He smiled as he looked at Ali, so shy and cute, her eyes sliding to him for reassurance. He hardly recognised himself in the little boy who stood staring straight ahead, his expression fierce. She should have known, he thought. She should have taken one look at that face and thrown him back. Ali would have forgotten him soon enough and they could all have been happy. They would have been a perfect family without him.
He remembered the mixture of terror and excitement with which he had made the journey to Ireland, and wondered if it had been the same for Jacqueline, bringing two little strangers to live with her. It was his first time on a plane. There had been a lot of firsts – the taste of chocolate, the kindness of his new mother’s hands in his hair, the softness of the bed he had slept in that night, the quiet of a night not filled with the nightmares of frightened children; hot water, clean clothes, plenty of food. It was a strange new world in which everything was warm and soft, and no one ever hit you.
Maybe Jacqueline kept it there as a reminder of happier times, he thought. Whatever else had happened since, they had been happy that day, full of hope. He had let her down, he knew that. She had only wanted to give him a life worth living. He had hurt her with his aloofness, and she took his self-reliance as a rebuke. But he didn’t know any other way to be – he had been fighting too long to stop.
As Jonathan emerged from the shop carrying two plastic bags, Luca replaced the photograph and fixed it with the magnet hastily, almost guiltily, as if he shouldn’t have been looking at it. He felt almost as if he had been prying into someone else’s life.
‘Thanks for dinner,’ he said, when Jonathan dropped him off outside his building.
‘I enjoyed it. We’ll do it again soon, yes?’
‘Yeah,’ Luca said, as he opened the car door.
‘And come out to the house,’ Jonathan called after him, as he got out. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’
Luca waved as Jonathan drove off. Don’t be a stranger. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be anything else.
Chapter Ten
‘Okay, you can do this,’ Claire told herself, taking a deep breath and pulling open the door of the restaurant. She tossed her head back and strode confidently towards the maître d’. Half of her had been hoping Mark would already be there waiting, so she wouldn’t have to sit at the table by herself, and the other half wanted to get there first so she would be seated when he arrived and wouldn’t have to walk towards him while he watched. But when she gave her name to the man and told him she was joining Mark Bell, he informed her that Mark was already there. When he had taken her coat, he led her to the table. Claire made a determined effort to keep her head up and appear confident as she followed him. The dress helped. She knew she looked good, and the sheer material swishing around her legs sensually as she walked boosted her confidence. Yvonne had worked her magic on her makeup and hair, and she felt sophisticated, glamorous … and, yes, sexy.
She saw Mark first, recognising him instantly. Just as they reached the table, he smiled at her and, to her surprise, her nerves melted away because he seemed so friendly and familiar. It was like meeting an old friend. She knew this person and was happy to see him.
He stood as the maître d’ walked away. ‘NiceGirl, I presume?’ he said, holding out a hand to her.
She nodded as they shook. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘Claire Kennedy.’ He was taller than she remembered, but just as handsome.
‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ He leaned in, kissing her cheek, and she felt a little shiver of excitement as his stubble brushed against her face and she breathed in the warm sandalwood tone of his aftershave. He waved her to the seat opposite him.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked. ‘I thought maybe we should start with some champagne. We have something to celebrate, after all – at least, I hope we do.’
‘Champagne would be lovely, thank you.’
She was aware of his eyes on her as the waiter fussed around with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, but she didn’t feel self-conscious or want to squirm. Far from making her uncomfortable, the frank appreciation in his eyes gave her a warm glow. Maybe this was a magic dress, she thought whimsically. It was certainly helping her to get into character, like an actor’s costume. She jumped when the champagne opened with a loud pop.
‘Well, here’s to the beginning of a successful partnership,’ Mark said, as he raised his glass.
‘Cheers,’ she said, clinking her glass with his.
‘So, I love the blog,’ he said. ‘Obviously.’
‘Thanks.’ Now she was uncomfortable, her nervousness returning as she thought of all the things he thought he knew about her. She was proud that he liked her writing, but she’d written some pretty filthy stuff on her blog, and he thought it was true. He thought she was completely upfront about laying bare the most intimate details of her sex life for all the world to see – and it was a pretty lurid sex life. She took a slug of champagne to cover her embarrassment. She had to try not to think about that too much.
‘It’s nice to meet you in the flesh. I have to admit I’m quite relieved,’ Mark said, with a cheeky smile.
‘Relieved? Why?’
‘Well, you hide behind that avatar on Twitter and you write your blog anonymously. I had no idea what you looked like or who you really were. You could have been a ninety-year-old man for all I knew. You could have looked like a sumo wrestler.’
‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ She had been so caught up in her own anxiety about the meeting that it hadn’t occurred to her he might be nervous too.
‘Mm. I was quite tempted to run away before you turned up. I didn’t want my illusions shattered.’
‘Well, I may not look like a sumo wrestler, but I don’t look anything like my Twitter avatar either.’
‘No, you’re much prettier.’
Claire raised her eyebrows. ‘I think my avatar is hot.’
‘She’s okay,’ Mark said, ‘if you like that whole overblown, cartoonish thing. Me, I’m a sucker for a woman in three-D.’
Claire laughed. ‘Anyway, you’ve read the blog,’ she said. ‘Surely you could tell from that that I wasn’t an old man. Or a sumo wrestler.’
‘It could have been made up. Lots of people pretend to be something they’re not online. It’s easy.’
‘I suppose so.’ She frowned, feeling guilty. He was talking about her, only he didn’t know it. Now was her chance to tell him that she wasn’t really the person in her blog. He probably wouldn’t mind – it would still be better than finding out she was a ninety-year-old sumo wrestler or whatever.
But then she felt needled by the implication of his words. ‘Would it make any difference if I was a ninety-year-old man? Or if I looked like a sumo wrestler? Would you have changed your mind about wanting the book? I mean, I’d still be the same writer.’
‘Of course the writing would be the same, but I don’t know that I’d be interested if it turned out to be the sordid fantasies of some decrepit old pervert.’
She laughed. She had to admit he had a point. She could imagine the shocked reaction of her followers if it turned out she was a dirty old man.
‘As for how you look,’ he said, giving her an admiring glance, ‘it’s not just about the writing. It’s the whole package, and it’s a lot easier to sell an attractive young woman than an old man.’
Claire blushed, and was glad when the waiter appeared to run through the specials. When he had gone, she buried her face in the menu to regain her composure. The food sounded wonderful.
‘Are you ready to order?’ Mark asked her, as the waiter returned.
‘I’ll have the crab cakes, and then the duck, please,’ she told the waiter.
Mark ordered smoked salmon followed by beef in Guinness. ‘When in Ireland …’ he said to Claire, after the waiter had gone. ‘So,’ he began in a more businesslike tone, ‘how do you feel about going public?’
‘Nervous,’ Claire admitted. ‘Kind of terrified, actually.’
> ‘Are you sure you want to do it?’
‘Yes,’ she said cautiously. ‘I think so. I mean, I really want to do the book. I’ve always wanted to be published. But the rest … I’m not so sure.’
‘Well, you don’t necessarily have to “come out” as the author. We could publish the book anonymously. It would have its own advantages. We could use the mystery around your identity as a publicity angle – build up the intrigue about who you really are.’
‘I never thought of that. Is this a plan you came up with when you thought I might be some old codger?’
He grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, you have to be prepared for all eventualities.’
‘Do you think it would work equally well if I published anonymously?’
‘Your blog is very popular, so you’ve got a good platform to start from. And sex always sells. I think we can make the book a big success either way.’
‘But?’ She heard the reservation in his tone.
‘But the fact that you’re an attractive woman is a bonus. It really helps with the media.’
‘I don’t know how good I’d be at the publicity stuff,’ Claire said. ‘I’m a bit shy.’
‘Is that what motivated you to write your blog anonymously?’
‘Well, that and the subject matter. I mean, it wouldn’t be great for work, for instance, if everyone knew I was writing that stuff. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want your boss to know about. I also thought it would be best if people couldn’t trace me. You come across some very strange people online, especially with the sort of stuff I write about.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine.’ He nodded. ‘You probably get some real weirdos.’
She laughed. ‘Half of them think I should be consigned to Hell, and the other half want a bunk-up.’
Mark frowned. ‘Well, I suppose that would be a consideration, too, in deciding if you want to be identified as the author.’
They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters.
‘You must’ve told some people about the blog,’ Mark said, as they began eating.
‘Only one – a friend. None of my family know about it.’
‘They don’t know about your blog or about your, er … personal life?’
‘They don’t know any of it. I’m not sure how I’d feel about them finding out.’
‘Do you think they’d be shocked?’
‘Well … yes, probably.’ She was actually less worried that they’d be horrified than that they’d die laughing and call her on it. They could even expose her as a fraud if they wanted to. Her mother would probably love the whole thing, and be enormously proud. But Michelle would be livid – and jealous. Like Claire, she dreamed of being a published author, and she always had something snide to say when someone else got a book deal. She would hate Claire getting there before her, and Claire wouldn’t put it past her to blow the whistle out of spite. She could be pretty poisonous. Of course, none of the family could know for sure that she wasn’t living a double life as a sex bomb with a string of secret lovers. It wasn’t as if she would share it with them if it were true. But somehow she thought they’d have a damn good idea that she’d made it all up. And how pathetic would she look then?
‘Do you think it would be possible to keep it a secret?’ she asked.
‘Well, obviously some people would have to know. But we could keep the circle as small as possible, and get everyone to sign non-disclosure agreements. What about the men?’ he asked.
‘The men?’
‘The men you write about – Mr Bump and Grind, Mr Curious, Mr Fussy, all that lot.’
‘Oh, them.’
‘Even with fake names, is there a chance that any of them would recognise themselves?’
‘I really don’t think they’d cause problems.’ Mainly because they don’t exist, she thought.
‘Still, if you go public and you’re on television or in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be hard for someone you’d been with to put two and two together.’
‘True,’ she said, deciding it would be as good an excuse as any if she decided she wanted to remain anonymous.
‘It’s something to think about anyway. You don’t have to decide anything right now. And if we do publish anonymously, you can always decide to go public further down the line, if you want. It could even give the book a second bite of the cherry when the initial publicity has died down.’
By the time their starters were cleared, the champagne bottle was empty, and they ordered some red wine.
‘So, tell me a bit about yourself, Claire,’ Mark said, when their main courses had been served.
‘Like what?’
‘Anything. I know absolutely nothing about you – except for the explicit details of your sex life, of course.’ He grinned.
She smiled ruefully, the champagne buzz overriding her shyness. ‘Well, let’s see. I’m twenty-eight, the youngest in my family. I have two older brothers, both married with kids. I have a degree in English literature. I work in a bookshop – an independent.’
‘But you’d like to write full-time?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Well, hopefully we can make that happen.’ He smiled. ‘Do you write other stuff?’
‘Yes, I write fiction. I’m working on a young-adult novel at the moment.’
‘I’d be happy to take a look at if you’d like.’
‘You would?’
‘Sure.’
‘That would be great. I mean, it’s not ready to show to anyone yet, but when it is, I’d love you to read it.’
‘I’d be glad to.’
‘Anything else you’d like to know?’
‘Well … I know you don’t have a boyfriend as such – you’re still auditioning for the role, yes?’
‘Sort of.’
‘How many candidates are there, now that Mr Handy’s out of the picture?’
‘Actually … I may exaggerate a bit on the blog,’ she admitted.
‘Really? How much?’
She took a deep breath. ‘At the moment there are …’ she looked up at the ceiling as if counting ‘… none.’
‘None?’ His eyebrows shot up, but she couldn’t help thinking he seemed rather pleased.
‘Do you think I’m an awful fraud?’
‘I’m just surprised. I did allow for a certain amount of artistic licence – several of my female friends who read your blog tell me that no single young woman could be getting that much action.’
‘Well, they’re right.’
‘You’re not going to tell me you make it all up, are you?’
‘Oh, no!’ she gasped, in mock horror. ‘It’s sort of a blend – part reality, part fiction. Like Made in Chelsea.’
‘Some scenes have been created for our entertainment?’
‘Exactly. Some of the men I describe are actually a mash-up of a couple of guys I’ve dated. Or I write about stuff that’s happened in the past. Some of the guys I made up completely, for my own amusement,’ she admitted with a guilty smile.
‘Mr Bossy?’ he guessed.
‘Mr Bossy’s real, but he was a long time ago,’ she heard herself saying. She had no idea where that had come from. Surely it would have been simpler to make him fictional, and the more straightforward guys real. Well, it was said now – too late to take it back.
‘So there’s no one in your life at the moment?’
‘It’s my guilty secret.’
‘Would it be very cheesy to say I find that hard to believe?’
‘Very cheesy. But I happen to love cheese,’ she smiled, ‘so I’ll let you away with it.’
‘So, seriously – how did that happen?’
‘Well, your friend is right. Good men aren’t that thick on the ground. And I’m quite fussy. There’s also the fact that I live with my mother now.’
‘You live with your mother?’
‘She’s been ill. She has a dodgy heart and she’s quite incapacitated with arthritis, so I moved back home to look after her,’
she said.
‘Well, I can see how that would curtail your social life.’
‘It’s fine. I think it came at a good time, actually – gave me a chance to take stock. I was getting tired of playing the field anyway. I think I’m ready for something more serious.’ Wow, she had no idea where all this material was coming from, but she liked it. Turned out improvisation was her thing! Who knew?
‘Well, at the risk of sounding even cheesier, may I say I’m glad to hear that?’ he said with a slow smile.
Claire smiled back. ‘So, what about you?’
‘Well, I’m a publisher, as you know. Thirty-two. I run. I live in Highgate with Millie and we have a pretty volatile relationship—’
‘Millie?’ Claire was surprised by how disappointed she felt.
‘My cat. I told you about her.’
‘Oh, yes! The feline one.’ She smiled in relief. ‘How is she?’
‘I’d like to say she was jealous about me coming to meet you, but she’s not arsed, as usual. Sometimes I think she’s just using me for my money. She has very expensive tastes.’
‘You should ditch her. She doesn’t deserve you.’
‘I know, but I’m a besotted fool,’ Mark said, putting his hand on his heart and pulling a pathetic face.
‘What about your family?’
‘I’m an only child. But don’t believe the propaganda,’ he said, with a grin. ‘We’re a much-maligned group.’
‘So you weren’t a spoiled brat who thought the world revolved around you and didn’t know how to share?’
‘Well, I have to admit I’m not good at sharing. I was a nightmare at playschool.’
Some Girls Do Page 10