Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  But it had to be said, this was on a par with trying to knit feathers. Lola braced herself as her mother rummaged in a pink carrier bag and pulled out a silky beige top.

  With purply-blue satin butterflies adorning each shoulder strap.

  And a purply-blue frill around each armhole.

  And scattered multicolored sequins across the cleavage area.

  Lola bit her lip. If it had been just a silky beige top, it would have been perfect.

  ‘Okaaay. Now the other one.’

  ‘Ta-daaa!’ Having stuffed beige’n’silky back into its bag, Blythe produced the second top and held it up against herself with a flourish, indicating that this, this one, was her favorite.

  As if Lola couldn’t have guessed. Top number two was brighter—a retina-searing geranium red—and much frillier, with jaunty layered sleeves, sparkly silver buttons down each side and a huge red and white fabric flower—bigger than a grand prize ribbon—at the base of the V-neck.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Lola. ‘Is this for when you run away to join the circus?’

  ‘Don’t be so cruel! It’s beautiful!’

  ‘Right, so what would you wear it with?’

  Her mother looked hopeful, like a five-year-old attempting to spell her name. ‘My blue paisley skirt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Green striped trousers?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh. Well, how about the pink and gold—’

  ‘Noooo!’

  Blythe flung up her hands in defeat. ‘You’re so picky.’

  ‘I’m not, I just don’t want people pointing and saying, “There goes Coco the Clown.” Mum, if you really want to keep the red top, wear it with your white skirt.’

  ‘Except I can’t, because it’s got a big curry stain on the front. Ooh,’ Blythe exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as inspiration struck, ‘but I could snip the red flower off this top and superglue it to the skirt instead, that’d cover the mark! That’s it, problem solved!’

  People would point and laugh. Lola opened her mouth to protest but her mother was busily stuffing the tops back into their carriers, checking her watch and saying, ‘Gosh, is that the time? I must fly!’

  ‘Where are you going tonight?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just our quiz team having a Christmas get-together, something to eat followed by a bit of a bop. Malcolm’s driving, so I can have a drink.’

  Hardly the Oscars. Lola let it go. The ladies on What Not to Wear would have a field day with Malcolm, who was bearded and bear-like, with a penchant for baggy corduroys and zigzaggy patterned sweaters. Since Malcolm was to sartorial elegance what Stephen Fry was to ice dance, he was unlikely to object to an oversized flower attached to the front of a skirt. If you told him it was the latest thing from Karl Lagerfeld, he wouldn’t doubt it for a minute.

  But Malcolm wasn’t what Lola had in mind for her mother. Sweet though he was in his bumbling teddy-bear way, she had her sights set several notches higher than that. Because Blythe deserved the best.

  Chapter 13

  The eye-watering, throat-tightening boiled-cabbage smell had gone, thank goodness. Loaded up like a donkey, Sally struggled through to the living room then dumped her belongings on the floor.

  Excitement squiggled through her stomach. This was it, her new home for the next twelve months at least. New flat, new resolutions, whole new life.

  Chief resolution being: no more having her heart broken by boyfriends who were nothing more than rotten no-good hounds.

  And where better to start than here? Sally gazed around, taking in the unadorned cream walls, ivory rugs, and pale minimalist ultra-modern furniture. There was no denying it looked like a show home. Even the light switches were minimalist. What with the total lack of clutter, it also exuded an air of bachelor-about-town.

  Oh well, soon sort that out.

  ‘In here, love?’ Huffing and puffing a bit, the taxi driver appeared in the doorway with several more cases.

  ‘Just chuck them down. Thanks.’ He was in his fifties, grey-haired and ruddy-cheeked, wearing a wedding ring. Was he a lovely man, completely devoted to his wife, the kind of husband who put up shelves and mowed the lawn without having to be nagged into doing it? Or was he a shy conniving cheat who promised to do those things then sloped off to the pub instead and came home hours later reeking of other women’s perfume?

  Actually, he probably didn’t. Sally softened and gave him the benefit of the doubt. And she’d never know anyway, because you weren’t allowed to ask complete strangers personal questions like that. Which was, as far as she was concerned, a big shame. Why couldn’t there be a law passed, making it compulsory? Imagine meeting a man for the first time, finding him attractive and being allowed to inject him with a truth drug:

  ‘You seem very charming, Mr X. But if we were to have a relationship, how long would it be before you started treating me like a piece of poo on a shoe?’

  ‘Well, usually about a month.’

  ‘Thanks. Next!’

  The taxi driver gave her an odd look. ‘You all right, love?’

  ‘Me? Oh yes, fine.’ Sally hastily collected herself… ooh, though, how about if you could also wire them up to a machine capable of delivering painful electric shocks when the response warranted it? ‘Sorry, miles away. How much do I owe you?’

  When he’d left, Sally shrugged off her coat, pushed up her sleeves and set to work opening the first couple of cases. She was going to be happy here in Radley Road. Happier still, once she’d made the flat her own.

  ***

  Left standing at the altar was a lonely place to be. It sounded like a line from a country and western song. Worse still, when it had actually happened, it had felt like being trapped in a country and western song. Some memories faded but humiliation on that scale was never going to go away.

  And that had just been Barry the Bastard. There’d been loads more over the years, more than any girl should have to endure, ranging from Tim the Tosser whom she’d lived with in Ireland for over a year, to Pisshead Pete seven Christmases ago. Culminating, needless to say, in her latest calamitous choice, William the Wanker. And in truth he was no great loss; the dental nurse he’d run off with was welcome to him. His gleaming, too-white teeth had looked weird anyway, like something out of a Disney cartoon.

  ‘Hellooo?’

  Sally was looping multicolored fairy lights around the fireplace when the bell buzzed and she heard Lola’s voice. Eagerly she rushed to open the door.

  ‘Wow,’ said Lola, gazing around the living room. Wow was an understatement. ‘This is… different.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Sally beamed with pride. ‘I can’t believe how much I’ve got done in three hours! Nothing like a splash of color to cheer a place up! You know, I really think I have a flair for interior design—I should do it for a living. The world would be a happier place if we all did our homes like this.’

  The world would definitely be full of people wearing sunglasses. The floor was littered with empty bags and cases, not to mention several packets of biscuits. There were bright paintings adorning Gabe’s cool cream walls, with five… no, six… no, seven sets of fairy lights draped around the frames. The brushed-steel lampshade from the Conran shop had been taken down; in its place was a hot-pink chandelier. The ivory cushions on the sofa sported new fluffy orange covers. A sequined pink-and-orange throw covered the seat below the window. And a fountain of fake sparkly flowers exploded out of a silver bowl on top of the TV.

  ‘Good for you,’ said Lola. ‘If Gabe could see this, he’d have a fit.’

  ‘Good job he’s in Australia then.’ Unperturbed, Sally reached into one of the cases and pulled out a swathe of peacock feathers awash with iridescent blue and green glitter. ‘Pass me that gold vase, over there, would you? At the weekend I’m going to paint my bedroo
m to match these!’

  ‘Paint the bedroom?’ Lola felt she owed it to Gabe to look dubious; he’d spent a fortune having his flat redone just three months ago.

  ‘It’s too plain as it is! Like being in a prison cell! I’m here for a whole year,’ said Sally. ‘Anyway, it’s only a couple of coats of paint—if your friend really hates it, I’ll slosh some cream over the walls the day before he gets back.’

  ‘Sorry. Gabe’s a bit fussy, that’s all. He had the color specially mixed.’

  Sally’s eyebrows shot up. ‘This color? Are you serious? How hard is it to go down to B&Q and buy a vat of emulsion?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Lola raised her hands, disclaiming responsibility. ‘He’s just… particular.’

  ‘Is he gay?’

  ‘Trust me. Gabe’s the opposite of gay.’

  ‘He’s also fifty zillion miles away. So what I think is, you don’t mention to him that I’m repainting his flat, and neither will I.’

  ‘Go on then.’ Relenting, Lola opened her bag. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  ‘Oh my God, champagne!’

  ‘Not quite. It was either one bottle of the proper stuff or two of pretend.’ Lola held one bottle in each hand.

  ‘And we wouldn’t want to run out.’ Seizing them, Sally said joyfully, ‘Come on, let’s pop these corks—whoops, don’t step on the Garibaldis!’

  ***

  ‘… I mean, I’m thirty-six years old and this is the first time I’ve been able to do out a room just the way I like. How crazy is that?’

  By ten o’clock the first bottle had been upended into the waste bin (parrot-pink, trimmed with marabou) and the second was three-quarters empty. Sally was cross-legged on the rug (purple, speckled with biscuit crumbs), waving her glass dramatically as she ran through her life history. With the chandelier switched off, the many strings of fairy lights gave the room the kind of festive multicolored glow that had Lola half expecting to be given a present. She frowned, puzzled by Sally’s statement. ‘What, you’ve never been allowed to do it before? What about when you were a teenager?’

  ‘God, especially when I was a teenager! My mother sent the cleaner into my bedroom every morning to tidy everything up and make my bed. I was allowed to have three posters on my wall.’ Sally paused to scoop another biscuit from the packet on the floor next to her. ‘As long as they were posters of horses. I was more of a Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran kind of girl, but she wouldn’t let me put them on the walls. Ghastly creatures, she called Duran Duran. And Spandau were yobs. I think she was terrified I’d find myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up.’

  Lola pictured Adele’s horror at the prospect. ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘Daft question. I found myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up.’

  ‘And you were how old when you left home?’

  ‘Eighteen. But I’ve never lived on my own, it’s always been either flat-sharing or moving in with boyfriends. Which means there’s always been someone around to moan about my… decorating plans. I’ve spent the last eighteen years having to compromise. Well, not any more.’ Sally’s exuberant gesture encompassed the room and caused the contents of her glass to spill in an arc across the rug. ‘From now on I’m going to do what I want to do and no one’s going to stop me. No more Tim the Tosser, no more Pisshead Pete, no more boring men telling me I can’t have leopard-print wallpaper in my kitchen. Bum, my glass is empty.’

  ‘That would be because you just swung it upside down.’

  ‘Did I? Bum, now this is empty.’ Tipsily aghast, Sally gave the second bottle a shake. ‘OK, don’t panic, I’ve got a bottle of white burgundy in the fridge—whoops, my foot’s gone to sleep, I hate it when that happens.’

  ‘Shall I get it?’ Lola jumped up, because Sally’s attempts to stand were of the Bambi-on-ice persuasion.

  ‘Excellent plan. But you’ll have to hunt around for a corkscrew.’

  In the kitchen, Lola took out the chilled burgundy and rummaged through drawers in search of Gabe’s corkscrew. Surely he hadn’t taken it with him.

  The doorbell rang and she heard Sally say perplexedly, ‘Who can that be?’ But she must have limped over to the intercom because twenty seconds later the door to the flat was opened and Sally exclaimed, ‘I wasn’t expecting you here tonight!’

  Friend?

  Mother? Please no.

  Old boyfriend?

  Lola’s hands froze in mid-corkscrew search as she heard the visitor say, ‘I know, but I have to meet a client in Oxford tomorrow morning, so this was the only time I could bring the stuff over. I tried to call but your phone’s switched off.’

  Oh, that voice, it was like warm honey spreading through her veins. Not one of Sally’s old boyfriends then, thought Lola. One of mine!

  ‘That would explain why George Clooney hasn’t rung. Thanks, just dump the cases against the wall.’ Bursting with pride Sally said, ‘So what d’you think of my new flat?’

  Lola listened, holding her breath.

  ‘Bloody hell. It’s like a cross between Santa’s grotto and a Moroccan souk.’

  ‘I know, isn’t it fantastic?’ Sally clapped her hands. ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous it looks!’

  Doug said dryly, ‘I can’t believe you’re my sister.’ Evidently spotting the empty wine glasses on the coffee table he added, ‘Drinking for two now? Or has someone else been round?’

  Sally giggled. ‘Someone else is still round.’

  OK, enough skulking in the kitchen. Lola stepped into the living room. ‘Actually I wouldn’t call myself round, more curvily girl-shaped.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Dark eyes narrowing, Doug said impatiently, ‘Not you again.’

  It hurt, but as far as he was concerned, Lola knew she deserved it. Just as well she was the optimistic type; maybe she could win him round. ‘Dougie, I’ve already said I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know you have. But what are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘Dougie, don’t be so rude,’ wailed Sally. ‘Lola’s my friend.’

  ‘I’m more than her friend.’ Lola flashed him a playful smile and saw the split-second look of horror on his face… Jesus, surely not… ‘I’m her next door neighbor.’

  Doug shook his head in disbelief; being a neighbor might not be quite as alarming as being a predatory lesbian but it was evidently a close-run thing. He looked over at his sister. ‘You didn’t mention this.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. If I’d told you I was going to be moving in next door to Lola, you’d have tried to talk me out of it.’

  Exasperated, Doug retorted, ‘Damn right I would. And I’m not the only one.’

  ‘Well, too bad. I don’t care what Mum says—it’s not my fault she doesn’t like Lola. You and Mum should put all that old stuff behind you, it’s irrelevant now. Anyway, this is my flat and I’m jolly well staying here.’

  Overcome with gratitude, Lola longed to burst into applause, but the line of Dougie’s jaw wasn’t exactly forgiving. Instead she attempted to change the subject.

  ‘Errm, I couldn’t find the corkscrew.’

  ‘OK, I think there’s one in one of the cases in my bedroom. Hang on, I’ll go and have a look.’

  ‘You never know,’ Doug said softly when Sally had left the room, ‘play your cards right and you could land yourself another handy little windfall. My mother might be so keen to keep you away from Sal that she’d be prepared to pay you to move out.’

  It hurt like a knife sliding in under her ribs. Lola said, ‘Look, what do you want me to do? Fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness? I did a bad thing once and I’m sorry I hurt you, but at the time I didn’t have any choice.’

  Doug shook his head. ‘Fine. Anyway, we’re not going to argue about that a
gain. I’m just here to drop off the rest of Sal’s things. I’ll fetch them from the car.’

  ‘I’ll help you.’ Had Sally still not managed to locate the corkscrew or was she being discreet and keeping out of the way?

  ‘No need.’

  ‘I want to.’ Lola followed him out into the hallway.

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘But it’s going to be easier if there’s two of us.’ She clattered down the stairs behind him. ‘And I’m strong! Remember that time I beat you at arm-wrestling?’

  Doug’s shoulders stiffened. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, come on. At Mandy Green’s party. Her brother started this whole arm-wrestling competition out in the garden because he said no girl could beat a boy. But he was wrong,’ Lola said proudly, ‘because I did, I beat him and I beat you—’

  ‘That’s because I let you win,’ Doug said curtly.

  ‘What? You didn’t! Ouch.’ As he reached the front door, Lola cannoned into his back.

  ‘Of course I did.’ Doug yanked open the door, shooting her a dismissive look over his shoulder. ‘Did you seriously think you were stronger than me?’

  ‘But… but…’ Lola had spent the last decade—ten whole years—being proud of that achievement. And now Doug was shattering her illusions. This was like suddenly being told that Father Christmas didn’t exist.