The Birds and the Bees

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Your tyres made a bit of a noise as you sped off,’ she said, enjoying making the point. ‘You must have alerted them across the road because someone…’

  ‘Jo?’

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t dare look, but there was definitely someone watching through the window. I pretended to be waving goodbye to you, although you’d already gone. Rather loudly.’

  ‘Awright, awright, I get your point. Anyway, it obviously did the trick,’ said Adam, fending off her obvious criticism of his driving abilities. ‘That’s good news. I just wish they’d seen me too and, you know, linked us together.’

  Stevie caught sight of the invoice for the wedding stationery and a beautiful little plan hatched before her eyes.

  ‘I think I know a way to do that if you’ve got what I need,’ she said, trying to fight off the strangest feeling that what she planned to do next felt dangerously akin to fun.

  Chapter 29

  Stevie’s idea was as simple and delicious as a stuff-in-the-oven part-baked loaf and was ready to be implemented three days later on the Tuesday when she got a quick call from Adam to say that he was finally in possession of the required item. She met him briefly at the gym where he handed it over, and after an accident-free half-hour walk and periodic sprint on the treadmill, she went home to plug away at her new work brief until Matthew got home from work.

  The realization that this plan of Adam’s might not be as daft as she had first thought and might actually work had brought such a light feeling to her heart that she had found herself able to sort out Paris and Brandon’s final chapter at long last. Their wonderful, idyllic ending was created from a happy, hopeful bubble in her brain, and it was quite an impressive one, if she said so herself. Blissfully, the manuscript was emailed over to Midnight Moon HQ by start of business that morning, as promised. Stevie was resolute that she would never cut it so fine again. You could only let people like Crystal down once, and then you were toast. Ashes of toast, even.

  It was a big relief, to be back on track writing. The pretty room she was using as an office made a major contribution to that. It was spacious but cosy and peaceful, with a bonny view of the long garden. Nosy roses poked in through the windows, which had been thrown open to let in some fresh air, along with the comforting rumble of the odd train in the near distance. It was the sort of room she could imagine sitting in and writing her big blockbuster. Not that she wasn’t grateful for her position at Midnight Moon. She and ‘Alexis’ and ‘Paula’ were privileged in that they received a monthly salary in advance of any royalties, and that gave them a steady income. Crystal also pushed a few magazine articles her way, paying her a separate amount for those, and Stevie bumped up her savings by writing some long, traditional poetry for a greetings card company. She had been doing a lot of extra work to finance her wedding. Now it seemed she had been working for months for nothing.

  Stevie took a walk into town to get some fresh air and stretch her legs and do the final but hardest job–letting go of the wedding rings. She was going to sell them on to the jeweller who was well-known in the area for giving the fairest prices. The man offered her one hundred and twenty for the two wedding bands, which would cover half the cost of the order-of-service booklets, and a further one hundred and five for the engagement ring. Stevie took it without even trying to barter him up to a better price. It wasn’t as if she could ever have worn it, not with the memories it had collected. If–when–she and Matthew got back together, she would choose a new one, not pearls next time though. She should have listened when her mother had inspected it and said, ‘Pearls mean tears, I hope you know.’

  When she got home, she chased away the dip in her spirits by scribbling some rough notes for Highland Fling. She decided to make her heroine small and feisty and the ‘hero’ mean and moody. Possibly give him a scar, one that had been very painful to receive. The heroine would outwit him at every turn. Ha! Once she had pictures of ‘Damme MacQueen’ and ‘Evie Sweetwell’ in her mind, the ideas started to come through thick and fast. She felt she just might have a winner on her hands.

  Chapter 30

  In stark contrast, Matthew was finding it hard to concentrate at work. He had acted upon the letter asking him to apply for a Platinum Visa by ringing this number for an instant decision, only to be told that he had been instantly rejected.

  ‘So why the hell did you invite me to get one if you were going to tell me I couldn’t?’ said Matthew, taking their decision extremely personally.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said the levelheaded operative, who’d had this conversation many times before. Then she went into automated spiel about how he could find out his credit rating. Matthew knew exactly how he could do that. He also knew that the fact he had been refused their Visa would show up on his rating and influence future lenders. He hung up when she was in mid-flow and immediately felt guilty about being so rude and acting so out of character. Then again, he seemed to be doing quite a lot of things lately that were out of character and of which he didn’t feel particularly proud.

  One of his Visa bills had arrived that morning. The holiday cost had been added on to the amount outstanding, plus the charge for a cash advance that he had totally forgotten about, which had taken him over the limit. This needed settling immediately, so the urgent block-capital-written message emblazoned across the top had commanded. Plus something was niggling him and that wasn’t helping his mood either. He just happened to be about to close the curtains on Saturday night, when he saw Stevie standing on the doorstep of the cottage waving someone off. She had her best green top on and a big dreamy smile, the sort of smile you didn’t wear for a friend, either. Why that had affected him so much, he didn’t know because it was none of his business; she was no longer in his life. He was with Jo now . He had put it out of his mind numerous times, but it seemed to be on elastic and kept bouncing back.

  The sunlight was streaming through the window when he got home that evening, highlighting how grubby the kitchen had become since Stevie had left. The work surface was full of crumbs and the floor badly needed a good scrub. He’d have to get a cleaner in. Jo wasn’t the type to put on an apron and wear down her long, deliciously scratchy fingernails doing domestic chores; she wasn’t a ‘Stevie’. There wouldn’t have been much point leaving Stevie for her if she was.

  Jo relaxed in the bath for half an hour whilst Matthew rustled up something tasty in the kitchen. She had been through so much and he wanted to cosset her and spoil her. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t miss coming home to sparkling work surfaces and delicious cooking smells, especially tonight, when his spirits felt as if they had been steamrollered, but what he lost with one hand, he gained with the other and twice over. How could he compare what he had rejected to what he had now? Jo was a different creature entirely, one built for pleasure and luxury, not for comfort and reliability. Jo and Stevie–it was like comparing a brand new sports car with a Vauxhall Cavalier. Although that was an unfortunate simile, he thought straightaway. He’d had a faithful Vauxhall Cavalier for years and loved it, and the new sporty black Punto he had traded it against in the end hadn’t been a patch on his old car friend.

  Whilst the pasta was boiling, he thought he might just snap around with a duster and tidy a few things away. Jo’s detritus seemed to have taken over every surface like a virulent ivy, and how the hell could they roll around on the mat in front of the fire, like he intended to do that evening, when it was dull with dust and mysterious house ‘bits’. He went into the cupboard for the vacuum cleaner. Where on earth was the Dyson? Oh bloody hell!

  Stevie waited a good three-quarters of an hour after she had seen Matthew come in from work before going over the road. She had to be seen to be extra casual. Luck was on her side as Matthew’s head seemed to be zipping across the window as if he was moving things from one place to another.

  ‘I’m just popping across the road. I’ll be ten seconds, poppet!’ she called to Danny.

  ‘Okay, Mummy!’

 
Stevie lifted up the Visa bill that Adam had given her, and walked slowly and deliberately across the road. She had been dying to steam it open, but hadn’t fallen prey to the temptation.

  He’s seen me, she thought, on noticing how Matthew jumped back from the window. That hurt a lot. Did he really have to insult her by pretending he wasn’t in? What had she ever done to him to deserve this? The small act turned her jellied nerves to steel. She put the envelope through his letterbox without ceremony and returned home, not looking behind her. Then she texted Adam to tell him that she’d done it. Then she waited.

  As soon as Matthew had jumped back from the window, he felt cross with himself. It was a stupid, puerile reaction, a ridiculous thing to do and she must have seen him. ‘She didn’t deserve that,’ said the old Matthew. The nice, friendly, kind one with a conscience that he had stuffed away in order to allow himself to act in the way he had been doing for the past few months. He had wanted Jo so much, there was no easy way to get her, there were bound to be casualties. All’s fair in love and war. He recited the mantra when the doubts crept up on him and his own brain started to mutiny and call him a selection of choice names. All’s fair…

  The letterbox clacked and the single envelope dropped on the doormat. He stole up to it, as if it might contain something harmful or demanding, then, tentatively, he lifted it to see it was just a Visa bill for Jo. He wondered how much her outstanding amount was, and if there was enough credit left on it to buy a badly needed vacuum cleaner. He stuck it on the mantelpiece to give to her later and thought no more about it.

  Thought no more about it, that was, until half past midnight, when his cooling brain was resting on the pillow, sifting through which head rubbish to throw into dreams, which bits of the day to put in the ‘in’ tray and which in the ‘out’. When its attentions came to Jo’s letter, it stopped its manic business abruptly and nudged him rudely awake.

  Why did Stevie have Jo’s post?

  Matthew went downstairs and got the envelope bearing Jo’s old address, the one she shared with her husband. He couldn’t work it out. The only way Stevie could have got this was if MacLean gave it to her. But why would he do that? How come they knew each other? What did it all mean? What was he up to? What was she up to? He didn’t get it. His brain started to ache from trying to work it all out.

  Matthew didn’t get any more sleep that night, and not even the big bread-knife he tucked under his pillow brought him any feeling of security.

  The next morning he waited until Jo was dressed before he handed over the envelope to her. She looked at it, then immediately threw it down as if it was contaminated.

  ‘How did you get this?’ she asked. ‘Did Adam bring it round? Shit, he knows where we live, doesn’t he?’

  Jo looked nervous and frightened, and Matt immediately leapt out of his seat to wrap her up in a big safe cuddle.

  ‘Well, there’s the mystery. Stevie posted it.’ He felt her stiffen even more.

  ‘Stevie? Stevie? How the hell did she get it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Jo ran to the window. ‘What is she up to?’ she said, screwing up her face as if she was casting a hex. ‘Or should I say they?’

  ‘They who?’

  ‘My ex and your ex. They both have an axe to grind, wouldn’t you say?’

  Matthew laughed. ‘You can’t seriously be insinuating that Stevie and Adam have got together, can you?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Jo jeered. ‘Adam wouldn’t look at someone like Stevie Honeywell.’

  Matthew had been about to ask what was so wrong with Stevie, but the hard look in Jo’s eyes told him that might be unwise.

  ‘I’m going to go over there and ask her how she got this,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves, nervously rather than aggressively.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ snapped Jo. ‘That’s exactly what she wants you to do.’

  ‘But I want to find out if he knows where I live!’ Matthew gulped. Oh God! He would come home from work tonight and find a horse’s head in his bed.

  ‘I don’t know how he could know that,’ said Jo. ‘I told him you lived at the other side of Wakefield.’

  ‘He could have followed us. You said it yourself–he’s nuts, isn’t he?’

  Jo was about to say something, but swallowed it. Instead she started to nod slowly in agreement.

  ‘Yes, that’s possible, I suppose. Then again, I think he would have done something a bit more drastic than this. Not exactly his style–grievous bodily letter delivering, if you know what I mean. And Adam wouldn’t have got the wrong house.’ Which means he’s up to something.

  ‘So what’s going on then?’ Matthew querried.

  Jo thought of what had happened when she had returned home from Majorca and told Adam she was leaving him. She should have realized from his reaction that he had something more up his sleeve. Hmmm. Her previous suspicions had been correct after all. How stupid had she been, to think that Adam really had let her go?

  She flapped her hand, as if dismissing the whole other side of the street.

  ‘Look Matt, I’m sorry, but I am not playing psychological games with Stevie because that’s what she wants me to do. It’s not fair on her. She obviously needs help.’

  ‘You seem very sure that’s what she’s doing.’

  Jo nodded slowly. She felt suddenly empowered, thrilled. Adam still wants me.

  ‘I know how women think, Matt, because–surprise, surprise–I’m a woman myself.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Wanna see some proof?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Once again, Jo and Matthew were late for work.

  Adam MacLean rang Stevie at ten.

  ‘What time does your wee boy go tae his bed?’ he asked.

  ‘About half past seven,’ said Stevie. ‘He’s always asleep for eight.’

  ‘I’ll be round at nine,’ said Adam. ‘Feel free not to cook anything.’

  And Stevie thought, Even when the guy’s talking English, he makes no sense at all.

  Chapter 31

  The anticipation of having Adam MacLean come to the house was worse than having a real date because at least on one of those, the chances were you were going to be with a person who liked you, not with someone just aching to criticize and score points. Was she supposed to cook or what? She could throw him a bone, she supposed, and watch him gnaw it whilst she had a sandwich. Like she was going to give him the satisfaction of calling her inhospitable! She wasn’t the most fantastic cook in the world but she could throw together a very nice chilli. Stevie made rather a huge one for that night and poured a big slodge of red wine in it. At least if he didn’t eat, she could freeze it for herself. And eat it over the coming decade.

  With Danny tucked up in bed, Stevie put a light blue blouse on and her jeans. On the slim off-chance that Matthew happened to see them, she would look out to impress but with a foot in casual. Perfect. Had posting Jo’s letter done the trick? Had that one small stone caused big ripples in their happy water life? If so, they would be watching out for activity at her front door. If not, then she might have to think about shagging Adam MacLean in the street. Ugh, joke! Matthew was an intelligent guy, intellectually if not emotionally, and he could put two and two together–and, with any luck, make five in this case. There must have been a few questions floating around in his brain by now, surely?

  Knock knock knock, It was quite a soft knock for him. Considerate that Danny was in bed, maybe? Yeah, right! She wasn’t ready to give him any benefits of any doubts yet; he had hardly earned the privilege. Stevie crossed to the door and opened it to a huge bouquet of flowers, which quite took her breath away.

  ‘Hi,’ said a porridge-rich voice from behind a big pink rose.

  ‘Oh hello,’ said Stevie. God, they were beautiful, expensive. If a lover had genuinely given these, she would have fainted. Then recovered to bonk him five seconds later, which obviously was not going to happen in this case. Not without a frontal lobotomy anyway.

  �
��Can you see anything across the street?’

  ‘No,’ said Stevie. ‘Their cars are there but there’s no sign that they’re in.’

  ‘Oh, the swine,’ said the rose.

  ‘Do you want to walk around the block and come back?’

  ‘No, in case they are in and have seen me. Then it would look mighty odd, me bringing floooers then taking them away again.’

  ‘You should have squealed your tyres. Your driving capabilities seem to attract the most attention.’

  ‘Are ye going to invite me in or no?’ said the rose loudly, getting more and more annoyed.

  ‘Certainly, do come in,’ said Stevie with a courteous and tinkly little laugh for the benefit of any viewers who might have been watching over the street. Adam handed the flowers to Stevie. They weighed a ton and she buckled under the weight of them. She stole a look across the lane, but nothing. She noticed that, once again, she and Adam had colour co-ordinated.

  ‘Same blue claes,’ he said, which she presumed meant ‘clothes’, in the absence of anything else they had co-ordinated in, apart from the number of eyeballs. Was he really from Great Britain? In fact, was he really from Earth? Adam walked straight into the dining area to find it was neat and tidy, which saved him having to tell her to keep it so. The owners had been most specific about that. He had lied to them and said that his ‘lady’ was extremely house-proud. He then walked through to the kitchen, which was also scrubbed, he noted, as he did a slow warder-type walk around it–not a hint of flour or chocolate anywhere. There were lovely spicy beef waves coming from an enormous cauldron-like pot on the hob and his stomach keened in response to it.

  ‘Well, at least they’ll see the car if they don’t see me,’ said Adam.

  ‘Yes,’ said Stevie, thinking, Okay, the preliminaries are out of the way, so what do we do now for the next hour or so?