For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy

by Clodagh Murphy

  Actually, now that she thought about it, it would be good to have photos of Al on her page. A pretend boyfriend would be useful for getting her family off her back. Her mother had really pinned her hopes on Rob, and was more upset about the break-up than Lesley was. And if Rob should happen to see her hobnobbing with the rich and famous, all to the good. Maybe he’d realise too late how lucky he’d been to have her.

  ‘We should get some photos of us out and about, doing activities,’ she said.

  ‘What sort of activities do you suggest?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you play rugby?’ she asked with a sudden flash of inspiration. Al looked pretty fit, and it would drive Rob nuts if she had someone who was better than him at rugby. ‘I could go and watch your matches and cheer you on.’

  ‘You like watching rugby?’

  ‘I don’t mind it. My ex used to play a lot.’

  ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘I thought all those posh schools made you play rugby.’

  ‘They did. They also made us create a diorama of the Battle of Hastings from a shoebox and wear a straw boater in public – none of which I’ve done since leaving.’

  ‘Is there any sport you’re into?’

  ‘I did a lot of hillwalking with my ex.’

  ‘Is that a sport? I thought it was supposed to be gentle and sociable – everyone chatting to each other while they’re ambling along.’

  ‘Not for Cassie. She’s very competitive. She doesn’t amble. The guy she cheated on me with was always first to the top,’ he said sourly.

  ‘We should definitely go hillwalking then – find a way to beat them at it so you can get her back.’

  ‘I don’t want her back; I’m over her.’

  ‘I don’t mean get her back as your girlfriend. I mean have your revenge – get her back for cheating on you. Make her rue the day. Wouldn’t you like her to rue the day?’

  ‘Well, when you put it like that,’ Al said, a slow smile creeping over his face. ‘I don’t see how we’re going to beat them, though. They’re both really fit.’

  ‘Well, leave it with me. I’ll think of something. So, what else do you like doing?’

  ‘The usual, I suppose. I like going to restaurants, the theatre—’

  ‘Ugh,’ Lesley grimaced. ‘I hate the theatre.’

  Al reared back in shock. ‘How can you hate the theatre?’

  ‘It’s weird and embarrassing. It’s all so artificial. You can see it’s just people pretending, and I feel mortified for the actors making eejits of themselves.’

  Al laughed. ‘Well, you’d better not say that to any of my family. They’re practically all actors.’

  ‘Not you, though.’

  ‘I’m the black sheep.’

  ‘So I get the good one,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Were they disappointed when you went into architecture?’

  ‘Well, obviously they’d have preferred if I’d run away with the circus. But they were always very supportive.’

  ‘And you’re not the only one with a proper job. Your dad’s a baker. That must have paved the way for you.’

  ‘Well, he’s not so much a baker as a captain of industry.’

  ‘Still, no shame in that. Anyway, I’ve no problem with actors as long as they stick to movies or TV.’

  ‘Okay, so no trips to the theatre, then.’

  ‘Eating out is fine. I love going out to dinner. Oh, we could go on a mini-break!’

  ‘You want to go on a mini-break with me? This is all so sudden.’

  ‘We wouldn’t really have to go anywhere. We could just drive around and check in somewhere fabulous.’

  ‘That sounds like going somewhere to me.’

  ‘I don’t mean actually check in to a hotel – just check in at a location on Facebook, so my family would see what a great time we’re having and how much better you are than my last boyfriend.’

  ‘Were you together long?’

  ‘Just over a year.’ Lesley knew it didn’t sound like much when she said it out loud, but it was the longest relationship she’d ever had.

  ‘Why did you break up?’

  ‘He moved.’

  ‘Oh, that’s tough. You didn’t want to try the long-distance thing?’

  ‘I would have. But he wasn’t willing to make the effort. So that was that.’

  ‘Where did he move to?’

  ‘The north side.’

  Al raised his eyebrows. ‘The north side of ...?’

  ‘Dublin. Portmarnock, to be precise. It’s nearer his work.’

  ‘But that’s only about a half hour drive.’

  ‘Twenty minutes if there’s not much traffic. But he doesn’t have a car, in fairness.’

  ‘Still, there’s public transport. Surely if he really cared about you—’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Lesley mumbled, ‘it turned out he didn’t. He was only going out with me because I was on his bus route and it was handy for him.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you you dodged a bullet there.’

  ‘He was nice in some ways, though,’ Lesley said, smiling wistfully. Rob had been as enthusiastic and energetic in bed as he was on the rugby pitch, and had always applied himself to getting her off with the same bullish determination with which he approached scoring a try.

  ‘If you’re thinking about sex—’ Al began.

  ‘How did you know I was thinking about sex?’ Lesley asked, caught off guard.

  ‘You had this goofy look on your face. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘I still miss him in some ways, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, don’t miss him for sex, for God’s sake. Anyone can do that – dogs, Neanderthals. It’s not rocket science.’

  ‘No, but some people are better at it than others. I mean, I’d like to be with someone who had a little more finesse than a dog.’

  ‘Well, you could train them up. Sex is the easy part. It’s the other things you want to look out for, you know – kindness, good sense of humour, decent cook, that kind of thing. Someone who’s prepared to go that extra mile on the bus for you.’

  ‘Very funny.’ Lesley took a long gulp of coffee to hide her annoyance. ‘Okay, before we go any further, we have to lay out some terms and conditions for my role as your girlfriend. I will accompany you to family dos and make googly eyes at you. I’ll laugh at your jokes, even when they’re not funny, and generally hang on your every word and give all appearances of finding you adorable. You will do the same, of course, for me.’

  ‘Agreed. My jokes will be funny, though.’

  ‘As for PDAs, here are the rules,’ she said firmly. ‘Kissing is fine, but no tongues. No boob action, no touching under the clothes, no nudity. Anything below the waist is definitely out. No—’

  ‘Lesley,’ Al interrupted, ‘you do know what the P stands for in PDA?’

  ‘Public.’

  ‘Exactly. Do you honestly think I’d stick my tongue down your throat or grope your breasts in public?’

  ‘I don’t know what you might do, given half a chance.’

  He flattened his mouth into a thin line of disapproval. ‘Well, I wouldn’t – even if you were really my girlfriend. And public nudity is definitely not my bag. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Lesley mumbled, feeling told off. ‘Oh, and I was going to say absolutely no trying to get me to touch your willy either.’

  Al just sighed exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes.

  ‘So tell me more about this holiday we’re going on,’ she said into the awkward silence that followed. ‘Did you bring your ex last year?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Right, I want to see some photographs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If she’s that competitive, I need to know what I’m up against.’ Lesley felt intimidated again at the prospect of being in a bikini-wearing situation with Al’s glamorous family.

  ‘You’re not “up against” anything. It’s a family holiday, not a competition.’

&
nbsp; ‘Still, I want to know.’ She jumped up and left the room. She went into the study and grabbed her laptop from her desk, rubbing her finger over the mouse to wake it up as she marched back into the kitchen.

  ‘Right,’ she said, plonking it on the table in front of Al. ‘Show me.’

  ‘Show you what?’

  ‘You must have some summer holiday photos on Facebook.’

  ‘I don’t use Facebook much.’

  ‘Well, go onto your ex’s page then and find some – or your cousin’s. I don’t believe there aren’t any that you can access online. Go on – I won’t look while you type your password,’ she said, covering her eyes with her hand.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Al huffed.

  She waited a few seconds while Al typed. When she took her hand away, he was scrolling.

  ‘Okay, here’s one,’ he said, turning the laptop around to face her.

  The photo had been shared on his timeline by a Cassie Lyons and was dated last July. Cassie had captioned it ‘En vacance chez Bradshaw, Nice’. Lesley recognised most of the faces seated outdoors around a long wooden table under trees hung with lanterns. As well as Al, there were his cousins Scott and Rafe, Jane Howard and Peter Bradshaw. They were all burnished by the sun, and looked relaxed and happy. Rafe had his arm around the shoulders of a pretty dark-haired woman who was presumably his girlfriend, and there was an older couple she didn’t recognise.

  ‘Are they your parents?’ she asked Al.

  ‘My dad and my stepmother, Joy.’

  ‘Oh, are your parents divorced?’

  He shook his head. ‘My mum’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thanks. It was a long time ago. She died when I was eleven.’

  ‘God, that’s awful.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ He gave her a sad little smile.

  ‘You’re an only child?’

  ‘Yes, but Rafe and Scott are like brothers to me. We spent a lot of time together, growing up. After Mum died, I used to come and stay with Jane and Peter in the summer holidays.’

  Lesley turned her attention back to the screen. ‘So, this is your girlfriend?’ she asked, pointing at the avatar of the smiling blonde who had posted the picture. ‘Cassie Lyons?’

  ‘My ex-girlfriend, yes.’

  Lesley clicked on her profile and brought up Cassie’s page.

  ‘Hang on, I didn’t say you could do that.’

  Lesley ignored him, her heart sinking as she scrolled through Cassie’s photos. Tall, blonde and athletic, Cassie was gorgeous and she knew it. Her timeline was full of posed selfies of her dressed up for nights out, pouting at herself in bathroom mirrors. Every photo had hundreds of likes and was liberally peppered with comments on how stunning she was.

  Lesley scrolled through to last July until she found a picture of Cassie and Al on the beach at Cannes, both beaming at the camera. Cassie wore a skimpy green bikini, Al’s arm around her teeny-tiny waist. She was surprised how fit Al looked in his board shorts. He wasn’t exactly ripped, but he was more muscular than Lesley would have given him credit for.

  ‘Stop ogling me,’ Al said, peering over her shoulder. ‘I object to being objectified.’

  ‘So this is your ex,’ Lesley said accusingly, jabbing her finger at the image of Cassie. ‘Well, sorry, but this isn’t going to work.’

  ‘What isn’t going to work?’

  ‘You and me,’ she said, waving her hand between them.

  ‘Why not?’ he frowned, aghast. ‘You haven’t even given us a chance.’

  ‘Well, look at her! She could be a model.’

  ‘Well, she’s not. She’s a systems analyst, actually. Though, now that you mention it, she did do the odd bit of modelling while she was at school.’

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘But so what if she was? What have you got against models?’

  ‘Nothing. But what are people going to think when they see you with me? They’ll never believe I’m your girlfriend.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, look at me!’

  Al looked her up and down, frowning. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked impatiently. ‘You look fine to me.’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much!’

  ‘More than fine.’

  ‘Okay, tell me one thing about me that you find attractive.’

  ‘Well, there’s—’

  ‘Come on.’ She snapped her fingers and tapped her foot. ‘Give me a compliment – the first thing that comes into your head. Don’t think about it.’

  ‘Um, well, er – there’s so many things ...’ Al stammered.

  ‘Come on. And if you tell me I have a good personality, I might throw something at you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not loving your personality right now, to be honest.’

  ‘See, you can’t do it,’ Lesley said triumphantly. ‘You can’t think of one fecking thing—’

  ‘I can, I just—’

  ‘What is it, then?’ Come on,’ she said impatiently, snapping her fingers once more, ‘out with it.’

  ‘Big breasts!’ Al shouted.

  ‘What?’ Lesley froze, ceasing all foot-tapping and finger-snapping instantly.

  ‘Aargh, sorry,’ Al said, clutching his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m not good under pressure. You kept snapping your fingers at me, and shouting, and it just came out.’

  ‘That was the first thing that came into your head?’

  ‘Sorry. Let me try again. You have beautiful eyes.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lesley said, secretly pleased. Her eyes were her best feature – after her amazing rack.

  8

  At six-thirty Peter gave up on sleep. He was still suffering from jet lag since returning to Dublin two days earlier, and had been awake since four. He threw off the duvet with a weary sigh, got out of bed and started performing a half-hearted salute to the sun, but abandoned it halfway through. Maybe he’d try again later. He was too stiff this early in the morning. It took him longer to limber up these days. Everything took longer, he thought with annoyance.

  It was such a bore growing old, your body no longer doing what you wanted it to without complaint, fighting you every step of the way. It was nature’s way of seeing you off, he supposed – all part of Mother Nature’s evil plan. Your body became slower to heal, as it grew more prone to insult and injury. ‘Insult’ was the term one of his doctors in LA had used for what had happened to his heart. It seemed pleasingly apt – he felt insulted. He wasn’t done with life yet – not by a long shot. He may not be as agile as he’d once been, but he was still fit. Catching his reflection in the cheval mirror, he gave his flat stomach a self-satisfied pat. Only last month he’d featured in a list of the hottest men alive, albeit in the over-seventies category and polling behind Harrison Ford.

  He pulled on a robe and drew the curtains. The cool morning breeze was welcome as he stepped through the French doors onto the balcony. LA had nothing on this, he thought, breathing in a deep lungful of salty sea air. From its cliff-top position, his house had a panoramic view of the broad sweep of Killiney Bay.

  Across the water, the sun was hovering just above the horizon, a shimmering yellow ball throwing a sparkling path across the water. The sky was shades of grey, shot through with pale rays of light. Peter closed his eyes and listened to the soothing sounds of waves foaming over the rocks below, intensely aware of how lucky he was to be here – to have escaped death and have the world restored to him; to be still breathing the delicious morning air, surrounded by so much beauty. He had lived a reckless, profligate kind of life, squandering his health, his marriage, the love of his life. But miraculously he’d got away with it and been given another chance – and he wasn’t going to push his luck this time. He’d start living a quieter, healthier, more peaceful life – and this house was the perfect place to do it.

  He heard the front door close softly and opened his eyes to see Stella slipping quietly out of the house in her running clothes, her strawbe
rry blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her trainer-clad feet crunched across the gravel as she walked to the gate. Peter felt a shock of unfamiliarity at the sight of her, almost wondering what this woman was doing in his home – this virtual stranger who was his fiancée. He watched as she headed for the steps that led to the beach and disappeared out of sight.

  He’d been with a lot of women since his divorce – and before it, he thought with a pang of guilt – but he’d never considered settling down with any of them. It wasn’t really the point of going out with younger women. When he was with them, he felt young and carefree, and his relationships had been light-hearted, casual fun. They had never promised each other anything beyond a good time.

  He knew what a cliché he was, serially dating a string of nubile beauties less than half his age. He was well aware that in the public imagination he’d become the archetypal lecherous old man – he’d read the sneery articles and blog posts. But despite what people might think, however stunning his girlfriends had been, it was never just about their looks.

  They were all beautiful, of course – lovely in a way they wouldn’t even realise until it was too late. He couldn’t deny the allure of their tight, smooth skin and supple bodies; their bright eyes and soft, silky hair. But that wasn’t the sum total of their appeal. He knew how ridiculous it would sound if he claimed it was their conversation that attracted him, but it happened to be true – at least partly.

  He loved the things they talked about – their hopes and dreams, their plans for the future. But even more than that, he loved the things they didn’t talk about – disappointments and failures; regrets about the past. He adored their ignorance and superficiality – all the things they didn’t know about time and loss; the lessons they’d yet to learn about remorse and defeat. The sense that they had more of life ahead of them than behind gave them the confidence to be bold and adventurous, and he admired their recklessness, the audacious risks they took with lovers, with careers; even with life and limb. They didn’t need to play it safe because there was plenty of time. That was the real secret of their magical attraction: time was what everyone wanted, and they had it in abundance. So he had clung to their youth like a life raft, as if it could save him if he stayed close – almost as if it might rub off.