Don't Want To Miss A Thing

by Mansell, Jill

  ‘Or you could stay and watch,’ Vince suggested. ‘Then I can explain everything, take you through it step by step and teach you how to do it yourself.’

  Frankie’s neighbour Eric, in his eighties now, had been struggling recently to exercise his old Labrador so the villagers were helping him out. This evening it was Frankie’s turn to take Bamber for a walk.

  It also gave her the opportunity to address something else that needed sorting out.

  Along the way, she passed Molly and Vince outside Molly’s cottage.

  ‘You look like one of those scene-of-crime forensics experts,’ she told Vince.

  Molly said, ‘He’s showing me how to treat the rust on my car.’

  ‘Gosh.’ This was startling news.

  Vince, kneeling beside the wing on the driver’s side, looked up and said, ‘And how about you? Do you take proper care of your car?’

  Frankie hesitated. ‘Umm, I put it through a car wash the other week.’

  ‘And did you wax it afterwards?’

  She shook her head. ‘Well . . . no.’ Why was Molly giving her that look behind Vince’s back?

  ‘You see, you really should. It’s important,’ said Vince. ‘If Molly had looked after her car, it wouldn’t be in the state it’s in now. Prevention’s better than cure.’

  ‘Right. Wow, I’ll do it in future, definitely.’ OK, now she knew why Molly had been giving her that faintly desperate look; it was a signal to get away, escape while she still could.

  Luckily she had a dog to walk and misconceptions to straighten out. Leaving the village, Frankie and Bamber made their way down to the riverside path. Dragonflies were dancing over the surface of the water, iridescent flashes of colour catching the sun as they darted this way and that. As she followed the bend in the river, the caravan came into view and there was Stefan, occupying his usual position on the top step.

  When he saw her, would he disappear inside the caravan?

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Less than twenty seconds later he did as she’d fully expected him to. Just as he’d discreetly altered course and veered away when she’d approached the village shop the other morning as he’d been leaving it. And just as he’d taken to walking in the other direction around the green so as to avoid passing her house.

  Frankie smiled briefly. Poor man, he must be terrified; did he think she might be about to launch herself at him and declare passionate undying love?

  Reaching the caravan, she tapped on the door and called, ‘Hi, Stefan, can I have a quick word?’

  He opened the door with visible trepidation. ‘Hello . . .’

  ‘OK, no need to look so worried. Just listen.’ She was going to get it all out in one go. ‘Lois was wrong, I don’t have a crush on you, I don’t even secretly fancy you a tiny bit. If I did, there’s no way in the world I’d be able to stand here and talk about it like this. So you can stop panicking, OK? Just relax. You don’t have to try and avoid me, because I’m not chasing after you. Lois doesn’t often make mistakes, but this time she did.’

  Silence.

  At last Stefan said slowly, ‘Well, you’re right about not being able to say it if it wasn’t true.’

  See? This was the lesson she’d learned from Henry. ‘I know. It stands to reason. If I liked you, I’d be blushing and stammering.’ Frankie shrugged and spread her hands. ‘And look at me! I’m not!’

  ‘OK, I believe you. Well,’ he exhaled, ‘that’s a relief. No offence.’

  ‘None taken. Also, you’re way too old for me. No offence,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘That’s exactly what I told Lois!’ All the tension had gone from his face now. From behind him came the sound of a whistling kettle coming to the boil ‘Look,’ said Stefan, ‘I’m just making a pot of tea. Would you like some?’

  ‘Great.’ Glancing down to check on Bamber, Frankie saw he’d curled up and fallen asleep at her feet.

  ‘All the excitement’s been too much for the old boy.’ With a compassionate smile, Stefan said, ‘Leave him there, he’ll be fine. Come along inside.’

  The interior of the caravan was immaculate, a miracle of space-saving organisation and a mixture of modern and traditional. The floor was polished wood strewn with handmade rugs. The solid fuel stove gleamed. The seating was covered in crimson plush velvet, there were curtains and cushions in rich jewel colours and paintings hung on the walls. There was also a bathroom, a bedroom, a well-stocked bookcase and a small area containing a workbench and box of carpentry tools.

  ‘Here.’ Stefan passed her a mug of tea and a slice of fruit cake then sat down on the banquette opposite. ‘So how are you coping without Joe?’

  Talk about straight to the point. Frankie shrugged. ‘Not so bad. It takes some getting used to.’

  ‘It does.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘Is that why you were asking my daughter about me?’

  ‘Kind of. Well, you’ve been on your own for a long time. I wondered how it felt.’ His gaze didn’t waver as she looked to him for an answer, even if it had only been half the question.

  ‘Like you said, you do get used to it. It becomes the new normal. After my wife died, I had Lois to care for. She became my number one priority.’

  ‘And she told me there was someone else too, many years later. Someone you loved but couldn’t be with. That must have been heartbreaking.’ Ooh, risky tactics, but this could be her only chance and she wasn’t going to waste it. Frankie ploughed on: ‘Why couldn’t you be together? Am I allowed to ask?’

  Stefan turned his attention to the open doorway where, on the top step, a blackbird had landed. He threw a tiny morsel of fruit cake towards it and watched as the blackbird hopped forward, took the crumb in its yellow beak and flew off. Quietly, without looking back at Frankie, he said, ‘She had a reputation to maintain. People were interested in her personal life. Professionally, it wouldn’t have done her any good. They would have expected more for her . . . someone better, the kind of partner she deserved. Basically, it would have had a negative effect on her career.’ He was shaking his head now. ‘And I couldn’t have borne that responsibility. I’m proud of who I am, even if others aren’t. I couldn’t have allowed them to belittle and laugh at her for choosing to be with me.’

  Frankie was lost for words. So Lois had been right; the reason he’d given Hope hadn’t been the correct one. He’d ended the relationship in order to protect her public image and glittering career.

  Except there had, subsequently, been no glittering career to protect. Hope had removed herself from the public’s eye and never acted again anyway. Imagine, all that self-sacrifice for nothing.

  Talk about pride and prejudice.

  But much as she longed to tell Stefan everything, she still couldn’t. A promise had been made to Hope and she had to honour it.

  Aware that she was pushing her luck, Frankie said, ‘What was her name?’

  Because if she could make him say it . . . well, that would be different. And there had to be a chance, surely, that Stefan suspected she already knew the answer to the question.

  Like now, with those shrewd, watchful eyes of his, still giving absolutely nothing away.

  He shook his head again, just fractionally. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But it might.’

  ‘Sshh. If I’ve never told another living soul, not even my own daughter, why would I suddenly tell you?’

  The conversation was at an end; a metaphorical door had just been politely but firmly closed in her face. A man of his word, Stefan would go to his grave without giving away Hope’s secret.

  ‘Good point.’ Finishing her slice of fruit cake, Frankie said, ‘This is fantastic, by the way. Did you make it?’

  A glimmer of a smile as Stefan drained his mug of tea. ‘I make things out of wood, Frankie. That’s what I’m good at. The cake’s from Marks and Spencer.’

  Chapter 42

  Molly couldn’t wait for this dinner party to be over. It was like being trapped in one of tho
se dreams where you’re taking an exam and don’t even understand the questions let alone know the answers.

  Not that Amanda and Dex were firing questions at them and laughing when they got the answers wrong, but it was how she felt. Wrong-footed. Defensive. Protective. And embarrassed, because she’d had such high hopes for Vince and it had been so lovely to proudly introduce the handsome new man in her life to her friends.

  But glossing over his tendency to be precise, pedantic and a tiny bit humourless was no longer possible. Dex and Amanda were being careful not to give any outward indication of this but they had to be thinking it. The exterior of Vince might be perfect but personality-wise he was never going to set the world alight. He was well-meaning but boring. Bordering on downright dull. Every time he’d opened his mouth to speak, Molly had found herself tensing up, silently willing him to be dazzling and witty, to say something capable of making the rest of them sit up and reassess their opinion of him.

  Oh, but it just hadn’t happened. Never ever had she so longed to be a ventriloquist, capable of putting words into Vince’s exquisite mouth.

  And the food, as promised, was sublime. Which should have helped but somehow made things worse, simply by highlighting Amanda’s many achievements and emphasising the differences between them. The starter had been perfectly seared scallops on puy lentils braised in red wine. For the main course, she’d effortlessly prepared and served meltingly tender fillet steaks with peppercorn sauce, sautéed potatoes and broccoli. Even the broccoli, tossed in lemon juice and butter, was delicious.

  And now she was bringing out twice-baked raspberry soufflés with whisky cream. Even a tiny disaster along the way would have been comforting, but none had happened. Disasters simply weren’t a part of Amanda’s world; she was beautiful and super-intelligent with a model’s figure . . . and she could bake perfect, non-collapsing soufflés. Twice.

  Digging in, Molly said, ‘This is amazing,’ because there was no point in pretending it wasn’t.

  Amanda smiled. ‘Yes, Dex did happen to mention your chocolate sponge experiment.’

  Oh great, cheers Dex, thanks a lot. The other week she’d heard about a cake recipe you made in a mug in the microwave. When Dex and Delphi had called round, she’d made it, boasting about how brilliant it was going to be. She still had no idea what had gone wrong but the end result had resembled chocolate concrete.

  Which, needless to say, had caused Dex hours of amusement.

  ‘We did try to eat it.’ He was grinning now at the memory. ‘Nearly ripped my teeth out.’

  ‘Oh dear. Molly hasn’t cooked anything for me yet,’ said Vince. ‘Now you’ve got me worried.’

  Was that meant to be a joke? It was impossible to tell.

  ‘By the way,’ Vince turned to her, ‘Muriel was asking after you yesterday. She’d love it if we could go and see her soon.’ Placing his hand over Molly’s, he added, ‘She’s just thrilled we’re getting along so well together. I think she wants to welcome you properly into the family.’

  OK, whoa.

  ‘That sounds serious.’ Dex raised an eyebrow.

  Molly was shaking her head. ‘We’re not getting married . . .’

  ‘I know, she just wants to introduce you to everyone. She really likes you.’ Vince gave her fingers a squeeze. ‘So do I.’

  Molly flushed as Amanda said, ‘Oh, this is all so romantic!’

  Help, though. It wasn’t romantic, it was wrong. She adored Muriel, it had practically been love at first sight, but you couldn’t maintain a relationship with a man just because he had an amazing grandmother.

  ‘It’s dark now. Clear skies tonight.’ Pointing out of the window, Vince said to Dex, ‘Still keen on the old star-spotting?’

  ‘I am.’ Dex nodded. ‘You should give it a go, you don’t know what you’re missing.’

  Vince, who had been less than enthusiastic last time, said, ‘I don’t think it’s really my thing, to be honest. But if you want to get it out, I’ll happily take a look at your telescope.’

  As Dex met Molly’s gaze, his mouth twitched. In return she silently defied him to make a joke about it.

  ‘What?’ Aware of Dex’s suppressed laughter, Vince looked mystified.

  ‘Sorry.’ Dex shook his head apologetically. ‘I just crack up every time I think about Molly and that microwaved chocolate cake.’

  ‘Thanks for this evening.’ On her way back from the bathroom ten minutes later, Molly found Dex in the kitchen opening another bottle of wine. ‘It’s been great. But we’re going to have to head off now.’

  ‘Why? It’s only eleven o’clock.’

  ‘I know.’

  He put down the wine and lowered his voice. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ How could she begin to explain to Dex, of all people, the confusion currently going on inside her head? ‘Just . . . tired.’

  ‘Vince and Amanda are still out in the garden. I showed Vince my telescope.’ Dex’s eyes glittered. ‘He was most impressed.’

  ‘Don’t make fun of him.’

  ‘OK, I won’t. And you mustn’t marry him.’

  Time slowed down. There was some indefinable emotion quivering in the air between them. Then Molly felt her throat tighten at the realisation that she was completely misinterpreting it. Dex was happy with Amanda, who was an alpha female, super-confident and in absolute control of her life. They were a matching pair, the perfect couple. He was only saying it because he felt compelled to warn her that Vince wasn’t her type, just in case she hadn’t figured this out for herself.

  In a nutshell, she’d tried to find herself a decent man . . . and failed miserably. Yet again.

  ‘Promise me you won’t,’ Dex murmured, his head close to hers.

  ‘Oh please, why would I even want to get married? I hardly know him,’ Molly protested. ‘I’m not that desperate—’

  ‘Come on, you two!’ Amanda was calling from the hallway. ‘How long does it take to open a bottle of wine? There you are.’ She appeared in the kitchen and tugged at Molly’s arm. ‘Come outside and keep us company! Vince has been telling me all about the best way to treat rust on cars! He’s such a sweetie, isn’t he? Heart of gold.’ Adopting another of her stage whispers, she added, ‘You haven’t popped along to the surgery yet, by the way. Is everything . . . sorted out?’

  As Amanda said it, she pointed her index finger none too subtly in the region of Molly’s pelvis.

  ‘What?’ Dex was now staring at it too. ‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’

  Honestly, couldn’t doctors get struck off for this kind of talk?

  ‘She’s not ill,’ Amanda cheerily assured Dex. ‘Just friendly chat between two girls about certain girly matters that need to be taken care of.’ The way she slid her arm around Dex’s hip and pressed her thigh against his pretty much spelled it out for him. ‘Ooh, while I think of it, we haven’t had any photos. Here.’ She produced her mobile and pressed a few buttons before handing it over to Molly. ‘Could you take a couple of me and Dex?’

  The two of them looked so glamorous, so completely right together, laughing and holding jokey poses as the flash went off.

  ‘Here you are, I wondered where you’d all got to.’ Joining them in the kitchen, Vince said, ‘Is that an eight megapixel camera? Here, mine’s ten megapixels, let me take some too.’

  Then, when all the fun, playful snaps had been taken, Amanda said, ‘Come on, your turn now.’

  And Vince stood like an army captain with his back ramrod straight and his arm resting stiffly on Molly’s shoulder while Amanda took the photos.

  ‘Now loosen up, have some fun,’ she ordered, gesturing encouragingly.

  Vince said, ‘It’s OK, we’re fine as we are.’

  When Amanda returned his phone, he checked the results and showed them to Molly. ‘I’ll get the best one printed out and framed and we can give it to Muriel. She’ll be thrilled.’

  Molly nodded and smiled and wanted to die a little, because in the photos they lo
oked like a pair of shop mannequins in a nineteen-fifties department store.

  Oh help, it was no good, when the time was right she was going to have to break it to Vince that this relationship couldn’t go on.

  Chapter 43

  There it was, the name on the gate. She was here. And what an extraordinarily beautiful place it was.

  Frankie clicked open the gate and made her way along the narrow winding path. The events of the last few months had definitely made her braver, more of a risk-taker, more proactive. Rounding the last bend in the gravelled path, lined with wild flowers on either side, she saw the cottage ahead and prayed it wouldn’t be empty.

  More to the point, she hoped it was occupied by the person she’d come here to see.

  It had taken less than two hours to travel from Briarwood to this tiny, tucked-away valley in the Blackdown Hills, not far from Honiton in Devon. The cottage couldn’t be more secluded if it tried, which was probably why Hope had felt able to come back and live in her late mother’s home. If she was still here, Frankie reminded herself. The return address had been written on the parcel containing the polka-dotted frock but that had been weeks ago; there was no guarantee she hadn’t moved on.

  She knocked at the faded pale blue front door, which had no bell.

  Nothing. Her heart sinking, Frankie tried again.

  Then she heard the sound of footsteps and a hesitant female voice behind the door said, ‘Who is it?’

  Definitely Hope, thank goodness.

  ‘Hi, it’s Frankie Taylor. From the café. In Briarwood.’

  ‘What?’ Hope sounded stunned. ‘What’s going on? Are you alone?’

  ‘I am, I promise. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.’ Frankie heard the chain go across before the door was opened a couple of inches.

  Hope peered out at her, then past her. ‘You haven’t brought him here?’

  ‘No! I wouldn’t do that to you. I haven’t breathed a word to him,’ Frankie assured her. ‘Not to anyone.’