Manus shrugged. ‘We just never got round to it.’
‘What – having sex?’ Tim guffawed.
Manus smiled along with him. ‘We’re happy as we are, just the two of us.’ Happy? As soon as the words were out he felt as if a giant sign was going to appear from nowhere and point him out as a liar.
‘Having a load of kids isn’t on everyone’s agenda, Tim,’ Jonie admonished him. ‘Look at me. I’m more than happy without a house full of smelly nappies, thank you.’
‘You’re never with a man long enough to get pregnant,’ Tim laughed. ‘I reckon in a previous life, you were a Black Widow spider, Jonie! Somewhere in this house I bet there is a cupboard full of men who have served their purpose – and then you’ve bitten their heads off.’
Spider. The word unburied something Manus remembered about Jonie. Someone – who was it now? – at college had likened Jonie Spencer to a spider. The memory pulled the edge of another with it, like tissues from a box. It was Michael . . . Michael Shea. And as if Tim could read his mind he said, ‘Hey, Jonie, remember Michael Shea? Ooh, he had it bad for you, didn’t he?’
‘Oh God, Michael Shea!’ shrieked Jonie before she shuddered. ‘Wasn’t he awful?’
‘Didn’t stop you giving him one though, did it?’ Tim nudged her.
‘Oh, please don’t remind me.’ Jonie’s hands covered her face with shame.
Layla gasped with recognition. ‘Was that the bloke who stalked you? Sent you flowers and presents and those bloody awful poems?’
Jonie’s head, still covered by her hands, nodded.
Layla was almost hysterical with laughter as details rolled back to her.
‘And a ring! He bought you a ring as well, didn’t he, and said that it was up to you what finger you put it on. Total nutter!’
Manus’s memory was clearing too. Michael hadn’t been a nutter, from what he remembered. Just some kid who Jonie had set her sights on, eaten alive and spat out – merely because she could. Jonie had easily seduced him away from the nice girl he had been seeing when she realised she wanted to bend his attention to her. She had always been very aware of her sexual power, Manus recalled. Michael Shea had been so distraught about it all that he abandoned his studies and left the sixth-form college. He had been crying when he told Manus that Jonie Spencer should have been born a spider.
‘Enough,’ said Jonie, aware that Manus wasn’t joining in with the dissection of her fling with Michael Shea. ‘Let’s have dessert. Give me a hand, will you, Manus?’
Manus followed her into the kitchen. He had only drunk two glasses of wine but realised he was quite light-headed. He wasn’t used to wine – he preferred a lager really.
‘It all seems so long ago, doesn’t it?’ sighed Jonie, opening the fridge door. ‘I bet you anything Michael Shea is a total hunk now and I’d wish I’d never turned down. Oh bugger.’
‘What’s up?’
‘I was going to put some coffee on but I’ve run out of milk.’
‘Where’s the nearest shop?’ asked Manus, feeling that a breath of fresh air might be a good thing. ‘I’ll go and get you some.’
Jonie smiled gratefully. ‘Oh, would you? Thanks, Manus. It’s only round the corner. There’s a mini-Tesco first left. Semi-skimmed, please. Hang on, where’s my purse?’
‘I think I can afford a couple of pints of milk, Jonie, after the meal you’ve put on,’ Manus protested as he headed out.
‘Thanks, babe,’ said Jonie.
He had been gone less than a minute when his phone, lying on the work surface where Layla had put it, tinkled. Curious, Jonie picked it up. A text from Roz. She opened it.
Manus, against the rules I know, but I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you. I’ve been such an idiot. I love you so much and I can’t wait to see you again. Things are going to be different – I promise. Roz xxxx
The phone rumbled in her hand. Another text from Roz – a repeat of the first. Jonie waited for a third. If Roz was abroad, she might send the message three times to make sure it got through – she would, if she were Roz. She was right. A third message appeared on the screen.
Jonie quickly deleted all three. ‘Whoops!’ she said to herself.
Chapter 66
‘Look, stop worrying, will you? There could be all sorts of possible explanations why Manus hasn’t texted you back,’ said Frankie firmly. ‘For a start, I know it says you had a signal and it seemed to go through okay, but I wouldn’t entirely trust that any text you send has landed. The reception is hit and miss at sea – usually miss.’
Roz wanted to believe that, she really did. But the truth of it was that she imagined Manus had got her text and thrown the phone down in disgust. Too little too late. It was no less than she deserved really.
‘Come on, let’s go and play on some slot machines.’ Frankie tugged at her arm.
‘Do you really think that message didn’t get through?’ said Roz. ‘I sent it three times.’
‘Three times in the same area though, so if the first didn’t go through, neither would the others,’ her friend reasoned. ‘Manus would have replied if he’d received it – you know he would have. He’s a pillock for loving you like he does, but there you go.’
‘Come on, you two,’ Olive prompted. She was on ‘bucking-up’ duty tonight, what with Roz panicking that Manus had left her and Ven strangely quiet.
‘Okay,’ said Roz, plastering on a smile. There was nothing more she could do for now. She had to hope that the texts were floating around in the stratosphere somewhere and that they would land in the next few hours. She knew they did that sometimes. Things were in the lap of the gods. She just had to hope and pray those gods were nice friendly ones who liked a happy ending.
Chapter 67
Manus had intended to leave at the same time as Layla and Tim. He didn’t quite know how Jonie managed to convince him to stay for a nightcap coffee. She had made him feel that it would have been churlish to turn it down. It was only a coffee, after all.
He went to the loo and returned feeling that the lights had been dimmed a notch. Jonie was opening a box of Godiva chocolates.
‘I got these as a gift from a client,’ she said, smoothing her hair back over her shoulder. The candlelights on the table picked out the golden strands and made it shimmer. ‘Come and rescue me from eating them all by myself and putting loads of weight on.’
He doubted Jonie Spencer would have qualified as even an amateur glutton with her figure. He chose a dark oval one with a flick of icing on the top.
‘So when is Roz home?’ Jonie asked, delicately licking the tops of her fingers where her chocolate had melted.
‘Tuesday,’ replied Manus. ‘She was in Gibraltar today, then she has two days at sea, then she’s home.’
‘Do you always take separate holidays?’
‘No, this is the one and only time. We don’t take holidays, to be honest.’ As soon as he had tagged that onto the end he knew it opened up the ground for further questioning.
‘Oh, why’s that?’ Jonie leaned in slightly with interest.
‘We’re both too busy, I guess,’ he replied coolly, taking another chocolate.
‘You guess?’ prodded Jonie with more than a touch of disbelief.
Manus opened his mouth to elaborate that neither of them felt they were missing anything by not escaping to the sun together once in a while, but nothing came out, because it would have been a lie.
‘Manus.’ Jonie put her hand on his and squeezed it. ‘Look, I’m not stupid. Half of you has been somewhere else tonight. What’s wrong? Talk to me. I’m good at listening. I’m a woman, in case you haven’t noticed.’
She laughed because she knew that men noticed she was a woman very much. She had no fear about that not happening.
Manus sipped his coffee. Was it so obvious that his head was spinning with what was going to happen when Roz returned? He really couldn’t see that things were going to change and he couldn’t carry on as he was. So that meant
only one thing – in three days the words would be said by one or both of them that would begin their splitting-up process.
Jonie’s eyes were full of soft concern.
‘It’s you and Roz, isn’t it? This holiday is a trial separation.’ She was nodding as she said it because she knew she was right. She saw Manus’s shoulders tighten as she hit the nail on the head.
‘Yes,’ was all he said, like a man tired from carrying a great burden. He let out a long breath and those shoulders slumped.
‘Oh boy,’ said Jonie. She reached behind her to a stash of alcohol, grabbed a half-bottle of brandy and poured a hearty slosh into their coffee cups. ‘This calls for reinforcements.’
Manus didn’t protest. ‘Thanks.’
‘How bad are things?’ she asked.
‘Oooh . . . pretty bad,’ said Manus. He smiled but there was no mirth whatsoever in it.
‘What’s the problem? Money? Someone else?’
Manus felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. He shouldn’t talk about this with anyone. Especially not Jonie. Why had the fates conspired to reunite their paths again? Were they trying to tell Manus that they made a mistake long ago? Was his destiny Jonie Spencer and not Roz Lynch? Jonie wanted him, that was obvious. Roz didn’t.
‘I should say goodnight,’ said Manus, standing, not liking where his head was starting to go.
‘Manus, don’t.’ Jonie’s hand pressed onto his. ‘Sit down and talk to me.’
And Manus found that he wanted to sit down and let it all out because he didn’t know what to do any more. A future without Roz seemed cold and frightening, even though he knew that’s probably what he would have to face very shortly. From the very start of their relationship, he’d known without a doubt that they fitted together. When she gave herself wholly to him in bed, he felt sublime. Never in all his life had he imagined finding someone so perfect who slotted exactly into the waiting part in his heart, which is why he had continued to hang on in there.
Everything spilled out to Jonie and she listened intently, her hand still on his, conducting her warmth and concern. Warmth he so badly craved.
When he had finished talking, Jonie sighed.
‘Oh Manus. No one deserves to be constantly punished for one kiss. You shouldn’t have let her get away with it for so long. You’re only human, for God’s sake.’
Jonie couldn’t have said anything that Manus wanted to hear more. She had a dangerous aptitude for it. Manus’s eyes glittered with tears and he wiped them away with the heel of his hand, embarrassed. Then Jonie leaned forward and he felt her arms close around him.
‘Hey, come on.’ Her soft voice was in his ear, her perfume in his nose. Then she pulled away and held him at arm’s length. Her fingers were in his hair now, pushing it back from his eyes. ‘You’ve obviously struggled with all this for too long, babe. It’s time to stop. It’s time to stop hurting, Manus.’ She sighed and smiled. Her teeth were white and perfect, her lips soft and shiny. ‘I just wish I could snap my fingers and we could go back to college. I should have claimed you then. Why didn’t I? I always liked you so much.’
Her blue, blue eyes were giving him a green, green light.
Jonie’s hands were on his cheeks – soft and warm and gently stroking. ‘Oh Manus.’ Those big blue eyes locked with his. Her mouth edged closer.
DAY 15: AT SEA
Dress Code: Formal
Chapter 68
Roz did not have a very good night’s sleep. She dreamed that Raul Cruz had sent a letter to Manus telling him that they had had wild sex on a dining table and Manus did not believe her, however much she told him it was lies. He was so cold to her, and the feelings in her dream were too real for comfort. It was torture for however long the dream lasted – probably only minutes – and yet she had put Manus through the same thing for years. She was glad when she woke up. She bounced out of bed, dressed for another hot, sunny lazy day and went up to the Buttery for a strong coffee and carbs.
She spotted Olive and Frankie sitting at a window table.
‘You’ve just this minute missed Ven,’ said Frankie. ‘She’s gone for a meeting with that Andrew from the competition. Do you want a coffee, Roz? I’m just going for a refill.’
‘Yes, please,’ replied Roz. ‘Oh sod, I’ve forgotten my beach bag. Get me a coffee and I’ll be back in a minute.’ She dug her cruise card out of her shorts pocket. If she didn’t hurry up, Jesus would be cleaning up her room and she hated to interrupt him. Luckily for her though, when she got back to her cabin he was standing outside Ven’s cabin, listening at the door.
‘Is she in there?’ Roz mouthed to him.
‘Yes, she just came back,’ said Jesus softly.
‘I’ve just forgotten my beach bag,’ said Roz. ‘Then I’m out of your way at least.’ Ven must have done the same thing as her – forgotten something or other and had to go back for it before her meeting. This sea air was turning them all into cabbage-heads.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
But Ven still hadn’t emerged by the time Roz had gathered her book and towel and glasses together because Jesus was still waiting to get into her cabin to clean it. And something made Roz hang around the corridor because this Andrew and the cruise-winning story had always seemed a bit fishy to her.
Ven came out of the room twenty minutes later. Roz tailed her, unseen, up the stairs to the Topaz pool where she found Frankie and Olive on the sunbeds. Roz arrived just in time to hear her tell the others about the face-to-face interview she had just given Andrew for a future Figurehead magazine, but she stayed silent about it. For now.
Chapter 69
David hung up the three dresses over the mirrored wardrobe door in what was to be his and Olive’s new bedroom – his mother’s old room. He’d had the dresses made by the seamstresses in Lamb Street at considerable expense too. He’d paid right over the odds so they would be done extra quickly. He had taken the measurements from a winter dress that Olive had in her wardrobe, so he knew they would fit. She would especially like the green one, he knew. Green looked so nice on her, brought out the colour in her eyes. He was very proud of himself for what he considered was his finest romantic gesture. Olive would be over the moon.
The house was spick and span as well, in readiness for her return. He had found a cleaner in the Yellow Pages – Dolly Braithwaite – who was available at short notice, and she had tidied up the downstairs and changed the sheets on his mother’s old bed. Dolly smelled of cigarette smoke and strong coffee, and was someone who didn’t find the overflowing ashtrays in the kitchen revolting at all. In fact, all the time she was working, a lit Benson & Hedges was perched on her lip.
Olive would be home in approximately forty-eight hours now. He couldn’t wait to tell her about everything that had happened in the past two weeks. She was going to worship the ground he walked upon after he explained what their new life was going to be like. David Hardcastle hadn’t been this excited since Charlesworth’s had opened their new pork-pie shop just around the corner.
Chapter 70
Olive had a little break from the sun and went to stretch her legs inside the ship. She watched a couple who had just got married on board posing for photos on the Grand Staircase. She recognised the party – they’d got on at Barnsley too. The bride was tall and slim, mid-fifties, with beautiful thick white hair. She wore a simple sleeveless ivory satin dress and carried a posy of bright yellow flowers which coordinated both with the flower the beaming groom was wearing in his buttonhole and the Matron of Honour’s fifties-style dress in the brightest shade of sunshine. The Matron of Honour had the same twinkly eyes as the tall, smiley groom, suggesting they were closely related. They were accompanied by two younger couples – a black man, his wife and a little boy, and two men, both dressed in ‘his and his’ grey suits, also with yellow ties. There was obviously a lot of affection zinging between them all, and the happy vibes were radiating outwards from them and filling the whole atrium.
Olive wandered
around the shops for a while, perusing the stalls of duty-free goods, then moved up to look at the gallery of photographs. Hearing the noise of children coming from nearby Flamencos, Olive peeped in to see a fancy-dress competition just starting. Most of the costumes had been hand-made, by the looks of things. There was a little girl having a bit of a tantrum as her mother tried to staple her into a crepe-paper hula hula skirt.
‘Chloe,’ the mother was saying wearily, ‘it’s taken me hours to make this costume, please put it on.’ But young Chloe wasn’t having any of it.
‘Kids,’ the mother sighed at Olive. ‘I got up at the crack of dawn today to make this for her and we still didn’t get the pick of the materials.’ Her head nudged to the side where the Tray Twins were standing with a small boy whose whole body was completely encased in a cardboard lighthouse. His face was bright orange to indicate the lamp, and waves of blue and green and white fronds of crepe were swaying two feet past the floor to indicate the sea. There was a rainforest of paper in that one costume. It seemed Ronnie and Reggie claimed a lion’s share of anything that wasn’t nailed down.
Olive slid into the theatre and took one of the back seats, slightly worried that she would be asked to leave if she didn’t have a participating child. But then she saw Eric and Irene sitting near the front and relaxed.
The youth director led on the contestants one by one – a lot of pirates, a cat, and the lighthouse who was hardly able to walk in the confines of his straitjacket costume. The little hula-hooper not only continued to reject the wearing of her skirt but also refused to go into the stage arena. Then she was tempted by her appearance prize of a small teddy bear, so ran on, grabbed it and leaped back to her mother. The lighthouse’s parents looked ungracious in defeat when their son didn’t win, but a bee, in a very simple but incredibly cute costume, did. Olive laughed as the bee buzzed across the stage to be photographed, but the tears that started to slip from her eyes weren’t happy ones. She wiped them away secretly, glad that she was at the back of the theatre and unseen. Where had her childbearing years gone? This fortnight was the first time she had looked up and seen that they had disappeared and she was almost forty now with nothing to show for her life. No house of her own, no babies to love, not even a decent bloody mobile phone. Suddenly the sight of that little bee was too much to bear. She couldn’t go back to her sad existence in Land Lane – not after the sun had shone on her life and highlighted every empty corner.
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