by Jill Mansell
‘Ha, not half as terrible as Melvyn did when his lovely new fiancée got home and gave him what for. She wrecked the house, told him he was a lying bastard, threw a five-litre can of magnolia gloss over his new car and told him he was rubbish in bed. Rather loudly,’ Betsy’s eyebrows rose, ‘by all accounts.’
‘I heard every word,’ Mary chimed in with satisfaction. ‘I live next door.’
‘Comes in handy,’ Betsy added mischievously. ‘I’m getting all the gossip. Anyway, so that was it, she packed up and moved on. Turns out it wasn’t the love story of the century after all. According to his friends, my husband’s now devastated and wishing he had his frumpy old wife back.’
‘Which isn’t going to happen.’ Mary gave her arm a loyal squeeze. ‘You’re never going back to that life. You’re over him.’
And since Betsy’s friend was supportive but not necessarily diplomatic, Lara added, ‘And you’re definitely not frumpy.’
Flynn had sat back and kept out of the conversation but Lara had been acutely aware of his gaze upon her. When they’d finished their drinks and it was time to leave, he gathered up the bags and said, ‘Ready for some more shopping?’
They said their goodbyes to Betsy and Mary, then made their way back outside. The temperature had dropped another couple of degrees.
‘Where next?’ Lara could feel her nose turning pink with cold and just knew something like that would never happen to Annabel.
‘I was thinking about an iPod Touch for Gigi. Would that be good?’
‘The new kind? She’d be thrilled.’
As they made their way towards the Apple store, a man selling bunches of fresh mistletoe called out cheerily, ‘Now here’s a lovely couple! You’ll buy some mistletoe, won’t you?’
‘We’re not a couple,’ said Lara.
‘Ah, but this is special stuff.’ The street vendor grinned at her. ‘That’s the thing about mistletoe, it can make magic happen.’
As he spoke, he spread his hands and waggled his fingers to demonstrate the potential magical properties. Lara’s heart did a flip and she shook her head. ‘It’ll be dead by Christmas.’
‘Don’t be so grumpy.’ Flynn was taking his wallet out. ‘Just ignore her. I’ll have a bunch.’
The mistletoe was stuffed into a big plastic bag. Money changed hands. ‘Good luck,’ the street vendor told Flynn: ‘You’re a brave chap.’
‘It’s OK.’ Flynn’s tone was conspiratorial. ‘I’m saving it for someone else.’
Ouch. Thanks for pointing that out.
‘The berries are all going to fall off,’ Lara said as they moved away. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Flynn stopped walking. ‘Look, I’ve finally met someone I really like,’ he said patiently. ‘And Gigi likes her too. I’d have thought you’d want me to be happy.’
‘I do. Oh God, I’m sorry, I sound like the Grinch.’ Her emotions churned up, Lara told herself she was being ridiculous. ‘Ignore me. It’s just when you hear all these stories . . . Betsy being treated like rubbish by that awful husband of hers, and the things Joel got up to behind Evie’s back . . . well, it’s enough to make you Grinchy about men. And, you know, getting married.’
‘But we’re not all like that,’ said Flynn. ‘And there are happy marriages too. Sometimes you meet the right person and the two of you don’t break up. It has been known to happen.’ As he spoke, he was looking past her into the window of a jeweller’s shop. Lara shivered, observing the direction of his gaze; was he checking out the engagement rings or the bracelets?
‘Is Annabel the right person?’ It was the equivalent of prodding a wobbly tooth; she didn’t want to know the answer but felt a compulsion to ask.
‘It’s early days.’ Clouds of condensation accompanied the words. ‘But fingers crossed, she definitely could be.’
OK, get a grip, you knew this would happen sooner or later. And to give Annabel her due, she did seem charming. ‘Well, that’s . . . great.’ Lara concentrated her attention on the seductively spotlit contents of the shop window and waited until she was in control once more, then pressed a finger to the glass. ‘And I bet she’d really like that watch.’
Happy endings might be thin on the ground but sometimes the most unlikely couples were capable of catching you by surprise.
‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ Lara exclaimed, pulling open the front door of Nettie’s house and flinging her arms around Harry. ‘I’ve been feeling like the world’s greenest gooseberry! Don and Nettie, honestly, they’re like a pair of teenagers.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Nettie protested, emerging from the kitchen. ‘It’s not true. Hello, pet, how are you? Fancy a nice cup of tea and some fruit cake?’
‘Later,’ said Lara before Harry could open his mouth to reply. ‘We’re going to leave you in peace for a bit. I need to see the hills properly, make sure my favourite places are all still there. We’ll be back in a while.’
Harry drove, then parked and they made their way to the viewing point Lara loved most and had visited hundreds of times over the years. They sat together on a rock and listened to the silence, broken only by the sound of birds wheeling overhead. The air was cold and clear, and below them Derwentwater shone like smoked glass. The sky was white, the tops of the familiar hills dusted with snow. It was all as it should be and Lara felt her shoulders relax, the tension seeping from her body as she savoured the sense of peace.
This morning she had driven Don and a carful of belongings up from Bath. He had rented out his house and put most of his things into storage. Tonight she would head back down the M6 without him. Seriously, who would ever have predicted this?
Harry had been watching her enjoy the view. Finally, having given her enough time to drink it in, he said, ‘Are they really behaving like teenagers?’
‘Not on the outside. They aren’t snogging and groping and twanging each other’s knickers. But on the inside . . . yes, that’s exactly how they’re feeling.’ Lara leaned against him, rubbing her cold hands together because, as ever, it hadn’t occurred to her to bring gloves. ‘It’s really sweet. You’ll have to keep me updated with how they’re getting on.’
‘I will.’ As ever, Harry had brought a spare pair. He dug in his pockets and passed them over. ‘Anyway, how’re things with you?’
He felt her shrug. ‘Great. Gigi’s happy. I’m going to be in charge of the shop, which is brilliant. Flynn’s still seeing Annabel . . .’
‘And? How do you feel about that?’ Although Harry could already guess.
‘If she was horrible I wouldn’t be thrilled. But she isn’t,’ sighed Lara. ‘She’s really nice and Gigi loves her. So what can I say? It was bound to happen at some stage.’ She cuddled up closer and Harry put an arm around her to keep her warm. ‘Anyway, enough about me. Business still booming, I hear.’
‘It is.’ Harry nodded. The Enjay effect was still in full flow, although it might start to dry up soon; there was a distinct possibility that by spring his fifteen minutes of fame would be over.
In a way it would be a relief.
‘So what was it you wanted to tell me?’ said Lara.
It was easier like this, sitting side by side, surrounded by hills and gazing out over the water. Harry cleared his throat. ‘Well, I know I’ve always been a bit slow off the mark, but the thing is, I’ve kind of realised I . . . I prefer men.’
There, he’d said it. He watched Lara’s profile as the words sank in. Finally she turned to look at him.
‘You’re gay?’
Harry nodded.
‘Wow. What d’you mean, you’ve kind of realised? How long have you known?’
‘Not long. A few months. I thought I might be.’ He tilted his head from side to side. ‘But like I said, I was a bit slow figuring it out. It was all so confusing. I think some people just grow up knowing this stuff from the word go.’ Harry shrugged. ‘But I swear to God it wasn’t like that for me. I just . . . didn’t.’
‘Oh, Harry.’ Lara sq
ueezed his arm. ‘But you’ve decided now? You’re definitely sure?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, that does explain things.’ She was smiling slightly.
Harry nodded in agreement, because this was their secret. ‘I’m sorry. But I honestly didn’t know. When we got married I loved you and I loved Gigi. I wanted to help and I thought maybe we could make it work.’
‘I know, me too. And you don’t have to apologise. It’s just nice to know there was a good reason why it didn’t.’ She turned and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Harry was touched; at the time he knew their sadly inadequate sex life had hurt her feelings. She’d taken his lack of interest in her personally, had assumed she was to blame. Poor Lara, she’d been a stunning young bride with a husband who wasn’t physically interested in her; no wonder her confidence had taken such a knock.
‘It was my fault,’ he reassured her. ‘All mine. Not yours.’
‘It’s nobody’s fault. You’re gay,’ Lara broke into a grin, ‘not a mass murderer. So what’s brought all this on, anyway? Have you met someone? You must have done. Ooh,’ her eyes widened, ‘this is exciting! Who is it? Do I know him?’
Lying to Lara didn’t fill him with joy but this time Harry knew he had no other choice. A promise was a promise, it was a secret he’d vowed to take to his grave and that was what he would do.
‘You don’t know him. And it’s over now anyway. Don’t worry, I’m not heartbroken,’ Harry added as Lara’s forehead creased with concern. ‘But while it lasted it was perfect. And it made me realise what I want from life. So that’s . . . pretty fantastic.’
‘Oh, Harry, I’m so happy for you. So is it a secret, or are you going to go public?’
‘I’m going to do it. Out and proud,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve decided.’
‘Good for you. You can be a role model. A few people might be a bit funny about it.’
He knew what she meant. Some of the old hill farmers weren’t exactly twenty-first century in their opinions. ‘Never mind them.’
‘What about Moira?’
‘She’ll be fine. She’s seeing someone else now. His name’s Bernard,’ said Harry, ‘and he runs a vegan guest house in Buttermere. You should see them, they’re just perfect for each other.’
‘Sweet. Like Nettie always says, there’s a lid for every pot. Well, that’s good,’ said Lara before another thought struck her. ‘Oh my God, I know who is going to be shocked when you tell him.’ She pulled a face. ‘Enjay.’
Harry nodded slowly. ‘I know, I spoke to him yesterday. He was.’
‘Oh no. What did he say?’ Prepared to leap to Harry’s defence, Lara said fiercely, ‘Was he vile?’
‘No, no.’ Out of everyone, Harry knew he could trust Lara to keep such a potentially explosive secret, but he still couldn’t do it.
‘Are you sure? Because it wouldn’t surprise me if he said something mean. And he’s such a lech.’ Lara pawed her hands in imitation. ‘All the endless groping and flirting . . . total womanisers like that can be so homophobic.’
‘Well, he isn’t. He was fine about it.’ Harry managed to keep his voice steady. ‘But obviously he doesn’t want it to impact on his career. Some of his fans might make comments. So we’ve agreed he’s going to put up a message on his website saying he’s just heard my news and he wishes me all the best for the future, but that I’m not scheduled to appear in any future episodes blah blah blah.’
Lara’s lip curled. ‘So basically he doesn’t want any more to do with you. Charming.’
‘It’s OK.’ Harry shrugged. ‘It’s his world, his career. I can understand that.’
‘Well, you’re a nicer person than I am.’ She gave him another squeeze. ‘But then we already knew that.’
‘Enjay’s all right. I owe him a lot.’ How much, she’d never know. ‘Look what he’s done for the business.’
‘Hmm, and I bet that’s it from now on.’ Lara did a pfsh of derision. ‘You won’t see him in any more Flying Ducks shirts.’
‘Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter.’ Harry pointed out a curlew wheeling high in the sky above them; it was time to get off the subject. No one else in the world but Enjay and himself would ever know about their brief but perfect relationship. Nothing long-term could ever have come of it, they’d both known that, and certainly no one would ever believe such an unlikely pairing could have happened in the first place, but for as long as it had lasted, it had been life-changing.
They’d been five secret and magical days he would never forget.
A trip to an amateur show being put on at a small local theatre wasn’t Evie’s idea of a top night out, but Bonnie had been given two tickets and had begged her to come along.
‘Oh please, Ray’s said no and I don’t want to go on my own. It’ll be fun,’ she’d said in her optimistic Bonnie-type way. ‘You might love it!’
The chances of that were slim, but the tickets had come from a regular customer whose son was directing the play in question. Bonnie couldn’t duck out and Evie hadn’t had the heart to say no.
And you never knew, it might not be as bad as they’d thought.
Anyway, the theatre was filling up fast, which was a good sign. Imagine having to sit there surrounded by empty seats whilst the poor actors performed to an audience in single figures.
‘These seats are quite comfortable,’ Bonnie leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘If it turns out to be really boring we can always have a doze. Nobody would notice once all the lights are turned off.’
Now where had she heard that voice before? Try as she might, Evie was unable to place it. The actress playing the part of Maria was wearing oversized factory overalls and her blonde hair was bundled into a cap. But she definitely knew her from somewhere . . . it was driving her mad not being able to figure out the connection. Did she work on the tills at the local supermarket . . .?
Then another actor strode on to the stage and roared, ‘What’s all this about you having to go home?’
Evie almost leapt out of her seat as if she’d been electrocuted. Oh God, oh God, OH MY GOD . . .
‘But, sir, eet eez my children, zey are sick . . .’
‘I don’t care how ill they are!’ Maria’s boss shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear about your bloody kids!’
‘Oh, but p-please, I need to b-be wiz zem.’ Maria was wringing her hands in agitation.
‘Not my problem.’
‘But zey are too szmall . . . Anya eez only four . . .I do anyzing . . .’
Evie gazed transfixed at the actors on the stage. This was unbelievable. And everyone else in the audience was just sitting watching the play, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
‘Listen to me, we’ve already been there.’ The factory owner dismissed Maria’s protests. ‘The only thing I want from you is a proper day’s work. If you can’t manage that, I’ll find someone else who can.’
‘Goodness, look at that, I’ve just realised who it is.’ Tapping Evie’s elbow and pointing at the stage, Bonnie murmured excitedly, ‘Do you recognise him? It’s Ethan from the Ellison Hotel, the one I set you up with on that date!’
The play had been very loosely based on A Christmas Carol. Ethan’s character had turned out to be not so bad in the end. When the dusty blue curtains closed then swung open again to allow the cast to take their bows, the audience rose to their feet and applauded wildly, possibly because most of them were friends or relatives of the cast and crew.
Evie clapped too, light-hearted with emotion and just praying she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself and pass out – imagine the embarrassment of having to be lifted over the seats and carted out of the theatre. God, but it was such a weird sensation, and her knees were wibbling . . .
Finally the cheers and applause died down and the young director raised his hands for silence.
‘Thank you all so much for your wonderful support, it means the world to us. Now, we hope you won’t all rush off. Dr
inks will be served in the bar, and my mum’s made enough sausage rolls to keep all of us going until Christmas.’
‘Oh how lovely. Actually, I’m quite peckish,’ said Bonnie. ‘What d’you think, darling? Shall we stay for a bit?’
Evie swallowed; her mouth was dry and her knees were still clacking like maracas. ‘Yes, let’s.’
The cast had changed out of their stage costumes and were having their photos taken for the local paper at the other end of the bar. Evie, keeping her distance and clutching her drink, watched as Ethan posed along with the rest of them.
The next minute she froze as he glanced up and spotted her. The impulse to hurriedly turn away and pretend she hadn’t seen him was as strong as ever – old habits die hard – but this time she forced herself to return his gaze and smile. Except she seemed to have forgotten how to smile; her lips were stretching into a weird unnatural grimace. Oh no, this was ridiculous, and now she appeared to be stuck like that . . .
‘These sausage rolls are fantastic,’ Bonnie enthused, spilling flakes of pastry down the front of her pink cardigan. ‘Darling, you must try one.’
Because if there was anything more terrifying than a frozen grimace, Evie acknowledged, it was one liberally accessorised with pastry crumbs.
Although her courage was threatening to fail her now anyway. She wasn’t at all sure she was brave enough to approach Ethan. And he was busy laughing and joking with the photographer, no longer even looking in her direction.
The next minute, as soon as Bonnie had moved away to chat to the director’s sausage-roll-making mother, Ethan appeared in front of her. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi.’ Evie concentrated on breathing in and out. She could manage that, surely? He smelled wonderful. It seemed unbelievable that she could remember every single line and angle of his face.
‘Enjoy the play?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Were you smiling at me just now, while I was over there?’
She nodded. ‘Trying to. Sorry, made a bit of a hash of it.’
‘Did you see me the other week when you were crossing Milsom Street?’