Paradise Postponed (Not Quite Eden Book 2)

by Dominique Kyle

  I glanced up to see the new guy watching us from across the forecourt. Quinn stopped to exchange a couple of high fives with Dewhurst and Bolton then moseyed off to his bike. On his way he bumped into Trevelyn. I saw them eyeing each other up like two dogs in the park. Quinn’s hackles were definitely going up. He got on the bike and drove off and Trev came back across to the men.

  “Who’s he?” He asked.

  “Ginty’s love interest,” Dewhurst informed him.

  “Used to work here,” Bolton added.

  I pretended I wasn’t listening in, but the men were too fly to be taken in by it, and I overheard no juicy bits.

  That night Quinn came round and acted all sulky.

  “What’s got into you all of a sudden?” I asked impatiently.

  Quinn’s no good at hiding his feelings. “You never told me there was a new bloke at the garage,” he said in aggrieved tones.

  I stared at him. “You don’t tell me every time a new bloke starts at your section at the RAC,” I countered.

  That floored him for a minute. Then he rallied. “That’s not the same thing at all!”

  “Isn’t it?” I raised my eyebrows as though I had no idea what he was on about. “The old sod Bowker’s leaving at last and Trev’s his replacement. Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  By now I had Quinn tied right up in knots. He knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t have taken the slightest interest in the news if the replacement to Bowker hadn’t been so well-fit. And there was no way he could admit that Trev was a threat.

  As I saw Quinn out, we found Dad in the living room near the front door scraping all the spoiled wallpaper off. After I’d closed the door on Quinn, Dad said cheerfully to me, “Pauline’s got lots of great ideas for re-decorating this room. So I thought I’d hand the whole thing over to her.”

  My heart clenched for a moment, but I knew that whatever I did, willy-nilly she’d be moving in. “As long as it’s not pink,” I said caustically.

  Dad looked a bit guilty.

  “For God’s sake Dad, do you really want to sit and watch TV surrounded by Barbie pink?”

  After a short pause, his innate honesty asserted itself. “Not really,” he admitted.

  “Tell her to save the pink for the bedroom,” I said.

  Dad looked like he didn’t much care for the idea of arising like Venus from a mass of pink foaming bed sheets either. He watched me as I walked over to where Mum's photo had stood. I had a sudden overwhelming instinct and yanked open the drawer in the sideboard underneath. There was her photo turned face down on the top. I picked it out. “If you don’t have any more use for this,” I said acidly, “I’ll have it in my bedroom.” As I stalked up the stairs, holding Mum's photo to my chest, I saw him out of the corner of my eye standing with his hands dangling helplessly down by his sides, watching me go.

  Thursday arrived and I decided I’d take the opportunity to dress up again, despite the fact that I yet again knew that trainers would the most sensible option if I was going to be standing up for most of the evening. I took a lot of care over my make-up, used hot tongs to transform my hair into a tumble of glossy ringlets, and wore a black silk top, a little red skirt, sheer black patterned tights and a pair of high heeled red boots. I walked out as Oz drew up to pick us up in his father’s car and much to Siân’s annoyance both Quinn and Kes whistled at me in flattering appreciation when they saw me. I was glad to see that Quinn hadn’t been tempted into any rock star dressing and was just plain and unadorned. Otherwise I may have had to spend most of the evening pretending that I didn’t know him, which is quite hard to do when the guy has paid for your ticket.

  We queued for over half an hour inside the building in a well-behaved scrum, waiting for the doors to open. Two thirds of the audience appeared to be on the wrong side of fifty. I didn’t have high hopes of this performance. We shuffled down the staircase a few steps as people bunched up to make more room.

  Kes hitched his bum up on the banister. “How’s it going with the new wicked step-mother?” He enquired of me with a grin.

  I grimaced.

  “I’m dying to meet her,” Quinn put in. “I don’t know what you’ve got against her apart from the fact she’s shagging your dad…”

  “I’ve got one bright orange Mini-Metro with a manic spaniel on the back seat and twenty or so cuddly toys filling the back window against her,” I drawled.

  Quinn looked as though he got my point. “Has she got pink fluffy dice hanging from the mirror and a nodding dog in the back as well?” He queried, entertained.

  I had to regretfully admit that she hadn’t.

  Someone walked along the line taking tickets off us and putting bright fluorescent strips of paper round our wrists, which kind of ruined the effect of the bangles that I’d bothered to put on for once. And then we all filed in.

  This place was an old converted brewery, so the bar upstairs was called the ‘Vats Bar’ and here was the old cellar. Really low ceiling with iron pillars, ridiculously dark and with a bar in the corner. Quinn and Oz who looked the oldest, went off to purchase the alcohol, while Kes, Siân and I wormed our way as near to the front as we could and took up as much space as possible to await the others. Kes looked around at the mass of paunchy old codgers in denim and leather with pony tails, ZZ Top beards and earrings and muttered into my ear, “If I’m ever tempted to look like when I’m fifty, you have my permission to shoot me.”

  I looked around and wondered at what age Rock group logoed tee-shirts start to look dumb.

  The boys got back with the drinks just before the band came on. Quinn had bought me a vodka and orange without asking me what I wanted but I wasn’t fussed what I drank as long as I had something to get me through to the end of what I figured was going to be a long evening. Walter Trout when he came on turned out to be American, short, stout and nearly balding with a pony tail. One of the other guitarists was much larger, just as flabby, and had thinning long hair down to his shoulders with dark glasses on (how on earth could he see anything at all in here? I thought), and the keyboard player looked like the spit of Chief Sitting Bull carved out of ebony. He just needed a feather headress.

  “He’s just got to be a Native American,” Kes whispered to me.

  But when they started playing, all our sneering opinions changed. The boys were electrified. They wormed their way to the very front and stared at every movement of the fingers, and soaked up every riff and chord. Kes had got Siân in front of him. He had his arms around her and he was pressed up against her and they were swaying in time to the very catchy rhythm and blues music. Quinn on the other hand seemed to have forgotten about me, caught up as he was in the music and I’d somehow got pushed back a row as men squeezed their way in front of me. I pulled away irritably as some slimey old git kept bumping himself against me from behind. Might have been an accident of course as everyone was bopping a bit, but once he started grinding his groin into my butt I was forced to take a couple of sharp steps back to grind my heel mercilessly into his foot. He suddenly found reasons to keep his distance. Funny that…

  At the break, as the lights became marginally brighter, I could see that there were more younger people than I’d first thought, though mostly blokes of course. My own three male compatriots were arguing about whether they should buy a CD or not. “I wish we’d brought Danny and Jamie now,” Quinn was saying. “I’ve never heard anyone do such amazing stuff on the bass. Kes, do you think you can remember well enough to show Jamie? And as for those drum routines…” They decided to go to the stall at the door and buy a CD to inculcate their enthusiasm to the missing members. “I think we should do the rounds of all these oldies before they kark it,” Quinn was saying energetically as they moved off. “Eric Clapton’s coming to the Manchester Arena later this year. Do you think it’s too late to get tickets?”

  I retreated to the foyer instead and spent most of the break queueing for the Ladies. On my way back in I was surprised to bump into Luke Trev
elyn. We showed our wristbands on the door and then we stopped just inside. He raised his eyebrows at me. “Wouldn’t have expected this to be your sort of thing.”

  “Ditto,” I said coolly.

  He looked me up and down. “Must say, you scrub up well.”

  “Thanks,” I said coolly.

  “What no ‘ditto’?” He teased.

  It did him no disservice in my eyes to show a bit of humour for a change.

  “Do you want a drink?” He asked.

  “Ok then. Jack Daniels.” It would save me having to go through the whole ‘oh dear I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to bring my ID, silly me’ routine if I got challenged. I waited for him and we worked our way back together until we were a few lines away from the front.

  “Who are you with?” He asked.

  “Quinn,” I said. I could see Trev’s head turning and quartering the crowd, but I didn’t think he could see him. I certainly couldn’t. But back here I couldn’t see much at all despite my high heels as a load of tall blokes had been crowding forward to get closer for the second half.

  The music started up again, and Trev stationed himself behind me. Any time any of the blokes got a bit too close to me or were bashing into me, he somehow managed to sort that out, for which I was grateful, and I had a much nicer second half. He himself was never quite fully touching me, but I could feel the heat of his body at my back, and he’d rest a hand on my shoulder or waist for a while. It began to feel ridiculously sexy and I found myself enjoying the moments when the crowd started pushing forward and he was forced against me for a moment and I could feel the shape of his hard body. I tried to keep my cool though. I was going to have to face the guy at work tomorrow and I had no intention of doing anything I was going to regret later. I hoped he wouldn’t try to push it one step too far. Beside us, one stupid middle-aged bloke was off his face on something and was beginning to keep shouting out dumb stuff to Walter Trout. Walter Trout was staying good-natured about it, and gave back a few funny put-downs but I could see it was getting on his wick.

  “There’s always some fucking drunk tosser at these things, isn’t there?” Trev muttered in my ear. His breath was hot on my ear and his lips brushed the lobe. His hands rested on my hips.

  I nodded, carefully controlling my breathing that threatened to go a bit shallow at this latest minor physical contact.

  The drunk bloke suddenly whipped out a mouth organ and began to play it. Walter Trout got really annoyed and asked him to stop. The man didn’t. Luke leant past me, reached out a hand and snatched the mouth organ out of the guy’s hands and threw it over the heads of the crowd to Walter who deftly caught it with a nod of acknowledgement and went on with the show. The drunk bloke turned angrily towards Luke but then seemed to think better of it and disappeared into the crowd. Wow, I had to admit I was really impressed at the way Luke had handled that. And drat it! I was now giving in to calling him ‘Luke’!

  At the end of the show, as the band went out, the bloke was yelling, “Where’s my mouth organ?” at them from some other part of the room. Everyone began to move en masse towards the doors. We bumped into Kes. “Part Cherokee!” he announced to me with satisfaction. “Where have you been?”

  I shrugged. “I could ask the same of you lot. I saw neither hair nor hide of you after the end of the first set!”

  Kes glanced at Trevelyn. “This is Luke Trevelyn,” I introduced. “He’s just started at Entwistle’s. Trev, this is Kes.”

  Kes nodded and Trev gave me a slight smile and took his leave. Kes watched him go. “He fancies you,” he said.

  “Rubbish!” I denied vigorously. “We barely know each other. He’s only just started at work.”

  Kes raised his eyebrows at me. “Well he had a bloody big hard on, and I’m thinking Walter Trout is way too old and wrinkly to have that effect on anyone…”

  Quinn walked up just in time to see me beating Kes very hard around the head with an Arts Centre programme that I’d just snatched up. He came up from behind and picked me up by the waist, holding me away from Kes, “Now, now, no beating up the lead guitarist, we need him in one piece for Saturday.” We were all laughing and as Quinn swung me off my feet away from Kes, I happened to glance down the foyer and see Trev glancing back at me. I pretended not to notice him. I didn’t want him getting any ideas.

  As Oz drew up outside my house he nodded at the car parked crookedly outside with one wheel jammed against the kerb in a manner that was going to severely shorten the life of her tyres.

  “Look! An orange Mini-Metro. Looks like this is your chance Adam…”

  The Quinns and I got out and Oz continued on with Kes. Quinn looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Ok then,” I sighed. I wasn’t averse to him coming in. It would take the heat of the attention off me.

  As Siân turned to go off up her own path, Quinn was peering into the Metro. “Look at these seat covers,” he pointed out, entertained. I glanced in. Cream covers with chocolate brown doggy paw print pattern.

  “Oh my God, and Dad’s putting her in charge of the decorating…” I groaned.

  I led Quinn up to the front door and he followed me in. Dad and Pauline were sitting on the settee. They had a bottle of red wine open and were half way down it. Not something Dad normally indulged in so obviously instigated by her. They looked round. “Hi, Adam,” Dad said.

  Pauline leapt up and came towards us beaming. “Adam! I’ve heard so much about you, I’ve been dying to meet you!” She somehow managed to envelop him in her arms and drag his head down to get smothered in her bosom and then give him a smacker on the cheek as he emerged again, all in one smooth movement. Then she proceeded to smile provocatively up into his face and handle him a bit more by using the excuse of rubbing the lipstick off his cheek with her thumb. “Well you’re a gorgeous hunk aren’t you?” She complimented. “Isn’t Eve a lucky girl?”

  “Wine, Eve?” Dad intervened hurriedly.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh go on, have some wine, you two,” she urged.

  “Maybe Adam would rather have one of the cans out of the fridge?” Dad suggested.

  Adam would it seemed. As he retreated into the kitchen to fetch one, Pauline leant towards me with a conspiratorial wink and said with a husky giggle, “Well I wouldn’t be kicking him out of my bed!” Then made an indecent appreciative noise in the back of her throat.

  Well if you’re so unfussy you’re sleeping with my Dad, I thought cynically, you probably wouldn’t be kicking anyone out of your bed.

  Quinn’s entry to the kitchen had released the tornado, but Quinn was up to it. His sunny nature was well suited to dogs, so he and Mr Pickles (or whatever the creature was called) leapt about each other in mutual friendly enjoyment, and somehow Pauline soon had Quinn sitting by her on the settee. So while he drank his can and played tug of war with the dog and a plaited rope with a ball on it, she quizzed him on his personal details while patting him frequently on the upper thigh which began to slip towards the inner. I perched on the arm of the spare armchair and glanced at the clock. It was after half past eleven and I had to be up for work tomorrow.

  “Go on, don’t be a spoilsport,” she directed at me. “Have some wine!”

  I shook my head again. “Red wine gives me a headache.” But this gave me a window of opportunity. I got up. “I think I’ll just make myself a brew and get off to bed now actually.”

  “Hark at her!” She teased, fluttering her eyes in the direction of Dad. “Anyone would think she was the middle-aged one!”

  When I returned out of the kitchen with a mug of tea and headed for the stairs, Quinn extricated himself to follow me. Before we’d even made it to the top I could hear her gushing to Dad, “What a lovely couple they make. Don’t you have a beautiful daughter! She must take after her gorgeous Daddy heh?”

  I rolled my eyes. She was only complimenting me to flatter Dad. I knew she didn’t like me. I heard Dad making some kind of inarticulate rebuttal of my tak
ing after him, or else of him being gorgeous. It was too inarticulate to tell exactly what he meant by it. I imagined she was already grabbing him by the collar and snogging him.

  “Phew!” Quinn theatrically mimed wiping the sweat from his brow. “She’s a man-eater and a half!”

  “Ssssh!” I hissed then safely closed the bedroom door.

  He grinned at me. “She’d gobble you up in one mouthful and spit you out the other side…”

  I’d heard men say this about women before but I’d never quite worked out what it meant.

  “Your dad’s more man than I am!”

  “So what does he see in her do you think?” I queried.

  Quinn grinned at me. “Only a woman could ask that.” He made a swift oversized hour-glass shape with his two hands, mimed a slapper of a kiss then thrust his hips in and out suggestively. “Great pair of jugs,” he added.

  Guess he couldn’t help but notice since he’d had his head thrust down them. I glowered at him. “Before you think to lay even a finger on me,” I instructed severely, “You can go and wash all that dog slobber off your hands.”

  By the time he came back I was in my pyjamas and pointedly curled up in bed. He stood awkwardly at the door. “Do you mind if I stay over? I just can’t face the atmosphere at home.”

  Since I was such a slob that I hadn’t even changed the sheets since Nasim left, the duvet and sheet I’d used on the mattress was still piled up in the corner of the room. “If you unroll that foam chair there it turns into a mattress,” I said, “and the bedding’s over there.” I wasn’t averse to Quinn providing a shield between me and her.

  As he unrolled the mattress I heard Dad and Pauline coming up the stairs.

  “Night,” Dad called from the top of the landing.

  “Quinn’s staying the night,” I called back.

  “Ok,” he agreed cheerfully. Pauline said something to him that I presumed was a dirty remark about what we might be getting up to as it was followed by one of her suggestive husky giggles, and then his bedroom door closed behind them.