A Walk In The Park

by Jill Mansell

  But when it came to Joel . . . oh, all those old feelings were still there.

  And the thing was, if he didn’t really like her, why would he still be making this much effort? Surely he would have moved on by now? It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a choice; it would be far easier for Joel to play the field with all the girls who made their interest in him so obvious. Or to fall into a new relationship with someone who didn’t always give him such a hard time.

  But Joel hadn’t taken either of those options. He wanted her back and was going all out to win her round. Which was unbelievably flattering. And although he didn’t know this, she was weakening. Not in a weak way, Evie hastily reminded herself, but with . . . maybe . . . newfound maturity and powers of forgiveness.

  Because there was an undeniable connection between them, and she did still love him, even if she didn’t love some of the things he’d got up to in the past.

  But then you met happily married couples like Tommy and Maureen and wanted a relationship like theirs. And from the sound of it, Tommy had definitely played away before their wedding.

  Basically, some men did just need to get their naughtiness out of their system before settling down.

  Maybe it was their way of fully appreciating monogamy.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Joel, ‘Mum says why don’t you join us for dinner? She’s made enough chicken casserole to feed a rugby team.’

  ‘Chicken casserole?’ It was Evie’s favourite. There was also a good chance this was why Bonnie had made it.

  ‘Go on. Stay.’ Joel was giving her his no-pressure smile. ‘They’d love you to. I’ll drive you home later.’

  Evie hesitated. ‘I don’t know . . .’

  ‘I can drop you off round the corner so Lara doesn’t see you in my car.’ He didn’t say it sarcastically, but with self-deprecation, acknowledging that he’d done wrong in the past and fully deserved Lara’s mistrust.

  And he wouldn’t have done that before, Evie reminded herself. See? He really was changing, learning from his mistakes.

  It was raining when Joel drove her home at ten o’clock. She still made him park round the corner.

  ‘That was fun tonight.’ He left his hand resting lightly on the gearstick. ‘Just like old times.’

  The five of them had spent the evening sitting companionably around the kitchen table, chatting and laughing as if nothing had ever happened. That whole happy-family feeling of belonging was what she’d so loved about their years together. Evie nodded in agreement and said, ‘It was.’

  ‘Sorry about the Spanish Gold.’ After dinner Bonnie had served coffee and Evie had brought out the paper bag; within minutes the chocolate-dusted coconut strands had been demolished. Joel said, ‘Next time I’m in Bristol I’ll buy a massive box of the stuff.’

  ‘I had two helpings of plum crumble,’ Evie pointed out. ‘It’s a fair swap.’

  ‘Anyway, thanks for staying.’

  ‘And now I have to go.’ She curled her fingers around the door handle.

  Joel said hopefully, ‘I wish I could kiss you. But I suppose you wouldn’t want me to.’

  Evie’s heart did a little shimmy of pride; this was what having the upper hand felt like. As the rain spattered on to the windscreen she said, ‘No I wouldn’t. Let’s leave things as they are, shall we?’

  ‘You’re right.’ Joel’s smile was sad but accepting. ‘Dammit, you’re always right.’

  ‘Thanks for the lift.’ Evie opened the passenger door and climbed out. ‘Bye.’

  In the kitchen, Lara and Gigi were doing the dishes and singing and dancing along to Enjay’s new single as it blared out of Gigi’s laptop. Since returning to the States to start his world tour, Enjay had been keeping them updated through emails and via his website diary. The actual TV show was due to air on MTV straight after Christmas. Harry, now back in Keswick, was doing his best to get back to living a normal life but was being asked for his autograph on a daily basis by the fans who’d been following Enjay’s video blog. Harry still found the entire experience utterly surreal and baffling, but there was no escaping the fact that it had broadened his horizons. Sales of Flying Ducks were still on the up. More staff had needed to be taken on. And next week his shirts were due to feature in a photo shoot for Vogue.

  Evie smiled at the memory of his phone call to them the other evening. Only Harry could wonder if there was really any point in having men’s clothing featured in a women’s fashion magazine.

  Lara turned to greet her. ‘There you are! Have you been at Bonnie and Ray’s all this time?’

  ‘And Marina was there too.’ No need to mention Joel. ‘We had chicken casserole and plum crumble with custard.’

  ‘How did you get home?’

  ‘Ray gave me a lift.’ Only a tiny fib.

  ‘Oh right. It’s just that your eyes are all sparkly and your cheeks are pink. I thought maybe you’d run the whole way.’

  Evie said, ‘If I’d run, I’d be purple and crawling on my hands and knees. No, Ray dropped me off.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s good. There’s still wine in the fridge if you want some, just help yourself . . . BABY, YO IS MIIIIINE,’ Lara and Gigi simultaneously burst back into song, bellowing along to the chorus of Enjay’s insanely catchy new single. ‘ALL MINE, ALL MINE, AN’ DON’T YOU FORGET IT. . .’

  See? Evie reached into the cupboard for a glass. And it didn’t count as lying, exactly.

  It was just a matter of leaving certain bits out.

  ‘I can’t help thinking this isn’t doing you any good. Wouldn’t you say it was kind of counter-productive?’

  ‘Stop nagging me,’ said Don. ‘Just get on with it.’

  Lara sighed and set about untangling the leads and wires; honestly, his fingers were trembling even as he struggled to remove the silver cufflink from his crisp white cuff. But Don was on an anxiety-generated health kick and there was no stopping him. He’d bought himself a DIY blood-pressure monitoring machine and he was determined to use it. Twice a day, every day. Even though the prospect of having his blood pressure measured caused him to hyperventilate with fear and trepidation.

  He’d also bought a cholesterol-testing kit and had to hype himself up each morning in order to jab the tiny needle into his thumb and measure the levels in the resultant bead of blood.

  The first three times they’d done it, he’d almost fainted.

  ‘Right.’ Don had managed to roll up his sleeve. ‘Put the thing round my arm.’

  They were in the office behind the shop. Lara did the honours and began pumping air into the blood pressure cuff. ‘OK, don’t breathe so fast. Think calming thoughts. Just close your eyes and relax . . .’

  Not that it helped. Don failed to do so and the result was the same as yesterday. As was the cholesterol test, although on the plus side at least this time he didn’t turn pale green.

  ‘I listened to my Paul McKenna tape twice last night,’ he complained. ‘All the way through. Why does it work for everyone else but me?’

  It was a vicious circle. Having succumbed to anxiety attacks, each failed attempt to reduce the anxiety just made the situation worse. Nor did Don’s diet help. He loved butter and cream and couldn’t get to grips with salad at all. His attempts at healthy eating were pitiful; in his mind, listening to Paul McKenna’s soothing tones would counteract the diabolical eating habits.

  Needless to say, it wasn’t having the desired effect.

  ‘Did you have your bran flakes for breakfast?’ said Lara.

  Don looked petulant. ‘What are you, my nursemaid?’

  Which meant he’d had bacon and eggs.

  ‘Just trying to help.’ It was tempting to remind him that if he had a cardiac arrest and keeled over in the shop, she was the one who’d have to give him mouth to mouth. But that probably wouldn’t contribute much towards his state of serenity.

  ‘If you want to help,’ Don said glumly, ‘you could come over to my place, break into next door and steal their drumsticks.’

&
nbsp; ‘Oh dear. Still bad?’

  ‘Worse.’

  Poor Don. Until a few months ago his neighbour had been a sweet little old lady in her eighties. Peace had reigned and he’d taken it entirely for granted. Then she’d died and the house had been sold to a family who’d moved in six weeks ago.

  They were charming people, friendly people, two parents, three teenagers and a dog. Unfortunately for Don, they were also the noisiest neighbours on the planet and blithely unaware of it. From six in the morning there was door-slamming, stair-stomping, music-playing, TV-blaring, dog-barking and banter. The teenage son had a drum kit, the daughters dreamed of X Factor stardom and liked to sing at the top of their voices, and between them they were driving Don insane. He’d tried a few times now to reason with them and they’d been hugely apologetic, promising to keep the noise down. But within hours the level had slid back up, simply because they genuinely didn’t realise how much of a racket they made during the course of their normal daily life.

  ‘If you really can’t stand it,’ said Lara, ‘you’ll have to move.’

  ‘I know.’ He was mournful. ‘But it’s my house, it’s where I grew up. I’ve always been happy there.’

  The doorbell rang while Don finished fitting the silver cufflink back into his shirt cuff. Lara went through to the shop and buzzed open the door to let the customer in.

  ‘Morning!’ The woman was middle-aged, slender, lightly tanned and wearing a pale blue raincoat over a grey wool dress. ‘Brrr, it’s chilly out there! Now, where’s my ticket?’ She began rummaging in the side pockets of her shoulder bag. ‘I’m here to pick up my ring. My name’s Betsy Barrowman . . . oh hello, Mr Temple, there you are! Haven’t seen you for a while!’

  Barrowman. Oh God, this was the wife of the sweating man in the too-tight suit. Mr Cubic Zirconium Bastard-Barrowman.

  ‘Mrs Barrowman,’ said Don. ‘You’re looking very well. Been away?’

  ‘I have, I have! I took my darling mum to the west coast of Ireland . . . we stayed in a wonderful cottage in Galway and had the best time. Even the weather was perfect. I just got back last night,’ Betsy explained. ‘That’s why I haven’t been in sooner to collect the ring.’ She waggled her thin fingers at them. ‘My hand’s felt so naked without it!’

  ‘It must have done. Lara, could you get Mrs Barrowman’s ring out of the safe?’

  ‘Ah, that’s better.’ Betsy Barrowman actually heaved a sigh of relief as she slipped the ring back on to her finger. ‘I don’t feel naked any more!’

  The truth was begging to come out. But Don had already issued a stern warning. Lara visualised her mouth being sealed with gaffer tape, metres of it being wrapped round and round her head. It was like being a doctor or a priest, he’d explained; you might discover unpalatable facts about a person but your job entailed keeping quiet about them.

  ‘And it’s been cleaned up too. Lovely!’ Betsy was admiring the way the ring flashed, catching the light. Ironically, if the original stone had contained flaws, flecks of carbon, she would have known this wasn’t her diamond. But the very fact that it had been close to flawless made it virtually impossible to tell.

  ‘Thanks so much.’ Betsy reached for her purse. ‘Now, how much do I owe you?’

  Don waved the credit card away. ‘Nothing. Your husband paid when he brought it in.’

  ‘Did he? Ah, that’s so thoughtful.’ Betsy’s smile was fond. ‘He’s wonderful like that. It was Gerald who saw that the claws were getting worn and needed fixing . . . I wouldn’t have even noticed.’

  ‘Zheeeeeeeessssssshhh.’ The moment the door closed behind Betsy Barrowman, Lara let out a noise like the valve being released on a pressure cooker. The smell of Betsy’s light flowery perfume still hung in the air; it was exactly the kind of innocent scent worn by a wife blithely unaware that her husband was up to no good.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Evidently no longer giving Gerald the benefit of the doubt, Don sat down heavily on one of the mulberry and blue striped velvet chairs.

  ‘I wanted to tell her!’

  ‘But you can’t. It isn’t our place.’

  ‘She should know the truth,’ Lara wailed.

  ‘You don’t know that she wants to. How would you feel if you told her and she was so distraught she committed suicide?’ Don’s hair quivered as he shook his head. ‘Either way, she’s not going to be delighted.’

  Which was true enough. Lara said, ‘Are you OK?’ because he was looking pale and dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

  ‘It’s all the stress. Take my pulse.’ Don held out his hand like a dog wanting to shake a paw. ‘It’s all over the place, going like the clappers. Look, I know you want to interfere but promise me you won’t. Otherwise I’ll have that to worry about too.’

  ‘Oh but—’

  ‘And if I die, you’ll be out of a job.’ This time he was kind of joking, kind of not.

  His pulse was horribly rapid, like an old-fashioned train rattling over tracks. Also, he had a point. Lara gave up and patted the back of his hand. ‘OK, I promise.’

  Lara wanted to burst with the thrill of it all. After a month away in New York and Toronto, James Agnew had been as good as his word. He’d booked a room at the Ellison and driven down to Bath for the weekend. And now it was Saturday lunchtime and here they all were, together in the house he’d bought for her mother because he loved her so much.

  Gigi and James had hit it off from the word go. It was fascinating to watch them together, interacting as easily as if they’d always known each other, just as a grandfather and grandchild should interact. She was proud of Gigi, so sparky and funny and bright, and oddly proud too that her mother had been adored by someone as charming and urbane as James Agnew.

  The clock chimed out in the hall and Gigi, on the sofa, unfolded her legs from under her.

  ‘I feel like Cinderella. I have to go to work now.’

  ‘Hey, doesn’t matter.’ James rose to his feet too. ‘We’ll see you later. I’ve booked a table for eight o’clock in the hotel restaurant. You, me and your mum and dad.’

  ‘Yay, can’t wait. Did I tell you Dad’s bringing along some special wine? From the year I was born.’ Gigi wrinkled her nose. ‘So let’s hope it isn’t all gross and manky.’

  ‘And we still have tomorrow as well. By Sunday night you’ll be sick of me.’ He gave her a goodbye hug.

  ‘No we won’t. Mum, if you two are off out now anyway, can I have a lift to the bus stop?’

  Once Gigi had been dropped, they headed over to Bradford on Avon in James’s midnight-blue Mercedes. The sun came out and white clouds scudded across an autumn-blue sky.

  ‘This is bringing back memories,’ said James as they drove down the narrow winding street that led into the centre of town. ‘The shops are different but the rest’s exactly the same.’

  ‘Oh look!’ Lara pointed, entranced, to a pair of swans gliding down the river.

  ‘And see over there?’ Having crossed the Town bridge, James slowed and indicated a tiny row of shops. ‘There used to be a bakery where that hair salon is now. Your mum loved fresh cream éclairs with coffee icing so I’d buy her one as a treat.’

  Lara smiled. ‘I remember coffee éclairs. They were her favourites.’

  James turned left, then right, then left again. He pulled up in a narrow street and nodded at a tall house divided into flats. ‘And that’s where you lived before you moved to Arlington Road. The top flat with the narrow rickety stairs and all the mould and damp. It’s been smartened up now. There used to be holes in the roof and a big crack going down the side of the house.’

  ‘Until you rescued us.’ There was a lump in Lara’s throat; life was full of what-ifs. It was weird to think that if he hadn’t, she might have carried on getting ill. Who was to say the next bout of pneumonia wouldn’t have been fatal?

  ‘Hey, cheer up.’ James clicked the indicator and drew away from the kerb; when they reached the end of the street he turned left. ‘Fun bit next.’
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  He was right. The last time she’d paid a visit to Bingham Close had been six weeks ago and it had been a wet gloomy day. This one was brighter, sunnier, happier all round. Would they get a welcome to match?

  Luckily, she hadn’t set her heart on it.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ As before, the unwelcoming older sister answered the door of number 32.

  ‘Hello there, I’m looking for Janice.’ James flashed her his most charming smile. ‘Are you Joan? Janice used to work for me years ago. She talked about you all the time! How do you do? My name’s James Agnew.’

  Was Joan stunned? Lurking to the left of James, just out of sight, Lara watched him seize Joan’s hand, warmly shake it and say, ‘Is Janice here?’

  ‘Um, yes, she is. Do come in . . .’

  ‘Thank you so much. It’s been a long time.’ Reaching out, he pulled Lara into view. ‘Come along, darling, let’s say hello to Janice.’

  ‘You again.’ Joan stiffened, her eyes instantly flinty.

  ‘Oh now don’t be like that, Joan.’ James’s tone was soothing as he entered the house with Lara at his side.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Janice wanted the hairbrush back.’ Lara patted her handbag. ‘And guess what?’ she added brightly, suddenly channelling Jeremy Kyle. ‘We’ve got those all-important DNA results!’

  Ensconced in her armchair in the sitting room, Janice’s pale eyes bulged at the sight of them. She’d never looked more toadlike. Except most toads didn’t wear gloopy mascara and tended not to flush a dull shade of maroon.

  ‘Hello, Janice,’ James said cheerily. ‘Just a flying visit. How are you?’