by Jill Mansell
‘Are you worried that we won’t have time for you any more?’ Effortlessly reading her mind, Gabe let go of Sally and gave Lola a reassuring hug. ‘There’s no need, we won’t abandon you.’
‘Don’t be daft, of course I wasn’t worried. We’re all grown-ups.’ Lola submitted happily to the hug; how could she have thought everything wouldn’t be fine? ‘Ooh, that reminds me, I just saw a sign outside the King’s Head—that comedian you love is doing a show there on Saturday night. Johnny thingummy? I thought we could all go.’
She felt Gabe hesitate. Sally exclaimed, ‘Oh, what a shame, we’d have loved to, but…’ She pulled a face and looked over at Gabe to help her out, as if Lola were a child asking how babies got made.
‘The thing is, we kind of decided to fly over to Dublin,’ said Gabe. ‘And we can’t really cancel now that the plane tickets have been booked.’
‘And the hotel.’ Sally shrugged apologetically.
Gabe said, ‘But how about if we book another ticket? Then you can come along too.’
Zooouuuup, that was the sound of the triangle lengthening, like Pinocchio’s nose. OK, it hadn’t really made a noise but they all knew it was there.
‘Thanks,’ Lola shook her head, ‘but I’ll be fine.’
Of course she would. It didn’t matter. She was happy for them, she really was. At the moment Gabe and Sally were besotted with each other but after a while the icky-yicky lovey-doveyness would wear off and they’d slide back to normality.
‘You can at least stay for dinner.’ Gabe was persuasive, eager to make amends. ‘I’m doing a cannelloni.’
Lola smiled, because the last thing they really wanted was a third wheel sitting at the table. ‘It’s OK, I’ve just eaten. And I’m shattered—all I really want is a shower and an early night.’
Which was probably top of their agenda too.
***
The following evening Nick came round to Lola’s flat after work. She was just telling him about Gabe and Sally when there was a tap at the door.
‘Hi, come in.’ Nick, answering it because he was closest, grinned at Sally and said, ‘Congratulations, I’ve just been hearing your news.’
‘Th-thanks.’ Sally tucked her hair behind her ears and looked flustered. ‘Um, Lola, about this weekend.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Had their flights been cancelled after all?
Sally shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s just that I thought you might be at a bit of a loose end and Doug just called. His company’s taken a table at another of those charity dinners and he wanted to know if we’d like to go along. Of course we can’t make it because we’ll be in Dublin, but I wondered if you’d be interested.’ Sally looked pleased with herself, as if presenting the answer to a single girl’s prayers and solving Lola’s abandonment issues in one fell swoop.
Lola shook her head, funnily enough not even remotely tempted. Being at a bit of a loose end was one thing, but was any end really that loose? ‘No thanks.’
‘Oh, go on. It’s at the Savoy! On Saturday night!’ Sally’s eyes were bright, her tone cajoling. ‘And there isn’t a quiz this time, so you don’t have to worry about showing yourself up.’
Up until a few weeks ago, Lola knew, she would have leapt at the chance to spend an evening in the same room as Dougie. Just breathing the same air and being able to gaze adoringly at him across the dinner table would have been enough.
But that had been then, when she’d still had hope, and this was now. Besides, Dougie would be there with Isabel doing the adoring bit at his side, leaving her, Lola, stuck at the far end of the table with the unfriendly know-alls who didn’t see why they should waste their time being polite to the brainless bigmouth who’d messed up the question about George Eliot and single-handedly lost them the New Year’s Eve quiz.
Phew, when you put it like that…
‘Well?’ Sally was still doing her bright-eyed persuasive thing. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun?’
‘I don’t think it would be much fun at all. In fact I’d rather boil my own head.’
***
At Stansted airport on Friday evening Sally walked straight past W. H. Smith.
‘Are you ill?’ said Gabe.
‘Why?’
‘You didn’t go in.’ He waved an arm at the lit-up, colorful displays.
‘There’s nothing I need.’ She held up her bottle of water, patted her lilac leather handbag.
‘But… you haven’t got any magazines.’
‘You noticed.’ Sally looked pleased. ‘I decided I was reading too many. It’s time to stop.’ Proudly she said, ‘I’m going cold turkey.’
Gabe kissed her. ‘What will you do on the plane?’
Sally grinned and kissed him back. ‘Thought we might join the mile-high club.’
But when they boarded the flight there were loads of nuns on the plane, which acted as a bit of a contraceptive. Instead, as they flew over the Irish Sea, Gabe found his attention caught by the magazine being read by a middle-aged woman sitting further up the plane. For a split second as she’d opened the magazine he thought he’d glimpsed a photograph that… except no, it couldn’t be.
Frustratingly the woman was now engrossed in an article about celebs with cellulite and wasn’t allowing him to get another look at the photo on the cover.
‘Who are you ogling?’ Sally’s nudge almost sent Gabe tumbling into the aisle.
He pointed. ‘No one. Just trying to see what that woman’s reading.’
‘Hey, I’m the addict around here. Thanks for being so helpful.’ Leaning past him, Sally peered along the aisle. ‘It’s about cellulite. One of those things where they show you photos of people’s legs and bottoms then point out the dodgy bits with whopping great arrows in case we’re too stupid to know what we’re meant to be looking at.’
‘OK.’
Proudly—and loudly—Sally whispered, ‘I don’t have cellulite.’
God, he loved her so much. Gabe gave her knee a squeeze. ‘I know.’
Thirty minutes later, as they were queuing to get off the plane, Gabe reached down to pick up the abandoned magazine.
‘Ga-abe, you’re worse than me,’ Sally protested behind him. ‘Put it down and step away from the magazine. I can’t believe you’re doing this. You never used to be interested.’
‘I just want to know who took one of the photos.’ He turned over the magazine and saw with a jolt that he hadn’t been mistaken. There on the cover, staring up at him, was Savannah.
More to the point, it was one of the photographs he had taken of her. Bald and proud, smiling bravely. No Hair, No Shame! announced the headline, above the quote: ‘This is me, take me or leave me.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sally let out a shriek of disbelief. ‘That’s Savannah Hudson! What happened to her hair?’ She seized the magazine and flicked through it until she found the article inside. ‘She’s had alopecia for ages and was too ashamed to admit it!’ Skimming the page at the speed of light she said breathlessly, ‘She’s been wearing a wig for almost two years and no one ever guessed. She felt ugly and thought people would laugh at her… oh bless!… then she met someone who gave her the confidence to… oops, sorry.’
The queue was moving. Sally was being jostled along the aisle by an impatient nun. Gabe, his heart quickening, said, ‘Does it say who?’
‘Hmm? Um… no, no name, she’s being discreet. Probably one of the actors from her last film.’ There was a rustle of pages behind him, then Sally said suddenly, ‘Bloody hell!’
He braced himself. ‘What?’
‘I don’t believe it!’
They’d reached the front of the plane; it was time to smile and thank the air hostess before disembarking via the metal staircase. The lively Irish wind was busy riffling the pages of the magazine and plastering Sally’s
hair to her freshly applied lipstick, but Gabe knew she was still bursting to share her startling discovery. Savannah must have given the game away. Aloud he said, ‘You don’t believe what?’
Sally clattered down the steps, leaning on her stick and shaking her head incredulously. ‘Savannah Hudson’s hair. Not her real hair, obviously, because she hasn’t got any. But that blond wig she’s been wearing. It cost seven thousand pounds!’
Savannah hadn’t given the game away. When they reached baggage reclaim Gabe read through the article himself.
‘Why are you so interested?’ Sally rested her head against his shoulder.
‘I snapped her a while back, at a premiere in Leicester Square. Just wondered who’d done the photo session.’ His name hadn’t been printed; there was no byline. But pride still surged up because these were his photographs. And they looked great.
‘Oh sweetie, someone a bit more famous than you.’ Sally gave him a consoling hug. ‘Never mind, maybe one day you’ll be doing proper photos too.’
Gabe half smiled, because there was no point in taking offense. It was the truth; half the people he photographed were prepared to tolerate him briefly, to spare him a few seconds as they emerged from a restaurant or paused on their way along the red carpet. The other half covered their faces or ran off in the opposite direction the moment they clapped eyes on him. It was fantastic that Savannah had used the photos he’d taken of her, but disappointing that she couldn’t have given him the credit. Especially as she had promised he could be the one to take the shots of her big ‘reveal.’
Gabe shrugged. Oh well, that was life. He’d hurt her feelings; what did he expect?
‘It’s so brave of her,’ Sally was still gazing at the photo. ‘I mean, she’s Savannah Hudson. Poor thing, she looked amazing with hair. It must be awful to lose it.’
Gabe felt compelled to defend her. ‘She still looks good.’
‘Pretty good,’ Sally conceded, tilting her head as she traced the outline of Savannah’s ears. ‘But you have to admit, these stick out a bit. A drop of Superglue might have helped. She does look a bit like a wing nut.’
Chapter 53
Nick stood by the mirrored doors at the entrance to the Savoy’s Lancaster Ballroom. Everyone had enjoyed an excellent dinner and the babble of voices was deafening. Scanning the room, he spotted Doug Tennant at one of the circular tables close to the stage. Presumably those around him were the work colleagues who had given Lola such a hard time on New Year’s Eve.
Nick weighed up the situation. Should he be doing what he was about to do?
Sod it, why not?
Doug was leaning to one side, laughing at something the girl next to him had just said, when he saw Nick making his way towards the table. Recognizing him at once, Doug straightened and said, ‘Hello there. On your own tonight?’
‘Yes.’
Doug raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. ‘Don’t tell me your daughter’s got you following me now.’
‘Is that what you think? Not at all,’ said Nick. ‘She doesn’t even know I’m here.’ The blond girl at his side must be Isabel; oh well, couldn’t be helped. Keeping his tone light, he went on, ‘Anyway, she’s given up on you. You had your chance and you blew it. It’s your loss. I just hope you don’t live to regret it.’
‘Excuse me.’ An older woman who’d only just begun paying attention put down her wine glass and demanded, ‘What’s going on? Who is this man?’
‘My name’s Nick James.’ If this was one of Doug’s employees she was knocking on a bit. ‘My daughter knows Doug. I just came over to say hello, and to tell him that in my view he’s made a big mistake. Sorry,’ Nick added, addressing the girl at Doug’s side, ‘but it’s something that needed to be said. I can’t help myself; I think she’s had a rum deal.’
‘Doug?’ The older woman was sitting there, stiff-backed like a judge, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. ‘Who’s this person talking about?’
Doug said flatly, ‘Lola.’
‘What? Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ The woman stared at Nick in disbelief. ‘You’re the father?’
Instantly Nick realized his mistake. ‘I am. And you’re Doug’s mother. How very nice to meet you at last.’
They both knew he didn’t mean it. Adele Nicholson looked as if she’d swallowed a pickled chile. ‘And you seriously think my son made a mistake?’
Nick flashed her his most charming smile. ‘I do.’
‘The only mistake he made was getting himself involved with your daughter in the first place,’ Adele flashed back. ‘Do you know what that girl did to him?’
‘Yes, I know exactly what she did. And she made a mistake too, I’m not denying that. But she had her reasons. My point is, we all make mistakes,’ said Nick, ‘but there’s such a thing as forgiveness. I made a huge mistake twenty-eight years ago, but Lola has forgiven me. So has her mother. And we’re all here tonight for the same reason. To help people who’ve made mistakes.’ Noting the look of incomprehension on Adele’s carefully made-up face he picked up one of the glossy embossed programs from the table. ‘This is a charity dinner in aid of the Prince’s Trust. Some of the money raised this evening will go to help former prisoners who are being rehabilitated into the community.’
Adele clearly hadn’t thought this through, had only come tonight because of the royal connection. She now looked as if she’d swallowed a frog.
‘Anyway, lecture over. It seems that some people are more easily forgiven than others. I’ll leave you in peace.’ Nick looked at Doug. ‘As I’ve already said, Lola’s accepted that you aren’t interested and she’s moving on. Personally, I still think you’re making a mistake. I may not have known Lola for long but she’s an amazing girl, loyal and generous, one of a kind. And I’m proud to be her father.’ He paused then said evenly, ‘One last thing. I wonder if you’ve ever asked yourself why she needed that money?’
Nobody spoke. Up on the stage the MC was preparing to introduce the band.
Nick nodded fractionally at Doug. ‘I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of the evening. Bye.’
He was upstairs in the bar when Doug appeared beside him twenty minutes later.
‘I thought you’d left,’ said Doug.
‘Just had to get away from that bloody awful music. Not my thing.’ Nick signaled to the barman. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Scotch and water. Thanks. I was rude earlier,’ Doug said dipping his head, ‘and I apologize. I shouldn’t have made that remark about Lola sending you here to follow me. That was below the belt.’
‘Look,’ said Nick, ‘I love my daughter to bits, but I can admit that she’s done her fair share of chasing after you. Up until a few weeks ago she might well have tried that trick. But it’s over now.’ He paused, paid for the drinks and said, ‘I’m sorry too. It probably wasn’t very sensitive of me to say all that stuff in front of everyone.’
Doug smiled slightly, shrugged it off. ‘Never mind. It’s this business with the money that I’m interested in.’
Thought you might be.
‘Did you ever ask Lola why she took it?’ said Nick.
‘Of course I did. She said she couldn’t tell me.’ Doug waited, took a sip of his drink, then said with a trace of impatience, ‘Well? I’m assuming she told you.’
‘No. I asked her but there was no way of getting it out of her. She said she was sorry, but she could never tell me.’
‘Same here.’ Doug looked disappointed; he’d clearly thought he’d been about to find out the truth.
‘Sorry. But something interesting happened last week. You know Lola never ever wanted her mother to find out about the money thing?’ Nick waited for Doug to nod before proceeding. ‘Well, Blythe did find out about it. You can imagine how shocked she was. She even called me to tell me about it. She couldn’t believe Lola had done
such a terrible thing to you.’
‘And?’ Doug was gazing at him intently.
After a pause, Nick said, ‘Blythe asked Lola what she’d spent the money on and Lola told her. A fancy Jeep, apparently. Which was stolen a week later. She hadn’t insured it, so that was it, the money was gone.’
‘Really? A Jeep?’ Doug frowned.
‘That’s the story.’ Nick held his gaze for a long moment before knocking back his Scotch in one go. ‘Think about it,’ he added, ready to leave and wondering if Doug Tennant was smart enough—surely—and cared enough—hopefully—to work it out. ‘Then ask yourself whether you think the story Lola told her mother was the truth.’
Chapter 54
Going cold turkey was proving harder than Sally had imagined. This was a magazine habit they were talking about, after all, not crack cocaine.
Oh, but she had a long-standing habit to kick and she badly missed turning those glossy, exciting-smelling, brand new pages. She was doing her best to keep herself entertained instead with a copy of Pride and Prejudice lent to her by Lola but it just wasn’t doing the trick. Apart from anything else the pages weren’t glossy and there was no mention in it anywhere of Coronation Street. What’s more, the print was so tiny she had to screw up her eyes to read it, which made her realize she was probably on the verge of needing reading glasses which in turn made her feel old.
‘Oh shut up,’ Sally wailed at the TV as an advert for the latest edition of Heat came on. Chucking Pride and Prejudice at the screen only caused the craving to intensify.
She tried changing channels and folding her arms. Oh yes, great help. OK, but how about if she didn’t buy a new magazine, just had a little look through an old one instead? That would take the edge off the cravings, wouldn’t it? Except she’d have to contain herself until she got to work and nabbed one of the tatty old germ-laden cast-offs in the waiting room and she wasn’t working this afternoon… oh now, hang on, unless there were still a couple lurking around here somewhere that had managed to escape the cull…