by Anita Notaro
‘I can see why. She’s lovely.’
‘She is, isn’t she?’ Please God let him not fancy her.
All around them birds chirped, at least the ones that hadn’t yet flown south. For Libby it was a totally different experience from when she’d sat with him before. Maybe it helped that this time she had no agenda, and anyway his hair was ruffled, his immaculate tie had long since been wrenched loose and his designer suit looked as if it had been on him for far too long. He was much more like the old Andrew and not the newer, sophisticated version that she was still in awe of.
‘Busy day?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What time did you start?’
‘This time yesterday.’
‘Oh my God, you must be tired.’
‘Knackered. You?’
‘Yep. It’s been a long day.’
‘The show went well?’
‘I think so.’
‘You were happy with what you said?’
‘Yeah, I was.’
Later, when she was trying to remember every detail of their conversation, it seemed to her that he’d just been double-checking. Slowly, he reached out and gripped her shoulders and turned her towards him.
‘You hurt me a lot.’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t do it again.’ It was the shortest, sternest reprimand.
‘No.’
He nodded and seemed to accept her word.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.’ He held out his hand and she knew it was going to be OK.
The sun came up as they strolled out of the tiny garden, across the mass of concrete and clay to the grey, almost deserted car park. Suddenly Libby ached for her cottage, and her dog, and his arms around her. It was the strongest feeling and maybe, because of the witching hour, she found the courage she needed. Or maybe it was just that she felt so close to him, holding his hand for the very first time, as if they were a real couple.
‘Would you come home with me? Just for what’s left of the night?’
He shook his head.
She didn’t feel rejected. He stopped.
‘This time you’re not calling the shots,’ he said and looked at her for the longest time.
‘All right.’
‘I’ll phone you.’
‘Fine.’ They continued in silence.
She’d reached her car and was just about to open the door when he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. He gave her the most fleeting, yet permanent kiss and she had to stop herself from dragging him into the car. Then he leaned back and looked at her, smiled and said nothing.
There was one other question. ‘That girl I saw you with the night Annie won the award. Is she important?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He was teasing her. She reached up and touched his face lightly and couldn’t resist kissing him once more and it felt like coming home. This time he held her very close and she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair and indulged all of her senses. It was the most powerful feeling, smelling him and being able to touch him, and it lingered long after he’d pulled back.
‘Get some rest. I’ll talk to you later.’
‘I’d like that.’
He stood back to wait until she’d manoeuvred out of the parking space. It was wider than a plane hangar.
‘After you.’ She opened her window, determined not to let him have it all his own way. He grinned at her and moved away. She pressed a button and the roof of her car opened to reveal a brand new day and she watched him finally discard his tie and sling the million-dollar jacket over his shoulder. And she hoped that the Cookie Monster would be awake, and wouldn’t have pooed on her Persian rug. She needed someone to stroke and tell stories to.
She waited while he drove out ahead of her, and she followed, hair streaming in the light breeze of a morning that suddenly oozed possibilities.
He drove behind her down the dual carriageway and she liked looking at him in her mirror. She turned on some music and grinned at nothing and saw that he was smiling too. And she watched intently as he slowed and indicated to turn right. She waved frantically at him and he grinned and waved back until eventually he disappeared out of her sight but not, she hoped, out of her life.
THE END
Acknowledgements
It seems the more I write, the more people there are to thank. Anyone bored already, please remember that reading these is not compulsory!
My sisters Madeleine, Lorraine and Jean continue to support and slag me in equal measure, as do Jim Doyle and Derek Nicholson. On the other hand, their offspring provide an endless source of inspiration so lots of love to Marc, Emma, Jack, Jenny, Josh and Caroline and a special mention for Jill, my fabulous, about-to-start-college god-daughter and Andrew, my godson who never fails to make me smile.
Friends are everything and Dearbhla, Ursula, Caroline and Dee are always there. So are Dave and Frank. I don’t see enough of the Ballymaloe gang – Nora, Lorraine, Rachel and Fiona but we’ve another adventure or two left in us yet, I suspect and I do have Mary and Judy for wine and gossip when I’m desperate. Special thanks to Mary for listening to the plot of this story with a lawyer’s ear.
Patricia Scanlan continues to be a great friend and confidante and I continue to be very glad I met her.
Vincent and Ann Marie gave me an insight into the world of a heart surgeon and Tony laid on tea and chocolate biscuits and talked finance to me.
One person I forgot to mention last time was Ferdia MacAnna, whose insights were and are invaluable.
I have the nicest editor imaginable, Francesca Liversidge. Thanks to everyone at Bantam – Laura Sherlock, Beth Humphries, Kate Marshall and Marie Gallagher and also Garry Prior, Ed Christie and everyone on the sales and marketing side. Gill and Simon Hess and the team do a great job this end, especially Declan Heeney who has to listen to me!
My agent Marianne Gunn O’Connor continues to nurture and support me and I’m very grateful. Thanks also to Vicki Satlow and Pat Lynch.
Cathy Kelly, up to her eyes in books and babies, took the time to read this book and her generosity made me very happy.
I send continued good wishes to all my colleagues in RTE. During my time as a producer/director there I met a handful of chefs and none of them resemble the enigmatic Libby Marlowe featured in this book. My other main character, Annie Weller is an actress, but my friends on Fair City can relax. Endearing as she is, she is totally a figment of my imagination, as are the prima donnas among the cast and crew!
Aedín Duff from Co. Laois was the first reader to write to me and I was enormously pleased she went to so much trouble. Hope you like this one as much. And a million thanks to everyone who bought Back after the Break, you made a lifelong dream come true.
Finally, Gerry. I love you. Marry me soon, please?
Anita Notaro
January ’04
About the Author
Anita Notaro is a TV producer, journalist and director and worked for RTE, Ireland’s national broadcasting organization, for eighteen years. She has directed the Eurovision Song Contest and the Irish General Election, as well as programmes for the BBC and Channel 4. Her first novel, Back After the Break, is also published by Bantam Books.
Also by Anita Notaro
BACK AFTER THE BREAK
and published by Bantam Books
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BEHIND THE SCENES
A BANTAM BOOK: 0 553 81478 8
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First publication in Great Britain
Bantam edition published 2004
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Copyright © Anita Notaro 2004
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All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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