Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘And by this time next year we’ll be going for gold in the Olympics.’ Inspired, Lola said excitedly, ‘Can we get out onto the ice now?’

  ‘Lesson one.’ Sally yanked her back. ‘Always best to queue up first and hire some skates.’

  Lola was a revelation on the ice, more spectacularly useless than Sally would ever have guessed. She had no sense of balance whatsoever. Clinging to the barriers and wailing, ‘This is really slippy!’ she was edging her way round the outside of the rink at the speed of a lame tortoise.

  Happily this meant Sally was free to coach Nick, who might not be any great shakes on the ice, but who was fifty times better than Lola. At least he could stand up and—more or less—manage circuits, so long as Sally was there to hold on to his hands. Which was heaven, almost as good as when, upon losing his balance and wobbling crazily in the center of the rink, he had flung both arms around her waist.

  Oh yes, that had definitely been a highlight, a moment to treasure. Maybe later she’d make it happen again and this time allow herself to stumble and fall on top of him in a laughter-filled tangle of arms and legs. When Lola wasn’t looking, of course.

  Leaning closer and breathing into her ear, Nick protested, ‘This can’t be much fun for you.’

  Was he serious? This was the most fun she’d had in years. ‘I’m fine.’ Sally experienced a frisson of excitement as his left thigh brushed against hers, then another as the right thigh followed suit.

  Was that an accident?

  ‘No, it’s not fair.’ Nick shook his head. ‘Why don’t I have five minutes’ rest, then you can do some proper skating without having to hold me up. I’ll just watch from the side and admire the way you experts do it.’

  Oh dear, nobody liked a show-off. But his eyes were glittering and she couldn’t resist. Having guided him to the barriers then skated back to the less crowded center of the rink, Sally struck a pose then pushed off into an impromptu routine. God, skating was so brilliant, it was one of the few things she was really good at. And she was gliding across the ice now, as accomplished and elegant as a swan, with the stars twinkling overhead in an inky sky and hundreds of admiring eyes upon her… if she went into a fabulous spin or launched into a triple salchow, would everyone gasp with delight and break into a spontaneous round of applause?

  OK, a triple salchow was too ambitious, but how about a double axel? Was Nick watching? Would he be suitably impressed by her technique? Yes, there he was, Lola had managed to hobble-skate over to him and they were both hanging on to the barriers, watching her. Right, here goes…

  ‘OW!’ bellowed Sally, crashing to the ice like a felled tree. ‘OW, OW, OW, who did that?’

  Because someone had come up behind her and delivered a vicious kick to the back of her calf. Letting out a shriek of pain she clutched her left leg as melted ice soaked into her jeans. What kind of psychopath would sneak up like that and kick a complete stranger so hard? Ow, God, she couldn’t breathe, she could barely think straight, it hurt so much…

  ‘Are you OK?’ Nick and Lola slithered up to her, having somehow managed to weave their way through the crowds of skaters. For heaven’s sake, did she look OK?

  ‘Did you see who kicked me?’ Sally felt perspiration breaking out on her forehead.

  ‘Nobody kicked you.’

  ‘They did! I felt it!’

  ‘There was no one near you.’ Lola pulled an apologetic face. ‘If it felt like being kicked by a donkey, you’ve probably snapped an Achilles tendon.’

  Damn, she was right. ‘Nooo!’ Sally sank down in despair and rested her face against the ice, because this was a nightmare. ‘I don’t want it to be my Achilles tendon!’

  Lola, valiantly attempting to help her into a sitting position, promptly lost her balance and gasped, ‘Oof!’ as she tumbled back like an upturned beetle on to the ice.

  ***

  ‘What’s going on?’ Puzzled by the commotion on the stairs, Gabe emerged with dripping wet hair and a dark blue towel draped around his hips.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Sitting on her bottom, inelegantly hauling herself up one stair at a time, Sally was huffing and puffing and looking fraught.

  ‘Ice skating went well, then.’ Gabe looked at Lola and her father, who were following her up the stairs carrying a pair of crutches.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Sally wailed. ‘We’ve just spent three hours in casualty. When they told me I’d torn my calf muscle I thought I’d just be limping a bit for a few days. I was actually relieved because I thought it was better than snapping an Achilles tendon, but it’s not better at all, it’s going to be a complete nightmare.’ Finally, laboriously, she reached the top step, raised both arms and demanded imperiously, ‘Don’t just stand there. Help me up.’

  Gabe’s heart sank. Was his luck ever going to change? ‘Sorry, who’s going to be a complete nightmare?’

  Nick, struggling to keep a straight face, said, ‘She has to rest the muscle completely, keep the leg elevated at all times. She’s going to need some serious looking after.’

  Oh God.

  Lola said helpfully, ‘You’ll have to lift her in and out of the bath.’

  Fat chance of that.

  ‘No you won’t,’ Sally hurriedly chipped in before he could say anything about cranes. ‘I can still manage a shower.’

  ‘So long as you don’t fall over.’ Lola winked as she held open the door for Sally to go through.

  Gabe winced as one of the aluminum crutches clunked against the door frame. ‘Look, wouldn’t it be easier to go and stay with your mother? Then she could look after you.’

  Crash went the other crutch against the skirting board as Sally lurched inside. ‘Whoops, these are tricky things to get the hang of.’

  Gabe took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I’m going to be out working a lot of the time.’

  ‘But if I went to my mother’s house I’d be on my own all the time.’ Over her shoulder Sally said, ‘Because she and Philip are off on holiday tomorrow. So that wouldn’t be very good, would it?’ There was a crash as she stumbled into the coffee table, sending flying the cups and plates she hadn’t cleared away earlier. With a sigh of relief she lowered herself onto the sofa and stretched out across it, propping her leg up on a couple of cushions. ‘There, that’s better. All comfy now. Ooh, I’d love a cup of tea.’

  Chapter 32

  Sometimes a name simply didn’t register on your personal radar but it turned out that everyone else knew at once who it belonged to. Such was the case with EJ Mack, whom Lola had never heard of. But when his publishers had announced that he’d be available during the third week of January for signing sessions, everyone else at Kingsley’s had got as over-excited as if Al Pacino had offered to turn up.

  ‘But how can you know who he is?’ Bemused, Lola had studied the publisher’s press release. ‘He’s only a music producer.’

  Cheryl, Tim, and Darren had exchanged despairing looks. ‘He’s huge,’ said Darren. ‘He’s worked with everyone who’s anyone.’

  ‘And he’s so brilliant, all his female artists get crushes on him,’ Cheryl chimed in with relish. ‘He’s very discreet but I bet he’s slept with loads of them.’

  ‘Fine, we’ll let him come here then.’ Still unconvinced, Lola said, ‘But it’ll still be your fault if nobody turns up.’

  It was always embarrassing when that happened. Watching the poor authors’ faces fall as they sat there behind their teetering piles of books, gradually realizing that not one single person was going to come along and buy one. Their smiles faltered; sometimes they pretended they’d never wanted to sell any copies of their book anyway. Other times they feigned illness and escaped early. On one memorable occasion an author had reacted particularly badly, launching into a major temper tantrum and flinging his greatest rival’s books all across the shop.


  Anyhow, it didn’t seem as if this was a problem they were likely to encounter tonight with EJ Mack. Loads of customers had been thrilled to discover he was coming to Kingsley’s. As Lola unloaded boxes of his books and arranged them in spiral towers around the signing table, people were already starting to gather in the shop. Too cool to form an orderly queue but not cool enough to turn up at seven thirty, which was when EJ Mack was scheduled to arrive.

  And he wasn’t even good-looking, according to Cheryl. Turning over one of the hardbacks, Lola scrutinized the arty, grainy black and white portrait that gave away hardly anything at all. The face was averted from the camera and further obscured by the brim of some weird trilby-style hat.

  Oh well, he’d be here soon. Hopefully to sign two hundred copies of his book in double-quick time so they could all be home by nine thirty. OK, maybe not home by nine thirty on a Friday night if you were a super-successful uber-cool cutting-edge music producer, but definitely if you were a knackered bookshop manager with a drastically empty stomach and hot achy feet.

  ‘He’s here!’ squealed Cheryl twenty minutes later.

  Lola scanned the crowded shop, absolutely none the wiser. ‘Where?’

  ‘That’s him, the one in the blue anorak.’

  Oh good grief, how could anyone be cutting-edge in a turquoise anorak?

  Then her gaze stuttered to a halt and her eyes locked with those of EJ Mack.

  ‘God, man, this is wicked,’ gushed Darren, appearing out of nowhere. ‘Look at him, he’s so brilliant.’

  Tim, next to him, breathed enviously, ‘And he’s slept with some of the most beautiful women on the planet.’

  Lola opened her mouth but no sound came out. Flanked by his publisher’s balding rep and blonde PR girl, EJ Mack approached them.

  ‘Well, this is a coincidence.’ Smiling, he stuck out his hand. ‘Who’d have thought we’d be bumping into each other again? How’s your partner?’

  Lola tried her best to come up with an answer. Tim, keen to bridge a potentially awkward silence, leapt in with, ‘Hi, I’m Tim! She doesn’t have a partner.’

  ‘God, sorry. You mean you broke up? What’s going to happen with the baby?’

  Funny how someone could look like a geeky speccy accountant-type one minute and not quite so geeky and accountanty the next, even if he was still wearing spectacles and that bizarre anorak. Although now that she knew who he was, Lola could see that the silver-rimmed rectangular spectacles were probably trendy in an ironic postmodern kind of way.

  ‘It’s all going to be fine,’ she told EJ Mack.

  ‘Baby?’ Cheryl stared in disbelief at Lola’s stomach. ‘What baby?’

  EJ Mack gave her a speculative look.

  ‘Right,’ Lola said hurriedly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Can I take your coat? And welcome to Kingsley’s! You’ve got lots of fans queuing up to meet you! And can I just say how much I enjoyed your book…’

  ‘That’s very kind.’ EJ Mack slowly removed his anorak and passed it over to her. ‘Which chapter did you like best?’

  ‘Oh, um… all of them.’

  ‘So that means you haven’t read it.’

  ‘Sorry, no, but I definitely will.’ Lola blinked as someone took a photograph. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee, water, anything else?’

  ‘Did my publisher not send you my list of needs? Bourbon biscuits,’ EJ Mack said gravely. ‘Peeled grapes. And a bottle of Jack Daniels.’

  Cheryl was still frowning. ‘What baby?’

  ***

  The signing session had been a great success. In the music world EJ was a 31-year-old legend and devotees of his work were thrilled to have this chance to meet him. EJ in turn didn’t disappoint them; he was charming, witty and interested in talking about music. He had worked with everyone who was anyone and plenty of tonight’s book-buyers were keen for him to work with them too. By the time they’d finished, EJ had been saddled with a stack of CDs pressed upon him by starry-eyed wannabes.

  ‘Occupational hazard,’ he said good-naturedly.

  ‘I’ll get you a carrier bag,’ Lola offered.

  ‘I’d rather have a private word, if that’s all right. In your office?’

  Bum, so he hadn’t forgotten. Lola felt herself go pink, glanced awkwardly at her watch. ‘Um…’

  ‘Just for a couple of minutes.’ Turning to the rep and the PR girl, EJ said, ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it’s OK,’ the PR girl exclaimed. ‘Take as long as you like! Take a couple of hours if you want to!’ Because being lovely to her company’s authors was her job.

  The light glinted off EJ’s steel-rimmed spectacles as he smiled briefly at the enthusiastic blonde. ‘Don’t worry, a couple of minutes will be fine.’

  Once inside the office Lola said, ‘OK, I’m sorry, I told a fib.’

  ‘More than one, at a guess.’ He leaned against the chaotic desk, counting off on his fingers. ‘The pregnant woman isn’t—never was—your partner. Was she even pregnant?’

  Shamefaced, Lola said, ‘No.’

  ‘And the smell?’

  ‘We boiled an awful lot of cabbage.’

  ‘You really didn’t want me moving into that flat, did you?’

  ‘Oh, please don’t take it personally. We didn’t know who you were. Whoever turned up, we were just going to do everything we could to put them off. Like playing that music…’ Lola’s voice trailed away, because they’d been playing Eminem. Damn, hadn’t she overheard a fan earlier, gushing about the album EJ had worked on with Eminem?

  ‘Hmm.’ EJ raised an eyebrow. ‘The music was fine, it was the dancing that worried me. So who lives there now?’

  ‘Um, Sally. The one who wasn’t pregnant. And the guy who was meant to be letting the flat unexpectedly came back from Australia so they’re both in there now, driving each other nuts.’ Eagerly Lola said, ‘So in fact you had a bit of a lucky escape…’

  ‘Look, it’s not that big a deal.’ He shrugged and helped himself to a Liquorice Allsort from the bag on the desk. ‘I live in Hertfordshire and staying in hotels whenever I’m up in town gets tedious. I just thought it’d be easier to have a base here, somewhere to crash when I can’t be bothered to drive home. I’m renting a place in Hampstead now.’

  Lola was just glad he’d taken it in his stride. ‘Well, I’m sorry we messed you about.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ His gaze slid downwards to where, having eased off one shoe, Lola was surreptitiously flexing her aching toes. ‘Been a long day?’

  ‘Just a bit. I can’t wait to get home and run a bath.’ Relieved to have been forgiven, she confided, ‘My feet are killing me and I’m completely shattered.’

  ‘Shame, I was just about to ask if you fancied a drink. Ah well, never mind.’

  ‘Oh!’ Lola’s eyes widened.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Thanks for this evening anyway, I enjoyed it.’ EJ had reached the office door now. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘But… but…’ Wow, that was an invitation she hadn’t expected, a bolt from the blue. Following him, Lola said, ‘Well, maybe a drink wouldn’t be so—’

  ‘No, no, you’re too tired.’ He turned back, his thin clever face pale beneath the overhead fluorescent strip lighting. ‘Forget I asked. You get yourself home and jump into that hot bath.’ With a glimmer of a smile he added, ‘You do look exhausted.’

  Ouch. Or maybe touché. Talk about getting your own back.

  Chapter 33

  The advance proof copy of EJ Mack’s book, given to her months ago by the publisher’s sales rep, was lying under her bed unopened and covered in dust. Wiping it clean on the carpet, Lola raced barefoot across the landing to 73C. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gabe was bound to be out and he hadn’t thought to leave the door on the latch; how lo
ng was she going to have to wait for Sally to hobble across and unlock it?

  Impatiently she hammered on the door. ‘Sal, quick, just roll off that sofa, crawl over here and let me in this minute because you are not going to believe who I met tonight!’ Then, as the door began to open, ‘And by the way, everyone at work was agog when they heard you were my pregnant lesbian lover—ooh!’

  Of course it hadn’t been Sally answering the door that quickly. Of course it had to be Doug, whom Lola hadn’t seen for three weeks, not since New Year’s Eve at the Carrick when she’d made such a dazzling impression. Bloody Mary Ann Cross.

  ‘So now you’re having a lesbian affair with my sister.’ Doug shook his head in resignation. ‘My God, you really do want to give my mother a heart attack.’

  ‘Sorry. Hi, Doug, I didn’t know you were here.’ Otherwise I’d have quickly redone my make-up and definitely not just made myself that cheese and pickled onion toasted sandwich.

  ‘You know, I wish I was gay,’ complained Sally, lying in state across the sofa. ‘We’re far nicer people. It’s got to be easier fancying women than fancying men.’

  ‘Not when they reek of pickled onions,’ said Doug.

  Ouch.

  Then again, speaking of fancying men. Doing her best not to breathe near him, Lola said, ‘No Isabel tonight?’ and for a split second allowed herself to get her hopes up. (‘Isabel, I’m sorry, it’s not you I love, it’s—’)

  ‘Yes, I’m here too!’ Emerging from the kitchen with a tray, Isabel said gaily, ‘Hi, Lola, look at us, meals on wheels!’

  ‘I ran out of milk.’ Sally eased herself into more of a sitting position, wincing with pain as she shifted her leg a couple of inches on its pile of cushions. ‘Gabe’s been gone for hours and he gets cross with me when I keep phoning him, so I gave Doug a call instead.’

  To be fair to Gabe, Lola had heard about last night’s debacle when, whilst queuing at the pharmacy for Sally’s ibuprofen capsules, he had missed a headline-making punch-up between two A-listers outside Nobu.