‘Leon …?’ She tapped on his bedroom door. ‘Are you awake?’
‘What?’
‘It’s dinner time, but I can’t be bothered cooking. Fancy something from the chippy?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘My treat.’
‘I said I’m not hungry. Just leave me alone and stop bugging me.’
Chantelle rolled her eyes and shrugged in a gesture of surrender. Oh, well, she’d tried. But if he wasn’t ready to snap out of his mood, there was no point forcing the issue.
She’d hung the new dress on the wardrobe door, and when she walked into her bedroom now and her gaze landed on it she felt a tickle of excitement in her stomach. If someone had told her a few weeks ago that she would enjoy getting dressed up and putting on make-up, she’d have said they needed their head testing. But it was true; she really was starting to enjoy it. She just hoped she didn’t do anything stupid tomorrow and make a fool of herself in front of Rob and his client.
Anton was at the foot of the stairwell when a woman appeared at the top. He stepped back and waited for her to descend.
‘It’s all right, I don’t bite,’ Mary teased, giving him a flirtatious smile as she sauntered down the steps.
‘Superstition,’ he explained. ‘My nan reckons it’s bad luck to pass someone on the stairs.’
‘That right?’ Mary had reached him by now, and she pouted. ‘And what does she say about her grandson dating older women?’
‘Eh?’ Anton recoiled.
Mary saw the look of horror in his eyes and snorted softly. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, darlin’; I eat boys like you for breakfast.’ She pushed her breasts out now and sashayed away, glancing back over her shoulder after a few steps to see if he was watching.
He was, but not for the reason she thought. He’d just remembered where he’d seen her before: coming out of Chantelle’s place a few days earlier.
‘Are you Chantelle’s mum?’ he asked.
Mary stopped walking and turned round. ‘Might be. Why?’
‘I’ve just moved in a few doors down,’ he told her, ‘and I’m having a house-warming party tomorrow. I meant to invite her, but I haven’t seen her, so can you pass the message on? Tell her it’s at Anton’s, and it’ll be starting about nine-ish.’
‘Am I invited an’ all?’ Mary gave him a sexy smile. Then, tutting when he frowned, she said, ‘Oh, get a sense of humour, you boring sod. You might be fit, but it takes more than that to keep a girl’s interest, you know?’
When she turned and stomped away, Anton shook his head bemusedly and trotted up the stairs.
‘What did she say?’ Tracey asked when she let Mary in a short time later. ‘Is she gonna lend you some?’
‘Course,’ said Mary, strolling into the living room and flopping down beside Miguel who was sprawled out on the couch. ‘She loves her mummy, innit?’
‘Have you got it now?’ Tracey perched on the edge of a chair. ‘Can we score?’
‘Nah, she made out like it’s in the bank.’ Mary sneered as she lit a cigarette. ‘But I’d bet my arsehole she’s got it stashed in the flat, ’cos the stupid cow couldn’t look me in the eye when I mentioned the bank. Thinks she’s so smart, but I can read her like a book.’
‘So what you gonna do?’ Tracey was scratching her arms now.
‘Wait till she goes out and find it.’
‘She’ll go mad when she finds out,’ Tracey said nervously, remembering the run-in she’d had with Chantelle when Mary had sent her round for the letter that time. The girl had always unnerved her, even when she’d been a kid, because she had a weird way of looking at you. But she’d been furious that day, and Tracey had been a bit scared of her.
‘What’s she gonna do about it?’ Mary scoffed. ‘Have me arrested and risk having our Leon put in care?’ She took an angry pull on her fag now, her eyes glinting with malice. ‘Bitch thought she could try it on with my man and get away with it, did she? Well, we’ll soon see about that.’
18
Anton rushed home from work the next evening and jumped straight into the shower. Abdul’s place smelled putrid, and he was always convinced that the stench was on him when he left at the end of a shift. He was becoming so paranoid about it that he’d lost count of how many bottles of shower gel and tins of deodorant he’d bought recently.
‘The man ’im turnin’ batty,’ Shotz had joked to the lads when they had gone clubbing the other night. ‘Me smell ’im comin’ way afore me see ’im pretty face.’
Anton had taken it in good humour, insisting that he’d rather smell of Lynx and aftershave than stink like Abdul’s rancid stock; but he did sometimes wonder if he wasn’t going a tad overboard. Still, the girls seemed to like it, so he wasn’t about to stop just to shut his mate up.
He had just got out of the shower and was making his way to the bedroom with a towel around his waist when Shotz arrived carrying an armload of bottles for the party. Anton opened his front door and reached out to take some of them from him – just as Chantelle’s mother and the man he’d seen at the shop with Chantelle walked past.
‘Pwhoar,’ Mary growled, her gaze sliding from his wet chest to his taut, dripping stomach. ‘Don’t get many of them to the pound these days.’
‘Hey,’ Miguel protested, getting the gist even if he didn’t understand the actual phrase. ‘You stop, or we no get marry.’
‘Aw, chill out.’ Mary grinned and squeezed his backside. ‘No harm in looking, is there?’
‘I no look at woman,’ Miguel lied, a sulky scowl on his face.
‘Why would you?’ Mary snorted. ‘Only an idiot would go after scrag-end when they’ve got steak at home.’
Anton exchanged a bemused glance with Shotz and quickly closed the door. ‘How the fuck did that give birth to a honey like Chantelle?’ he said, following his friend into the kitchen.
‘Man ’im got it baaad,’ Shotz teased, placing the bottles he was holding on the ledge alongside the batch they had brought in the day before.
‘Whatever,’ Anton drawled, watching as his friend turned the bottles round to line up the labels. ‘It ain’t even like that.’
‘So why go out of your way to invite her to the party?’ Shotz gave him a knowing look and pulled a pack of Rizla papers out of his pocket.
‘She’s a neighbour – it’d be rude not to,’ Anton said, pulling down the blind to stop passers-by from seeing the spliff his friend was building. The last thing he needed was for one of his new neighbours to report him to the police.
Shotz didn’t believe that excuse any more than Anton did. ‘Yeah, man, course,’ he scoffed, lighting up and grinning slyly. ‘So you’ve invited the others, an’ all, have you?’
‘Fuck off, they’re too old. Anyway, I haven’t seen her, so she probably won’t even come.’
‘Man ’im want puss-puss,’ Shotz drawled.
‘I’m getting dressed,’ Anton said, snatching the spliff out of his friend’s hand and sucking deeply on it before handing it back. ‘Labels are out of line.’ He jerked his thumb at the bottles. Then, smirking when Shotz snapped his head around to see if it was true, he went to his bedroom with a spring in his step.
Smiling when Shotz put on some music in the front room a couple of minutes later, he pulled on a pair of boxers and reached for his new jeans. Tonight was going to be a blast, and he couldn’t wait for the party to get started.
Chantelle left the flat at 8.45, and guessed that the deep throbbing music she could hear was coming from Anton’s place because none of the other neighbours ever played music as loudly as that. She knew she was right when she heard laughter and saw a couple of dolled-up girls carrying bottles of wine emerge from the stairwell and walk up to his door. It crossed her mind to wonder why he hadn’t invited her if he was having a party, but she quickly brushed it aside. Why would he invite her? It wasn’t like they were mates or anything. He’d tried to talk to her and she’d acted snotty, so it was her own fault that he didn’t want
to know.
She wouldn’t have fitted in, anyway, she reasoned as she walked down the stairs and out onto the path. She was nothing like those girls she’d just seen. They looked to be around his age and, knowing him, he’d probably slept with them both at one time or another.
Irritated with herself for being bothered about not being invited to the party of a man who was everything she professed not to find attractive, Chantelle pushed Anton firmly out of her mind and walked briskly out to the main road where the taxi she had ordered was idling at the kerb.
She climbed into the back and gave the driver the address of the restaurant, then settled back in her seat, her thoughts on Rob Knight now. Now he was a good man. Everything that Anton Davis would never be, he was rich and an absolute gentleman who treated women with the utmost respect. And she was looking forward to seeing him again – as friends.
Rob was smoking a cigarette outside the restaurant when Chantelle’s cab pulled up. He smiled when he spotted her and, dropping his smoke, stepped forward to open the door for her.
‘Wow.’ He gave her an admiring look when she stepped out. ‘You look incredible.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured shyly. ‘I’m not late, am I?’
‘No, you’re bang on time.’ Rob smiled and paid the driver, then held out his arm. ‘Shall we?’
Chantelle took his arm and walked inside with him. It was the first time she had ever been inside a real restaurant, and she was terrified that it would be full of rich people who would look down their noses at her. But none of the few diners who were there so much as glanced their way as Rob led her towards a booth at the rear of the room.
‘Thanks again for doing this,’ he said when they had both slid onto the semicircular padded leather seat. ‘I was dreading having to entertain my client’s wife. I’ve met her before, and she’s …’ He trailed off and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Well, I suppose the polite word would be flirtatious. That’s why Yvette was supposed to be coming – to protect me. But she ducked out, so here we are. Anyway, enough of that.’ He smiled. ‘Shall we order drinks while we’re waiting? White wine all right?’
The strongest drink Chantelle had ever tried was the occasional glass of Lambrini at Christmas. She had meant to stick to her usual Coke tonight but Rob knew she wasn’t driving, so she couldn’t use that excuse again. Anyway, this was supposed to be a grown-up dinner and, if she expected Rob and his friends to accept her as an adult, she guessed that she ought to act like one.
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ she said.
Rob ordered the wine and sat back with his arm draped casually along the back of the seat. ‘Been looking forward to this all day,’ he said. ‘The food here is terrific. Have you eaten Italian before?’
‘Not really,’ Chantelle admitted, thinking how handsome Rob looked in the low lighting. She’d thought it when they first met, but he seemed to get more attractive each time she saw him. His jaw was firm, his teeth white and even, and she loved the way his blue eyes sparkled when he talked. And she’d never met anyone who had such an air of self-assurance without the usual look-at-me posturing.
‘You’ll love it,’ Rob said, smiling at the waiter when he arrived with the wine. ‘Here, let me.’ He took the bottle and poured a little into Chantelle’s glass for her to try. ‘Is it okay?’ he asked when she’d taken a tiny sip.
‘Lovely,’ she lied. ‘Thank you.’
‘Are you ready to order?’ the waiter asked.
‘Not yet,’ Rob told him. ‘We’re waiting for our guests.’
When the waiter politely bowed his head and backed away, Chantelle gazed around. ‘It’s really nice in here. Do you come here often?’
‘Thought that was supposed to be the man’s line!’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s number one on the list of naff things to say when you’re on the pull.’
‘God, no, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Chantelle gasped. ‘I just—’
‘Relax.’ Rob chuckled. ‘I was joking.’
His mobile phone rang just then, and Chantelle was relieved when he excused himself and slid out from behind the table to take the call. She’d thought she was acting so cool and sophisticated, but acting it and being it were two different things.
‘You are never going to believe this,’ Rob said when he came back to the table a few minutes later. ‘That was my client. He’s had to cancel.’
‘Really?’
‘’Fraid so.’ Rob gave her an apologetic smile as he slid back onto the seat. ‘Seems his wife’s come down with a stomach bug.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Chantelle, unsure if she was glad that she wouldn’t now have to act as a buffer between Rob and the client’s flirtatious wife, or disappointed that the night was going to end before it began. ‘Hope she’s okay.’
‘Me, too,’ said Rob. ‘Still, at least we don’t have to wait any longer to order.’ He reached for the menus and handed one to her. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you fancy?’
Chantelle smiled and gazed down at the menu in search of a word that she even vaguely recognised, but it was all alien to her. ‘What are you having?’ she asked, closing the menu after a while. ‘You’ve eaten here before – you choose.’
‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ Rob asked, a playful glint coming into his eyes. ‘I’m thinking raw oysters, followed by octopus chowder and kangaroo steak.’
‘Really?’ Chantelle grimaced.
‘Nah, just teasing.’ He grinned. ‘Yvette used to ask me to order for her when we first got together, but she soon stopped when she realised we’re complete opposites. I go for white wine, she prefers red; I’ll happily demolish steak with all the trimmings, she pecks at fish and salad. And don’t even get me started on dessert. She thinks she’ll get fat just reading the word chocolate. Please tell me you’re not on a diet?’ He gave Chantelle a pained look.
‘No.’ She smiled and shook her head. The few sips of wine she’d had were starting to kick in, and she was beginning to feel pleasantly light-headed.
‘Thank God for that.’ Rob gave a mock-relieved sigh and looked down at the menu again. ‘How does lasagne grab you?’
‘Absolutely perfect,’ Chantelle said, relaxing a little more now that she wasn’t being faced with the prospect of having to try an unfamiliar dish.
When the meal arrived, Rob kept up a steady stream of conversation as he ate. The computer-software stuff went right over Chantelle’s head, but she was fascinated to hear him talk about his relationship with his wife. They had been married for three years, she learned; and while he seemed to work every hour God sent, his wife Yvette, who was an ex-dancer, seemed to live a life of pampered luxury courtesy of his credit card. The more she heard about the woman, the more Chantelle disliked her. Yvette had a great husband, an amazing house, and unlimited cash to buy whatever she desired. But instead of thanking her generous husband, she moaned constantly about his long work hours, and then took off and left him in the lurch as soon as he asked her to do something for him. And to top it all, she’d had the audacity to use his money to pay a private investigator to follow him. But Chantelle was in no position to tell him about that, so she just listened, and nodded, and smiled when appropriate.
Time flew, and before they knew it they were the only two diners left in the place. When he noticed the waiters hovering by the bar, Rob glanced at his watch.
‘Wow, how did it get so late? You must think I’m terrible; I’ve been talking your ear off for hours.’
‘No, I’ve enjoyed it,’ Chantelle told him honestly.
‘So have I.’ Rob waved for the waiter to bring the bill. ‘It’s been a pleasure getting to know you better, Julia. Just hope I didn’t bore you too much?’
‘Not at all.’
‘We’ll have to do it again sometime,’ Rob said, sliding off the seat to get his wallet out. ‘If you want to, that is?’
‘I’d love to,’ she replied, hoping she didn’t sound too for
ward. She’d had more wine than she intended to, and was feeling very mellow.
‘Great.’ He held out his hand to help her up. ‘I’ll give you a call to arrange something soon. But, for now, I think I should get you home.’
Acutely conscious of the feel of his skin as his hand enveloped hers, and the gleam of the gold band on his third finger, Chantelle came back to earth with a bang. She slipped her hand free.
‘I’ll get a cab. You get yourself home to Yvette.’
‘She’s out, and I insist,’ Rob said. ‘It’s the least I can do after dragging you out on yet another wild-goose chase. Granted, it turned out great, but I absolutely refuse to pack you off in a cab again. We’re friends now,’ he added, peering down into her eyes.
‘Okay,’ Chantelle conceded, reaching for her handbag as butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. Now that she was on her feet, her head was spinning and she was beginning to regret the last glass of wine. She just hoped she didn’t throw up, because that really would be embarrassing.
The perfect gentleman, Rob led her out to his car and opened the passenger-side door for her. He helped her in and then went round to the driver’s side. ‘Where to?’
‘Do you know Chorlton Road?’ Chantelle asked, shivering as the heater kicked in and warm air swirled around her ankles.
‘Sure do,’ Rob said, turning on some music before easing out onto the road. ‘Which end?’
‘Um, the Whalley Range end,’ she lied, directing him a good half-mile past the estate because she didn’t want him to see where she lived. The estate was too scruffy, and that was bound to cloud his view of her. Apart from which, she couldn’t risk letting him find out that she wasn’t who he thought she was. He was a nice man, and it would upset him to think that he’d been so open with her while all she’d done was tell him a pack of lies. If he found out that his wife was behind their initial meeting, it could potentially destroy his marriage, and Chantelle really didn’t want to be responsible for that. And then there was Bill … if she found out what Chantelle had been up to tonight, she would probably sack her on the spot – and rightly so.
Respect (Mandasue Heller) Page 20