Nearly Almost Somebody

by Caroline Batten

  ‘It’s official, I’m in love with Libby,’ Scott said as they joined him at the picnic table. ‘She used to work for a phone company and the little beauty’s unblocked my phone. Will managed to do Christ knows what with it this morning. Clara’s free to a good home if you’re interested, Rob.’

  Robbie laughed, but they all turned as Libby led Harmony into the ménage. What was it with that girl? Patrick didn’t get it.

  ‘How’s she working out?’ Scott asked, handing them both beers.

  ‘She’s a godsend,’ Robbie replied. ‘She knows her stuff, works her arse off, does what she’s asked and never complains.’

  ‘And happens to look like a St Trinian’s Sixth Former.’ Scott grinned.

  ‘Which doesn’t hurt.’ Robbie laughed. ‘That’s actually demure for her, most days she looks like she’d get kicked out of St Trinian’s.’

  ‘I don’t get that whole trashy look,’ Patrick said. ‘She looks better in her running kit.’

  ‘Never seen it.’ Robbie slugged his beer, frowning.

  ‘You should,’ Patrick said.

  ‘If you don’t like how she looks, why did you ask her out?’ Robbie asked.

  ‘To get Maggie’s cat back.’

  Libby crouched down, talking to the first of Matilda’s friends clamouring for a pony ride. The little girl laughed and Libby’s face broke into that huge smile. Even the trashy make-up couldn’t hide pretty Libby. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked out of the pub. He shook his head. No, she’d been sensationalised in the paper, outed on the blog, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that meant Michael Wray had a new obsession. Patrick felt for her.

  ‘Libby seeing anyone?’ Scott asked, looking suspiciously innocent as he raised his eyebrows at Patrick.

  Christ, don’t go there. Patrick picked at his beer label as Robbie said no. They’d not discussed Robbie warning him off and Patrick was happy to leave it that way. Libby Wilde had caused enough trouble.

  * * *

  The last of the party bags had been handed out, Matilda’s munchkin friends waved off and the entertainers paid – a party perfectly managed, even if Libby did say so herself. At five o’clock, she ducked into the house to change from her jodhpurs into a denim mini-skirt and when she returned, only Robbie’s closest friends remained: Scott, Clara, Daisy, Xander, their kids and unfortunately, Patrick. He and Robbie were on the chair swing, laughing and knocking back bottles of beer.

  Considering how nervous Robbie had been to have the party in Vanessa’s absence, Libby hadn’t expected to see him so chilled. In t-shirt and shorts, he’d milled amongst the guests, the parents of Matilda’s friends, topping up glasses, laughing, smiling. Of course, that was all part of his Mr Restaurateur persona, but when he joined his friends, his smile relaxed into something entirely more natural.

  ‘Libby,’ Daisy said, ‘please tell me you’ll do this for Evie’s birthday?’

  ‘Oooh, and Will’s?’ Clara beamed. ‘Where the hell did you find stilt-walking fairy princesses?’

  Libby laughed, trying to ignore Clara’s bare feet, the evidence of corns and bunions almost as obvious as on her own. But where Libby had her toes hidden in ballet flats, Clara had her feet propped up without any sense of shame. If only.

  ‘Unbelievably, Libby still doesn’t have a hot boyfriend,’ Daisy said.

  ‘What happened with Jack?’ Clara tipped her head to one side, studying Libby’s feet, as usual in third position, her habitual resting stance. ‘He’s cute. I would.’

  ‘I can hear you,’ Scott called across the lawn.

  Libby reluctantly sat at the table, as uncomfortable with the scrutiny as she was the conversation.

  ‘How about Jonty?’ Daisy suggested. ‘He’s adorable, good-looking, half-Italian.’

  ‘Rich too,’ Patrick added.

  ‘Money doesn’t make you happy,’ Libby replied, tucking her hair behind her ears. What did Robbie think of this? She daren’t look at him.

  ‘He’s far too nice,’ Clara said. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Ignore her.’ Daisy swatted her friend’s arm. ‘Xand and I can come too. We’ll do tapas and cocktails in Haverton. It’ll be fun.’

  Libby stared at her feet, desperately to get out of saying yes. ‘Look, I don’t want to go out with Jonty, whoever he is.’

  ‘Why?’ Daisy asked, sitting up. ‘Oh my God, it’s true, isn’t it? You and Xander–’

  ‘No,’ Libby said, appalled Daisy could even consider it.

  ‘Fitzgerald.’ Xander shook his head. ‘You’ve had too much wine. Trust me, please?’

  ‘But you two are...’ Tears tumbled down Daisy’s face.

  Libby looked to Robbie and he stared back. She couldn’t let Daisy think this. They had to tell them. They had to. Matilda and Dora were merrily jumping in the bouncy castle and with Tallulah at Chloe’s, there was no one to overhear. Libby opened her mouth.

  ‘Xander’s not having an affair with Libby,’ Robbie said, standing up.

  Libby closed her eyes as he walked over and didn’t open them, even when he put his hands on her shoulders. Oh god, no.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Wow, Rob,’ Clara said. ‘If I knew you were going to shag around, I’d have formed a disorderly queue.’

  ‘Clara,’ Scott hissed, ‘not the fucking time.’

  * * *

  What the actual fuck?

  Patrick stared at Robbie, still not believing what he’d just heard. Okay, it’d been his suggestion for Robbie to get an au-pair while Vanessa was away, but he hadn’t actually expected Robbie to shag her. Robbie was a romantic. He wasn’t the unfaithful type, not these days. But it certainly explained Robbie warning him off Libby.

  Jesus.

  So why did Libby go out for a drink with him? He’d assumed she fancied him, but she obviously didn’t. He’d flirted with her. What an idiot. Hang on, she’d flirted right back. Maybe she did fancy him. Was that the kind of girl she was, shagging one guy then going for a drink with his mate? Nice. Thank Christ he’d walked out.

  ‘What about Van?’ Patrick asked, unable to keep the anger from his voice. ‘Is this why she’s not here for her daughter’s birthday?’

  Robbie didn’t answer, but turned to Libby. Whatever their unspoken communication was, she understood it.

  ‘I’ll bring the horses in,’ she said.

  Patrick folded his arms as she walked away, her shoulders sagging. Was this her fault? On first impressions she hadn’t seemed the sort, she seemed a nice girl, but throw Jack then Robbie into the pot, and Miss Wilde was looking far from angelic.

  ‘Vanessa’s having an affair,’ Robbie explained, kicking Patrick’s world off its hinges for the second time.

  ‘What? Who with?’ Scott asked, leaning forwards.

  ‘That French wanker,’ Robbie replied and filled them in on the viola player.

  From the subsequent silence, clearly no one knew what to say. The six of them sat staring at hands, picking at beer labels, sighing at the sky.

  Robbie forced a smile towards Clara. ‘Will you check on Lib? Make sure she knows you don’t hate her. This isn’t her fault.’

  Clara, who’d do anything for Robbie, obediently nodded and led Will off to the yard.

  Xander stood up, pulling Daisy with him. ‘I can’t believe… We have to get Evie home. Can we talk tomorrow, Rob?’

  It had to be whisky o’clock. Patrick went to the bar, cracked open a bottle of Macallan and poured three hefty shots. Robbie hugged his brother, apologising, but Xander shook his head, holding him in a tight backslapping hug. Patrick sank back into his seat, not knowing what to say. Scott, as ever, was the first to man up.

  ‘Van’ll come back,’ he said, swirling his drink in its glass.

  ‘Maybe,’ Robbie replied, watching as Libby, Clara and Will headed off to the fields to bring in the horses.

  Patrick couldn’t stop himself. ‘If she does, will the plaything be out on her ear?’

  ‘Libby’s not a plaything. She’s
...’

  ‘Jesus, you really like her, don’t you?’ Patrick leant on the table, trying to fathom Robbie out, but his friend was staring at his glass, his face unreadable.

  ‘Look, Libby’s not trying to take Van’s place, she’s just... she’s doing a bloody good job of keeping my head together. We have a lot in common, but if… if Vanessa comes back, then yes, Libby will be out on her ear.’

  ‘Does she know that?’ Scott asked.

  ‘Yes. My daughters need their mother. Van has no idea how much they miss her, Dora especially. She’d come back if she did.’

  ‘Then tell her,’ Scott said.

  ‘She needs to come back because she wants to, not because she feels she has to.’ Robbie pushed his hair back, watching Libby jog behind the Shetlands. ‘And then there’s the other what if. What if Vanessa doesn’t come back? What if I’ve caught the luckiest break of my life?’

  Was Robbie seriously considering ending his marriage? Patrick downed his whisky. ‘Does Libby know you’re thinking about this?’

  ‘Do you think she’d have gone out with you if she did?’ Robbie asked. ‘She’s an amazing girl. If you can get her to speak to you again, you’d like her, but she’s… Look, I can’t stop her, but she’s Off Limits.’

  Scott mouthed an exaggerated Wow and Patrick let out a slow breath. This was more complicated than he’d thought. Calling Off Limits was reserved for special girls, girls you didn’t want your best mate to go out with even after you broke up with them. Only two women had earned Off Limits status in recent years: Vanessa and Clara. Why Libby? Patrick didn’t get it. Yes, she was pretty when she wasn’t dressed as trailer trash. Actually, she was quite hot when she wasn’t dressed as trailer trash and he’d admit she was fun – she’d made him laugh on several occasions, but leave your wife material?

  As if he’d read his thoughts, Robbie turned to him. ‘Seriously, you don’t know Libby.’

  No, but it’s time I got to know her.

  As Scott and Clara prepared to leave, Patrick followed Robbie into the yard. Libby was sitting on an upturned bucket, clutching a mug and smoking a cigarette. Her mini-skirt and wellies combination elicited a brief pang of jealousy from Patrick. Off limits.

  ‘You have to head off?’ Robbie asked.

  Patrick shrugged, glancing to Libby. ‘I don’t fancy playing gooseberry.’

  Robbie laughed. ‘It’s fine. Tallulah will be back soon. Stay. I have to ring Van so she can speak to Tilly. Please make friends with Lib. You can start by saying sorry.’

  Reluctantly, Patrick agreed and while Robbie rounded up his daughters, walked towards Libby, not missing the wary frown that flashed over her face. Did she think he’d give her a hard time? Would he?

  ‘How’s Hyssop?’ he asked, a half-hearted effort at peace-making.

  ‘Go away. I hate you.’

  Sod peace-making. ‘You’re trashing my friends’ marriage. You’re not exactly at the top of my Christmas card list either, princess.’

  ‘Have you any idea how humiliating it was to be dumped in the pub?’

  ‘It’s probably up there with how Rob felt when you told him you’d gone out with someone else.’

  She stubbed out her cigarette, becoming fascinated by her boots. ‘It’s not like it was a date.’

  He shifted uneasily as her cheeks turned pink. It had been a date and they both knew it.

  ‘Look, Rob’s my best mate, so... how about a truce?’

  ‘You run me down on a footpath you shouldn’t have been on, make me look like an idiot in front of Grace and play dirty to get Hyssop back. Not a chance.’

  Fine. If she wanted an apology, she’d get one.

  When Patrick was thirteen, infatuated with Melody Lawson, Robbie had let him in on a secret he’d discovered reading chick lit. An overblown romantic gesture never failed to win a girl over. It’d surely work in non-romantic situations too. Patrick plucked a nasturtium from the nearest hanging basket and dropped to his knees before her.

  ‘Libby, I am very sorry for walking out of the pub. I had my reasons, but you’re right, it was bloody rude. And I’m sorry for going to Zoë about Hyssop. Please, please forgive me.’

  She had the makings of a smile as she took the flower.

  ‘Think of the cat,’ Patrick said. ‘He hates to see us fighting. Friends?’

  The angelic smile grew and she shook his hand. ‘Friends.’

  He sat back on the bench, surprisingly relieved. ‘He’s been coming to visit me, by the way.’

  ‘Hyssop?’

  ‘A few nights last week, he’s turned up about eight, knocking at the window–’

  ‘Oh God, I love how he does that, tapping his paw against the glass ’til you let him in. He’s so clever.’

  ‘Then at about eleven, he’d sit up, listening for something. Let me guess, you coming home.’

  ‘Thursday is Pilates.’

  ‘And the other days?’

  She blushed. ‘Tallulah spends most evenings at Chloe’s.’

  ‘Handy.’

  ‘It’s wrong, I know.’ Guilt flooded her face for a second before she looked up at him. ‘Did you know Tallulah’s convinced Maggie was murdered?’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  Patrick leaned forwards, amused, as she explained how Becky from next-door-but-one had sworn on her iPhone that she heard Maggie scream and saw someone walk out of the house. No one had mentioned this before. The police hadn’t thought anything remotely suspicious had occurred.

  ‘You found her, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘I think that’s what Sheila said.’

  He nodded. ‘Hyssop came round the next day, meowing. I didn’t think much of it. If Maggie went away for a few days, Sheila would feed him. But after a couple of days…’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘He just kept hanging around, driving me mad. In the end, I went to Maggie’s. She didn’t answer and she never locked the door, so I went in to make sure he had food.’

  And there Maggie was, cold and grey, her head facing the wrong way.

  ‘That must’ve been horrid.’ Libby lit another cigarette. ‘It gives me the creeps just looking at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a cracked tile....’

  Patrick looked up as Tallulah came into the yard. ‘Lulu, why didn’t Becky tell the police about seeing someone coming out of Maggie’s?’

  She looked up from her phone. ‘She did, but like they believed her. Jack said his mum didn’t hear any screaming so basically they all ignored Becks.’

  ‘Patrick…’ Libby paused, her brow creasing. ‘Was Maggie wearing her pendant?’

  He shrugged. ‘But she wore it every day. Why?’

  ‘It’s missing,’ Libby replied. ‘Zoë doesn’t have it, or her mum.’

  ‘Murdered,’ Tallulah said, still texting.

  Libby’s frown deepened. ‘Did the house look like it’d been burgled?’

  ‘Maggie had so much junk it’d be hard to tell.’ Patrick laughed. ‘Why are you so interested in Maggie anyway? You didn’t even know her.’

  ‘I want to make sure that whatever happened to her doesn’t happen to me.’ Libby flicked her hair off her shoulder, smiling as Robbie came out.

  ‘Does anyone fancy a margarita?’ he called.

  Tallulah’s face lit up. ‘Me.’

  ‘In your dreams,’ Robbie said, his post-Vanessa scowl easing as he tickled her.

  Hours later, after several margaritas, more burgers, and a surprisingly good time with Robbie, Libby and Tallulah, Patrick waited in the yard while Robbie and Libby said their goodbyes. Understandably, they both looked very uncomfortable. It was so wrong. Patrick did all he could to look busy, checking his phone. Eventually, she jogged over and Robbie waved, clearly happy to see them all friends again. Still wrong.

  Patrick pushed his bike as they headed down the bridleway, determined not to ask her the question screaming in his head. Why was she shagging Robbie? Vanessa would come back and Libby would be out on her ear. Why would she do that to herself?


  ‘I could give you a lift.’ He nodded to his bike.

  ‘Not a chance, mister.’ She looked up at the black sky, dotted with stars. ‘It’s a nice night. I like the walk.’

  ‘So you run most mornings, Pilates on a Thursday, walk to work and back, ride twice a day… do you ever sit still?’

  She smiled, shaking her head. ‘Rob’s glad you’re back. Did you and Scott talk to him?’

  Patrick nodded, hoping she didn’t ask what was said.

  ‘He only confided in me to begin with because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to. This might not have happened if you’d been here.’

  No, it bloody wouldn’t, because I’d have got in there first. Rob wouldn’t be messing around with you. I would be.

  ‘Rubbish excuse. He could’ve talked to Scott.’ He glanced at her, unable to stop himself. ‘You know you’ll end up with nothing, no job?’

  ‘Yes.’ She focussed on the ground and tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘He loves her and they have three daughters who need them to be together. I’m just something for now, to make him feel better. It’s not ideal, but worth it for the distraction.’

  ‘The distraction?’

  She flashed a brilliant smile. ‘I have my reasons.’

  He shook his head, laughing. ‘Which are?’

  ‘What are yours?’

  ‘I asked first.’

  ‘None of your business. You don’t have to escort me home, you know. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘With a potential murderer on the loose?’

  She laughed. ‘A good point, well presented.’

  ‘Actually, you have got me thinking.’

  ‘Careful. Don’t hurt yourself.’

  He faux-punched her arm. ‘I was thinking if the place looked burgled.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘While I was waiting for the police, I went into the kitchen to feed Hyssop. There was a card and gift-wrapped box on the side, unopened. If you were robbing the place, wouldn’t you open it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. It was a couple of scented candles and a bottle of wine from Sheila.’

  ‘But a burglar would’ve at least opened it.’ He shook his head. ‘So, no. I don’t think the place had been burgled.’