‘I’m looking forward to meeting the elusive Scott,’ Karen said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d created a fake boyfriend.’
‘A fake boyfriend? Do people do that?’
‘You’d be amazed. When I take on a new personal training client, the first thing I do is have a chat about their goals and their motivations. One of my clients told me she wanted to lose weight and get fit for her wedding. Over a four-month period, she told me all about her fiancé and their plans for the big day. We’re talking major detail here like how pointy her shoes were and what shade of spray tan she was getting. The big day came and went and I asked if she had any photos. She kept forgetting, then she broke down in tears one day and admitted that she didn’t have any photos because she hadn’t got married. I felt terrible. Thought she’d been jilted. Turns out she didn’t even have a boyfriend. Her sole reason for getting in shape was that she wanted to find one, but she’d been too embarrassed to admit that, so this whole wedding lie just spilled out and, once she started, she couldn’t find a way to stop it.’
‘No!’
Karen nodded. ‘I know. It’s sad, isn’t it? By sad, I mean boo hoo rather than pathetic. Anyway, we had a long chat about how she should get into shape for her and not because she thinks a person she’s never met will like her that way. The mind-set change worked, she did meet someone who liked her for being her, lumps and bumps and everything, and they got married last month. I saw the pictures this time.’
I smiled. ‘Aw, I like a happy ending. Well, Scott is definitely real and he’s definitely coming but he’s stuck in Manchester so he won’t make it until after we’ve eaten.’
‘Bummer.’
‘I know. Leah, Tiff and Drew are all still coming up.’ My three flatmates had insisted on catching the train up to London to celebrate. They said it was the perfect excuse for a trip to the seaside.
‘Excellent. Any chance that the gorgeous Drew Short for Andrew has renounced his love of men?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry. Drew Short for Andrew is still very gorgeous and still very gay. And you’re still very engaged, are you not?’
She glanced at her ring. ‘I am and disgustingly happy with it. A girl just likes to know what her options are in case a freak wave wipes out her fiancé in the middle of a beach bootcamp and she needs to find a man with an equally amazing six-pack to immediately take his place.’
We reached Karen’s car and loaded my case and the giant balloon into the boot.
‘Remind me again how you met Scott,’ Karen said once she’d pulled out of the car park. ‘Something to do with missing the tube?’
It had been a freezing cold evening in mid-January. A fierce wind and ice-cold driving rain meant the streets were eerily deserted. I’d been working late at the museum and ran for the tube, but the doors closed a split second before I could reach them. Karen’s favourite curse – “arse” – slipped out and I laughed as I heard a man’s voice say “bollocks” at the same time. I glanced down the platform to the next entrance to see a tall dark-haired man in a suit facing the exact same tube fail as me. Our eyes met and my tummy fizzed. He opened his mouth, but whatever he said was blocked out by an announcement that, due to signalling failure caused by frozen electrics or something like that, our line would be temporarily suspended and, as there were already problems with two other lines too, passengers were advised to make alternative arrangements for their journey. ‘Bollocks,’ I cursed as he said, ‘Arse,’ and we both laughed.
‘Were you heading far?’ he asked, taking a few steps closer to me.
‘Eight stops north. You?’
‘Seven stops north,’ he said, squinting at the underground map on the wall. ‘No. Eight. Same as you, then.’
I smiled. ‘Looks like it’s going to have to be a cab. I don’t suppose you fancy going halves on the fare, assuming you’re not a mad axe-murderer, that is?’
He laughed. ‘I’m Scott. Scott Hastings. And I only murder people on weekends. Thursdays are my “be nice to humanity” days so you’re in luck. Unless you were specifically looking for a mad axe-murderer in which case Thursday is close to the weekend so I could make an exception.’
I laughed too. ‘I’m Jemma Browne with an ‘e’ on the end, and I’ve got far too much work to do before Saturday to pretend the weekend has started already so you can keep your axe locked away for now.’
Fifteen minutes later, shivering from the cold, and with absolutely zero success in flagging down a cab, Scott said, ‘Jemma Browne with an ‘e’ on the end, I don’t suppose you fancy going halves on dinner instead of a cab? Scrub that. Can I buy you dinner?’
In the short time we’d spent together failing to hail a cab, my stomach hadn’t stopped fizzing. My feet and fingers were numb, I couldn’t feel my cheeks anymore, but my heart was singing. Scott took my hand and we ran through puddles and rivers of rain to the nearest restaurant so we could dry out and warm up. As I sat opposite him in La Vecchia Scuola, shivering and dripping rain from my long dark curls into my wine, I felt so grateful that the tubes had been cancelled because I suspected that I might have just found love, and it had been just as Mum had described.
* From Mum
About to leave Sean’s school. Are you at home? xx
* To Mum
Hope it went well. Karen and I are in The White Horse. We’ll finish our drinks and meet you at home xx
Our timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Mum pulled onto the drive of Bear’s Pad the moment I’d unlocked the front door. Sean waved frantically from the front passenger seat and Mum shouted ‘Jemma-bear!’ out of the window. My heart leapt. I loved my life in London but I missed my small family and Karen so much while I was away. London was vibrant and exciting, I adored my flatmates, I had some other great friends there too, and I had an amazing job, but I still thought of Whitsborough Bay and Bear’s Pad as home. I couldn’t help it. Home is where the heart is and my heart was with Mum, Sean and Karen. Always had been, always would be. And Scott, of course, but he had no fixed abode. His home – where he hailed from – was officially Nottingham but he’d given up his rented property before I met him as he spent so little time there due to his job. If he wasn’t at mine, he was staying in a hotel or with friends.
‘Jemma-bear!’ Sean cried, running around the side of the car.
‘Sean-paws!’
He grabbed me in a bear hug, singing happy birthday to me.
‘Are you taller than me now?’ I asked, winking at him when we pulled apart.
‘Everyone’s taller than you.’
‘Cheeky!’ At five foot five, I was the same height as Mum, but it looked as though Sean was going to have Dad’s genes. I suspected he’d end up being over six foot.
‘Oi! Shift over, Sean,’ Mum said. ‘It’s my turn. Happy birthday, Jemma-bear.’ Her eyes glistened as she reached her arms out for me. ‘I’m so glad you wanted to come home to share it with us.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.’
We giggled as both Sean and Karen hurled themselves at us for a group hug.
‘Let’s go in and get some presents opened,’ Mum suggested.
Karen cracked open a bottle of wine while Sean changed out of his school uniform, then we made our way onto the deck. I loved it out the back of Bear’s Pad. Located on the outskirts of Little Sandby, the cottage was at the end of a quiet street of properties, each one unique in design. Occupying an elevated position and backing onto open fields, Mum’s had a stunning sea view. The back garden was surprisingly large, even for a four-bedroom property. When we’d moved in, an elderly woman had lived there and had apologised profusely that she’d neglected the garden. It was basically an overgrown field as she’d been unable to negotiate the slope with her walker. The dated décor and overgrown garden had put off most buyers so Mum was able to purchase the cottage at a bargain price. Between us, we’d cleared the g
arden so that Sean could play in it and, as a youngster, he’d loved being able to roly-poly down the slope. Mum focussed, instead, on redecorating the inside. When Dad died, she’d assumed that he would have left everything to us and had been shocked to discover that he’d made provisions in his will for her; more evidence of that caring side that we’d never seen. He left strict instructions that, as Sean and I would both be financially stable with our inheritances (working in a bank, he’d made some very good investments), she must spend the money on herself/the house. She paid off the outstanding mortgage, had the kitchen and dining room knocked through and refitted, then had the garden professionally landscaped into terraces. The top terrace was the deck with a large barbeque area, approached through fully folding doors off the new kitchen diner. The next level was a vegetable plot and herb garden, which my green-fingered brother took great pride in maintaining. The next few levels had different types of flower, shrub and water features and a couple of small seating areas, before reaching a grand paved terrace at the bottom with a patio heater and comfy seating. Around the side of the house, completely private from the road, there was a summerhouse and a hot tub with a view.
‘What is your mum doing?’ Karen asked when we’d both made it halfway down our wine with no sign of her. ‘I’m dying to give you your pressie.’
‘I’ll check on her,’ Sean said.
I stood up. ‘It’s okay. I’ll do it. I could do with the loo anyway.’ I headed into the house. ‘Mum?’ Silence. ‘Mum?’
Stepping into the hall, I could hear her pacing around upstairs.
‘Mum? Where are you?’
I found her in her bedroom, opening and closing drawers and cupboards, sighing before she shut them. It took me back to the day of Dad’s funeral when she’d been searching for her knickers. Thankfully this time she hadn’t emptied everything over the floor.
‘Are you okay?’
She jumped. ‘You scared me!’
‘Sorry. What are you looking for?’
‘Your birthday card. I’ve found your presents.’ She pointed to a selection of colourful gift bags on the bed. ‘Your card isn’t with them, though. It’s huge and it’s in a bright pink envelope so it should be easy to spot.’
‘Can I help?’
She shook her head. ‘It could be anywhere. You go downstairs. I’ll do one more check in my workshop then I’ll be out. If it’s not there, I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘But it’s your birthday.’
I smiled. ‘Cards are lovely and you know I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love pressies, but the most important thing is being with three of the four people I care most about. Right now, one of them is rummaging in her wardrobes when she should be on the terrace drinking wine with two of the others.’
She planted her hands on her hips and pretended to look shocked. ‘You’ve given your brother wine?’
I laughed. ‘Make that drinking wine or Irn-Bru.’
‘Phew! Five minutes. I promise.’
‘What was she doing?’ Sean asked when I returned to the terrace via the toilet.
‘She couldn’t find my birthday card.’
‘Oh.’ The smile slipped from his face and he suddenly seemed very interested in his feet.
I glanced at Karen who shrugged, indicating that she’d noticed too. ‘Sean? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘It’s nothing.’ He wouldn’t raise his eyes.
‘It’s clearly something.’
He shrugged. ‘Mum often forgets where she puts stuff.’
I laughed. ‘Like my card? I hate to say it, but it happens to us all. It’ll happen to you when you’re older. I’m always putting things in a safe place then forgetting where they are.’
He shrugged again. ‘She couldn’t remember where she’d put my rugby boots but we found them in the oven. And she couldn’t find the cauliflower I’d picked for Sunday dinner. It was in the airing cupboard. It stunk.’ He raised his eyes and I could see how worried he was. The poor lad was ten. He should be worrying about his voice breaking and bum fluff appearing on this chin in the next couple of years; not whether his mum was losing the plot. Butterflies danced in my stomach as I thought about the knickers in the freezer.
I smiled brightly and hoped it looked more genuine than it felt. ‘We all do dippy things when we’re busy or tired and Mum’s both at the moment. When the next auction’s over, I bet things will be back to normal. Don’t worry, Sean. It’ll be fine.’
But even as I said the words, I knew it wouldn’t be. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Chapter 4
Jemma
‘To Jemma!’ cried Drew later that evening. After our meal, we’d moved onto Minty’s, a cosy bar at the top of town. He waved his pint in the air, sloshing beer over his hands. ‘Hurry up and turn 30 like the rest of us cos you’re making me feel old! Happy birthday, gorgeous girl.’
Karen, Leah, Tiff and Mum echoed his toast, raising glasses of prosecco in the air.
Sean and Karen’s mum, Rachel, had joined us for the meal and he was staying there overnight so Mum could stay out for a few drinks. Mum and Rachel were as close as Karen and me, which I loved. Mum had lost touch with her school friends after marrying and having me so young. They were out partying every night and couldn’t relate to her anymore. Then she’d been too busy with work to have time for developing friendships with anyone other than her employees. I’d worried about her being lonely and Karen worried the same about her mum who worked from home and seemed to have lost touch with her school friends too. We engineered lots of opportunities for them to spend time together and they soon became inseparable, helped by Rachel going through an unexpected pregnancy and a divorce around the same time as my parents. When Mum was working away, Sean stayed with ‘Auntie Rachel’ and was great friends with her eleven-year-old daughter, Eden.
‘Thank you,’ I said, toasting them in return. ‘And thanks so much for being here.’ I was genuinely touched that Leah, Tiff and Drew had travelled north when we could easily have gone out for a meal in London instead after my birthday. They really were the best. I’d met Leah through work. She’s a financial accountant by day (which she hates but it pays the bills), and a volunteer tour guide at the museum during weekends (which she loves but it pays nothing). Shortly after Dad died, I’d been leaving the museum with Leah one Saturday evening when my landlord rang to tell me that he was selling up and emigrating to New Zealand. Leah insisted I accompany her to the pub rather than start a panicked flat hunt that evening. She was meeting her twin sister and their cousin. It turned out that the three of them shared a four-bedroom flat that Drew had inherited from an auntie on the other side of the family. They’d recently said goodbye to their fourth flatmate – an acquaintance of Drew’s who stole their food, smoked in the flat, used all the hot water, refused to do any cleaning and generally epitomised the most irritating flatmate ever – and had decided not to replace him, even though that meant that Drew couldn’t afford to have a new kitchen fitted like he’d been planning. Leah had been sure that they’d change their mind about a fourth flatmate when they met me and, sure enough, I moved in. Six months later, we had a new kitchen.
‘What time’s lover boy finally planning to put in an appearance?’ Drew asked. He didn’t like Scott and, unfortunately, the feeling was mutual. They’d stared at each other over breakfast the morning after I met Scott (the meal had gone very well!). Thankfully Drew had retired to his bedroom with his cereal and didn’t reappear until Scott had left. When I confronted him about the strange atmosphere, he said he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong other than that he didn’t trust Scott. It unnerved me because Drew was usually a very good judge of character, but then I’d reminded myself that he’d thought that my predecessor would make a great flatmate when he clearly hadn’t. I’d confronted Scott too and he said he’d
only been off with Drew because Drew had given him the evils. True. I decided to accept it as one of those things and hope that they’d tolerate each other, even if they never became friends.
‘Scott will be here at about nine to half past,’ I said. ‘Play nicely.’
‘I always play nicely.’
‘You do not!’ cried Tiff. ‘You either blank him or you give him the Spanish Inquisition!’
Drew pulled a shocked and hurt expression. ‘Me?’
‘So how’s it going with Dr Indiana Jones?’ I asked Tiff and Drew, keen to change the subject. They were nurses at the same hospital and a new doctor had started there recently whose name really was Dr Jones. They couldn’t resist the Indiana Jones connection, which I suspected the poor guy had been ribbed about ever since he’d qualified. They both had a crush on him, but weren’t sure whether he was straight or gay. Personally, I think they were more interested in the mystery than the actual man, because they’d both told me on several occasions that they’d never date a doctor.
They both giggled. ‘I nearly spoke to him on Tuesday,’ Tiff said.
‘Nearly? Wow! That’s great progress,’ I said.
‘He spoke to me yesterday,’ Drew announced, grinning.
‘Bullshit!’ Tiff cried, punching him lightly on the arm.
‘He did!’
‘He said “thanks” when you picked up the pen that he’d dropped. That’s hardly a meaningful conversation.’
Drew held his hands up in surrender. ‘Who mentioned a meaningful conversation? I just said he spoke to me. Which is a million times better than nearly speaking to him. What’s nearly speaking to someone anyway?’
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