Nearly Almost Somebody

by Caroline Batten

  Libby frowned at her. ‘What?’

  ‘A, artist, Paolo.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘B, Tristan, the ballet dancer.’

  Oh for god’s sake. ‘Let me guess, Jack is C for carpenter? And how are you fitting Robbie in?’

  ‘D… how about, Maitre D’.’ Zoë flashed a pleased smile. ‘Patrick could be next. Elephant doctor?’

  ‘Just stick with Egotist.’ Libby giggled.

  ‘Zoë?’ Jonathan appeared behind them, accompanied by a boot-faced Malcolm and a clearly uncomfortable Elizabeth McBride.

  As Jonathan introduced them to Zoë, Libby cringed. Bitching about Patrick in front of his parents. Awesome. To make matters worse, Malcolm McBride had looked Libby over with a distinctly unimpressed frown. Clearly, he thought she looked like a Soho stripper too. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and headed for the exit.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve. He ought to be in a great mood, but Patrick walked into the Mill and his edginess worsened. Libby would be inside. And his parents. This looked set to be a disastrous evening. He’d pissed off Libby, he’d pissed off Robbie and his parents didn’t trust him. He’d fucked up everything and Christ, he missed being able to talk to Grace every morning.

  So far, Christmas sucked. The day before, Sam and Charlotte had arrived from Spain, a surprise visit. Cue squealing mother and backslapping father. Patrick played along, happy to see his brother and sister-in-law, but when was the last time he’d seen their parents react like that to seeing him?

  Hidden from the guests in the restaurant, Robbie had Vanessa pressed against the reception desk, looking over her slinky green dress. Patrick didn’t blame him. She looked every bit the hot model she used to be.

  ‘Put her down,’ Patrick said, sounding grumpier than he intended.

  ‘You’re late,’ Vanessa said, giggling.

  ‘Fashionably.’ Patrick scanned the seating plan. Scott and Clara were on a table with Robbie and Vanessa. Where was he… Oh Christ. He turned to Robbie. ‘Not your idea, I assume.’

  Robbie shook his head. ‘And she’s not happy about it. She’s nearly bolted twice.’

  ‘It’s my idea,’ Vanessa said. ‘Take one for the team, Patrick.’

  Could he sit through an entire dinner with Libby in front of half of Gosthwaite? Thank Christ he’d had a joint with Sam earlier. On the positive side, he’d get to hang out with Libby for the evening. Maybe this would be okay. Hell, maybe he could apologise and explain about the ultimatum. Maybe tonight could change everything.

  But it was a black tie event, and he mustn’t misbehave.

  The rest of the diners had taken their seats and waiters scurried around with wine. Scott gave a small salute, but Patrick’s returned gesture faltered as he spotted Libby. At a table in the corner, oblivious to the old codgers at the table, she sat writing on her napkin, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Libby was hiding her body. Why? And she was blonde again. The fringe and black crap still hid her eyes, but she’d shed the pink, the black streaks and about six inches of hair. As he approached, she glanced up, pushing her napkin under her side plate. She didn’t smile. And when did Libby not smile, not even a little bit?

  ‘How are you?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Refill?’

  ‘I’ll take the bottle.’

  A whole week later and she was still pissed off. Marvellous.

  ‘You’re in a good mood.’ He poured her a drink.

  ‘Not the best. You won’t have noticed, swanning in here at the last minute, but there’s the most horrific set-up going on.’

  ‘I had noticed.’ Why was she hiding under a blanket-sized scarf? ‘Is it horrific?’

  ‘What, are you thinking of hotting things up?’ Her voice was quiet, but her eyes flashed suggestively. ‘Back to your place, maybe? We could fuck in the hallway, up against the wall.’

  Oh, hello. He raised his eyebrows and shifted in his seat. ‘I was going to suggest a coffee and the chance to talk in private, but we could give your idea a go.’

  ‘And what about tomorrow? Will you come over all apologetic and have your reasons again?’ The eyes lost all suggestion, instead anger, resentment and four months of hurt took over. ‘Just another opportunity for you to walk away.’

  ‘You were the one who walked away last.’

  ‘I should go home.’

  ‘You’ve had an hour to do that, but you’re still here.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  But you’re still here. There’s still a chance.

  ‘Okay, enough.’ He stabbed an olive, holding it out to her. ‘Olive branch? It is Christmas after all.’

  She bit the olive off the cocktail stick and he glanced down, hiding his relieved smile. She crossed her fabulous legs demurely under her chair, but nothing more than sheer black stockings and sky-scraper heels covered them. How short was her dress? He had to make friends with her.

  ‘I want to say sorry,’ he said, ‘so you need to sit nicely and just listen. Pretend we’re chit-chatting about your new hair, which looks much better by the way.’

  He flashed a smile as a waitress put plates of goats’ cheese tartlet and beetroot salad in front of them and as Libby leant back to give the waitress more room, the shawl slipped but she quickly pulled it back into position.

  ‘Spoilsport.’ Patrick frowned her. ‘Why are you wearing this thing anyway? Not like you.’

  As she sipped her wine, not answering him, he tugged a corner of the shawl. One side dropped to reveal the top half of her naked spine and he tried not to grin. That had to be a fabulously small dress.

  ‘You can keep your apology,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard it all before.’

  ‘Come on, Libs. I don’t like falling out with you.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have been such an arse.’

  ‘I know.’

  She turned to answer back, but he was ready with a little cheese and salad on her fork, holding it near her mouth. Surprisingly, she let him feed her. He hoped it would keep her quiet for a while longer.

  ‘Look, I’m honestly sorry for everything, but after dinner, can we go somewhere and talk?’

  As she chewed, she frowned at him then leaned a little closer, taking in a deep breath. ‘Have you been smoking weed?’

  ‘Might’ve been.’

  She nodded towards Zoë. ‘Have you seen the future Mrs Carr? She’s turned all Stepford since he put a ring on it.’

  ‘That’s going to make a weird family dynamic. His sons are older than her.’

  ‘It’s worse than that. I think she secretly loves one of them.’

  Patrick’s mouth dropped open for a second. ‘That’s got Jeremy Kyle written all over it.’

  Libby laughed and he relaxed. While she told him about Zoë moving out, intentionally only taking an overnight bag so Jonathan would buy her a new wardrobe, Patrick demolished his tartlet and Libby’s leftovers. Okay, it was time. He topped up their glasses, bolstering himself to tell her about the ultimatum, but the shawl was covering her shoulders again. She might have a polite smile fixed in place, but her eyes were impassive. She hadn’t relaxed at all.

  ‘Shit, you just distracted me, didn’t you?’ He stared at her, confused. Why was she manipulating him? ‘Libs, I’m trying to apologise. I want to...’

  ‘I want to... what?’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘What do you actually want, Patrick?’

  I don’t know. ‘My brother’s over. He’s looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘Have you seen Grace and Jack?’ Libby pointed to the table in the opposite corner. ‘They’re back together and totally loved up.’

  ‘Really?’ She could do so much better.

  ‘But she’s not loving working at Haverton and she said Hannah’s cited twenty-three incidents of unreasonable behaviour on your part. Hasn’t she learned to make coffee yet?’

  ‘No, it’s bloody awful�
�’ Why were they talking about coffee? He closed his eyes, sighing. She’d used her little questioning trick to distract him again. ‘Stop it.’

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  The waitresses cleared their plates, the OAPs shouting about how marvellous the cheese pie was, but silence descended between him and Libby. She shifted in her seat, moving away from him and he twisted his glass around, trying to work out what to say.

  Just tell her.

  It all seemed so simple when he was with Scott, but the reality was, she didn’t want to listen, even to the good stuff – especially to the good stuff.

  She flicked her hair back. Roses and sweet peas. What was it with that perfume?

  Okay, he’d fucked this up, big style, but if she didn’t want to talk about them, or let him apologise, then fine. He wouldn’t persevere. Who the hell wanted to talk about them anyway?

  ‘What were you doing before?’ he asked.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I arrived, you were writing on your napkin.’

  Her cheeks turned through seven shades of red. ‘Nothing.’

  Oh, that was impossible to resist. He stretched across, blocking her arms and grabbed her napkin. She tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of her reach. A... artist, Paolo. B... ballet dancer, Tristan. C, carpenter, Jack...

  He stared at her, as amused as he was shocked. ‘An A to Z fuck list by job?’

  ‘You’re right out of luck. V’s already filled.’

  ‘There’s a smutty joke in there. Vicar?’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’ He checked the list. ‘Voice coach? Whatever, he can go under C. Jack can go under J.’

  ‘Out ranked by a Jewel Thief.’

  ‘A vet doesn’t outrank a voice coach? Thanks.’ He tugged her hair. ‘You went out with a Jewel Thief?’

  ‘At sixth form.’

  ‘What?’

  Libby swatted his arm. ‘Well he wasn’t a jewel thief then. He was a dancer. Now, he’s a jewel thief. On the run and everything.’

  ‘Good story, but it’s cheating.’ Patrick handed back the napkin. ‘Fill the rest in properly.’

  ‘The rest?’ She gave a tiny smile. ‘There is no more.’

  He studied the list, shocked by the huge gaps. ‘It’s finished?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Libby, there are only ten names on here.’

  ‘I haven’t always had an appalling reputation, you know.’ She frowned at him. ‘I thought ten was plenty. I was pretty wild at sixth form.’

  ‘Whatever, you were a goody-two-shoes. And I still think a vet should outrank a voice coach.’

  She didn’t drop eye-contact for a second as she dug in her bag and produced a make-up pencil. ‘So how bad are you?’

  Fuck. ‘I know what you’re doing. This is one of your distractions.’

  ‘You’ve been smoking. You’re an easy mark tonight.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to talk?’

  ‘For B, are you going for Beauty Queen or Barmaid?’

  Pushing his frustration aside, Patrick took the pencil.

  The waitresses delivered turkey roulade with all the trimmings, and he devoured the lot, including Libby’s unwanted potatoes as he completed his list. It took him less than ten minutes. Jesus, that was far too easy. Libby still picked at her vegetables when he started swapping the odd name for one with a higher ranking profession.

  ‘Oh my god, you’ve finished already?’ She took the list, a smile threatening. ‘Cow-castrating assistant. Cute. Quantity surveyor, really? You haven’t just made that up?’

  Sadly no. Needy nightmare, that one, but he could’ve used Quality Control Inspector too.

  ‘Who the hell knows a zoologist?’ she asked.

  ‘A vet, you idiot.’ He elbowed her and she laughed, properly laughed. Finally.

  Over dessert, they chatted about the ballet, how she adored teaching the little kids at Jane’s, and as the waitresses poured coffee, he forgot all about ultimatums and who might be watching. The other guests mingled, swapping seats and heading for the garden, but the two of them remained, loitering over another glass of champagne.

  ‘Are we friends again?’ he asked.

  Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘I’m–’

  ‘We can forget about the fucking in the hallway part, if you like.’ He smiled down at his coffee, but couldn’t resist a sneaky sideways glance to check her reaction.

  The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’

  He loved how she turned pink and that the shawl had slipped down her arms, showing her perfect bare shoulders. ‘Are you actually wearing a dress under there?’

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced up at him, peeking through her fringe. ‘There’s just not very much of it.’

  Fucking in the hallway it was. Maybe he could take off half the black eye make-up when he took off the dress.

  ‘Libs,’ he whispered, deliberately letting his lips brush her ear, ‘let’s get out of here.’

  Her smile disappeared along with her shoulders. She’d wrapped the shawl around herself, tighter than ever.

  ‘Libs?’

  ‘No.’ She stood up. ‘I hate you and I’m not going to let you play hot and cold with me ever again.’

  With long, elegant strides, those incredible legs carried her away and for several minutes, he sat staring at the table. I hate you. She’d told him enough times. Maybe she actually meant it. He hadn’t arsed things up this badly with a girl since... Melody Lawson’s sister. What the hell was he going to do?

  ‘You look like you need a drink,’ Scott said, patting his shoulder.

  Defeated, Patrick followed him to the bar, perching on a stool as Robbie poured three hefty whiskies. He’d never seen Robbie look quite so bad tempered. This wouldn’t be good.

  ‘Let’s have it.’ Patrick knocked back half his whisky.

  ‘We’ve known each other for twenty years,’ Robbie said, ‘and I’d say we’ve been very good friends for the last two. Well, that’s in jeopardy.’

  ‘Rob,’ Scott pleaded, ‘that’s not helping.’

  ‘What?’ Robbie held up his hands. ‘You expect me to sit here and watch while Libby gets used and tossed aside by him?’

  ‘They’re made for each other and he’s changed.’

  ‘He doesn’t even like how she looks.’

  Patrick stared at them both. ‘I am still here.’

  ‘Libby’s an angel,’ Scott said, twirling his whisky. ‘A sexy, classy, intelligent, funny angel.’

  ‘An Off Limits angel,’ Patrick replied.

  Robbie merely stared at the bar.

  ‘We’re not fifteen.’ Scott shook his head. ‘Come on, Rob.’

  ‘I won’t do it again,’ Patrick said. He’d nearly lost his friendship with Scott over Clara. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  ‘I just want her to be happy,’ Robbie said, rubbing his forehead. ‘Forget Off Limits.’

  Christ, well that was one hurdle down.

  ‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ Scott asked.

  ‘Told her what?’ Robbie’s frown worsened. ‘You haven’t really got HIV, have you?’

  ‘What? No, I haven’t.’

  ‘It’s just Clara–’

  ‘Clara’s going to get throttled. I’m on probation ’til June,’ Patrick said. ‘My parents will boot me out if I end up in the paper again. Bye-bye job, house, family.’

  Robbie looked up at the ceiling. ‘And Libby’s a photographer’s magnet.’

  ‘It gets better. Grace was behind the Haverton Eye. It’s offline now, but she said Wray’s offering a grand for a photo of me and Libby. There could be half a dozen people here tonight, ready to sell us out. It’s big risk.’

  ‘Patrick’s worried she’ll leave if he tells her the truth,’ Scott said. ‘Is he right?’

  Patrick looked up, expecting one answer, but hoping for another from the only person who knew Libby as well as he did. But Ro
bbie nodded.

  ‘She’ll blame herself and leave to protect him.’ Robbie sighed. ‘If your job wasn’t on the line, would you have already fucked her and fucked off?’

  ‘No.’ He stared at his glass. ‘Yes. But it’s different now. We’re friends because of you.’ Christ, maybe everything did happen for a reason.

  ‘So what now?’ Robbie asked.

  Patrick shrugged. ‘I suppose we’d go out. Or something.’

  How many times had he imagined it? They’d go out on the bikes and for long walks, though he’d draw the line at running with her. He’d take her to dinner and wander across the Green holding her hand. They’d sit in pubs, getting a little drunk on a Saturday night before going home to bed. And he’d get to go to bed with her every single night.

  ‘Not or something. We’d go out,’ he added. ‘But what if...’

  Robbie drained his glass. ‘What, are you worried you’ll fuck it up?’

  ‘It’s already fucked up. She hates me.’

  Robbie sighed. ‘Then it’s time for an overblown romantic gesture.’

  ‘Like what?’ Patrick was wide-open to genius suggestions.

  ‘You know the rules. What I’d do to win her over wouldn’t work for you.’

  Despite the butterflies now dancing in his stomach, Patrick smiled. The rules: Do something that’ll make her smile and show you’re caring, sensitive or romantic. For a minute, he studied the door to the ladies toilet where she was still hiding, trying to come up with anything that would mean something to Libby. He knocked back the rest of his whisky. This was bloody good stuff. It must be Jura. A slow smile spread over his face. Isla. Libby needed to meet Isla.

  ‘I need to get her back to my place. Taxi?’

  ‘There’re a couple on standby outside. But sex isn’t an overblown romantic gesture.’

  ‘Have a little faith, brother.’

  Robbie leant across the bar. ‘If you break her heart, I will kill you.’

  ‘I’ll let you. Now, how the hell am I going to get her to come with me?’

  Scott patted his back. ‘Rob’ll talk to her. Won’t you, Rob?’

  * * *

  It took five minutes hiding in the toilets for her to be sure she wasn’t going to cry, but she refused to crumble here, not in front of Patrick. Yet again, he’d battered her defences. Wanting to apologise, the I like you, the I want to talk… all of it raising her hopes, making her think he wanted more, but then when she asked him what he wanted, what did she get? I want you to meet my brother. What the hell for, a threesome?