Three Amazing Things About You

by Jill Mansell

  Never mind that he’d seemed really nice and hadn’t had freakishly hairy ears. They’d shared a spark of attraction, that was all. He’d had the opportunity to ask for her phone number and hadn’t taken it.

  His loss.

  Dammit.

  Chapter 4

  Well, this was awkward.

  The last of the mourners had left, and Flo was in the kitchen with her high heels kicked off, doing the washing-up. In the living room, the executor of Elsa’s will had just broken the bad news to Elsa’s grandchildren, and from the sound of things, they weren’t taking it too well.

  ‘What?’ Lena’s voice through the closed doors was shrill with disbelief. ‘Oh please, tell me this is some kind of joke!’

  Flo rinsed a long-stemmed glass and placed it on the rack to drain. Hell hath no fury, it seemed, like a woman not being given an airy first-floor flat in the upmarket area of Clifton, in Bristol.

  Not yet, at least.

  ‘But that’s not FAIR,’ Lena bellowed. ‘She can’t DO that.’

  Flo exchanged a look with Jeremy, who was stretched out in his usual spot in front of the radiator. ‘Oh dear, brace yourself. Sounds like someone isn’t too happy with you.’

  Jeremy blinked and lazily swished his tail back and forth. He was the laid-back type who took pretty much everything in his stride.

  The kitchen door burst open and Lena Travis appeared, tall and angular in her tailored black suit and resembling a furious preying mantis.

  ‘So you’ve known about this all along.’ Her ice-blue eyes narrowed in disdain. ‘It was probably your idea in the first place. My God, people like you make me want to be sick.’

  Flo dried her hands and said, ‘It wasn’t my idea.’

  Luckily she was used to being shouted at by people who thought they knew better than she did, so Lena’s outburst didn’t scare her.

  Well, not much.

  ‘You’d better come through.’ Lena gestured to the living room. ‘And just so you know, I’m going to be fighting this all the way.’

  In the high-ceilinged living room, Elsa’s friend Mary was helping herself to more coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. Elegant and precise, she was in her late sixties and had known Elsa for over thirty years. Standing beside the sash window overlooking Caledonia Place was Elsa’s grandson Zander, two years younger than his sister but eerily similar in looks. With their dark hair, pronounced cheekbones, narrow blue eyes and striking dark brows, they had the air of a couple of vampires about them. Since they lived just across the square, it seemed weird that Flo had never met them in person before, but their paths simply hadn’t crossed.

  At least the brother seemed calmer and less overwrought, although you couldn’t say he was looking exactly thrilled.

  ‘Right,’ said Mary, who had been Elsa’s solicitor and was sole executor of her will. ‘Let me just stress here that Elsa made her own decisions about this property. In no way was she coerced or persuaded by anyone. Flo, how long ago did you first meet Elsa?’

  ‘It was two years ago. Just over two years,’ said Flo. ‘In the October.’

  ‘And Elsa told me five years ago that this was what she wanted to happen. Her mind was made up, even then.’

  ‘But she’s only known my grandmother for two years! And now she’s got this place! How can that be fair?’

  ‘Sshh.’ Zander shook his head irritably. ‘Stop screeching.’

  ‘I’ll screech if I want to,’ Lena snapped. ‘This is the most ridiculous situation EVER.’

  What a couple of charmers. Flo raked her fingers through her hair, painstakingly blow-dried before the funeral but now, thanks to the rain, back to its natural state of out-of-control corkscrew curls. ‘Look, I haven’t got this place—’

  ‘Oh really?’ Lena retorted. ‘Certainly looks like you’ve got it to me.’

  ‘Enough.’ Zander was glaring across the room at her.

  ‘I’m going to speak to a lawyer about this. A proper one.’

  ‘You’re most welcome to do that,’ said Mary. ‘But I’m telling you now, it won’t change anything. I’m quite capable of drawing up a legally binding will. And this one is watertight.’

  ‘Well it doesn’t stop it being ridiculous.’ Lena grabbed her handbag and pulled out her phone. ‘For God’s sake, how can she do this to me? It’s only a fucking cat!’

  Time to zone out. Flo remembered instead the very first time she’d met Elsa Travis, after responding to the advertisement she’d placed in the local post office.

  ‘The trouble with being eighty-two is I know everything,’ Elsa had explained. ‘I just can’t do everything any more. I’m no longer . . . spry. Basically, I want someone I can call on whenever I need a hand with anything.’

  ‘Like a really good neighbour,’ Flo had suggested.

  ‘Exactly. Got it in one. And my neighbours are fine, they’re perfectly nice people. But they’re always busy, they have their own lives to lead and even if they were happy to help me, they wouldn’t have the time.’ Elsa’s eyes were bright and unsentimental. ‘The last thing I want is to become a nuisance. I’d far rather pay someone to run errands and do odd jobs for me.’

  ‘Makes sense.’ Flo had nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Of course it makes sense. That’s why I’m doing it. Where do you live?’

  ‘Barrow Street. Three minutes away on my bike.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty.’

  ‘And you’ve been working in the retirement home for the last five years. Why?’

  ‘Why not? I love it there.’

  ‘Really?’ Elsa raised an eyebrow. ‘What does Flo stand for?’

  ‘Florence.’

  ‘Funny sort of name for a thirty-year-old.’

  ‘Wait till you hear my middle name.’

  ‘What’s your middle name?’

  ‘If you give me this job,’ said Flo, ‘I’ll tell you.’

  Elsa stared at her for a long second, then burst out laughing. ‘Go on, then. You’re hired. Now tell me.’

  Flo kept a straight face. ‘It’s Elsa.’

  ‘Good lord.’

  ‘I know. My mum was two hundred years old when she had me.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you didn’t run away from home.’

  That had been their first encounter, and it had gone on from there. Elsa had her moments; she could be irascible and impatient, but they’d fallen into an easy relationship studded with humour. Twice a day, when her shifts at the retirement home allowed, Flo called in to check up on her, bring the shopping she’d asked for, carry out any odd jobs that needed doing, pick up prescriptions from the chemist and hoover up after the incredible moulting Jeremy.

  Jeremy was the great love of Elsa’s life and the reason she’d flatly refused to consider moving into a retirement home herself.

  ‘But there are plenty of places that allow pets,’ Flo had protested, the first time the subject had been raised.

  ‘Maybe so,’ Elsa sniffed. ‘But Jeremy wouldn’t like it.’

  They were two of a kind, a match made in heaven, both of them prickly and aloof. Jeremy didn’t care to mingle with other cats, and Elsa found other old people profoundly tedious. They were quite happy as they were, thank you very much.

  Luckily Flo had liked Jeremy, finding his air of world-weary disdain amusing, and Jeremy had in turn just about tolerated her. Until a year into her time there, when Jeremy went out one evening and didn’t reappear for his dinner. He was such a creature of habit that it was obvious something had happened. After seven hours of searching throughout a windy, rain-swept night, Flo found him mewing weakly beneath a hedge on Sion Hill.

  Hit by a car and left for dead, Jeremy had sustained multiple fractures and severe internal injuries. Another hour or two, they were told, and it would have been too late. The vet warned them that he still might not pull through, but Elsa, utterly distraught, insisted on everything possible being done to save him. Money was no object. Jeremy couldn�
�t – mustn’t – be allowed to die.

  He’d survived, obviously. It had taken time, a lot of care and more money than some people earned in a year. But slowly, he recovered. And Elsa had taken note of the love and devotion Flo had lavished on her most beloved pet.

  ‘I have a proposition for you.’ She had broached the subject with typical bluntness. ‘If I die before Jeremy, will you look after him?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Touched that she’d been deemed worthy of such an honour, Flo said, ‘I’ll have to check with my landlord. I know we aren’t allowed to have dogs, but I’m sure he’d be fine about—’

  ‘Good grief, are you mad?’ Elsa recoiled in horror. ‘Jeremy wouldn’t want to live in some ghastly damp basement flat. I meant you’d move in here with him.’

  ‘Here? Oh! For how long?’

  ‘For as long as he’s still alive, of course. This is his home. He’s happy here.’

  ‘Right. So I’d be Jeremy’s . . . lodger.’

  ‘Exactly. This place has to be nicer than where you are now. And you’d be living here rent-free. How does that sound?’

  Well, she was certainly right about the huge Georgian flat in Caledonia Place being a cut above her damp basement bedsit in Barrow Street.

  ‘And Jeremy’s only nine years old,’ Elsa pointed out. ‘If I drop dead tomorrow, you could be here for the next ten years. I call that a good deal.’

  Flo considered the offer. It actually was pretty good.

  ‘I’m only offering because I know you’d take good care of him,’ Elsa went on. ‘You might not love him as much as I do, but you’d be the next best thing once I’m gone.’

  ‘OK, fine, I’ll do it.’ Flo nodded and smiled. Think of the money she’d save in rent.

  ‘After Jeremy dies, the flat will go to my grandchildren. You’d have to move out then, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously.’ Amused, Flo envisaged herself staying on, refusing to leave, shackling herself to a radiator.

  ‘Good girl. That’s settled, then.’ Satisfied with this, Elsa said, ‘I’ll call Mary and arrange for her to put it in the will.’

  Which she had.

  Flo tuned back in to the current drama; Lena was on the phone now to some hapless legal expert who basically wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear. Infuriated all over again, she snapped, ‘Oh Marcus, you’re such a pompous arse, no wonder Arabella left you,’ and abruptly hung up.

  ‘So I’m guessing that means Marcus agrees with me.’ Mary’s tone was dry.

  ‘He’s a pathetic wimp.’ Lena was still simmering with resentment. ‘What gets me is the way Elsa kept us in the dark about this ridiculous plan of hers. I mean, for God’s sake, why didn’t she tell us?’

  Her brother drawled, ‘Are you seriously asking that question? Just listen to yourself.’

  ‘Well, this has been a bloody awful day and I’ve had enough of it.’ Lena snatched up her expensive black handbag. ‘Come on, there’s no point staying here. Let’s go.’

  Flo watched from the window as the two of them made their way along the pavement in the direction of their own flat on the other side of the Mall Gardens.

  When they’d disappeared from view, Mary said, ‘That went well, then. Let me know if they give you any more trouble.’

  ‘I will. Hopefully she’ll calm down.’ Jeremy had joined them in the living room; he rubbed his flank against Flo’s leg and she bent down to pick him up. ‘Poor boy, are you missing Elsa, hmm?’

  Jeremy blinked haughtily and turned his face away.

  Mary said, ‘I should leave too. Are you going to be all right here?’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’ Flo stroked the cat’s velvety head. ‘But just to be on the safe side, I think I might buy him a bulletproof vest.’

  Chapter 5

  The doorbell rang at eight o’clock that evening.

  ‘Hi, it’s Zander.’

  ‘Oh.’ Flo waited, her finger on the intercom.

  ‘Can I come up?’

  ‘That depends. Are you going to shout at me?’

  ‘No. God, no. I promise.’

  ‘OK.’ She buzzed him in, opened the door and watched Zander Travis run up the flight of stairs towards her. He’d changed out of his funeral suit into jeans and a pale grey shirt, which lessened the similarity to a vampire. But the haughty cheekbones and electric-blue eyes were still unnerving.

  ‘So. Hello again.’ He paused. ‘I thought I should come over and apologise.’

  Flo tilted her head to one side. ‘You thought you should?’

  Zander smiled briefly, acknowledging the poor choice of words. ‘I wanted to. I’m sorry. My sister is too.’

  ‘Is she really?’

  Another telling pause. ‘She’ll calm down. It came as a shock. If you don’t know my sister, it’s hard to explain what she’s like.’

  Flo said, ‘Oh, I think she’s given me a rough idea.’

  ‘Yes, well. Lena’s always been a bit . . . highly strung.’ He shrugged. ‘When Elsa died . . . well, of course she was upset . . .’

  ‘Mmm.’ Flo’s response was non-committal.

  ‘But she did rather assume that the flat would be left to her.’

  ‘And to you.’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘OK, to both of us. But I already have my flat across the road. Lena doesn’t have one.’

  ‘You seemed a bit fed up too, when Mary explained the conditions of the will.’

  ‘Yes, well, that could have something to do with the fact that my sister’s been living in my flat for the last year.’ Zander raked his fingers through his hair. ‘It hasn’t been easy, let me tell you. I was kind of looking forward to her moving out so I could have the place to myself again.’

  Flo said, ‘She’s a grown-up. All you need to do is tell her she has to find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But it isn’t that easy.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry, but there’s not a lot I can do about that.’

  With a flicker of humour, Zander said, ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a lodger?’

  ‘Funnily enough, you’re absolutely right.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, let me know.’ He looked around the living room. ‘Where is Jeremy, anyway?’

  ‘In the bedroom, watching EastEnders. It’s true,’ said Flo when Zander smiled. ‘As soon as he hears the theme tune, he’s glued to the screen.’

  ‘Really? May I?’ He indicated the bedroom door.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Flo followed him across the hall to Elsa’s bedroom. He pushed the door open and silently observed Jeremy sitting in state in the centre of the king-sized bed. Jeremy glanced over at them, did one of his slow-motion cat blinks and returned his attention to the television, where a ferocious cockney showdown was going full pelt.

  ‘What a racket,’ said Zander.

  ‘He likes it.’

  ‘And what Jeremy likes, Jeremy gets.’ After a moment, Zander said, ‘So how is he, health-wise?’

  ‘Fine. Really well.’

  ‘Right.’ He didn’t sound thrilled.

  ‘Sorry, was that the wrong answer?’

  ‘Look, I’m not a complete monster. I quite like cats. If Elsa had left Jeremy to me, I’d have been happy to take him in.’ Zander shrugged. ‘It would have made all this a hell of a lot easier.’

  Quite like cats. There was your answer, right there.

  ‘Maybe. But she didn’t.’ Flo pulled the bedroom door to, leaving Jeremy in peace to watch the rest of his programme.

  ‘Luckily for you.’ His tone was neutral, his direct gaze eerily reminiscent of Jeremy’s.

  The way he was looking at her was making her feel . . . odd. He was like a smooth-talking character in a film, the kind you didn’t know whether or not you could trust.

  ‘Yes, luckily for me,’ said Flo. ‘And I’ll be taking very good care of him, too.’

  The more charming the smile, the less she trusted him. As he turned to leave the flat,
Zander said, ‘Oh, I’m sure you will.’

  In Carranford, the biggest and best New Year’s Eve party was being held at the White Hart. There was a band, and a comedian, and a fancy dress competition and a disco. The marquee at the back of the pub was pulsating with loud music, and an assortment of dogs and hyped-up children of all ages were racing around the dance floor.

  Hallie’s wheelchair was being whizzed around too, but Hallie wasn’t occupying it. She was sitting at a bench drinking cider and eating crisps, watching as Bea took her cousin for a spin.

  ‘You’re a shocking driver,’ she told Bea as they zoomed up to her. ‘You need L-plates.’

  ‘Bloody cheek. And you’d better hide that drink,’ said Bea. ‘There’s a doctor watching you.’

  ‘Oh hell, really? Which one?’ Hallie couldn’t help it; she was twenty-eight years old and still terrified of Dr West. Ridiculously, it was one of those Pavlovian reactions that refused to go away. Dr Jennifer West, in her forties, had an air of Jeremy Paxman about her; she liked to scold and interrogate and her bedside manner was enough to make grown men quake in their boots.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Bea was grinning at the look on her face. ‘It’s only Luke.’

  Thank God for that. Hallie relaxed and didn’t tip her drink into the plant pot behind her after all. Adrenalin raced through her veins for quite a different reason; not that she would admit it to a living soul, but for some months now she’d had a bit of a crush on Dr Luke Hilton. It was a pointless, never-going-to-happen kind of crush, obviously; harmless enough. Luke was so nice, and seeing him always brightened her day.

  He was also far less likely than Dr West to give her a long, boring New Year’s Eve diatribe on the perils of alcohol-inflicted dehydration.

  Spotting Luke through the crowd, Hallie waved and watched him zigzag his way across the dance floor. He was wearing a striped green and white shirt, dark trousers and a black leather jacket. His hair was fair and cut short in a neat, doctory sort of way, and he was carrying a bottle of alcohol-free lager, which, presumably, meant he was on call.

  ‘Hi. You made it down here, then.’