A Walk In The Park

by Jill Mansell

  Evie pulled out a wet-wipe and began scrubbing it vigorously, like a flannel, all over her face. Don’t think about Joel, don’t think about the wedding you’ve walked out of, just sing along to the music on the radio and block everything else from your mind.

  Bellowing along to a Madonna track, she heard a sharp knocking noise and slid the wet-wipe down from her eyes. She jumped at the sight of an unamused male eyeing her through the glass.

  Evie buzzed the window down. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You can’t park here.’ He looked faintly horrified when he saw her face, which would normally have been mortifying but today just made her irate.

  Instead of launching into the usual grovelling apology – dammit, would Madonna apologise and grovel? – Evie said, ‘There weren’t any other spaces. We won’t be long.’

  Ooh, that felt quite liberating, actually. Channelling Madonna had its perks.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘You shouldn’t have parked here in the first place.’

  ‘I didn’t. I wasn’t driving the car.’ Ha, out-frosted him.

  ‘It can’t stay here.’

  ‘Are you the hotel manager?’ In his late thirties, with his uncombed hair, rugby shirt and ripped jeans, he looked more like the gardener. ‘I don’t think so.’

  He looked even more annoyed. ‘I can still ask you not to park in a reserved space.’

  ‘For crying out loud, will you stop giving me grief? Look at me!’ In disbelief, Evie gestured wildly at her dress, her veil, her pink shiny face. ‘Do I look like I’m in the mood to be hassled by some petty jobsworth who thinks he’s—’

  ‘Right, all sorted, let’s go.’ The boot of the car swung up and Lara’s case landed inside with a thud. She beamed at the stroppy man and said, ‘Did I park in the wrong place? Sorry! We’re off now.’

  ‘Don’t do it again.’ He shook his head as Lara jumped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘I won’t! Not while you’re watching anyway.’ Lara said this last bit under her breath, then smiled again and gave him a cheery wave as she reversed out of the space. ‘Shame he’s so grumpy. He’s got a nice bum. Were you two having a ding-dong?’

  ‘Some people need to get a life. I just ran away from my own wedding.’ Evie slid down in her seat and shielded her face as they drove past Emily Morris and her glamorous friends being photographed. ‘I’m obviously not having a good day. Yet he decides to have a go at me about a stupid parking space. While I’m wearing my wedding dress. What kind of a moron does that?’

  ‘A miserable one.’ Lara swung the car out through the gates. ‘Never mind him now. Are you sure you want to do this?’

  Ahead lay the road junction. Turning right would take them back into Bath. Turning left meant hitting the motorway. Evie experienced a fresh wave of panic; talk about empty-handed. She’d be leaving without so much as a spare pair of knickers and a toothbrush.

  Sod it. What would Madonna do? Apart from sending out a minion to buy new everything?

  ‘Let’s go to Keswick.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Lara reached over and gave her knee a pat. ‘You’re going to get through this.’

  ‘You haven’t even asked me yet what happened.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you had a good reason. You didn’t just wake up and decide you weren’t happy with the way he squeezed the toothpaste. Anyway,’ said Lara, ‘we’ve got five hours before we get to Keswick. There’s plenty of time to tell me everything.’

  And that was it. As if some inner key had been turned, the whole story came pouring out. Without censoring anything, Evie voiced all the secret doubts and uncertainties she’d kept quiet about for so long. The fear that Joel was settling for her because she was no trouble, easygoing and grateful enough to have him as a partner to turn a blind eye to his failings. And the awful thing was, she had. Over the years there’d been slips and hints and whispers suggesting he may have been playing away, but she’d always given him the benefit of the doubt. If she challenged Joel, he denied it absolutely. And if she carried on accusing him, it just made an awkward situation worse. They were both happiest when they weren’t arguing, so it stood to reason that it had become easier not to bring the subject up in the first place.

  ‘I’ve never said any of this before.’ When she eventually finished, Evie shifted in her seat and began to regret the many cups of tea she’d had since breakfast. ‘Did we just pass a service station?’

  ‘A couple of miles back. Why?’

  ‘I need a wee.’

  Lara left the motorway at the next exit and found a pub. ‘I’m going to grab something to eat. Do you want anything?’

  ‘No thanks. But I wouldn’t say no to a glass of wine.’

  ‘Here.’ Having opened the boot of the car and rummaged in a bag, Lara passed her a change of clothes. ‘You might be more comfortable in these.’

  Ignoring the raised eyebrows of the pub’s incumbents, Evie swished her way through the bar in her billowing wedding dress and paid a visit to the Ladies’. Five minutes later she was back, wearing the faded purple T-shirt and slightly-too-big black jeans, with the wedding dress draped over her arm.

  ‘Much better.’ Lara handed her a large glass of white with a flourish. ‘Here you go. Cheers!’

  Jilting was thirsty work, it turned out. The Frascati went down practically in one go. Not normally much of a drinker, today Evie found herself needing help quelling her jangled nerves.

  ‘Can I have another? I feel terrible about not having any money.’ She watched the barmaid pour her a refill and Lara pay for it. ‘You’ll have to keep a tab so I can pay everything back.’

  Lara ate a ham and cheese toasted sandwich and drank a Coke while Evie finished her second glass of wine.

  ‘You and your old man had a falling-out already, then?’ One of the men at the bar asked the question everyone else had been thinking. ‘What’ve you done with him?’

  The alcohol felt fantastic, snaking its silky way through her bloodstream. Emptying the last of the Frascati down her throat and jumping off her bar stool, Evie eyed the row of regulars and tilted her head in the direction of the car park. ‘He’s in the boot.’

  Back in the car she slept for the next couple of hours, eventually waking again to find they were making good progress up the M6.

  ‘I keep expecting my phone to ring.’ It felt odd, being without it.

  Lara pointed to her handbag in the footwell. ‘You can use mine if you want.’

  ‘No thanks. I think I quite like being out of reach. I wonder what’s going on back there now. Do you think they’re having a wild party?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest.’ Lara hesitated, then said, ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘You told me Flynn wouldn’t be there. You said he was in Australia.’

  Evie looked puzzled. ‘Yes, that’s right. That’s where he is, on a business trip. Touring vineyards and buying stock.’

  ‘He isn’t. He was there.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the church! He turned up in a taxi while we were all waiting outside.’

  ‘Did he?’ Bemused, Evie said, ‘I didn’t notice. He must have caught an early flight back specially.’ She thought about it and let out a groan. ‘Oh God, and all for nothing. He’ll be pleased.’

  ‘Stop that. It’s not your fault. You aren’t the one who shagged the make-up girl.’

  ‘I know, but still.’ If you were cursed with the take-the-blame gene, this was what it was like, always feeling guilty and responsible whenever things went wrong. Evie changed the subject. ‘I didn’t tell him I’d invited you to the wedding. So how did it feel to see him again?’

  ‘Weird.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  Lara nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And recognised you? Duh, stupid question, of course he recognised you. God, then what happened? He was devastated before, when you left. Did he get a chance to speak to you?’

  ‘Only for a minute. Not even that,�
� Lara amended. ‘A few seconds.’

  Evie clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh no, and then I dragged you away! And now you’re here and he’s there. I mess everything up.’ She exhaled noisily. ‘I’m a walking disaster.’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry,’ said Lara. ‘I’ll see him again. After this many years it won’t kill us to wait a bit longer.’

  There was an edge to her voice. Looking across, Evie saw her knuckles whitening as they gripped the steering wheel.

  ‘So, do you think there could still be something between you?’

  ‘No.’ Lara shook her head. ‘There couldn’t.’

  How could she be so sure? ‘Not even a little bit?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But there might be. You two were so brilliant together before. He’s single, and you’re single . . .’

  ‘That was when we were at school. Anyway,’ Lara flicked the indicator as they approached the next exit, ‘nearly there now. When we get home there’s someone I have to introduce you to.’

  ‘I know. Aunt Nettie. I can’t wait to meet her,’ said Evie. ‘She sounds fantastic.’

  They were heading up the slip road now. ‘She is, but I didn’t mean Nettie.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  Lara was smiling. ‘Someone else.’

  On a how-great-are-you-feeling scale, Flynn was currently scoring a two. Yesterday, thanks to Herculean efforts, he’d managed to arrive back from his wine-buying trip to Australia in the nick of time to attend Joel and Evie’s wedding which then hadn’t gone ahead. Joel’s solution to the problem had been to drink vast quantities of Jack Daniel’s and vintage Taittinger, and he’d felt obliged to keep the jilted bridegroom company. Which meant this morning he was suffering the killer combination of both full-on jetlag and a champagne hangover.

  But yesterday something else had happened that was even more astonishing: he’d seen Lara again. Unbelievably. And for all of sixty seconds before – irony of ironies – she’d disappeared once more.

  But the memory of it wasn’t going to go away in a hurry. The image of her had burned itself into his brain, taken his breath away. There she’d been, with that glossy dark brown hair falling to her shoulders, some of it curling in and some out, just as it had always done. And those incredible silver-grey eyes were the same too, beneath defined dark brows. She was looking better than ever. The figure-hugging red silk dress wasn’t something she would have worn in the old days, but she was thirty-five now and had carried it off with panache. She still had the best legs he’d ever seen, too.

  Flynn knew he had to see her again. Definitely. And no, he wasn’t expecting to find her here today, but all he needed was an address.

  Flynn rang the doorbell and waited. He’d never been welcome at this house. The last time he’d done this, Lara’s horrific father had told him to clear off and make sure he didn’t come back. That had been eighteen years ago.

  He heard movement inside the house, followed by the metallic jangle of locks being unfastened. Finally the door creaked open.

  Janice Carson, older and greyer, met his gaze. If she recognised him she gave no sign of it.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Hi there, I’m hoping you can help me.’ Flynn flashed her a smile. ‘I’m trying to contact Lara and—’

  ‘I can’t help you.’ Her mouth pursed like a cat’s bottom; she recognised him all right.

  ‘Well, maybe I could speak to your husband?’

  ‘He can’t help you either.’ Without warning, she slammed the door shut. More clanking ensued. That was that, then. Unequivocally locked out.

  Flynn headed down the drive. This was crazy. Reaching the pavement, he turned back and surveyed the house. A downstairs curtain twitched, signalling that they were keeping an eye on him.

  Talk about frustrating. Where was Lara?

  ‘Hello! Problem?’

  He swung round to see who’d spoken. It was the next-door neighbour, semi-obscured by greenery. Moving along the pavement until he was out of Janice’s sight, he saw her properly; in her mid-forties, short and voluptuous with friendly brown eyes and hennaed hair, she was wearing gardening gloves and carrying secateurs.

  ‘I was just hoping for a word with Mr Carson.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ The neighbour stopped deadheading roses. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Clearly. His wife just shut the door in my face.’

  ‘Mr Carson died,’ said the woman. ‘Let me see, when was it? About six weeks ago now.’

  ‘Oh.’ God, died. He hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘I would say that explains why she shut the door on you.’ The woman leaned closer, her tone conspiratorial. ‘But to be honest, she’s never been the friendly type.’

  Flynn nodded in agreement. ‘I knew her before. Many years ago.’

  ‘You’re the skier chap, aren’t you?’ The neighbour was eyeing him curiously.

  ‘I am.’ Another nod. ‘I’m just trying to contact Mr Carson’s daughter. She hasn’t lived here for a long time, but I bumped into her yesterday and—’

  ‘Oh yes, I heard about her! I’m Jacqueline Ann Cumiskey, by the way.’ Whisking off a glove, the woman reached across the hedge and offered a soft, elegantly manicured hand in greeting. ‘She turned up at the funeral. I wasn’t able to go to the service, but I popped next door to pay my respects afterwards. Everyone was talking about the daughter. I was dying to see her, but she didn’t come back to the house. Bit of a family feud, by the sound of things. Well, you may know more about it than I do.’ She was evidently intrigued, longing to uncover a few more salient details.

  ‘Look, could I ask you to do me a favour?’ It was a long shot but what other choice did he have? Flynn took a business card out of his wallet. ‘Mrs Carson doesn’t want to help me. But if you do happen to hear anything, or if Lara turns up again, could you give me a call and let me know?’

  ‘Of course I can do that!’ Jacqueline Ann Cumiskey’s eyes sparkled as she reached for the card and slid it into her shirt pocket. ‘No problem at all.’

  So that was twice Lara had come back to Bath recently, the first time for her father’s funeral and then again for Evie’s wedding-that-never-was. Where were they now? Could they still be hiding out somewhere in the city? At the thought of seeing her again, properly, this time, Flynn felt a kick of adrenalin in his chest. This wasn’t about Joel and Evie and yesterday’s debacle. This was about Lara.

  He unlocked his car and nodded at the next-door neighbour. ‘Thanks.’

  Derwentwater stretched out ahead of them, cobalt blue and glittering in the sunlight like a lavishly sequinned quilt. Evie stopped walking, collapsed on to the grass and filled her lungs with fresh clean air. How, how had she never visited the Lake District before? And now it was almost time to leave. She turned her head slowly to take in the spectacle of the view, the islands dotting the lake and the fells surrounding it. She’d learned their names now. Cat Bells and Black Crag to the west, Castlerigg Fell to the east. And over there, rising up beyond Keswick, Skiddow. What a stunning part of the world this was, even if exploring the fells and mountains was giving her body more of a workout than it had experienced in years.

  ‘Muscles still aching?’

  ‘Just a bit.’ Evie stretched her legs and arched her back.

  Next to her, Gigi grinned. ‘That’s because you’re so old.’

  ‘Mean girl.’ She aimed a foot at Gigi’s ankle.

  ‘See those deer up on the fells over there?’ Having become her tour guide over the course of the last week, Gigi pointed them out.

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  It was Gigi’s turn to give her a playful nudge. Evie unfastened her water bottle and took a drink. ‘You’re going to miss all this, you know.’

  ‘But it’s not going anywhere. It’ll still be here when I come back and visit.’

  This was true. What a revelation Lara’s daughter was turning out to be. Tilting her head sideways, Evie studied Gigi’
s profile, the intelligent eyes, Lara’s nose, those high cheekbones dusted with freckles and that neat, determined chin. Meeting her had certainly taken her mind off last week’s farcical events.

  Not that it was so astonishing to discover that Lara had a daughter. But discovering her age and who her father was had hit Evie for six.

  Lara had relayed the whole story to her in the car as they’d completed the last leg of the journey from Bath to Keswick. Finally her disappearance made complete sense. Almost nineteen years on, Evie’s heart had gone out to her friend. Sixteen, pregnant and cast out by her family; for goodness sake, it was like something out of Dickens.

  And then, in no time at all, she’d been meeting the end result. Gigi Carson, with her mad freckles, dancing silver-grey eyes and insatiable curiosity. This wasn’t a girl to be brushed off or ignored; if she had a question, she liked it to be answered. She was tall and long-limbed, her straight toffee-brown hair swished from side to side as she talked and she had one of those laughs that every now and again ended in a comedy snort. Evie had been captivated from the word go. Apart from the snorty thing, it was like having the teenage Lara back again.

  Interspersed with spooky flashes of Flynn.

  ‘What?’ Gigi was watching her. ‘What are you thinking about now?’

  She was also scarily intuitive.

  ‘I’m thinking about your father. In a couple of days he’s going to find out you exist.’

  ‘Lucky him.’ Pulling a fat blade of grass out of the ground, Gigi stretched it between her thumbs. She blew against it, producing a long quacking sound like a lovelorn duck.

  ‘Are you nervous?’

  ‘No.’

  Was that really true? Evie marvelled at such self-confidence. How must it feel to be so supremely comfortable in your own skin?

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, I want it to go well,’ Gigi went on. ‘But I can’t change me, can I? If he decides he doesn’t like me, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not going to pretend to be someone different.’