by Jill Mansell
“Right.” Finn was out of here. “That’s great,” he lied. “I’m pleased for… both of you.”
And then he left before he ripped Gavin’s undeserving head off himself.
***
Ginny emerged shivering from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
“When I said you could use my shower, I didn’t mean you could use all the hot water. That bath was lukewarm.”
“Sorry.” Gavin, whose boiler had broken down, appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Anyway, how do I look?”
She softened, because the change in Gavin in the last couple of weeks had been a revelation. Whether it would last was anybody’s guess—personally, Ginny was giving it two months, max—but he was certainly making an effort for Bev. “Very handsome. In an overweight, thinning-on-top kind of way.”
“Charming. Sometimes I wonder why I divorced you. Then I remember.”
“I divorced you,” Ginny retorted. “Hot-water hogger. But I like your shirt.”
Pleased, Gavin adjusted the cuffs of the smart, dark blue shirt he’d bought specially for tonight. It was the most ungarish one he’d ever owned.
“Bev said blue was my color.”
“Bev said this, Bev said that,” Ginny teased, because he was at that besotted stage where he liked to include her name in every conversation. “Who was that at the door earlier?”
Gavin was now busy admiring his smartened-up appearance in the hall mirror. “Hmm? Oh, just Finn. He dropped off the cardigan you left at work. Hadn’t you better get ready? Bev’s going to be here soon.”
Following a business meeting in Exeter, Bev was coming straight to the house before the three of them went out to dinner together. Ginny said, “Are you sure I won’t feel like a third wheel?”
“Of course you won’t. We’ll have a great time.”
“No lovey-doveyness then. You have to promise.”
“My hands shall remain above the table at all times.” Gavin waggled them to illustrate. “Mind you, can’t make any promises about other body parts.”
Ginny headed for her bedroom, combing her fingers through her wet hair, but not before flicking a playful rude hand gesture at Gavin in the hall below. He was in love—again—and it wasn’t his fault she was jealous. She would enjoy the evening once she got her happy head on; it was just the mention of Finn that had knocked her off kilter. Sitting at a table for three was fine in its own way, but if her life could have been different, how much lovelier it would be to have someone of her own and be part of a table for four.
Chapter 53
Ginny didn’t know what she was missing. Carla, sipping ice-cold Moët, watched as Lawrence deftly worked his magic on her hair. Still desperate to make up for her previous transgressions, she had done her utmost to persuade Ginny to come along to Lawrence’s for the cut of a lifetime, her treat.
But Ginny, blinking her bangs out of her eyes and too impatient—as ever—to wait for an appointment, had taken the kitchen scissors up to the bathroom and performed her usual snip-and-hack job. Annoyingly, her hair had looked fine afterward.
“See?” Ginny had executed a happy twirl, showing off her habitual no-style style. “Look how much money I’ve just saved you!”
Frustrated didn’t begin to describe how Carla felt. “But think how much more fantastic it would have been if Lawrence had done it.”
Ginny had been unrepentant and Carla had given up. What Ginny didn’t know—couldn’t begin to understand—was that coming here to Lawrence’s was about so much more than just perfect hair. His tiny one-man salon was possibly her favorite place in the world, rose-pink and womb-like, and Lawrence himself was a psychiatrist, therapist, and counselor rolled into one. You could tell him anything and he wouldn’t be shocked. He loved to talk but never gossiped. Once upon a time he’d been married with children; now, in his early fifties, he was gay and happily ensconced with a policeman called Bob. Lawrence was funny and wise, adored by everyone, and a magical stylist; what more could you want from any man than that?
And he served champagne. Oh yes, Ginny definitely didn’t know what she was missing.
“You’re better off without him, darling,” he said now. “Men like that? Professional heartbreakers, take it from me. And if you’d had a baby, what kind of a father would he have been?”
“I know that now. I was just so overwhelmed with the idea of it.” Carla took another sip of champagne. “I wanted a baby; it didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t feel the same way.”
“Lots of men don’t. After our first two, Linda wanted a third and I wasn’t so keen.” Wagging his scissors at Carla in the mirror, Lawrence shook his head and said ruefully, “I tell you, never argue with a woman whose hormones are raging, because you’ll never win.”
Carla knew he had three children, all grown up now, to whom he was extremely close. “So how did she get you to change your mind?”
“Fait accompli. She came off the pill without telling me. Oh darling, bless you for looking shocked!” Lawrence chuckled. “You’re new to this game. It’s what women do.”
“But how did she know you wouldn’t leave her?” Until the Perry debacle, Carla had always prided herself on her honesty; it hadn’t occurred to her not to tell him her plans.
“I loved my kids. Linda knew that once I was used to the idea I’d be fine. And of course she was right. Anyone ready for a top-up?” Lawrence added another inch to Carla’s glass and refilled the one in front of the girl having her lowlights baked under the heat lamp.
Entertained, the girl said, “So it all worked out in the end?”
“Ask me what I’m doing tonight,” said Lawrence.
She glanced over at Carla in amusement. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Babysitting two of my grandchildren. The ones that belong to my youngest daughter.” His face suffused with pride, Lawrence said, “I have the best family in the world and I couldn’t imagine life without them.”
“Oh God,” Carla wailed, “now you’re making me want to have a baby again.”
“But pick a better bloke next time.” Lawrence shook a finger at her. “Find one who doesn’t hate kids for a start.”
“Then what? Just go for it?”
“Darling, exactly. But in a subtle way.”
Pleasantly relaxed by the champagne, Carla grinned across at Lawrence’s other client. “So announcing that I’d made an appointment to have my IUD whipped out probably wasn’t my cleverest move.”
The other girl and Lawrence looked at each other in horror and gasped, then burst out laughing.
“But I thought he’d be pleased!” said Carla.
“Such a novice.” Lawrence patted her shoulder fondly. “Next time, subterfuge. Remember, you’re the woman. You call the shots.”
“Unless it’s condoms.” Carla pulled a face. “Not much you can do about them.”
“Yes there is.” The other girl winked. “That’s easy. You just have to be discreet.”
Carla snorted into her glass; this was why she loved coming here. “Come on! You mean slip it off halfway through and hope he won’t notice?”
“When I wanted another baby, my fiancé said it was too soon. Same as you did.” The girl pointed at Lawrence. “But my hormones were all over the place, and I knew I wanted another one. So I took this really fine needle and stuck it through every condom in the box.” She grinned. “All twenty-four of them.”
Carla clapped her hands in delight; she’d never have thought of that. “And he couldn’t tell?”
“I didn’t use a knitting needle. Just a teeny weeny one from a hotel sewing kit. And then you smooth over the hole in the wrapper with your finger so it’s hardly visible.” Warming to her theme, the girl said, “Trust me: by the time you’ve got a man reaching for a condom, he’s not going to be stopping to examine it under a microscope.”
“Did it work?” Carla was enthralled.
The girl waved her free hand and said airily, “Well, things changed. You know how it
is. But hey, it could have worked.”
It could. Carla marveled at such subterfuge; it was reassuring to know she wasn’t the only one seized by that desperate, primeval urge to procreate. And this girl had a child but hadn’t let herself go, which she also definitely approved of. Her figure was fantastic and she was wearing casual but definitely expensive clothes.
“Right, that’s you done.” Lawrence finished cutting and laid down his scissors with a flourish. “Now just give me ten minutes to deal with these lowlights and I’ll be back to do the blow dry. There’s a piece in here you’ll love,” he went on, handing Carla a glossy magazine. “Irish woman gives up her baby for adoption, twenty years later the daughter traces her but the mother’s only got days left to live—it’ll break your heart.”
Carla took the tissues he was offering her. Unlike most hair-dressers who just dumped a mountain of magazines in your lap, Lawrence scoured them himself and singled out all the best articles for his clientele. He loved—and knew that they all loved—a good old tearjerker.
Lawrence led his other client over to the sink and began removing the dozens of foil wrappings from her head while Carla buried herself in the story. It was a tearjerker, so much so that she barely noticed the ringing of the girl’s mobile phone. God, imagine realizing you were dying of cancer and not knowing if you’d get the chance to meet your long-lost daughter again before you kicked the bucket, then hearing the doorbell go one day and looking up from your sickbed to see—
“Oh, hi, so you got my text! How have you been?” The girl’s tone was flirtatious; she wasn’t speaking to her maiden aunt. Carla attempted to shut out the sound of her voice in order to concentrate on the magazine article. She was just getting to the really good bit.
“Of course I’m fine; why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s great. I just thought we could meet up, seeing as I’ll be in London for the weekend anyway.”
This was someone she was definitely keen on. Carla carried on reading, tissues at the ready.
“Absolutely. It’s a date.” The girl was triumphant. “I knew you’d want to. Now, shall I bring Mae? Ha, thought not! No, no problem, I’ll leave her here. God knows I deserve a couple of days off. What would you like me to wear?” She paused then gurgled with laughter at his reply. “Why am I not surprised to hear you say that?”
Carla frowned. She’d been doing her damnedest to concentrate on the magazine article but a part of her brain hadn’t been able to help semi-listening to the one-sided phone conversation going on behind her.
Had the girl just said Mae? And if she had, why did the name ring a faint but somehow significant bell?
Mae, Mae…
Carla froze, placing it at last. Bloody hell. Mae.
Chapter 54
It had been an eventful morning so far, what with saying good-bye to Laurel and now this. Ginny drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and inhaled the smell of fresh-cut grass while the drivers of the two cars yelled at each other and pointed increasingly dramatically at their dented fenders. Nobody had been hurt; it was only a minor accident, but they were blocking the road, and now she was going to be late for work.
Who’d have thought it? Laurel had actually gone, moved in with Dan the… no, not Dan the Van; she had to get used to calling him Hamish now. It just went to show, though, didn’t it? As Gavin’s granny had always said, there was a lid for every pot. And Hamish was Laurel’s lid. They were perfect together, besotted with each other and so well suited that it didn’t even seem strange that after so short a time they were going to be living together in Dan the—Hamish’s tiny farm cottage. With Stiller, for crying out loud, to whose smelliness Laurel remained magically impervious.
Hamish had rattled up in his van this morning and lovingly loaded Laurel’s possessions into it. Ginny, half guilty and half relieved, had hugged Laurel good-bye and waved them off, delighted that Laurel was happy once more and envying them for having found each other. She might not particularly miss Laurel, but she’d definitely miss her cakes.
A car horn hooted behind Ginny as another driver grew impatient. A door slammed and a woman shouted, “Oi! Shift those cars out of the way!”
The two men ignored her and carried on arguing. Ginny heard the tap-tap of irritated high heels. Next moment a woman peered into her car and said, “I’m not waiting here for the next hour, watching these two slug it out. If you give me a hand, we can bounce that Renault out of the way.”
Ginny had seen cars being bounced before; it was a strenuous business. For a split second it crossed her mind that such energetic activity could precipitate a miscarriage, and that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it did. This could be her chance to make all the complications go away.
Except it wasn’t an option. She looked at the woman and said, “Sorry, I can’t. I’m pregnant.”
Gosh, it felt funny saying the words aloud to a stranger. Almost as if it was really happening.
Bloody hell, I’m having a baby.
“Oh.” The woman looked disappointed.
“Hang on.” Ginny opened her door, clambered out, and approached the arguing men. “Hi, we need to get past. If you won’t move your cars, we’ll have to shift them ourselves. But I’m a little bit pregnant so I’d rather you did it.”
The younger of the two men, with a shaved head and a body awash with tattoos, turned and looked her up and down. Finally, he heaved a sigh of resignation. “You sound just like my missus when she’s trying to get out of the washing up.”
***
Ginny was just pulling into Penhaligon’s courtyard when her phone rang. Having squeezed between a Datsun and a Range Rover, she parked and flipped open her mobile. Carla.
“Hi there, I’ve only got time for a quickie.”
“That’s what got you into trouble in the first place.”
“I’m late for work!”
“Never mind that.” Carla sounded gleeful. “I’ve just found out a couple of things you might like to hear.”
“What kind of things?” Hurriedly Ginny leaped out of the car; the restaurant was fully booked this lunchtime.
“OK, number one. I think I know how you got pregnant.”
“Carla, I did biology at school. I know how it happened.”
“Will you listen to me? Tamsin was desperate for another kid straight after she’d had Mae. I’m guessing it was because she wasn’t sure Mae was Finn’s and wanted one that definitely was.”
“What? What?” Flummoxed, Ginny stopped racing across the gravel.
“But Finn didn’t want another one, which was a bit of a pain,” Carla machine-gunned on. “So Tamsin sabotaged his condom supply, punctured every last one of them. Except then the whole Italian-billionaire thing started up again and she left for London. But she forgot to tell Finn what she’d done.”
Ginny frowned as the door of the restaurant opened. “Carla, is this what happened in a dream?”
“No! It’s real! And she’s gone shopping this afternoon so the coast’s clear if you want to check it out. She has an IUD now so any condoms should still be wherever he keeps them.”
Finn was standing in the doorway with Mae in one arm and a handful of folders in the other. “Ginny, you’re late.”
I know where he keeps them.
“Sorry, sorry, two cars crashed in front of me and the road was blocked.”
“But, Gin, that’s not all; you’ll never guess what else I—”
“Come on, there are customers waiting in the shop, and I’m supposed to be phone-bidding at Sotheby’s.”
“Brrraaa brrraaaaa!” Mae waved her hands in the air like a demented bidder.
“I have to go,” Ginny muttered into the phone.
“No! You can’t! Wait until you—”
“Get the sack?” Aware of Finn’s pointed gaze, Ginny said hastily, “I’ll call you later,” and cut Carla off in midsquawk.
“Are you OK?” Finn touched her arm as she rushed past him.
Oh God, why did h
e have to touch her? “Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine.” At least it made a change from being traffic-light red.
Bloody hell, was that how it had happened? Really?
Mae kicked her bare feet against Finn’s jeans-clad hip and babbled triumphantly, “Brrraawaaabrrra.”
***
It was no good; she knew where he kept them and she had to find out if Carla was right. Lunch in the restaurant had gone on for what felt like weeks. At three thirty, Ginny lurked outside the entrance to the antiques center peering—without appearing to peer—through the crack in the door until she saw that Finn was occupied with a couple of potential customers.
He paused and looked up when she rushed in.
“Sorry, I brought something over for Myrtle and the kittens. I didn’t realize you were busy… doesn’t matter…”
“You could just leave it by the front door,” said Finn. “I’ll take it up later.”
Nooooooo. Ginny clutched the foil-wrapped parcel of smoked salmon trimmings she had cadged from the kitchen. On the jukebox the Eurythmics were belting out “Would I Lie to You?”
“Or,” Finn added as an afterthought, “you can take it up yourself if you wanted to see them.”
Yesssssss. Beaming with relief, Ginny said, “Thanks, I’ll do that. Just for five minutes.”
But first things first. Once up the stairs she turned left along the landing and made directly for the master bedroom.
Oh God, this was mad. The outcome was the same, whether or not Tamsin had sabotaged the condoms. But the compulsion to know the truth had her in its grip. Panting, Ginny headed for the chest of drawers on Finn’s side of the bed and slid open the uppermost drawer. There was the box, right at the back, lying on its side with some of the packets spilling out amid a jumble of old belts, books of matches, pens, penknives, swimming goggles, and sunglasses. Scooping up a handful of packets, she realized it was too dark here in the bedroom to examine them properly and too risky to turn on the light. Closing the drawer she hurried through to the living room, ignoring the excited squeaks of the kittens. OK, over by the big window would be best. Ginny held the first one up to the light, her hands trembling as she ran the tips of her fingers over the plastic-coated foil. God, her heart was racing so hard it was impossible to—