Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Hang on, let me just give him a quick call.’

  Sally waited impatiently for Lola to get off the phone; she was longing to tell her how well they’d got along together and what an attractive man her father was. Not that Lola could have any reason to mind, but to be polite she was going to jokily ask her permission before making a proper play for him.

  ‘Damn, now his phone’s switched off.’ Lola shook her head, then straightened up and broke into a dazzling smile. ‘Sorry, not concentrating. What a day! So you met Nick. Did you like him?’

  Ha, just a bit! ‘He’s great,’ Sally said eagerly. ‘I really liked him; in fact—’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so glad, because when you think about it, what would you do if you met your real father and he turned out to be awful? Wouldn’t that be just the worst thing in the world? But he isn’t awful, and we get on so well together, I couldn’t—’

  ‘So did we. Get on well together,’ Sally blurted out.

  ‘See? That’s it exactly, he’s a genuinely nice person. That’s why I know I can do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  Lola looked smug. ‘Get them back together.’

  Do what?

  ‘But, but…’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be perfect?’ Lola, her eyes shining, unwound her scarf and collapsed onto the sofa. ‘And I’ve made up my mind now. I’m going to make it happen. OK, it didn’t get off to the best of starts, but that was just the shock factor. I went home with Mum this afternoon and we had a proper talk about everything. It was amazing, hearing all this stuff for the first time. And look what she gave me.’ Lola took an envelope from her bag and carefully slid out a photograph. ‘It’s the two of them together, before I came along.’

  Feeling numb, Sally gazed at the photograph. Lola’s mother, her red-gold hair swinging around her shoulders, was wearing a purple and white sundress, a stripy green cardigan, and clumpy white platform shoes. Nick, sitting on the wall next to her with a proprietary arm around her narrow waist, grinned into the camera. He was twenty years old, cocky, and good-looking in a denim shirt and jeans, with everything going for him. Lola’s mother looked like a young Jane Asher—minus the dress sense—and Nick was her Paul McCartney.

  ‘This is how I know I can do it,’ said Lola, tapping the old photo. ‘My mum kept it all these years. That means she still cares about him.’

  Sally exhaled slowly. The disappointment was crushing. Why did stuff like this always have to happen to her? Struggling to sound normal, she said, ‘Maybe she just forgot it was there. I’ve got photos at home of my seventh birthday party but it doesn’t mean I care about the kids I was at infants school with. I can’t even remember their names.’

  ‘That’s completely different.’ Lola shook her head. ‘You were seven years old. When it’s boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, you don’t hang on to photos of the ones you don’t like anymore. You just don’t want those pictures to exist! But if you do still care about the other person, you keep the photos. Like I’ve still got all mine of me and Dougie.’

  ‘Maybe, but has he still kept his ones of you? Anyway,’ Sally was defensive, ‘it’s a personal thing. Some people keep all their photographs regardless.’ Meaning that she had. Crikey, if she were to tear up all the photos of her with the exes who’d chucked her, she wouldn’t have any left. Dammit, and now she wasn’t even going to be allowed to have a shot at Lola’s father because Lola—completely selfishly—had decided that she wanted him to get back together with her mother.

  Bum.

  The door swung open behind them and for a split second Sally’s foolish heart leapt, because what if it was Nick rushing back to tell her he couldn’t bear to be without her, that it had been love at first sight for him too, that he had no interest in getting back together with Blythe…

  Oh, and that he’d secretly had a spare key cut, which was how he’d been able to burst back into the flat.

  ‘They do it deliberately,’ Gabe announced, tipping Lola’s feet off the sofa and throwing himself down with a groan of despair. ‘I swear to God, their mission in life is to officially do my head in. Celebrities.’ He exhaled, pushing his hands through his floppy blond hair. ‘Couldn’t you just roll them up in a big red carpet and tip them over a cliff?’

  ‘Not a good night?’ Lola was sympathetic.

  ‘Bloody useless. Complete waste of time. I waited three hours for this actress to come out of a hair place in Primrose Hill. I was getting thirstier and thirstier, but I stuck it out because I knew she had to be finished soon. Then finally I couldn’t stand it a minute longer and raced into the shop across the road. I was in there for fifteen seconds, no more than that. And when I came out, her limo was pulling away. I tell you, I felt like throwing rocks at it.’

  ‘Poor you.’ Lola gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Yeurgh, you’re freezing. What’s all this stuff in your pocket?’ She had a quick rummage, pulling out sandwich wrappers, crisp packets and a folded sheet of A4 paper.

  ‘Homework. Colin gave it to me.’ Gabe shook his head wearily. ‘It’s a list of car registration numbers belonging to celebs. If you spot one in the street, you know they’re in the vicinity. I’m supposed to learn the whole list. Oh hell, I can’t do this job. How am I supposed to recognize all these people when there’s so damn many of them? And when it comes to the girls with blond hair extensions, well, they’re even worse. They all look exactly the same!’

  ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’ Lola’s tone was consoling. ‘What about the other paps, are they friendly?’

  ‘They’re OK,’ grumbled Gabe. ‘But they’re taking the mickey out of me because I keep getting things wrong. I thought I’d spotted Britney Spears coming out of Waterstones with an armful of dictionaries but it wasn’t her. And this morning I got a great shot of George Clooney pushing a pram in Hyde Park, except it turned out to be some bloke from last year’s Big Brother. I’m a laughing stock. They keep pointing to old homeless guys in the street and saying, “Quick, Gabe, it’s Pierce Brosnan!” and “Hey, Gabe, isn’t that George Bush?”’

  ‘But your photos of Tom Dutton and Jessica Lee were in Heat this week,’ said Lola. ‘Look how much money you made from those shots. They’re just jealous.’

  ‘That was a fluke. I could work for the next five years and not get another chance like that.’

  ‘Or it could happen again tomorrow,’ Sally chimed in. ‘That’s the thing, you never know. It’s like panning for gold.’

  ‘We’ll see. This isn’t as great as I thought it might be. And I have to work on New Year’s Eve,’ grumbled Gabe. ‘What a lousy way to spend the night, hanging around outside all the best parties, freezing my nuts off.’

  Sally looked smug. ‘You can take my photo if you like. I’m off to a fantastic glitzy do on New Year’s Eve.’

  ‘That’s three days away.’ Eyeing the plates with crumbs on, the dirty cups, the pistachio nut shells and the basket of make-up on the coffee table, Gabe said evenly, ‘Any chance of clearing this mess up before you go?’

  ‘See what I’m up against?’ Sally rolled her eyes and grinned at Lola. ‘Totally neurotic!’

  ***

  It was seven o’clock on New Year’s Eve. ‘You won’t believe what’s happened,’ wailed Sally, bursting into Lola’s flat. ‘My bloody boss has only been and gone and stood me up.’

  Lola, hopping around with one shoe on and one shoe off, said, ‘For your posh do? You can come along to the White Hart with us if you like. It won’t be posh and you’ll definitely get beer spilled over you, but it’ll be a good night.’ It would actually be a sweaty, crowded, extremely rowdy night but Tim from work had bullied everyone into buying tickets and Lola hadn’t had the heart to refuse. Persuasively she added, ‘A tenner a ticket and all the burgers you can eat.’

  Sally looked horrified. ‘My God, I can’t imagine anything more horrible. My tic
ket for the Carrick cost a hundred and fifty pounds.’

  ‘Blimey, I’d want gold-plated, diamond-encrusted burgers for that price.’

  But it was for charity, Lola learned. And they certainly didn’t serve burgers at the five-star, decidedly glitzy Carrick Hotel overlooking Hyde Park. The event was dinner and a quiz, with tables of ten forming teams who were to compete against each other. Dr Willis, Sally’s boss, had been due to partner her for the evening—in a platonic way, naturally, what with him being sixty-four years old and keen on astronomy—but had just phoned to apologize that he couldn’t make it after all, his daughter having begged him to babysit his grandchildren instead.

  ‘So the ticket’s already been paid for,’ Sally finished. ‘Seems a shame to waste it. Wouldn’t you rather come with me to the Carrick than squeeze into some scuzzy, sticky-carpeted pub?’

  Weakening, Lola pulled a face; she hated letting people down. ‘Tim’s expecting me to be there. I don’t want to disappoint him.’

  ‘Sure? It’ll be fun.’ Sally played her trump card. ‘Doug’s on our table.’

  Oh well, everyone else from Kingsley’s was going along to the White Hart; it wasn’t as if Tim would be all on his own. ‘Go on then.’ Lola’s heart began to beat faster, because this could be her chance to really impress Dougie. ‘You’ve twisted my arm.’

  Chapter 29

  Having changed out of her beer-friendly black lycra top and frayed jeans into an altogether more suitable peacock-blue dress with spaghetti straps and swishy sequined hem, Lola entered the Carrick’s ballroom feeling quite the bee’s knees. Moments later those same knees quavered with excitement as, through the crowds, she spotted Dougie over by the bar, looking even more handsome than ever in formal black tie. Heavens, how could any girl resist him? He was gorgeous. Giving herself time to mentally get her act together, Lola hung back as Sally approached the group at the bar.

  ‘Hey, you’re here.’ Doug turned when she tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Everyone, this is my sister Sally, specialist subjects fashion and shopping. And rather more usefully she’s brought along her boss who’s a doctor, so any medical questions and he’s our man. He’s also excellent on astronomy, which… which is…’ As he was speaking, Doug’s gaze had veered past Sally, searching for someone who would fit the description of aged, avuncular, planet-watching Dr Willis. When he spotted Lola his voice trailed off, his welcoming smile faded and he said, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, I don’t believe it. You again?’

  Which was, frankly, more than a little hurtful.

  ‘Honestly.’ Sally rolled her eyes at the rest of the group. ‘Is this what he’s like at work? Frank couldn’t make it, he has to babysit his grandchildren tonight, so I asked Lola if she’d come along in his place. Otherwise we’d have been a team member short for the quiz.’

  Doug shook his head. ‘So Lola’s our medical expert for the evening. Perfect. Let’s just hope no one needs an emergency tracheotomy.’

  ‘Doug, calm down. I’ll answer the medical questions,’ said Sally.

  The tall man next to Doug said intently, ‘Are you a doctor too?’

  ‘Well, no, not exactly, but I’m a GP’s receptionist.’ As the man’s lip began to curl into a sneer Sally said, ‘Do you know what papilloedema is?’

  He looked startled. ‘No.’

  ‘See? I do. I know where the medulla oblongata is. I know about systolic and diastolic blood pressure measurements. I can tell you what talipes are.’ Airily Sally added, ‘And I can tell you exactly what to do with a sphygmomanometer.’

  The man took a gulp of his drink. Lola stifled a grin. Touché.

  ‘Fine.’ Doug looked resigned. ‘Just don’t try and take out anyone’s appendix.’

  ‘Sally, hiiii!’ Yeeurgh. Isabel joined the group, flicking back her silky ice-blond hair and clutching Sally’s arms as if they were long-lost friends. Moments later, spotting Lola, she said with rather less enthusiasm, ‘Oh, hello again.’

  ‘I’m Tony, history and politics,’ the tall man announced. Gesturing towards the others he said, ‘Alice is biology and Greek mythology. Jerry’s Egyptology and maths. And this is Bob, whose specialty is—’

  ‘Trying to swim the Channel with his arms and legs tied up?’ Lola couldn’t help herself; when she was nervous, stupid stuff just came out of her mouth.

  Tumbleweed rolled past. Quite deservedly, no one laughed. Tony cleared his throat and said, ‘No, Bob’s specialty is classical music.’

  ‘And cricket,’ said Bob.

  ‘Great,’ said Lola.

  ‘How about you?’

  Crikey, how about me?

  ‘Um… well, literature.’

  ‘And?’ Tony eyed her beadily; it appeared everyone was required to be an expert in two subjects.

  ‘And… er, sumo wrestling.’ That would be safe surely?

  ‘Excellent, excellent.’ As he rubbed his hands together they made a rasping, sandpapery sound. ‘So which should we be hoping for this evening, hmm? Kachikoshi? Or makekoshi?’

  Bugger. And his lip was curling again. He knew.

  ‘OK,’ said Lola, ‘I was lying. I don’t know anything about sumo. I only have one specialist subject and I’m sorry if that’s not enough, but I’m only here as a last-minute replacement. It’s either me or an empty chair.’

  ***

  ‘Don’t worry about Tony, he’s a pompous twit.’

  ‘Is he? I mean, I know he is.’ To Lola’s relief, not everyone in the group was unfriendly. With the quiz due to start in five minutes, she beamed at the girl redoing her make-up in the ornate gilt mirror in the cloakroom. ‘I just didn’t realize people would be taking it so seriously.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. God, this skirt’s killing me.’ The girl, whose name was Elly, straightened up and gave her stomach a disgruntled prod. ‘I’ve put on almost a stone over Christmas, nothing fits any more. I’m going to have to join a gym before I turn into a complete hippo.’

  ‘I hate gyms.’ Lola pulled a face.

  ‘I thought of giving Doug’s a go. He says it’s all right.’ Disconsolately tugging down her corrugated skirt, Elly said, ‘But they’ll still make you suffer, won’t they? What I really need’s a magic wand.’

  Lola carefully untwiddled a strand of hair from around one of her silver earrings. ‘Is that Holmes Place?’

  Yhooooosh, Elly sprayed Elnett Ultrahold wildly around her head like a cowboy twirling a lasso. ‘No, Merton’s in Kensington—ow, sod it!’

  She’d sprayed Elnett right in her eye. ‘Here,’ Lola passed her a clean tissue; the thought of Dougie working up a sweat on a rowing machine was enough to send any girl’s aim wonky.

  ‘Thanks. And just ignore Tony.’ Elly’s smile was encouraging. ‘We’ll still have fun; you don’t have to try and impress him.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Lola didn’t tell her that the person she really wanted to impress was Doug.

  ***

  Their table was doing well in the first round; everyone was getting their chance to shine. Rivalry between the thirty or so teams in the banqueting hall was intense. Having answered a fiendish question about the last rugby World Cup, Doug (specialist subjects sport and economics) was so elated he actually grinned across the table at Lola before realizing what he was doing and abruptly reaching for his drink instead. But the moment was already imprinted in Lola’s mind; for a split second there, it had been just like old times. Fresh hope surged inside her; please please let him be weakening, let him realize that the attraction was still there. From what she could tell, this thing with Isabel was pretty shallow, hardly the romance of the century. Isabel might be beautiful but her personality wasn’t exactly dazzling; in fact she was like an irritatingly chirpy child, tugging Doug’s arm for attention, giggling, and endlessly whispering in his ear. Basically she was nothing
but an airhead…

  ‘And now,’ boomed the question master, calling the noisy room to attention, ‘the penultimate question in Round One. Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen, because every point counts.’ He paused for effect. ‘And this question is in two parts. The first part is this. What is the speed of light?’

  Lola’s spirits sank; she was desperate to show Doug she wasn’t a deadweight, that she could be a useful member of the team, but how was anyone supposed to know—

  ‘Three hundred thousand kilometers per second,’ Isabel whispered.

  What?

  What?

  ‘Good girl.’ Tony wrote down the answer without blinking.

  ‘And now for the second part,’ the question master announced. ‘In order for any object to escape the earth’s gravitational pull, it must be flying at or above the earth’s escape velocity. The question is, what is that velocity?’

  Everyone at the table turned their gaze on Isabel. No, Lola wanted to yell, no, you can’t know the answer to that, you just can’t…

  With a self-deprecating smile Isabel murmured, ‘Eleven kilometers per second.’

  Smirking, Tony scribbled down the answer on their table’s card.

  ‘OK, time’s up, please raise your cards.’

  All across the room, cards were lifted and checked. The question master announced, ‘The answers are three hundred thousand kilometers per second and eleven kilometers per second.’

  A great cheer went up around their table. Isabel took a sip of iced water and continued to look modest. ‘And Table Sixteen, the Sitting Tennants, were the only ones to get both parts of that question right. Well done, you Sitting Tennants!’

  Lola, leaning over to Elly on her left, said incredulously, ‘How did she know that?’

  Elly said, ‘Who, Isabel? Oh, she’s mad about stuff like that. She went along to evening classes last year, just for fun. Got an A in A-level physics.’

  Lola’s stomach clenched as she observed Isabel, with her dinky little nose and perfect smile. Geeky boffins were supposed to look like geeky boffins, not swan around like Grace Kelly in slinky sea-green silk with strappy Gucci sandals on their feet.