Reversing Over Liberace

by Jane Lovering

  When we came to leave, OC started to panic. “Take me home with you, Wills,” she pleaded. “Don’t leave me here on my own.” Then, when I agreed, she had to rush around packing things, and I hadn’t realised that the deal would involve Booter and Snag, because she had to pack things for them, too, and take her hospital bag and all her maternity records “in case”, until I was nearly screaming. But I could see that all this activity was distracting her, and maybe getting away from this place for a while wasn’t such a bad idea. For a start, if Paddy came creeping back to say that it had all been a terrible mistake, she wouldn’t be here, which Jazz and I, probably for wildly different reasons, both agreed would be a good thing.

  So, variously tear-streaked, shell-shocked, exhausted and, in the case of the dogs, wildly overexcited, we arrived back in York where OC was greeted by her eldest and youngest brothers, who provided a new audience for her tale, while Jazz and I hid in the living room with the gin. I dug my mobile out of my bag and sent Luke a text saying, “where r u? I called hotel, they sd u rn’t there?”

  “I’m going home, Will.” Jazz got to his feet, rubbing his eyes. “Oceana needs to be with her family right now. But if she needs anything else, or if anything happens, you know, with the baby, for fuck’s sake, call me.”

  “I will. Thanks, Jazz.”

  But he’d already gone into the kitchen to drop a kiss of farewell on my sister’s tear-ridden cheek. There, you see? I told you I read too many Catherine Cookson novels. Deserted wives bring me out in clichés. He did no such thing. He just ruffled her hair, grunted “see you” and disappeared.

  We all went to bed. I was shattered but couldn’t sleep. From the sound of crying in the next room, OC felt the same. I kept checking my mobile in case Luke texted back, but his phone must still have been switched off because there was nothing. In between paranoically snatching at my Nokia and lying in the dark listening to my sister cry, I worried. Could he have checked out of the Moat House because of the cost, not wanting to say anything to me for fear that I might offer him more money? But surely if cost was that much of an issue, he’d have chosen to come and live here with me, rather than move on? And there was always the flat, if he was desperate. All right, so there was no furniture in it. But he could have borrowed some, at least a sleeping bag and a microwave. And if money was such an issue, where had he got the cash to take me to Cornwall? Places like that didn’t come cheap.

  But then I thought of Luke’s obvious concern for my happiness and wellbeing. He’d encouraged me to go off riding while he was stuck in our room with his laptop, so that I could “enjoy the countryside instead of being cooped up”. I thought of his complete abandonment when we slept together, the wild (and even slightly exotic) sex. He wouldn’t hide anything from me, I was sure of it. This whole Moat House thing was a simple misunderstanding, being blown out of proportion by my tiredness and my concern for my sister.

  Tomorrow it would be resolved.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Funny, isn’t it, how a simple question can make itself so hard to ask? I sat there in the dark, eyes front, while my mouth became drier and drier and my brain churned the words into meaningless syllables inside my head. The French film playing on the screen, the feel of Luke’s arm behind me, even the taste of the reckless brandy cocktails that I’d drunk, none of it seemed real. It should have been easy—all I needed to do was to ask Luke outright. But the more time that elapsed between his picking me up and my framing the sentence, the more difficult it became to form those flittering, elusive words into the required order, and the more nervous I became.

  “Are you all right?” Luke whispered as I shifted and fidgeted about in my seat. “Aren’t you enjoying the film?”

  “It’s fine,” I hissed back, my stomach pure acid.

  “What’s the matter then?” He had his mouth almost against my ear, the feel of his breath on my neck made little goose pimples break out all down one side of my body. “You’ve been quiet all evening.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  On screen, a dishevelled yet sexy Frenchman was berating his girlfriend for some imaginary misdemeanour while she yelled and slammed plates into the wall. I wished I had her guts.

  “Are you sure?”

  Luke’s hand stroked down my bare arm and more goose pimples joined the ranks. My heartbeat was thundering and my brain was playing chicken with the phrases passing through it. “I”—swallow, swallow, wipe sweaty hands along seat—“I was just wondering.” Okay, still not too late to back out, pretend confusion at the plot of the film.

  “Mmmmm?” His attention had wandered back to the screen, not surprisingly, because the girlfriend had now taken most of her clothes off and was being consoled by another woman, who was also wearing very little.

  I felt sick. “Just wondering…where are you staying, at the moment?” There. Done it. The words were out, everything in the open, said. No longer my responsibility.

  “Oh? Why do you ask?” Suddenly Luke’s attention was on me, fully. His eyes, black in the gloom, searched my face.

  “I tried to get in touch with you last night and I rang the Moat House. Your mobile was off, you see, and I couldn’t think of any other way.” I spoke quickly, the words running into each other like panicked sheep. “The receptionist told me there was no Luke Fry staying there.”

  He smiled. “Haven’t switched my phone on all day. Yeah, I moved out a week or so ago.” His attention floated back towards the film, his voice offhand. “Work was a bit slow on the showroom because the builders weren’t always turning up on time, so I thought I’d go and stay on site for a bit to chase them up.” A hesitant glance my way, and I felt stupid, as though I’d been caught out being the paranoid fiancée. “You’re not upset, are you? I didn’t say anything, but it was really important that I was on site, particularly first thing in the mornings when the bloody men sometimes don’t get started until ten, eleven o’clock. Being there, I can chivvy them along as soon as they arrive.”

  Oh, pure, pant-wetting relief. My whole body leaped with joy at this simple, straightforward explanation. “But the hotel? What was the problem there?”

  “I bet it was a new receptionist. They change over every couple of weeks. The one you spoke to probably hadn’t ever seen or heard of me.” A few more moments of Gallic passion elapsed before our eyes. There’s something about a twenty-foot-high threesome that’s a bit off-putting. “Were you worried? What did you do?”

  “When the Moat House refused to acknowledge that you existed, yes. But it’s fine. I got Jazz to give me a lift in the end, so that was fine.”

  “Jazz? Isn’t that your ex?”

  “Um. Well.” I tried to remember how much detail I’d gone into about my imaginary bad breakup, whether I’d actually said that Jazz had been the other party.

  “You haven’t been… I mean, he’s not back in your life, is he?” Luke watched me earnestly now, raking his hair away from his face, looking vulnerable and scared. A hand grasped my arm, almost pulling me from my seat. “Promise me, Willow, you’re not seeing him again?”

  “There’s nothing going on between me and Jazz, I promise,” I said as sincerely as I could. After all, it was true. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Luke.”

  “Okay. I believe you. I know you wouldn’t fool around behind my back.” Another glance, flicking between the screen and me. “Look, I dunno about you, but this is making me horny as hell. What about getting out of here, shooting across the river and christening those new wooden floors?”

  I let him pull me to my feet giggling and we ran out of the cinema and all the way to the flat, where the laminate flooring received a baptism of fire. Relief made me passionate and his minor insecurity seemed to provoke Luke to ferocity. In the event, there wasn’t a room in our home-to-be that didn’t witness sex of flame-thrower intensity.

  “Take me to the showroom.” I was emboldened by our lovemaking. “I’ve never even been there.”

  “It’s an old buildi
ng site. Honestly, nothing to see.” Luke propped himself up against the wall where we’d planned our bed would go. “Bulldozers and holes in the ground.”

  “There must be a bit of a building though, if you’re living there. Go on, show me. Take me over there now.”

  “Now?” He looked a bit flustered. “But, really, Willow, there isn’t anything interesting going on.”

  “I still want to see. After all,” I played my minor trump card, “if I’m putting money into the business, I at least want to see where it’s going to be.”

  “Weeellll, okay. But it’s a bit late now, isn’t it? Won’t you be wanting to get back and find out how your sister is getting on?”

  “Oh, sod, yes, I’d better.” I thought of OC, up at five this morning, walking the dogs in the park. Her misery and confusion had translated into furious overactivity. I worried she’d do herself some kind of homemaking mischief.

  This time the Morgan was back in evidence, and Luke left me soundly kissed on the doorstep. I felt seven stone lighter than I had when I’d gone out. Relief made me bountiful, understanding, blissed out—capable, even, of dealing with Ash.

  “Hello, everyone, I’m home!” I trilled like the bird of happiness soaring over the pink pastures of pleasure. “How are we all?”

  Ash, who was the only visible recipient of my delight, just grunted and carried on reading, sprawled skankily on the leather sofa.

  “How’s OC?” I lowered my voice to ask.

  “Cleaning Clay’s bathroom, last I heard.”

  “Do you think we should let her do all this? I mean, it might be bad for her, or the baby.”

  Ash raised his head and made a sweep of the living room with one hand. It was immaculately tidy. Even a pile of old newspapers I’d been meaning to take to the recycling bin for the last few weeks was gone. “Look,” he drawled, “the carpet has a pattern. Who’d have thought?”

  “All right, point taken.”

  “So, we ought to make her rest more, but just let her finish cleaning the place first, yeah?” Ash moved his feet to let me sit down. “Besides, you know what she’s like for jumping up and down over bits and pieces. Oh, and Cal was asking how your laptop’s been performing since he had his wicked way with it.”

  “It’s been fine.”

  “Give him a call, will you? He’s driving me crazy. I think he gets off on thinking about you.” A pleasant, warm feeling crept through my stomach, like a delayed-action vodka. All right, I was spoken for in the firmest way possible. But even so, it was encouraging to know that men still found me attractive. “But then,” Ash went on, “he doesn’t get much action. He’d fancy anything that talks to him nicely. Even a scraggy bitch like you.”

  The bird of happiness mutated into the vulture of viciousness. “Yeah, and I notice you’ve been home a lot more since you came back from Prague. Waiting for the antibiotics to start working, are you?”

  “Cunt.”

  “Prick.”

  “Ah, the joy of family life,” Clay remarked, walking in on our bickering session carrying a huge stack of files. “I’ll bet OC decides to stick at one child.”

  “Well, Paddy’s not going to help her out if she decides she wants another, is he?” I rummaged around in my bag for my mobile, then put it down on the table in order to have another rummage for Cal’s number.

  “No, thank God,” Ash said. “If this one turns out to be anything like him, can we stuff it back in again?”

  “Excuse me, you are not stuffing my child back in anywhere.” OC came into the room on the tail end of Ash’s remark, with her hair tied up and wearing a neat circa 1950 apron tied around the bulge at her front. I hoped she hadn’t heard my observation about Paddy. “Will, could you give me a hand to untie this please?” She turned and presented the strings of the apron. “I can’t reach around the back.”

  As I scrabbled at the too-tight knot, Clay dumped his pile of files onto the table. “Let me do it.”

  “Clay.” I looked up.

  “What?”

  “Have you put all that stuff down on top of my phone?”

  “Um. Whoo, sorry, Will.” A tentative sideways movement of the files, like clearing the rubble from an earthquake victim. “Oh dear.” The cracked casing revealed the battery and we all peered through the gap at it. “Can you tape it up?”

  “I’ll tape you up.” I sighed. There would be no more saucy nighttime texts to or from Luke. “I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m going to give the dogs their last walk.” OC stretched her back. “Either of you two coming?”

  Ash just sniffed flamboyantly and spread himself farther along the sofa. “I’ll come,” Clay said. “If we can go up to the allotment.”

  I left them quarrelling quietly about how far two elderly spaniels should be expected to walk in a day, and hastened upstairs. This was my best opportunity to get an undisturbed bath, and I intended to make the most of it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “That’s it. So, what do you think?”

  Luke had parked on the deserted tarmac and was pointing over at a large warehouse undergoing beautification. Scaffolding surrounded it. Huge plate windows gleamed between poles and girders. The whole thing was contained behind a rigid chain link fence which drooped in places like a slut’s fishnets.

  “Gosh. It’s huge.” I got out of the car, Luke hesitantly following. An enormous digger stood framed on the skyline, arrested by nightfall in the act of scooping a bucket of gravel. A mini-crane and two cement mixers hugged the shadows. “It’s like a Twilight Zone episode of Bob the Builder.”

  “You can’t go on site.” Luke stopped me climbing the fence by grasping my hand. “Health and Safety.”

  “But it’s your site. You own it.”

  “It means I get sued if you fall down a hole. Come on, we can walk round outside the fence. This is the back. Round the front is where all the cars will be parked, and where the offices will be.”

  I skipped to keep up with his fast walk. “Why are you allowed to stay here then?”

  “Who’s going to get sued if I fall down a hole? I just have to take my chances. Besides, I know where all the holes are.” He pointed again. “Over there, where the roof’s on, that’s where I’ve got my meagre bedroll, my microwave and my kettle.”

  We arrived around the front of the building, which must have covered at least the floor area of a football pitch, not counting the space outside, which was hard standing for the cars. “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “Well.” I indicated the sign, newly painted and erected, still with the chains attached which had been used to lift it into position. “Why the name?”

  “Sampsons? What’s wrong with that?”

  “I thought it’d be called after you.”

  Luke laughed. “If I put up an enormous sign saying Fry’s, I’d be inundated with people wanting to buy chips. Sampsons is the name of the place in Boston. We decided to keep it for this one, too. Sort of a tradition, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I see.” I shivered to myself. The night was chilly under clear skies. Although it wasn’t late, the streets were already empty of cars and this hulk of a building was atmospherically scary. I felt better for having seen it at last. Concrete proof, ha ha, of how my money was being spent. Enough proof to shut Katie and Jazz up anyway. Enough to stop them moaning on about how much investment, physical, emotional and financial, I was putting into my relationship with Luke. In reality they were just pissed off that our drinking sessions had dwindled and I hadn’t rehearsed with the band for weeks. Katie was also annoyed that I’d turned down an invitation to spend this evening at her place whilst Dan was out of town, so that I could go and stand around outside what she called “a garage”.

  Luke put his arm around me and started leading me back towards the car. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I told you there was nothing to see.”

  “Ah, but now I’ve seen for myself.” I smiled up at him. He was extraordinarily good-looking tonight.
A new razored haircut gave him an edge of bad-boy glamour, the stubbled I-don’t-careness mitigated by a soft blue sweater which made his eyes look purple. I hoped he’d wear blue for the wedding.

  “Your brother’s got one of those old allotments, hasn’t he?” The Morgan roared away from the pavement and out into the curiously traffic-free street. “Out along Sowerby Road?”

  “Yes. He wanders down there most days with his pencil and sketchbook. Bless.”

  “Does he know that they’re up for sale as building land?” My eyes went news-to-me wide. “Yeah, apparently there’s only a couple still in use, so the council’s selling them off. Worth a bit, I should think.”

  “I’ll mention it to Clay.”

  “Good idea. He might be able to drive the price up.”

  “I don’t think Clay will be bothered about that, but he might get worked up about losing his allotment.”

  We’d reached my front door, and the Morgan was idling throatily. I could feel the eyes of my siblings boring through the brickwork. Upstairs, a curtain twitched. “Well, thanks then, Luke. See you tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  I think Luke was a bit disconcerted by the abrupt way I pecked him on the cheek before I got out of the car, but I couldn’t bear the thought of one of our more involved kisses being witnessed. Particularly by Ash, who would then spend the next ten days criticising my technique. To mitigate any annoyance, I stood and waved until Luke was out of sight at the road junction, before I turned to put my key in the front door. It opened before I had chance.

  “Good. Glad you’re back.” Clay stood inside, like the father of a post-curfew teenager.