Thinking of You

by Jill Mansell

  Weakening, Jem imagined telling her mother that she would be staying in Bristol after all. Maybe think up a less lascivious reason than the one Rupert was suggesting, for decency’s sake. Would her mum be disappointed, though?

  “She sounded so pleased when I said I’d be coming down.”

  “That’s what mothers do.” Rupert shrugged. “They have to sound pleased; it’s part of the job description. You wouldn’t like it if she said, ‘Oh God, do you have to?’”

  Was that true? Actually, it was, come to think of it; she might be in the way. Her mum had a new job now and a new housemate. She had a busy, happy life. The last thing she needed, probably, was a nosy daughter arriving back to take up more of her time.

  “If you leave me here on my own”—Rupert gave her a mournful look—“I might have to go out and shag some ugly fat bird. And I’d really hate that.”

  Jem grinned and made up her mind. “You know what? I’d hate it too.”

  ***

  Ginny’s phone rang again as she was standing in the queue at the delicatessen waiting to pay for her basket of luxuries.

  “Mum? It’s me again. Look, I’m not going to be able to make it after all—I’ve only just realized how behind I am with my essays. If I don’t spend the weekend catching up, I’m going to be in big—yeeek!—trouble. So, that’s all right, isn’t it? I expect you’re rushed off your feet anyway!”

  Ginny’s mouth was dry. Her heart sank. Jem was gabbling at warp speed, a sure sign that the excuse wasn’t genuine. And she wasn’t coming home. Disappointment flooded through her. And what had provoked that squeak?

  “What just happened?”

  “When?”

  “The squeak. You were saying you’d be in big trouble, and you squeaked.”

  Jem giggled. “Oh, that was just Rupert mucking around. It’s nothing. So is that OK then? I won’t be around to interrupt your hectic life!”

  The basket was suddenly far too heavy. Moving out of the queue, Ginny said carefully, “Fine, darling. It would have been lovely to see you, but it’s your decision. If you need to catch up on your essays… well, that’s what you have to do.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t mind. OK, Mum, better go now. Love you!”

  Having tucked the phone back into her handbag, Ginny retraced her steps around the delicatessen, emptying the basket. Back onto the shelves went the jars of stuffed olives, the packets of cashews and macadamia nuts, the prosciutto slices and the marinated artichokes. All Jem’s favorite things.

  “Come out without your purse, love?” An older woman gave her a sympathetic look.

  Ginny shook her head. “I thought my daughter was coming to stay for the weekend. She’s just phoned to say she can’t make it. Too busy.”

  “Tuh, heard that one before. Kids are selfish, aren’t they? Mine used to do that to me.” The woman clicked her tongue. “We had some arguments about it, I can tell you. Right humdingers.”

  Ginny didn’t want to argue with Jem, but her disappointment was so great that she was willing to give almost anything a try. “Did it help?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it, love.” Heaving a sigh of resignation as she picked up a jar of pesto, the woman said sadly, “She married a man I didn’t like. We had a few rows about that too. Then fourteen years ago they upped and immigrated to Australia.”

  Chapter 17

  It was Saturday evening and the restaurant was busy. Finn was there, greeting new arrivals, working the tables like a pro, and attracting plenty of attention from the female diners. Watching him in action, Ginny saw the way they lit up and sparkled when he spoke to them, then chatted equally easily with the husbands of the married ones, ensuring they realized he wasn’t a threat.

  The single women loved that bit too. All the more chance for them. When a man as attractive as Finn Penhaligon moved into the area, it gave them all hope.

  “Watching how it’s done?” Evidently amused, Evie paused on her way to table six with two plates of mussels. “Can’t you just feel all those flirty female hormones in the air?” With a wink, she added, “Good old Finn, he hasn’t lost his touch.”

  “I can see that.” As Finn crossed the room in order to answer the ringing phone, every female eye followed him.

  “You’d better watch out. You could be next.”

  Ginny grinned because the idea was so ludicrous. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’d be too worried I might nick his wallet.”

  Finn beckoned her over to the desk a few minutes later.

  “Relative of yours?”

  “What?” Ginny peered down at the diary where he’d written the name Holland for nine thirty.

  “Table for two. I’ve just taken the booking. She didn’t say so, but I thought it might be your daughter.”

  Her heart leaping like a fish, Ginny wondered if it could be Jem. Had she come down after all, to surprise her? And a table for two… did that mean she’d brought someone with her?

  If it was Rupert, Ginny vowed to be as nice to him as she knew how.

  ***

  An hour later her foolish hopes were dashed as the door of the restaurant opened and Gavin walked in with a blond who looked as if her lifetime ambition might be to appear on page three of the Sun, adopting one of those “Good gracious, where did my clothes go?” pouts.

  Clearly struggling to match this vision in four-inch sparkly stilettos with the photograph he’d seen of Jem, Finn said doubtfully, “Is that your daughter?”

  “If it was, I’d tell her to get her roots done and wear a bra.” Awash with disappointment at having even thought it could be Jem, Ginny said, “It’s my ex with one of his lovely young things. At a guess I’d say he’s probably not with her for her mind.”

  “Now now.” Finn’s mouth twitched. “Never judge someone on first impressions. You of all people should know that.”

  He was having a dig, but Ginny’s thoughts flew immediately to someone else whom she had met and disliked on sight. Maybe she’d got it wrong about Rupert and he wasn’t obnoxious after all.

  “Except men pointing guns at you.” She picked up a couple of leather-bound menus. “If they’re doing that, it’s generally best to go along with your first impression. And run like hell.”

  “Thought we’d surprise you,” Gavin said cheerfully when Ginny went over to hand them their menus. “This is Cleo, by the way. Cleo, this is Gin.”

  “Hiya!” Cleo actually had a sweet and friendly smile, but with her gauzy low-cut top and missing bra, it wasn’t likely that many men would notice.

  “You did surprise me. When Finn said a girl had booked the table, I thought it was Jem.”

  Cleo giggled. “That was me. Gavin asked me to make the call while he was in the shower.” She gazed around eagerly. “I’ve never been to a restaurant like this before; I’m more of a burger girl myself. Are these… serviettes?” She was pointing to the dark blue linen napkins.

  Politely, Ginny said, “Yes, they are.”

  “Wicked! Fancy having serviettes that aren’t made of paper!”

  After their main course, Cleo tottered off on four-inch heels to the loo and Gavin beckoned Ginny over.

  “Well? What do you think of her?”

  “Nice enough. Pretty. Young.” Ginny shrugged helplessly; what did he expect her to say? “Just don’t marry her, OK?”

  Gavin beamed; he never took offense. “She’s fun. We’re enjoying ourselves. Speaking of fun, how’s the lodger? Still the life and soul of the party?”

  “OK, OK.” Ginny acknowledged that if she was going to have a dig at his choice of girlfriend, it was only fair that he should be allowed to have a go in return about Laurel.

  “So, Wednesday. Bring her along to our singles do.”

  “Not that again. She won’t go.”

  “Ah, but it’s up to you to persuade her.” Gavin looked pleased with himself. “And you know it makes sense. Now listen, because I’ve had one of my ideas.”

  “Would that by any chance
be similar to the idea you once had about pouring a can of petrol on the barbecue to liven it up a bit? The idea that left you without eyebrows for the next three months?”

  He ignored this disparaging reminder. “You have to tell Laurel that you want to go to the singles night, but that you’re too shy to do it on your own. You beg her to go along with you for moral support. Brilliant or what?”

  Transparent was the word that sprang to mind. Rather like Cleo’s top. Ginny said, “And you’ll be there?”

  Gavin looked at her as if she’d just suggested the sea was pink. “Of course I’ll be there!”

  “But what about Cleo?”

  “We’re not joined at the hip, you know.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, Wednesday’s her yoga night.”

  He was never going to change. When Gavin was eighty he’d be the scourge of the nursing homes; no still-sprightly widow would be safe.

  “Everything OK?” Finn joined them.

  “Wonderful, thanks. Great food.” Patting his stomach, Gavin said cheerily, “I’ve just been persuading Ginny here to give the local singles club a try.”

  The temptation to grab hold of Gavin’s chair, wrench it backward, and tip him to the ground was huge. Would a bruised coccyx be painful enough? Did her ex-husband seriously not realize that she might prefer it if he didn’t blurt out this kind of thing in front of her new boss? The new boss who was struggling to keep a straight face.

  “I’m not interested in singles clubs!” Ginny felt herself going very red.

  “Sorry, of course you’re not.” Infuriatingly, Gavin winked and raised a finger to his lips, indicating that it was their little secret. “Wednesday, eight o’clock. You’ll love it. OK, shhh, Cleo’s coming back.”

  “Hiya!” Cleo trilled when Gavin had introduced her to Finn. “It’s really nice here, isn’t it?” Leaning closer and resting her hand on Finn’s shirtsleeve, she whispered, “Only I hope you don’t mind me telling you, but someone’s made off with the towel in the ladies.” I had to dry my hands on bits of toilet paper! I mean, you don’t expect people to nick things in a posh place like this, do you?”

  “I’ll go and check,” Ginny murmured hurriedly before either Finn or Gavin could come up with some oh-so-witty retort.

  Twenty seconds later she was back. “They’re all there.” Then, because Cleo was looking baffled, “Dark green, in two piles on the shelf above the linen basket.”

  Cleo’s expression cleared. “Oh those. But they’re only little! I thought they were flannels in case you wanted to wash your face!”

  Gavin roared with laughter and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “My little Eliza Dolittle. They’re towels, darling. You dry your hands on them then throw them in the basket to be washed.”

  For a moment, Cleo looked flustered. “Oh! Well, that’s very extravagant.”

  Poor Cleo. Feeling a stab of sympathy toward her, Ginny said, “I think it’s extravagant too.”

  ***

  It was Wednesday night and they were actually here. Ginny still couldn’t quite believe it. Yesterday, she had discovered, was the anniversary of the day Laurel and Kevin had first met. As a result, Laurel had been inconsolable, gazing helplessly at a battered photo of her former love and mournfully wondering aloud, over and over again, why she was bothering to carry on, because what was the point?

  By the evening, Ginny couldn’t have agreed more. If Laurel wanted to end it all by electrocuting herself in the bath, she’d have happily supplied the hairdryer and the extra-long flex.

  “Sorry, I know how boring this must be for you.” Laurel tugged the last tissue out of the box and wiped her eyes. “I just miss Kev so much, you know? It just feels like life isn’t worth living. It’s all right for you, you’re completely over Gavin, you don’t want him back. But I still want Kevin, more than anything.”

  “I don’t want Gavin back,” Ginny blurted out, “but I’d like a man in my life. In fact, I’d love to try that singles club Gavin was talking about. Except… I couldn’t go on my own.”

  Laurel sniffed damply. “You could. Gavin would be there.”

  “Exactly! That’s what makes it impossible. I wouldn’t know anyone apart from my ex-husband!” Out of sheer desperation, Ginny pleaded, “But if you’d come along with me, just once, you’d be doing me the biggest favor. Tomorrow night. Would you? Please?

  She didn’t for a moment expect Laurel to say yes.

  “All right then.”

  What?

  Ginny gazed at her. “Really?”

  “If it’s what you want, I’ll do it,” Laurel said sadly. “I’ll hate it, of course, but I suppose I owe you that much. If it makes up for me being a bit miserable sometimes.”

  A bit?

  Stunned, Ginny said, “Well, thanks.”

  “Don’t expect me to talk to any men though. Especially not that Hamish person Gavin was going on about.”

  “Absolutely not.” Ginny crossed her fingers behind her back.

  “And I’m only going the once.”

  “Absolutely.” Bugger, now that meant she had to go too.

  The singles club was held in the back room of the White Hart. Now, pausing in the doorway, Laurel said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course!” Ginny flashed a bright smile. “This is exciting! Just think, I could be about to meet the man who’ll change my life!”

  Laurel looped a strand of long red hair behind her ear. “It must be nice to feel so hopeful. I hope he’s in there.”

  Me too, thought Ginny. More to the point, I hope his name is Hamish.

  Chapter 18

  The club was busy, which was a relief. The music didn’t stop nor did an eerie saloon-bar silence fall as they walked in. But heads turned, they had definitely been noticed. Aware of dozens of pairs of eyes upon her, Ginny realized she was being subjected to the lightning appraisal afforded each newcomer. The other women were sizing up the competition, their collective gaze flicking over her hair, her face, and her clothes. Gavin may have praised these people to the skies, assuring her that everyone was wonderfully friendly, but they weren’t looking that thrilled to see her right now.

  A quick glance around revealed that the women outnumbered the men in the club by about two to one, so their lack of enthusiasm was perhaps understandable. Ginny longed to run up to them and blurt out that it was OK, she wasn’t here to snaffle their men.

  But with Laurel at her side she could hardly do that.

  Laurel said ruefully, “Well? Seen anyone you like?”

  Poor Laurel. She couldn’t wait to be out of here. If she had her way, Ginny would pick her man, twirl a lasso above her head, and bring him crashing to the ground. The sooner she’d captured him, the sooner they could go home.

  “I think it might take more than twenty seconds.” Ginny briefly scanned the males on display wondering if there were, in fact, any she did like the look of. There was a wide-ranging choice—fat men, tall men, ones with hair and some without, men in trendy clothes and others wearing the kind of outfits their mothers might have chosen for them. Some were blessed in the looks department, while some… well, you could only hope they had sparkling personalities on their side.

  But none, at first glance, made her heart beat faster. None of them was Perry-shaped.

  However, there was one who was Gavin-shaped. Having spotted them, he made his way over. Her eyes narrowing, Laurel muttered, “He’d better not be rude to me.”

  Which was a bit like hoping that a man-eating tiger wasn’t going to take a bite out of your leg.

  “Girls, girls, you made it! Excellent.” Gavin clapped Laurel on the back, almost flooring her. “You’re going to enjoy yourselves.”

  “I won’t. I’m only here because Ginny begged me to keep her company.” Tetchily, Laurel said, “And don’t call us girls. That’s sexist.”

  “Oh God, are you starting already? Would you rather I called you a middle-aged misery?”

  “Drinks,” Ginny cut in hastily before
Gavin did start calling her a middle-aged misery and Laurel stormed out. Be nice, she mouthed at her ex-husband.

  “I am being nice,” Gavin retorted. “She started it. I don’t see what’s so terrible about being called a girl. But anyway,” he added as Ginny shot him another fierce look, “let’s not bicker. We’re all here to have fun, aren’t we? Laurel, why don’t I introduce you to a few of my friends…”

  Wasting no time, he whisked Laurel off. Ginny approached the bar and ordered their drinks—an orange juice for Laurel and a vodka tonic for herself. In the mirror above the bar she could see Gavin introducing a clearly reluctant Laurel to a mixed group of people. Craning her neck, Ginny wondered if one of them was Hamish but since none of the men was wearing a kilt or brandishing a set of bagpipes, it wasn’t possible to tell. Although he couldn’t be that chubby one, surely, the one who looked like a Weeble, nor the guy in the orange cardigan who had to be sixty if he was a day.

  “Are you Gavin’s ex-wife?”

  Turning, Ginny saw an attractive, interested-looking brunette of her own age, wearing a cream trouser suit.

  “That’s right. I’m Ginny. Hi.” Shaking the proffered hand, Ginny said, “How did you know?”

  “Gavin told us you’d be coming along tonight. He said you were very pretty, like a young Goldie Hawn. Which didn’t go down too well with the female contingent, I can tell you.” The woman smiled. “I’m Bev, by the way.”

  “Maybe I should have blacked out some of my teeth and stuck on a big wart.” Ginny pulled a face. “Gavin did say everyone was friendly, but…”

  “That’s because everyone loves Gavin. He’s our star performer. All the women want him and all the men want to be like him. But it doesn’t work that way for us. And I know how it feels, believe me. The women aren’t wild about me either.”

  “Because they want to keep all the men here to themselves?”

  “Not these men. They just can’t bear the thought that one night George Clooney might walk in and they won’t get first go at him.”

  Entertained, Ginny said, “And is that who you’re waiting for too?”