had to be plugged into it. ‘My darling, it’s so great to have you home!’
‘When are you going to see this Fanny Gregory again?’
‘We hadn’t fixed a date, but I’ll call her now to say you’re back.’
‘But it’s Saturday evening, and it’s late.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Cat got out her phone. ‘She works twenty-four hour days. She’s been dying to meet you, and I know there’s lots of stuff she wants to do with you.’
‘But right now I have stuff to do with you.’ Jack took the phone out of Cat’s hand. ‘She’ll have to wait her turn.’
Adam drove on to Wolverhampton in a sort of daze.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even boring old resentment, the unwelcome realisation Cat preferred to be with someone else, that was gnawing, chewing at him now.
What was it, then?
He didn’t know.
When it began to rain again, he welcomed it and drove on through the downpour, intimidating family saloons and even forcing lorries to give way by glaring at the drivers and flashing all his lights in a just-you-try-it-sunshine way.
He arrived in Wolverhampton, found somewhere to park and went to have a bit of lunch, then wished he hadn’t bothered because it felt as if he’d eaten ashes.
He met the man with the Victorian house which was much older than it looked. The house itself was fascinating. Beautiful, in fact – it was the sort of house he loved.
Originally Tudor, it had lots of Georgian additions and embellishments which had made it even more appealing, more attractive, given it more charm, more warmth, more light.
But some of these additions were overlaid with hideous Victorian improvements. Then, at some time in the 1960s, off-white polystyrene tiles had been glued to all the downstairs ceilings, no doubt covering up some lovely Georgian plasterwork. The place would certainly repay some sympathetic restoration.
But, in Adam’s present frame of mind, he was almost tempted to inform the owner it was nothing special, and – since by some planning oversight the building wasn’t listed – he was more than welcome to do anything he liked.
Put in double glazing made of bright white PVC, take out all the pretty Georgian panelling, replace the rotting staircase with one from B&Q? Or even level it, and build a modern house with decent insulation, central heating, solar panels, patio doors?
He didn’t envy Jack, he told himself, as he tried to concentrate on Mr Rayner’s interesting old house, and to tell him yes, to keep the Georgian staircase, he could easily find replacement spindles, that would be no problem, and woodworm could be treated nowadays, provided it was not too far advanced.
‘But that conservatory needs to go,’ he added. ‘It’s a great example of Victorian jerry-building on almost non-existent bad foundations. The ironwork’s rusted through and, if it isn’t knocked down soon, it’s going to fall down by itself.’
As he made some notes and took some photographs, he thought, it’s not as if I even know the guy. This Jack – he might be genuinely charming, and genuinely sorry for going off to find himself, for making Cat so sad.
But when he had seen her back in May, poor Cat had been so miserable. So wretched, so despairing. Who had any right to make somebody feel like that, especially when the somebody in question was as kind and generous as Cat? A girl who’d help a stranger whose stupidity might easily have killed them all?
‘Mr Lawley?’ Mr Rayner looked at him, his eyebrows raised. ‘I’d like you to help me, if you would? When could you fit me in?’
‘I’ll probably have some time in August.’ Adam scrolled through his diary, checking dates. He had that stuff in Scotland coming up. He didn’t really want any more work, and this would be a devil of a job. He’d have to find some sub-contractors, and he didn’t know a single one in bloody Wolverhampton.
Perhaps he should get rid of that red button on his website, inviting anyone to contact him?
But what else could he do, apart from work?
What else was there in life?
Monday, 6 June
When Cat woke up on Monday morning she couldn’t quite believe Jack was still there. But she could feel him warm against her back and she could hear him breathing softly. So he must be fast asleep.
She’d dreamed about him coming back so often. Now her dreams had all come true. She was so very glad he’d walked into the yard that afternoon and bought those Cotswold tiles.
He’d bought those Cotswold tiles?
What lunacy was this?
She shook herself. She was still half asleep. She was in that state of mind when dreams and thoughts and what was real and what was just imaginary got confused, mixed up.
She raised herself up on one elbow, twisting round to make quite sure that it was Jack in bed.
Of course it was, and now he stirred. He woke up, grinned and pulled her down beside him. ‘You don’t need to go to work just yet,’ he whispered, as he ran his fingers through her hair.
‘Yes I do,’ she told him. ‘Jack, we haven’t time for this. It’s already half past seven. I’m going to be late.’
‘So be late,’ said Jack. ‘You and I, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’
‘I can’t afford to lose my job.’
‘You can, my darling, because I’m going places, and you’re coming with me.’
Adam didn’t intend to go back to the yard in Walthamstow. There were fifty other places where he could have got some Georgian spindles and he didn’t need them until August, anyway.
But on Monday morning he found that he was drawn to Chapman’s yard. He wanted to find out how Cat was doing, if the wedding was back on, if bloody/charming/ghastly/lovely Jack had sorted out his life.
The gates were open and so he didn’t need to ring the bell. He just walked straight in. He found Cat in the office. She was looking wonderful this morning, all bright and fresh and glowing – her jade-green eyes were sparkling and her skin looked like new milk.
A dark-haired girl was sitting on Cat’s desk and they were leafing through a pile of bridal magazines, their glossy pages promising – insisting – romance was a reality, that there was such a thing as genuine, everlasting love.
When they noticed Adam, they both jumped guiltily.
‘Omigod, we thought you were the boss,’ exclaimed the dark-haired girl, who Cat now introduced as Tess.
‘Barry has the vapours at the very thought of weddings because his was a nightmare,’ Cat explained, but Adam noticed that she wouldn’t meet his gaze and now she’d coloured up.
‘The best man got arrested for possession of an unlicensed firearm,’ went on Tess.
‘It was just a starting pistol he had got from eBay and he’d only brought it for a laugh. But they still cuffed him, took him in and locked him in the cells.’
‘The registrar was drunk.’
‘So Barry hates these magazines. But now we’re wondering – satin, crêpe or velvet, which would be the best?’ mused Cat. ‘Duchesse satin would be good because it’s thick and heavy and the wedding will probably be in winter …’
‘I’d go for duchesse satin, then,’ said Adam. ‘So that’s the bridegroom sorted. What about the bride?’
�
�I’m sorry, Mr Lawley.’ Cat put down her magazine, looked up, but then looked past him, still wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘What can we do for you today – more Cotswold tiles, more chimneys?’
‘Some genuine Rennie Mackintosh stained glass?’ suggested Tess. She winked at him and grinned. ‘It’s on special offer, because it isn’t genuine at all. It was made in China. But I bought it anyway, because it’s very pretty and somebody is sure to snap it up. Or we can offer you some blue Victorian slates – two hundred quid a ton?’
‘I need some Georgian spindles for a staircase. Oak, if you have them. I don’t want mahogany or pine.’
Adam could not get over how amazing Cat was looking. He realised how much happiness could add to anyone’s attraction, how it made a person sort of shine. So he must be really hideous these days, he decided, because he was anything but happy.
‘These are for the house in Wolverhampton?’ Cat enquired, as she put her magazines away and then picked up a bunch of keys.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Adam, who found he couldn’t drag his gaze away, that he was mesmerised.
‘How many do you need?’
‘Twenty-five to thirty – I’m replacing the whole run.’
‘Right, let’s go and have a look in Barry’s special shed, where he keeps the good stuff.’
As he followed Cat into the yard, Adam saw she was almost skipping. She was almost dancing, like a child at a party. She fizzed and buzzed with happy energy.
‘So you and Jack are back on course again?’ he asked, as Cat unlocked the door and flicked a switch to reveal a hoard of timber – spindles, panels, newel posts and banisters, pine and oak and walnut and red Victorian mahogany.
‘Yes, thank you, everything’s back on,’ said Cat. ‘Now, let me think a moment, where did Barry put those spindles? I believe they’re down here on the right.’
She led him down the central aisle, towards the gloomiest corner of the shed. ‘What do you think of those?’ she asked, and pointed. ‘Early Georgian, English oak, and I think there are twenty-eight of them. So would that be sufficient?’
The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) Page 10