by Liz Fielding
‘No, thanks. They’re nothing but trouble. The only kind of umbrella I use is one of those big golf umbrellas to keep the equipment dry.’
‘Oh, right. Well, in that case, I think we should go with this one,’ I said, squinting at the tag, trying not to wince as I handed it to the dealer, and, being a quick learner, putting myself between him and Cal until I’d handed over the cash.
‘Philly…’
‘Cal?’ I said, in my most tigerish manner.
‘Are you going to be difficult about this?’
‘Infinitely,’ I said. ‘Besides, you haven’t got time to argue. You’re in enough trouble without being late. And I have to shop.’
He took the umbrella. ‘First, we walk.’
‘No. Really. I was kidding. You don’t look as if you’re short of exercise.’
‘I’m not, but it’s a lovely day and Jay’s studio is on the other side of the park. I’ll put you in a taxi home when we get there.’
‘I could go down the road and get on the underground. It’d be cheaper and probably quicker.’
It wasn’t that I was reluctant to walk through the park with him. I was afraid that I wanted to rather too much.
‘Of course you could. But I’d be a lot happier knowing that you were going straight back to base rather than wandering about the underground system, not knowing your north from your south.’
‘How will I learn if I don’t practise?’
‘If you insist on the underground I’ll have to come with you for my own peace of mind.’
‘But you’ll be late,’ I protested.
‘The fate of my film is in your hands.’
‘You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?’ I said.
‘Infinitely,’ he replied, his eyes creasing in the kind of smile that made my knees buckle.
Fool, fool, fool. ‘In that case, let’s walk.’
As we reached the park he extended his elbow so that I could slip my arm through his and we walked together along the path, not scuffing up the leaves, though, because they were still clumped together in sodden lumps following the rain.
Don wasn’t much of an arm-in-arm sort of man. Being seen that close in public would have embarrassed him. Tucked in against the warmth of Cal’s body, I discovered just how much I’d yearned for this kind of warmth, closeness.
Walking arm-in-arm with Cal, I felt…cherished.
And, because I was enjoying it so much, guilty.
‘Tell me some more about your work,’ I said, trying to distract myself from such disturbing thoughts. ‘How does one become a wild-life film-maker?’
He smiled. ‘I can only tell you how I became one.’ Well, that was all I wanted to know. ‘I was having trouble with low-light filming and I wrote to a cameraman whose name appeared on the credits of a film I’d seen on the television. I explained the effects I was trying to achieve and sent him what I’d actually got so that he could see what I was doing wrong. I hoped he’d give me some advice. Instead he invited me along to the studios to see for myself. I knew my parents would say no, so I didn’t tell them. Just bunked off school.’
‘School? How old were you?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘That’s a bit early to start on a career, isn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t ever meant to be a career, Philly. I was supposed to go to college, qualify as an architect and join the family firm. It was something I did—do—for my own pleasure.’
I thought about the predictability of my own desk-bound job and said, ‘There’s something vaguely indecent about being paid to do something that you’d happily do for the love of it.’
‘Is there? That could be why my family refuse to take it seriously as a career.’
‘They don’t?’ But even as I said it I remembered how, when I’d said how proud his mother must be, he’d said, ‘Must she?’
‘They don’t.’ Then, ‘Your turn.’
‘For what?’
‘Secrets. You don’t think I’d tell just anyone that my family disapproves of me, do you?’
‘Well, no.’
‘So, tell me something about yourself that you’ve never told anyone else.’
I glanced at him, not sure how to take that, but he just lifted his eyebrows encouragingly. ‘There isn’t anything. I’m an open book,’ I said. And then blushed. Because of course there was something. But I couldn’t… ‘Well, I’m really, really scared of spiders,’ I said. I had to say something.
‘And you’ve managed to keep that a secret?’ He knew I was hiding the real secret, but he played along with me. ‘How? Do you have a special quiet scream that no one can hear?’
‘No, really, it’s true. I pretend. I’ve been pretending all my life. When you’ve got three big brothers who’ll exploit any weakness, do anything to make you scream, you must never let them see that you’re afraid. Even when they put them in your bed, then hang about on the landing waiting for you to let rip.’
‘Oh, charming.’
‘Spider in the bath? I just scoop it out of the window as if I’m not in the least bit concerned. And then I take a shower…’ Just talking about it made me shiver and Cal put his arm around me.
‘If you find any spiders while you’re living next door to me, just come and get me.’
‘My hero,’ I said, and laughed.
‘And you can tell me the other secret, the one that made you blush, when you know me better.’ He didn’t wait for my protest, but stopped to watch a grey squirrel hurtling around the trunk of a tall tree.
‘You’re going to be late,’ I warned him.
‘I know.’ But he didn’t hurry.
‘Tell me some more about Africa,’ I said. ‘The cheetahs. When is your film going to be shown on television?’
He began to talk about what he’d seen, the horrors, the wonders, unimaginable beauty, so that I lost all sense of time until he took his arm from my shoulders, raising his hand to hail a cruising taxi. I looked around in surprise to discover that we’d reached the far side of the park, then at my watch. It was nearly half-past one.
‘Oh, good grief, look at the time!’
‘Don’t worry about it. Have you got a mobile phone?’ he said.
‘What? Oh, yes.’ He raised his eyebrows for the number and I rattled it off. He didn’t write it down, but he’d taken out a card with his name and number on it.
‘This is mine. If you have any problems,’ he said, opening the taxi door, ‘if you get lost—need help with anything—call me.’
‘Problems? Me?’ I said, laughing, letting go the feeling that I’d just come close to the heart of Callum McBride. ‘What can you mean?’ But I took the card and tucked it safely in my bag feeling—well, there was only one word for it—cherished all over again. Then as I climbed aboard he spoke to the driver, giving him the address of the apartment and money to cover the fare.
I didn’t waste my breath protesting, but leaned forward in the seat. ‘Thank you for today, Cal. And yesterday. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘You’d have coped.’ And he touched his lips to my cold cheek. Then, ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said almost abruptly, stepping back and shutting the door.
I was still feeling the roughness of his stubble as the taxi pulled away from the kerb and I twisted in my seat to look back out of the window. Still drowning in a complex combination of scents that clung to me and gave meaning to that old phrase ‘I’ll never wash that cheek again’. Still wallowing in that promise of ‘later’.
But Cal wasn’t following the cab with his gaze. His eyes were already lifted to a window opposite, high above street-level, his hand raised to acknowledge Jay who, impatient for his arrival, was looking out for him.
The reality of that look, the responsive wave, hit me like a fist and the air rushed out of me in a grunt of pain as real as if the assault had been physical, rather than emotional.
‘Did you say something, miss?’
‘What?’ I co
uldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe. Then, hugging myself around the waist, I said, ‘The Science Museum is near here, isn’t it? Will you take me there, please?’
He glanced back at me. ‘The gent paid me to take you all the way to Chelsea.’ He clearly didn’t relish giving up the fare.
‘I don’t care about the money. Keep it. I just want to go to the Science Museum.’ I’d been away from Maybridge for less than twenty-four hours and it seemed unreal, no longer part of my life. I had to remind myself what was really important to me. Not London, not Cal, but Don and the life we’d—I’d—been planning for us for so long.
Sophie and Kate were sitting in the kitchen, the remains of breakfast littering the work surfaces, a pot of coffee steaming gently on the breakfast bar. ‘The electrics are back in full working order, then?’ I said, putting the porcelain bowl I’d purchased in front of Kate and, at her unspoken invitation, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
‘Electrics?’ she said.
‘I blew the fuses when I tried to use the grill last night. I left an electrician sorting it out this morning.’
Kate turned on Sophie. ‘You said you’d dealt with that!’
‘I did,’ Sophie said, glaring at me as if I were the school snitch. ‘I stuck a note on the cooker point saying “Do Not Use”.’ Then, when the silence grew too long to ignore, ‘I suppose it must have fallen off. Sorry,’ she muttered.
‘No harm done,’ I said, intervening quickly before Kate exploded. ‘I fixed the fuse with a little help from the man at number seventy-two…’ I had no intention of explaining how much time I’d spent with him ‘…and he kindly organised an electrician to fix the stove.’
‘He’s such a sweetie,’ Kate agreed. ‘It’s a shame he’s leaving.’
‘Leaving?’ Communing with the assembly-line-perfect twin of Don’s beloved 1922 Austin on display in the Science Museum hadn’t prepared me for the shock of hearing that news. ‘When?’
Kate frowned. ‘It must be soon. He told me two or three weeks ago. I don’t know, time flies. He doesn’t own the place, he just leased it temporarily.’
‘Oh, I see. He didn’t mention that he was leaving.’ But of course it was obvious he wouldn’t need a permanent base when he was away so much. Plans for his turtle expedition must be rather more advanced than he’d implied. ‘The thing is,’ I said, preferring not to comment on whether it was a shame or not he was leaving. Eager to change the subject altogether, in fact. ‘Last night, in the dark, I managed to break a bowl. So I bought this.’ And I unwrapped it and offered it to Kate. ‘I know it can’t replace the original, but I hope your aunt won’t be too cross.’
‘Oh, Philly, you didn’t have to do that.’ She looked up. ‘Aunt Cora would have understood, but Sophie will have to refund you, since the whole incident was her fault.’
Sophie’s scowl instantly deepened and I said, ‘No!’ And, ‘That really isn’t necessary, Sophie. But I was sort of hoping that you would do something for me. A favour. Instead,’ I added, just to make it clear that I was not expecting to be reimbursed for the bowl.
She looked at me with all the suspicion of a cat regarding a fresh fall of snow. ‘What kind of favour?’
I restrained the urge to slap her and instead gave a helpless little shrug. ‘The thing is, I need some clothes.’ Then, ‘Well, a whole new work wardrobe, to be honest. I haven’t got a clue where to start. What I should buy. The best shops…’
‘This is urgent?’ she said, brightening considerably at the prospect, but still persisting in making it sound like a real pain. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kate grin and nod, very slightly, as she acknowledged my tactics to win her sister over.
‘I’m afraid it is, rather. Is it an awful imposition?’ I didn’t give her a chance to answer that. ‘The thing is, I start a new job on Monday morning and I’m panicking that I’ll look like a country cousin.’ Her eyes, over the rim of her coffee-cup, suggested that I would always look like a country cousin. ‘I wore a uniform at the building society. Maybe I should just get something similar,’ I said. ‘Navy blue, red piping, blouse with a pussycat bow?’ Sophie, spluttering, was sufficient repayment for having to grovel. ‘It’s very neat,’ I said, beginning to enjoy myself. ‘I suppose the girls will wear something similar at this merchant bank place?’
‘What merchant bank place?’ I told her and she was off her stool and through the door before I could blink. ‘Just give me ten minutes,’ she called back as she headed for her room.
‘That was absolutely wicked,’ Kate said, finally able to let herself go and laugh. Quietly. ‘Have you really got a job at Bartlett’s?’
‘I’ve been seconded to cover maternity leave. As a favour between bank executives.’ Among other things. ‘It’s only temporary.’
‘That doesn’t matter. With access to all those upwardly mobile high-earning young bankers Sophie will be your new best friend.’
That was rather more than I’d looked for, but it had to be better than the alternative. ‘Great,’ I said.
My mobile beeped, warning me that I had a text message. I took it out of my bag and turned it on. ‘Umbrella total success. Home safe? C.’
I didn’t want to know that Jay was happy and, ignoring Cal’s concern for my safety, I flipped my phone shut again. When I looked up I realised Kate was looking at me with that I-won’t-ask-but-it’s-killing-me expression. ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, and felt my cheeks heat up. ‘Just a friend. I’ll call back later.’
‘Sure,’ Kate said.
It was obvious that she didn’t believe me. To be honest, I didn’t quite believe it myself. I had no idea how Cal would describe our relationship, but I knew I was way beyond ‘just a friend’.
‘Oh, bother, I should have told you before, Philly. There was a call for you while you were out.’
‘Don?’ I asked, a panicky feeling of guilt welling up in me like a flood. I couldn’t speak to Don right now, not with my head stuffed with thoughts and feelings I didn’t understand.
‘Your mother,’ Kate said. ‘What a sweet woman. She said it was some dreadful time in the middle of the night, but she couldn’t sleep so she thought she’d call to let you know that she and your father have arrived safely.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks.’
‘Who’s Don?’
‘What?’
‘You thought the call was from someone called Don.’
‘Oh, yes.’ I pulled a comic face to cover my confused feelings. ‘He’s the boy next door,’ I said.
‘Sweet,’ she said.
At this point I usually told the entire story. How we met. The bicycle. How we intended to spend the rest of our lives together in lovely Maybridge. None of that seemed quite real any more, so I just smiled and said, ‘Yes, he is.’
Then assuaged my conscience by getting out the postcard I’d bought at the museum—a picture of the baby Austin, ‘motor for the millions’—and quickly wrote, ‘Wish you were here,’ in the message space.
Then I changed the full stop to a question mark. The truth was, right at that moment I didn’t really want Don ‘here’.
What I wanted was some space to work out exactly where our relationship was going and ‘Wish you were here?’ had an entirely different meaning.
One I was a lot more comfortable with.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Your best friend asks you to make up a foursome with a man you’re ‘going to adore on sight’. Do you:
a. leap at the chance? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Her boyfriend is captain of the local rugby team and all his mates have to be hunks, right?
b. remember the last time with a barely suppressed shudder, but, hey, it couldn’t possibly be that bad again?
c. tell her, without excuses, that you don’t do blind dates?
d. remind her that you have a boyfriend back home…and ignore her laughter?
e. when she won’t take no for an answer, ‘text’ a friend to call with some imaginary crisis?
‘PHILLY?’
I was shattered. Broke and shattered. Sophie had shopped till I dropped. It was just as well that Don wasn’t panting for a wedding—I’d just blown my trousseau savings on a new wardrobe.
I suspected the fact that this didn’t seem to matter should have bothered me a lot more than it did.
Sophie, however, had apparently been super-charged by the thrill of buying clothes on someone else’s credit card. While I’d slumped in an armchair, she’d curled up kitten-like, a glass of wine in one hand, my magazine in the other, and was giggling at the tiger/mouse quiz she’d discovered while she was supposed to be helping me put away my new clothes. She’d reached the ‘blind date’ question and wasn’t taking ‘shut up’ as an answer.
‘Come on, Philly, take a risk,’ she encouraged. ‘You can’t possibly be as sweet and mouse-like as you look. Not with your colouring.’
‘I can’t?’ Cal had said much the same thing as he’d played with my hair. Just thinking about his fingers curling through it, his knuckles brushing against my cheek, made my skin prickle.
He’d sent two more text messages, the second a slightly anxious—“Philly, where are you?” The third a simple demand— “Call me!”
I wanted to, heaven knew. Wanted to call him. Wanted to hear his voice. Be close enough to him for my senses to be charged with the scent of his skin. Feel his cool lips against my skin…
‘Hello-o-o? Are you with me?’
‘What? Oh, yes,’ I lied. I wasn’t even in the same room. I was sitting in a café having breakfast with Cal, his fingers on mine. In the park, tucked up close against him, my hand on the soft rubbed leather of his jacket, walking through soggy leaves. In a taxi, shivering at the touch of his jaw against my skin as he’d kissed my cheek, lingering just long enough to give me ideas…