Thinking of You

by Jill Mansell

  “What?” protested Ginny. “Why are you looking at me like that? If you’re trying to hypnotize me into saying I don’t want a dessert, it’s not going to work.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I might try to hypnotize you into giving me your dessert.” Jem beamed. “But that’s not what I was thinking about.”

  “OK.” To tease her, Ginny returned her attention to the menu. “Now I’m either going to have the orange crème brûlée or the double chocolate tart. Ooh, or the mango and lime cheeseca—”

  “You’re supposed to ask me what I was thinking about!”

  “Go on then.” Ginny was feeling thoroughly relaxed now; the day might have been traumatic but she was enjoying herself. It was so wonderful to have Jem, her beloved daughter, back at last. That was all that mattered.

  “We-ell, he’s good-looking. And Kaz’s mum fancies the pants off him.” Jem signaled with her eyebrows to let Ginny know who she was talking about, just in case Ginny might think she meant the fat bloke on table six. “So what I’m wondering is, have you given it any thought at all?”

  OK, Ginny amended; sometimes it was wonderful to have her back.

  “No.” She shook her head, hastily blanking out the mental image of that four-poster bed and those cream curtains billowing in the breeze while a semi-naked—“No, never, not at all, God no.”

  “That’s a lot of nos.”

  It was. Too many. Ginny forced herself to stop shaking her head, which had acquired a momentum of its own. “I just don’t think of him in that way! He’s my boss.”

  “That’s a rubbish excuse,” Jem pointed out. “Lots of people fancy their bosses.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Feeling a bit hot, Ginny took another slug of wine. Whoops, chin.

  “Why not?”

  Why not? Off the top of her head Ginny could think of a hundred reasons, chief among them the fact that her confidence had just taken the kicking of its life. Because, let’s face it, she’d made an almighty fool of herself falling for Perry’s lies, and given half a chance she would have leaped into bed with him before you could say floozy. But that hadn’t happened because Perry hadn’t been even remotely interested in sleeping with her, to the extent that he had resorted to the feeblest of excuses.

  How much of an ego boost was that?

  And basically, if Perry found her that unattractive, why on earth would someone like Finn be tempted? He could have anyone, for heaven’s sake. Even Kaz’s mother.

  A beady-eyed Jem, meanwhile, was still waiting for an answer.

  “Look, we get on well together,” Ginny improvised. “And that’s enough of a miracle in itself, considering what happened the first time we met. But it’s only been a few hours since I found out about Perry and Carla. I really don’t think I’m cut out for this dating malarkey. I’d rather just… you know, live without the hassle.”

  Jem looked disappointed. “But I think he’s nice. And I want you to be happy.”

  Her heart swelling up like a giant marshmallow, Ginny reached across and clasped the hands of the daughter who meant the world to her. “Oh, sweetheart, how can I not be happy? You’re back.”

  “But only for a week. What about when I leave? Then you’ll be all on your own again.” Jem’s face lit up. “I know! Why don’t I have a quiet word with Finn, see if he fancies you?”

  Ginny’s fingers tightened around Jem’s hands, then tightened again until she flinched. “Darling, that’s so sweet of you. But you can’t do that.”

  “I could! I’d be really subtle and—ow, Mum!”

  “Because if you did do that,” Ginny continued, her smile angelic, “I’d have to break both your legs.”

  Chapter 30

  “The thing is, I look at you and I just want to yawn…”

  “Dad, that is so rude! Honestly,” Jem complained, “you’re turning into a juvenile delinquent. You’re just asking for a slap around the face.”

  “Luckily for him, I’m not into violence,” Laurel said placidly.

  “I’m so sorry about my dad,” said Jem. “He’s always been like this. He’s so embarrassing.”

  It was Saturday afternoon and Gavin, just arrived, was being his usual shy, retiring self.

  “You didn’t let me finish.” Undeterred, Gavin stretched out an arm and helped himself to the last slice of lemon drizzle cake. “I was talking about Laurel’s clothes, the impression she makes on people when they meet her. Everything droops,” he complained, waving the cake as he gestured at Laurel. “OK, maybe not the boobs, but everything else. Droopy skirt, droopy top, droopy hair. I’m just offering some constructive criticism. What’s wrong with that?” he demanded as Jem rolled her eyes. “First impressions count. You want people to look at you and go, wow.”

  “Is that what they say when they see you?”

  Gavin, who was wearing a multicolored striped shirt, black trousers, and a bright red waistcoat, said with pride, “Nobody looks at me and thinks I’m boring.”

  “No,” said Laurel. “But nobody looks at me and thinks I’m fat.”

  There was a stunned silence. Then Gavin started to laugh. “That was funny.”

  Laurel looked bemused. “It isn’t. Being fat is a serious health issue.”

  “You said something funny. I love it!”

  “You should lose thirty pounds,” Laurel retaliated. “Look at your stomach.”

  “You should stop offering me cakes then.”

  “I didn’t offer you any cakes. You helped yourself.”

  Still grinning, Gavin eyed her with new respect. “Know what? You’re getting better. Buy yourself a perky new outfit and you’ll be unrecognizable.”

  “I don’t want a perky outfit. I like my clothes the way they are.”

  Ginny, rejoining them in the living room, looked suspiciously at Gavin. “Are you giving Laurel a hard time?”

  “Quite the opposite. I’m giving her an easy time, complimenting her on her sense of humor. She’s making progress,” Gavin declared. “Plus, I’ve been here ten minutes and she hasn’t mentioned Kevin once, which has to be some kind of—”

  “Shhh,” Laurel said severely. “We’re not mentioning that name. New rule.”

  “Excellent rule. Why didn’t anyone think of that before? You’re on a roll now. Hey, what are you doing on Wednesday night?”

  Laurel’s huge green eyes widened in horror. “Please don’t ask me out on a date.”

  “Sweetheart, I said you were on a roll, not that you’d scooped the jackpot. I was just going to suggest you giving the singles club another go. I’ll make sure Hamish turns up this time. You never know, you being more cheerful now could make all the diff—”

  “Not in a million years,” said Laurel.

  “But I just know you two would hit it off. And,” Gavin added persuasively, “we’re having a quiz night. Any questions about droopy clothes and you’d clean up.”

  “Is that another joke?”

  He grinned. “Yep. Well done for recognizing it.”

  “Thank you,” said Laurel, “but I’m still not coming to your singles club. And you could still do with losing weight.”

  “So cruel.” Gavin clasped his chest. “Like a dagger in my heart.”

  “You’d be better with one in your stomach.” For the first time there was a glimmer of a smile around Laurel’s mouth. “Then it might go down, like a popped balloon.”

  “I don’t know how it got there.” Mournfully, Gavin patted his stomach. “It crept up on me when I wasn’t looking. I used to have a fine figure, didn’t I, Gin?”

  “You used to have lots of fine figures,” said Ginny. “Sadly they all belonged to bimbos in miniskirts.”

  “There she is!” Jem, who had been gazing idly out of the window while the grown-ups got on with their bickering, shouted, “The bitch is back! Look at her, scuttling inside like a rodent. God, I’d love to go over there and tell that lying tart what I think of her.”

  “Well, you’re not going to.” Envisaging some hideous
street brawl, Ginny said, “This isn’t Jerry Springer. We’re just going to ignore her, OK?”

  “But that means she gets away with it!” Indignantly Jem said, “How can that be fair?”

  “Hang on.” Gavin was looking blank. “Is this Carla we’re talking about? Gets away with what?”

  Everyone congregated at the window to watch Carla hurry into her house, slamming the glossy black front door behind her.

  “Gets away with what?” repeated Gavin, bewildered.

  “I was about to tell you.” There was a horrid tightening knot in Ginny’s stomach as she filled him in on the situation. When she’d finished she put the question she knew she needed to ask. “Did anything like that ever happen with you?”

  Gavin’s face was a picture. “You mean did Carla ever make a play for me?”

  “Or vice versa.”

  “Bloody hell, Gin, I can’t believe you even think that!”

  “I can’t believe it either, but until yesterday I thought I could trust my best friend.” Ginny shrugged. “And look how well that turned out.”

  “Well, nothing happened, and that’s a promise. Carla never tried it on and I wouldn’t sleep with her if you paid me.” Straight-faced, Gavin said, “I’d rather sleep with droopy Laurel.”

  Droopy Laurel rolled her eyes. “You wish,” she said.

  Carla had evidently whizzed home to pick up a change of clothes. Within ten minutes the front door reopened and she emerged carrying a small suitcase, her gaze deliberately averted from Ginny’s house as she hurried back to the car.

  “I’m going to go over there and give her a piece of my mind,” Gavin announced.

  “Oh no you’re not.” Touched by his loyalty, Ginny nevertheless moved to the living room door to block his exit.

  Which was a fairly pointless exercise, seeing as Gavin launched himself at the window instead, flung it wide open, and bellowed across the road, “Hey, Carla, has he told you he’s got herpes?”

  Carla didn’t look up but a young postman, cycling past at the time, did an alarmed double-take and almost wobbled off his bike.

  “Poor kid.” Gavin watched with grim satisfaction. “Looks like she’s had him too.”

  ***

  For once all the diners had left in good time. By half-past ten the restaurant was empty, leaving only Ginny and Finn to finish clearing up.

  “Early night for you,” Finn observed. “You’ll be pleased.”

  “Jem’s gone out for the night. It’s Kaz Finnegan’s birthday do. Anyway, I’ve got that chef program to watch,” said Ginny. “The one about the French guy who bought the crumbling castle in Wales and turned it into a restaurant.”

  “Damn, I missed it. Everyone’s been telling me about that.”

  “No problem, I recorded it.” Ginny, collecting cutlery to lay a table for ten, said eagerly, “I can lend you the DVD.”

  Finn shook his head. “It’s OK, don’t worry about it.”

  “But it’s supposed to be brilliant. You’ll enjoy it!”

  “Really, it doesn’t matter.” He turned his attention to counting the twenty-pound notes in the till.

  Something about the way he said it aroused Ginny’s curiosity.

  “Don’t you have a DVD player?”

  Defensively, maybe even too quickly, Finn replied, “Yes, of course I do.”

  “So why don’t you want to borrow the DVD?”

  He paused in the middle of cashing up, looked over at her for a moment.

  “Because the DVD machine’s still in its box.”

  Mystified, Ginny frowned. “OK, I know this is a pretty radical suggestion, but how about… ooh, let’s see, taking it out of the box and connecting it up to the TV?”

  Another lengthy pause. Finally he gave in, exhaled slowly. “Because I tried that and I couldn’t make it work.”

  Oh, brilliant. Ginny did her best to keep a straight face. “Right, so did you read the instruction manual?”

  “Yes. But that just made everything worse; it kept going on about scart leads and… and grinch cables and stupid stuff that made no sense at all.” Finn shot her a warning look. “And if you’re laughing at me…”

  “I’m not laughing.” Heroically, Ginny bit her lip but she was only human. “OK, maybe smirking a bit.”

  “It’s not funny,” said Finn. “It’s embarrassing. I’m a man.”

  “It’s not as embarrassing as having to admit you’re impotent.” Ginny said it without thinking, then hastily added, “Not that I’m saying you are impotent, of course.”

  “I’m not,” Finn said gravely.

  “But you have to admit, it is quite funny.”

  “We’re not talking about impotence now, are we?”

  Equally seriously Ginny shook her head. “No, because impotence is never funny.”

  Good grief, was she really having this conversation?

  “I can’t set up DVD players.” Finn admitted defeat. “Or video recorders. Or TVs, come to that. It’s a recognized phobia,” he went on, “of electrical leads and sockety things and manuals that deliberately set out to confuse you.”

  He was hating this; she was loving it. Ginny’s mouth was twitching uncontrollably now. “So, um, how do you usually deal with this?”

  He looked slightly shamefaced. “Get a man in.”

  A man. Of course. Giddy with power, Ginny said, “Would a woman do?”

  This time she definitely detected a flicker of amusement. “Would a woman do what?”

  “Would you like me to set up your DVD player for you?”

  He shrugged offhandedly. “If you want.”

  “Sorry. That’s not good enough. Not nearly enough enthusiasm.”

  Finn gave in gracefully, broke into a broad smile, and pushed the till shut.

  “OK, you win. Yes please.”

  Chapter 31

  They made it across the darkened courtyard without, for once, being ambushed by Myrtle. Upstairs in the flat, Finn brought out the DVD recorder, crammed haphazardly into its original packaging as if someone—ahem—had previously had a go and ended up losing his temper with it. The expression on Finn’s face as he handed it over made Ginny smile all over again.

  It took her less than fifteen minutes to sort patiently through the spaghetti-like tangle of wires, plug them into the relevant sockets, set up the recorder, and tune in the relevant channels.

  “I don’t know how you can do that.” Finn watched as she sat back on her heels and expertly keyed in instructions via the remote control.

  “It’s easy. Look, let me show you how to set it in advance.”

  “Don’t even try. I’ll just press record when it’s time to record something. That’s as technical as I get.” Holding out a hand, he helped Ginny to her feet. “But thanks, I appreciate it. Now, do you have to rush off or can I ask you another favor?”

  She breathed in the scent of his aftershave, experiencing a tremor as his warm hand clasped hers. “You want me to fix your kettle?”

  “The kettle’s fine. I’ll prove it to you. What I really want is for you to give me your honest opinion of this room.”

  Ginny gazed around at the decor. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  It had, she learned, been Tamsin’s idea to hire an outrageously trendy interior designer, lure him down from London, and have him transform the flat while Finn had been away on a buying trip. Upon Finn’s return, he had been confronted with the mother of all makeovers involving aubergine-and-silver striped walls, a pistachio-green ceiling, and a sixties-style, pop-arty aubergine-and-pistachio carpet. The lighting was modern, verging on the futuristic. The sofas, sleek and uninviting, were upholstered in lime-green tweed flecked with silver.

  Austin Powers would have thought it was shagtastic.

  “You don’t want to know how much it cost,” Finn said with a shudder.

  “Did you tell her you hated it?”

  “Couldn’t. It was my birthday present. And Tamsin was so thrilled, I didn’t have the heart
to hurt her feelings.”

  He must have loved Tamsin an awful lot. Whenever Gavin had bought her something horrific for her birthday Ginny had trained him to hand over the receipt at the same time. Then again, that was the beauty of coordinated outfits from Marks and Spencer. It wouldn’t be quite so easy lugging an entire room back to the shop.

  “So what happens now?”

  “It has to go. The whole lot. I would have done it before but the restaurant had to take priority. It’s been easier to just ignore it. But the other day I picked up some paint charts,” Finn went on firmly. “And this time I won’t be hiring a bloody designer.”

  He made coffee with the non-broken kettle. Ginny sat down on the sleek, slippery sofa and spread the paint charts over the brushed aluminum—brushed aluminum!—coffee table. For the next hour they debated wall colors, curtains, furniture, and accessories. Out with the new and achingly trendy, in with the unflashy and traditional. Ginny sketched out ideas and drew the room with cream curtains billowing gently at the open windows.

  “Not blue curtains?” said Finn.

  “No, too dark. Definitely cream.” Her mind was made up on that score; it might not be the bedroom but Ginny was adamant there would be cream curtains. And billowy ones at that. Oh yes, they would billow if she had to smash all the windows herself.

  “So how are you feeling about Perry now?”

  Thanks for reminding me. “Like an idiot.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. He’s the idiot.”

  Acutely aware of Finn’s proximity to her on the sofa—their shoulders were only millimeters apart—Ginny said, “I’m out of practice when it comes to dating. I should have realized what his game was, but I didn’t. Maybe if I’d been out with more men I wouldn’t have been so gullible.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You’re better off without someone like that. Carla would probably be better off without him too, but now she’s the one being gullible.” Drily, he added, “And look how much practice she’s had.”