Jill Mansell Boxed Set

by Jill Mansell

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gabe. ‘And to think I was about to make you a bacon sandwich.’

  ‘The bacon in the fridge? Oh no, you can’t cook that.’

  Gabe was both tired and hungry. ‘But that’s why I bought it.’

  ‘I know, but I promised it to Lola for her dinner party tonight.’ Sally said generously, ‘You can have Weetabix instead.’

  Chapter 38

  Lola had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now it was her mother’s turn. Tonight she was hosting a proper grown-up dinner party in her flat and Blythe and Nick—her actual parents!—were jolly well going to be nice to each other.

  In fact if all went well, there would be some serious rekindling going on. Even if Blythe had got the wrong end of the stick and exclaimed, ‘Ooh, lovely. Can I invite Malcolm along too?’ Tactfully Lola had been forced to say, ‘Actually, Mum, he might feel a bit awkward. Would you mind if he wasn’t here?’

  God, though, cooking proper grown-up food was hard work. She’d been slaving away for ages and there was still heaps to do, never mind getting herself ready and—

  Crash went the kitchen door as Sally bashed it open with one of her crutches and came clunking through. ‘Crikey, done enough stuff? I thought there was only five of us.’

  ‘There is. I hate it when I ask for seconds and there aren’t any, so when I’m cooking for other people I always make… well, quite a lot.’

  ‘Enough for twenty-five, I’d say.’ Hobble-clunking her way over to the plate of chili-infused king prawns, Sally said, ‘I’d better just check these are all right. Mmm.’ She leaned against the worktop. ‘So, how do I look?’

  ‘Like someone who hasn’t had anything else to do today except get herself dolled up.’ Pausing with a saucepan of snap peas in one hand and a tray of roast potatoes in the other, Lola said, ‘You look great. I can’t believe you’re wearing that dress. What if you spill something on it?’

  ‘It’ll dry-clean.’ Sally patted her favorite pale yellow dress. She had fastened her hair up with silver, crystal-studded combs and her make-up was flawless.

  Lola was touched that she’d gone to so much trouble. ‘And you’re not even going to have anyone to flirt with. I should have invited someone nice along for you. Here, at least help yourself to a drink—oh Lord, that can’t be one of them already.’

  Sally, already helping herself to wine from the fridge, said cheerfully, ‘You never know, maybe it’s someone gorgeous for me to flirt with.’

  She was half right. It was Doug.

  Lola’s heart did its usual floppity skip-and-a-jump; he looked even more irresistible when he hadn’t shaved. What she wouldn’t give for a bit of stubble-rash.

  ‘I called in on Ma earlier and she asked me to drop this off with you.’ He dumped a light blue, leather-trimmed holdall on the table in front of Sally. ‘Apparently you asked her for them. What is it, more clothes?’

  ‘Better than that.’ Sally clapped her hands and unzipped the holdall. ‘Old photos!’

  Lola, busy chopping zucchini, was entranced by the look on Doug’s face. ‘Only you could pick up a bag, wonder what’s in it and not even think to take a sneaky look inside.’ Thinking that this was why she loved him so much—OK, it was one of the many reasons along with the stubble—she went on, ‘If I ever need something smuggled through customs, I’ll know who to ask.’

  Dougie shot her a look that suggested he didn’t love her in return, before turning back to Sally. ‘Why did you want them?’

  ‘Lola’s mum’s bringing loads of photos over tonight to show Lola’s dad. I thought it’d be nice to have some of mine here too, so I could join in. Don’t worry, I won’t pass round any embarrassing ones of you. Well, apart from that one of you naked in a paddling pool with a plastic bucket on your head.’

  ‘I won’t let her,’ Lola hastily assured him, before Doug could seize the holdall and race off into the night. On an impulse she said, ‘You could stay if you want.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For dinner.’ Adrenaline sloshed through Lola’s body. ‘I’ve made mountains of food. You can see my mum again and meet my dad… the more the merrier, honestly. It’d be great if you were here too.’ Then I can sit next to you and accidentally brush my thigh against yours, we can play footsie under the table, I’ll feed you spoonfuls of chocolate pudding and you’ll realize how perfect we are together—

  ‘Thanks,’ Dougie cut into her happy fantasy, ‘but I can’t.’

  Oh. Unable to hide her disappointment, Lola blurted out, ‘But I’ve made chocolate pudding with real custard!’

  He smiled, just slightly, and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m seeing Isabel tonight.’

  Bring her up here, thought Lola, we can drown her in home-made custard. God knows, we’ve got enough of the stuff.

  ‘Shall I get that for you?’ Seeing that Lola’s hands were wet, Sally picked up the ringing phone. ‘Hi… no, this is Sally… oh hello, you! Yes thanks, the baby’s fine!’ Beaming, she said, ‘Where are you, still in New York? Oh, right. No, she’s busy cooking, we’re having a dinner party this evening… hey, why don’t you come over? Don’t be daft, of course you can—Lola’s just invited my brother but he’s busy.’ Covering the receiver Sally whispered, ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  What else could Lola say? ‘Fine by me.’

  Sally hung up a couple of minutes later. ‘There, all sorted. EJ’s on his way.’

  ‘Great.’ Lola forced a smile because she’d have preferred Dougie.

  ‘And I’m off.’ Doug took out his car keys and headed for the door. ‘Have a good time.’

  ‘Damn,’ exclaimed Sally, rummaging through the blue holdall. ‘Did you see him do it?’

  Lola was busy frying shallots in butter. ‘Do what?’

  ‘There was a small dark green photo album in here five minutes ago. And now it’s disappeared. Bloody hell, my rotten sneaky Artful Dodger of a brother has only gone and sodding well half-inched it.’

  ***

  By ten o’clock everyone had eaten as much as they physically could and there had been no culinary disasters. On the surface it seemed like a successful dinner party, buzzy and fun, but as far as Lola was concerned, it wasn’t going according to plan. Nor could she help wondering what EJ was making of it. Gabe, despite being as charming as ever, was definitely distracted and quieter than usual. He’d been checking his watch all evening, as jumpy as a cat. Sally wasn’t behaving normally either; possibly in an attempt to make up for Gabe’s air of distraction she was talking and laughing with that bit more enthusiasm than usual, gesturing vivaciously with her hands as she chatted away, laughing more loudly than usual, and generally behaving like an overexcited teenager in the grip of a girlie crush.

  Which was slightly weird, seeing as there wasn’t anyone here for her to have a crush on. Mystified, Lola reached for the jug and poured herself another glug of custard. Unless Sally secretly fancied EJ… crikey, could that be it? Was that possible? When he was wearing those trousers?

  Damn, why couldn’t Doug be here now? That would help take her mind off the realization that, across the table, her wonderful plan to get her parents back together wasn’t going according to… er, plan.

  It was deeply frustrating, trying to keep an eye on them and listen to what they were saying, but doing it subtly so they didn’t notice.

  And now they weren’t even chatting to each other; her mother was talking to EJ and Gabe, while Nick and Sally were trading holiday stories. Honestly, it was as if neither of her parents was even trying.

  Chapter 39

  ‘Do you know what might be helpful?’ said Blythe when Lola tackled her in the kitchen. ‘If you could just stop watching us all the time.’

  ‘But I can’t help it! I want to watch you!’

  ‘Well, it makes us feel like two giant p
andas in a zoo, with everyone waiting for us to mate.’

  ‘Mum! Eew!’

  Blythe smiled faintly. ‘See? That’s how I feel too.’

  ‘About Nick? But he’s my father. You were in love with him,’ Lola protested. For heaven’s sake, they’d mated at least once.

  ‘Twenty-eight years ago,’ Blythe reminded her.

  ‘And now he’s here again!’ Lola couldn’t understand how her mother could be this uninterested in Nick. For herself, finding Dougie again had brought all the old feelings rushing back stronger than ever. Yet for Blythe it simply wasn’t happening, which was frustrating beyond belief.

  ‘Look, if your father and I had gone ahead and got married back then, we’d have been divorced by the time you were three. I know that now.’ Blythe went on as Lola opened her mouth to protest. ‘I’m old enough to know it for a fact. Look at your father and look at me.’ She gestured at herself, at her wild red hair and pink glittery blouse, the crinkled leaf-green skirt that so strongly resembled a lettuce. Then, flipping a hand towards the living room, she said dismissively, ‘And there’s him in his trendy clothes, with his hair cut by Gordon Ramsay.’

  Startled, Lola said, ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, you know who I mean.’ Her mother’s tone was scornful. ‘Some celebrity hairdresser chap off the telly. You see, that’s the difference between us, love. Nick went in one direction, I went in the other. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. And now he’s turned into the kind of person who thinks it’s normal to spend a hundred pounds on a haircut. I mean, can you imagine? Talk about a fool and his money soon being parted!’

  For heaven’s sake, would you listen to her? ‘Mum, you can’t say that.’

  ‘I can say anything I like, love.’

  ‘About me?’ Nick appeared in the doorway, causing Lola to clatter coffee cups into their saucers.

  ‘About your hair,’ Blythe said cheerfully.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lola. ‘My mother’s turning into a bit of a delinquent.’

  Nick shrugged. ‘That’s OK, Blythe’s entitled to her opinion about my hair, just as I’m allowed to have an opinion about her skirt. Would you like me to carry that coffee through?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lola passed him the tray.

  ‘Maybe I wore this skirt because I knew it would annoy you.’ Blythe beamed.

  Lola said, ‘And maybe you’re about to get a pot of coffee tipped over your head. Could you please be nice to each other or should I put you at opposite ends of the table?’

  ‘Hey, we’re fine.’ Nick’s tone was reassuring. ‘Just having fun.’

  ‘Of course we are.’ Giving Lola a conciliatory hug, Blythe said, ‘Don’t take any notice of us. Dinner was gorgeous, by the way. And I do like EJ, very much.’

  Lola wondered if Sally did too.

  ‘He’s a good chap.’ Nodding in agreement, Nick said, ‘Is he wearing those trousers for a bet?’

  Back in the living room, Lola poured out the coffee. Gabe drained his in one scalding gulp and jumped to his feet. ‘Right, I’m off to work.’

  ‘Now?’ Lola said. ‘But it’s nearly midnight.’

  ‘Colin wants me to get some shots outside Bouji’s. It’s somebody’s birthday there tonight.’

  Sally the Queen of OK! magazine said eagerly, ‘Ooh, whose?’

  ‘Um… can’t remember.’ Combing his hair with his fingers and shrugging on his battered suede jacket, Gabe said his goodbyes, gave Lola a thank-you kiss on the cheek and headed for the door.

  ‘Um… Gabe?’

  He turned, eyebrows registering impatience. ‘Yes?’

  Lola cleared her throat. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What?’ He looked blank.

  She pointed to the coffee table behind him. ‘Might help if you took your camera.’

  ***

  ‘OK,’ said Lola an hour later when it was only the two of them left. ‘On a scale of one to ten, and I know he’s an older man so it isn’t easy, but how attractive would you say my father is?’

  Ten! No, twelve! No, six hundred and ninety-eight! Whoops, better not say that. Mentally reminding herself that she was several glasses of wine beyond sober, Sally gave the matter serious consideration and said carefully, ‘Well, he does have his own hair and teeth, so I would say… sevenish. And nice clothes… OK, maybe seven and a half.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Lola thumped the dining table in agreement. ‘That’s what I think too. And for an older man, seven and a half’s perfectly respectable, it’s a good score. But when I asked Mum earlier, she said three! I mean, three. And she wasn’t being horrible, it’s what she really genuinely thought.’

  Hooray.

  ‘He’s not fat, he’s not a skinny rake,’ Sally went on. ‘Maybe even an eight.’

  ‘OK, now you’re getting carried away.’ Dismissively Lola shook her head. ‘He’s only my father. But the point is, how can my mum not fancy him? All those feelings she once had—where did they go?’

  ‘No idea. Maybe they evaporated.’ Sally shrugged and dripped wine down her chin. ‘Just vanished. Like Doug’s feelings for you.’

  Lola winced. ‘Don’t say that! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you say that?’

  ‘But it’s true. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. You can’t force Doug to change the way he feels about you. And you can’t make your mum fall back in love with your father.’ Especially when I want him.

  ‘You’re being mean. OK, how many marks out of ten would you give EJ?’

  There was an odd, intense look in Lola’s eyes as she asked the question. Sally, topping up their glasses, sensed that this was important to her. Lola must be keener on EJ than she was letting on.

  And he was good fun… in a speccy, nerdy, wealthy kind of way.

  In a generous mood—and because it was in her best interests to make Lola happy—Sally said, ‘Honestly? Nine.’

  ‘Nine!’ Lola looked incredulous.

  ‘Why not? He’s lovely. Oh my God, what is that on your head?’ Having been idly flipping through one of the albums Blythe had brought along to show Nick, Sally was distracted by a photo of Lola, aged about seven, wearing a black leotard and unflattering black skullcap with huge pink and black ears attached.

  ‘I was a mouse in the school play. Don’t make fun of me—I was the star of the show. Do you like EJ?’

  ‘I just told you, of course I do.’ Turning to the next page, Sally snorted with laughter at a snap of Lola on a trip to the zoo, leaping back in fright as an elephant investigated the ice cream in her hand with its trunk.

  ‘No, but do you like-like him?’

  Sally looked up; it was on the tip of her tongue to say no, the only man she like-liked was Nick. She could say it, couldn’t she? Just blurt it out, then Lola would know and she wouldn’t have to hide her feelings any more… Oh God, but what if it caused an upset? Lola hadn’t yet given up on the idea that she could get her parents back together. Maybe tonight wasn’t the best time…

  ‘Who, EJ?’ Dimly aware that the pause between question and answer was too long and terrified that Lola might somehow be managing to read her mind, Sally took another glug of wine and said over-brightly, ‘Of course I don’t. Oh look, I love this one of you in a wig!’ Hurriedly she pointed to a snap of Lola dressed as John McEnroe during his red headband era. ‘Was that for a fancy dress party?’

  ‘That’s not fancy dress, those were my best shorts.’ Her mouth twitching, Lola aimed a pudding fork at Sally’s injured, propped-up leg. ‘And I wasn’t wearing a wig.’

  Sally made her wibbly-wobbly way across the landing shortly afterwards, careering off walls and giggling wildly as she exclaimed for the fifteenth time, ‘You cannot be serious!’

  Leaving the washing-up for tomorrow, Lola headed for bed and
took Sally’s photo albums with her. Doug might have made off with the album containing the most photos of him—spoilsport—but he still featured in the others often enough to make them interesting. Having had to pretend to be fascinated by the pictures of Sally earlier, she could now concentrate unashamedly on Doug. God, he’d been a beautiful baby… and an irresistibly angelic toddler… there he was at a school concert with his hair all neat, his knees all knobbly and one grey sock falling down… here were ones of him as a teenager, aged thirteen or fourteen, with a mischievous look in his eyes and a cheeky grin…

  Lola wiped her cheek as a lone tear escaped. Dougie riding his bike with no hands, Dougie diving into a swimming pool, Dougie about to tip a bucket of seawater over Sally while she sunbathed on a beach, Dougie—older now, possibly eighteen or nineteen–cavorting in a park with a group of friends she didn’t know.

  More tears dripped off Lola’s chin, because these were his university years now, the ones she could have shared with him, should have shared but hadn’t.

  Everything would have been so different and you could drive yourself mad wondering how your life might have turned out if only you’d done this or that.

  And wondering was irrelevant anyway. At the time she hadn’t had any other choice.

  Lola jumped as the phone began to ring, causing the album to slide sideways off the bed. It was gone one o’clock in the morning; who could be calling her now? Unless it was Dougie, who had been looking through the dark green photo album he’d made off with earlier and been overcome with longing and regret…

  ‘Hello?’ Lola said breathlessly, her palms damp with hope. Her imagination conjured up a split screen of the two of them in their own beds flirting over the phone with each other like Rock Hudson and Doris Day in Pillow Talk… or Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally…

  ‘Ello, eez Carlo zere to spik wiz?’ It was the gruff voice of an elderly Italian woman.

  All the hope inside Lola plummeted like a rock dropped into a well. ‘Sorry. You’ve got the wrong number.’