by Jill Mansell
Their first evening together, Barney had turned up as promised with a takeaway from the Chinese place around the corner. The next evening Mel had made a lasagna, and the evening after that she’d served up sausages with fried onions and gravy, followed by chocolate mousse.
‘You don’t have to cook me a meal every time I come round here,’ Barney protested. ‘It isn’t fair on you.’
‘Why isn’t it fair?’ Mel’s grey eyes sparkled. ‘I like cooking for you. It’s just so nice having you here.’
But Barney’s conscience was at work. Food cost money, after all. Feeling wonderfully macho (me Tarzan, you Mel), he told her, ‘Tomorrow night, we’re going to the big supermarket at Emerson’s Green. They’re open ’till eight.’
That had been yesterday, and now he was outside Mel’s flat. Mel, locking the front door behind her, was wearing her red fleece and jeans, and Freddie was bundled up in his navy snowsuit. Jumping out to fasten the child seat into the back of the car, Barney realized he was as excited as if they were setting out on a trip to Disneyland, Paris.
He’d never pressed her for details of Freddie’s father. Just once, he’d asked casually if there was a chance he’d ever come back. Mel, shaking her head, had replied firmly, ‘No chance at all. He’s gone for good.’
This was fine by Barney.
It felt fantastic, trawling up and down the supermarket’s busy aisles with Mel at his side and Freddie beaming happily from his seat in the trolley.
We look like a normal family, thought Barney, swelling with pride as an old lady stopped to coo with delight over Freddie.
‘Ooh, that’s a lovely little boy you’ve got there,’ she complimented Barney. ‘Going to be a real heartbreaker when he grows up.’
‘He doesn’t do so badly now,’ Barney told her with a grin.
‘We’ll go halves with the bill,’ Mel said, as the trolley began to fill up. ‘I can’t let you pay for his nappies.’
‘I want to. Please, just let me do it.’ Barney was firm. ‘I’ve never been to a supermarket like this before.’ Hastily he added, ‘I mean, the three of us together.’
Smiling, Mel briefly squeezed his arm. ‘Neither have I.’
By seven thirty they were back at her chilly basement flat. Mel, busy unpacking carrier bags and putting everything away in cupboards, watched Barney switch on the gas fire, carefully fasten the fireguard back around it, then help Freddie out of his padded snowsuit. Her heart contracted at the sight of the two of them laughing together. It was almost scary, the difference Barney had made to their lives in such a short time.
For the first time in over a year, Mel realized, she felt normal. OK, maybe it did sound pathetic, but being together in the supermarket, giving the appearance of being a family, had been a real thrill. Since Freddie’s birth it had been something she’d yearned to do; each routine shopping trip had been accompanied by a jolt of envy whenever she saw a proper family, the father pushing the trolley, entertaining his child, humping the heavy bags into the car…
Exhausted by his evening jaunt, Freddie was fast asleep within minutes. As Mel was tucking him into his cot, Barney appeared behind her in the bedroom and whispered, ‘Red wine or white?’
‘White,’ Mel whispered back, then jumped as his hand came to rest on her shoulder. Together they gazed down at Freddie with his long eyelashes casting shadows over his flushed cheeks, his little arms flung above his head.
‘He’s perfect,’ said Barney.
So are you, thought Mel.
Back in the living room, she saw that he had laid the table, lit candles, and torn open the foil-lined bag containing their spit-roasted, ready-cooked chicken. The salad had been dressed and tipped into a bowl, the garlic baguettes were warm, and their pudding—rhubarb crumble and double cream—awaited them on top of the fridge.
Hot tears of gratitude sprang into Mel’s eyes. She wasn’t a wimp and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but… oh, it was so nice to be spoilt for a change. Even if Barney had lit the ornamental carved red candles that were far too pretty and expensive to ever actually use.
After dinner, with Macy Gray crooning soulfully away in the background, they played Scrabble. The room was warm now and Barney had pulled off his navy sweater. Inwardly buzzing with anticipation, Mel wondered whether tonight would be the night he made his move. If Freddie stayed asleep and she managed to persuade Barney to drink a second glass of wine, it just might happen. Of course she could take the lead herself but was determined not to. She didn’t want Barney to think of her as some brazen seducer who went around ripping men’s trousers off willy-nilly.
Besides, Mel sensed that he would want to be the one who made the decision; she had to leave the first move up to him. It would be awful to scare him off and lose someone she cared for so—
RRRINGG, went the doorbell, startling them both.
‘Who’s that?’ said Barney.
‘No idea.’ Mel uncurled her feet from beneath her and slid off the sofa; she didn’t have any friends likely to drop in unannounced. ‘Unless it’s that moaning Minnie from the flat upstairs, complaining about the noise again.’
Actually, this was quite likely.
Barney gazed up at the ceiling in bewilderment. ‘What noise?’
‘God, any kind you can think of. Putting our Scrabble letters down on the board in a clicky way. Taking the wrapper off a bar of soap. Brushing your hair noisily. Anything,’ Mel rolled her eyes in despair. ‘That bloody woman has ears like a bat.’
To be on the safe side, she turned Macy Gray off before answering the door.
If the old bat upstairs was Mel’s least favorite visitor, the skinny woman on the doorstep ran her a close second. Mrs Jefferson, her landlady, was in her late forties, with a face like a hatchet and a manner to match.
Typically, she didn’t hang about.
‘Here’s your written notice to leave.’ She thrust the envelope into Mel’s hands and glanced icily at Barney, who had appeared behind Mel. ‘You’ve got one month to get out.’
Instantly Mel felt sick. Being booted out of her flat had long been one of those vague fears floating around in her subconscious, but she’d never really expected it to happen.
‘Why?’
‘I’m selling the building.’
This was a blatant lie.
‘I’m not noisy,’ Mel insisted.
‘You may not be, but your kid is. I’ve had endless complaints,’ Mrs Jefferson snapped back.
‘That’s not true! Freddie’s a happy baby.’
‘Glad to hear it. If he’s so fantastic, you won’t have any trouble finding another place to live.’
‘But this isn’t fair,’ wailed Mel, so loudly that Freddie promptly woke up and began to bawl. ‘It’s that bloody boss-eyed old witch upstairs, isn’t it? I’m telling you, she’s barking mad!’
‘Really?’ Mrs Jefferson, her voice like permafrost, said, ‘How interesting. She’s also my mother.’
***
‘I don’t care, I don’t care. This is a shitty dump anyway.’ Mel’s voice quavered as she recklessly sloshed wine into her glass, but she wasn’t the weepy-waily type. She was damned if she’d cry. Waving a dismissive arm, she said bitterly, ‘I mean, look at it. Bosnian refugees would turn their noses up at this place. I’ll find somewhere better in no time.’
Barney’s heart contracted with love. He’d give anything for Mel to burst into tears now, so he could comfort her properly. Then again, the fact that she was trying so hard not to cry only made him love her more.
Was it love? Really? Barney didn’t care; he just knew he’d do anything he could to help Mel.
Anyway, she was right. Despite her best efforts to clean it up, this place was still a dump. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the window frames were rotten, the carpets practically worn down to the threads.
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‘I’ll go with you when you go flat-hunting,’ he told Mel. ‘We’ll find somewhere great, you’ll see.’
Mel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘Who are we kidding? We won’t find anywhere great at all. If I’m very, very lucky I may find somewhere marginally less damp and disgusting, occupied by a slightly better class of cockroach.’
Barney put his arm round her. ‘What about the council?’
‘You mean go into a hostel? Spend six months in some bed and breakfast place before they offer me something on the sixteenth floor of a drug-infested tower block? Forget it. Anyway,’ Mel gave herself a shake and abruptly stood up, ‘this isn’t your problem, and we’re not going to talk about it anymore. Help yourself to another drink,’ she added over her shoulder. ‘I’m just going to the loo.’
Two minutes later, plonking herself back down on the sofa, Mel turned her attention to the Scrabble board and said briskly, ‘Now, where were we? Is it your turn next or mine?’
Then her gaze slid over the letters propped up on her letter stand. Eight of them now, instead of the seven that had been there before.
The letters spelled out: I LOVE YOU.
For a long moment Mel was too choked to speak.
At last she said unsteadily, ‘You know I could have sworn I had a J and an X just now.’ Then her eyes softened. ‘But I much prefer these.’
‘I want to make you happy,’ Barney told her.
‘You do make me happy.’ Mel leaned over and kissed him, tentatively, on the corner of his mouth. She pulled away, then kissed him again, her eyelashes trembling against his cheek. Two brief kisses, that was enough. She wasn’t a strumpet. The rest was up to Barney.
Barney took the hint. Tilting his head, his mouth found hers. The next moment his arms were round her. Emotion welled up inside him and he drew Mel closer still, feeling the rapid thud of her heart through her thin grey sweatshirt.
Overwhelmed by the effect she was having on him, Barney cradled her head in his hands and wondered if it was possible to feel happier than this.
Then, as Mel’s fingers moved tentatively to the front of his jeans, he discovered it was possible.
‘I love you too,’ she whispered in his ear.
This, Barney realized, was why he had never gone in for one-night stands. Why would anyone want to settle for anything less perfect than this?
***
Freddie remained asleep in his cot in Mel’s bedroom. By unspoken mutual consent, they made love in the living room, on the rug in front of the gas fire.
Afterwards, Mel said dreamily, ‘I thought he might wake up again.’
‘He’s on our side.’ Barney smiled and stroked her hair, admiring her body in the flickering orange glow of the fire. He loved the fact that she was so unselfconscious about being naked and the teasing way she ran her hands over his chest. In fact he wished they could stay here like this for ever.
‘What’s this?’ Mel’s fingers had moved lower and sideways, towards his back. Gently, she explored the fine, four-inch scar with her fingertips.
‘It’s a scar.’ Barney’s mind began to race.
‘I know that, stupid. How did you get it?’
‘Knife.’ Well, scalpel. Same thing.
‘Someone attacked you with a knife?’ Mel was horrified.
Some surgeon, actually.
But Barney couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not yet. He was still gripped with the fear that finding out about his condition might put Mel off, make her view him in a different light. Just because he was healthy now, didn’t mean he would always be well. Like batteries, transplanted kidneys could wear out.
‘What can I tell you?’ he parried lightly. ‘I grew up in a rough part of Manchester. See this here?’ Deftly, he drew her attention to the little finger on his left hand, which was bent out of shape. ‘I sat on a collapsible chair when I was five. And it collapsed. In Manchester, even the chairs are dangerous.’
He was changing the subject. Mel didn’t pursue it. One of the things she liked most about Barney was the way he hadn’t bombarded her with questions about her own past.
‘It’s eleven o’clock.’ She glanced in the direction of the bedroom door. ‘Can you stay?’
‘Are you sure? You’ll have to set the alarm for six.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Freddie’ll be up by five.’ Mel pulled a face. ‘God, what did I tell you that for? Now you’ll be off like a shot.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Barney said happily. ‘I can’t think of anything nicer than staying here with you.’
Chapter 22
Maggie’s eyebrows rocketed in disbelief when the phone rang at five past eleven.
‘If that’s the repairman, you can jolly well tell him to stick his spare part up his bottom! The bloody cheek of that man, he promised faithfully he’d be round this afternoon, if he thinks he can phone up now and—’
‘Hello?’ Having pounced on the phone, Tara pressed it tightly to her ear. The next moment, an idiotic grin spread across her face as she heard the voice she’d been waiting to hear. ‘Not your man,’ she mouthed at Maggie.
He’s my man, my man, mine…
‘Still haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ Dominic’s voice, low and intimate, sent ripples of pleasure cascading over her shoulders.
‘Me neither,’ Tara whispered back.
‘How about dinner tomorrow night? I thought we might give Lettonie a whirl.’
Tara was overwhelmed. She counted herself lucky if some chap bought her a packet of smoky bacon crisps to go with her half of lager. Restaurant Lettonie, in Bath, had a stunning reputation and two Michelin stars. Dominic must really like her.
A lot.
‘Sounds fine,’ she said casually, as if men whisked her off to Michelin-starred restaurants practically on a daily basis.
‘I’ll pick you up at eight. Same place as before.’
‘OK. Bye.’ Tara wondered if he was keeping his voice low because he was phoning from home, and determinedly didn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t her fault he was trapped in a miserable marriage.
‘Who was that?’ said Maggie when she’d hung up.
‘Oh, just Robbie Williams. He’s been ringing and ringing for ages, pestering me to go out with him. Poor thing, he can’t get a girlfriend to save his life. So I said I’d see him tomorrow night.’
‘That is such a kind thing to do,’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Giving up your precious spare time to keep some ugly rock star company. Where’s he going to take you?’
‘Bless his heart, he hasn’t got much cash to spare. Probably Burger King,’ said Tara.
‘You know, you really are a wonderful person.’ Maggie shook her head in admiration. ‘That Robbie Williams, he’s lucky to have you.’
‘I know.’ Tara beamed modestly at her. ‘I’m a saint.’
***
Daisy couldn’t remember when she’d last had such a relaxed and completely enjoyable evening. Stretched across the sofa with her bare feet resting comfortably on Josh’s lap and a mug of coffee—made by Josh—in her hands, she said, ‘I should be in bed by now. You’re turning into a bad influence already.’
‘I’m the bad influence?’ He shot her a look of disbelief. ‘You’re the one who made me sing “Roll Out The Barrel” downstairs. You forced me to join in with “Underneath The Arches.” I thought this was going to be a nice quiet hotel, a genteel little place full of genteel little old ladies playing canasta.’
‘Oh well, that’s my father for you,’ said Daisy. ‘Anyone the least bit genteel is banned from the premises. If they even try to creep up the drive he has them shot on sight.’
Josh grinned. ‘Your dad hasn’t changed a bit.’
Daisy slurped her black coffee and wriggled her bottom into a more comfortable position on the sofa. Hector had greeted Josh like a
long-lost son, declaring to the room at large that Josh had been the best by far of all his daughter’s old university friends and the only one he’d ever really liked.
‘And you actually told Daisy that at the time?’ Josh, joining in like the trouper he was, had clapped his freckled hand to his forehead in mock horror. ‘God, no wonder she dumped me—nothing puts a girl off a chap more than knowing her parents think he’s great.’
Next to them, Daisy had rolled her eyes and said, ‘That’s not true.’
And it wasn’t, she’d thought as Hector had launched into a rousing chorus of ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.’ It was a ridiculous idea.
Wasn’t it?
‘Go on then,’ Josh prompted, dragging her back to the present. ‘Tell me about this husband of yours. If he was such a bastard, how come you married him?’
‘Ah, well, he did that sneaky man-thing,’ Daisy riposted. ‘He forgot to mention the fact that he was really a bastard. When we first met, Steven gave a good impression of being pretty much perfect. And I fell for it.’
‘Oh, don’t tell me, you thought you’d found your ten.’ Josh was looking insufferably smug.
‘Go on, smirk all you like.’ Daisy was seriously beginning to regret the burst of honesty years earlier that had compelled her to admit the whole truth to Josh. ‘But yes, if you want to put it like that, I did think I’d found my ten. Steven was funny and charming—ouch.’
Josh, pinching her big toe, protested, ‘I’m funny and charming.’
‘And he was very, very good-looking—ouch, ouch,’ squealed Daisy as he grabbed her other big toe.
‘That’s a face-ist remark. You’re a face-ist.’ Josh shook his head sorrowfully at her. ‘Ugly people have feelings too.’
‘I know, I know, it’s shallow and I’m ashamed of myself, but I’m just being honest. And you aren’t ugly,’ Daisy told him. ‘Anyway, as far as Steven was concerned, I thought he was perfect. And as it turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh please, please,’ she begged, wriggling like an eel as he began to tickle her feet mercilessly, ‘stop it, I’ve been punished enough, I promise, I’ll never be face-ist again!’