‘Rehab? But isn’t he, like, eight?’
‘He was,’ Peter said sourly. ‘Once upon a time. But he grew up, as they all do, in theory. God preserve us from child stars.’
‘Oh, he’s not so bad,’ Stella said, bumping his shoulder. ‘He’s just going through an awkward phase. And he idolises you.’
‘I can’t believe you’re sticking up for him after he cornered you in his trailer that time.’
‘He’s a hormonal teenager,’ Stella said. ‘He didn’t mean any harm. Just trying his luck.’
Lesley couldn’t help thinking Stella looked sort of pleased, as if having a horny teen trying to feel her up was something to be proud of. Maybe she was one of those women who found catcalling and wolf-whistling flattering. Lesley thought women like that had gone out with the flood.
‘And he blatantly stares down your top whenever you’re doing his make-up,’ Peter said peevishly.
‘So do you.’
Peter grinned. ‘Well … I’m allowed. We’re engaged.’
‘I can’t believe he’s a teenager,’ Lesley said. ‘I still think of him as a little kid.’
‘Hideous child,’ Peter shuddered. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re a fan.’
‘Oh God, no!’ Lesley said. ‘He’s way too boyish. Anyway, I’m not into the Inheritor movies at all. I can’t stand all that magical Chosen One bollocks.’ She suddenly remembered who she was talking to. ‘God, sorry!’ she gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘I mean, I’m sure they’re brilliant. It’s just not my sort of thing. I don’t even like Harry Potter!’
‘You should tell him how you feel about the theatre,’ Al said to Lesley with a mischievous grin. ‘Since you’re on a roll.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Peter said, looking delighted. ‘It’s all a dreadful load of old cobblers, if you ask me. But I’m just an old whore at heart, so there I am.’
Nevertheless, Lesley was grateful for the waiter creating a diversion when he returned with their food.
‘So you’re a make-up artist?’ she said to Stella as they all began eating.
‘Yes. That’s how I met Peter.’
‘And you’ve been living in LA? Where are you from originally?’ Stella’s accent was hard to place – a strange mishmash of English and Irish with a slight mid-Atlantic twang thrown in.
‘Oh, all over. I’m a bit of a nomad.’
‘But you’re Irish?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t lived here in a very long time.’
‘Whereabouts are you from?’ Lesley persisted.
‘The west,’ Stella said. ‘A real Nowheresville. Honestly, it’s too dull to speak of.’ She took a sip of champagne. ‘You know that song “Everyday is Like Sunday”?’
Lesley nodded.
‘Well, that dreary seaside town is exactly where I’m from. When I was a teenager I used to think Morrissey was singing about the place I grew up in.’
Lesley exchanged a knowing glance with Al. Stella was being deliberately evasive. ‘Do you still have family there?’ she asked.
‘Stella doesn’t have any family,’ Peter answered for her. ‘So, what do you do, Lesley?’
‘I’m a ... meditation teacher!’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ Stella said, looking at her with interest as Al shot her a ‘what the fuck’ look. She didn’t really have an answer. It had just come out. Maybe because she’d been concentrating so hard on not saying she was a private detective. Or maybe because she’d been working all week on a website for a meditation teacher, so it was the first thing that came into her head. Oh well – what the hell? It was as good a thing to be as any.
‘Well, it’s not as interesting as being an actor,’ she said, ‘or a baker, like Al’s dad.’
‘Have you met my brother?’ Peter asked her. ‘King of the gypsy creams.’
‘No, you’re the first,’ Al said to him.
‘Very wise,’ Peter said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Best to introduce her to us in small doses – you don’t want to scare the poor girl off.’
‘I don’t scare easily,’ Lesley said. ‘Anyway, even if I did, Al’s worth it.’ She took Al’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
‘Yes, Al is the best of us,’ Peter said warmly.
Lesley thought it was touching Peter thought so highly of Al, even if it was a bit disloyal to his own children.
Peter tilted his head to the side, regarding Lesley closely. ‘You know, you remind me a little of a girl Al used to go out with … oh, years ago now. Do you know who I mean, Al?’
‘No.’
‘Anyway,’ Peter said to Al, ‘I’m glad you’ve ditched … what was that awful woman’s name?’
Al sighed. ‘Cassie. And she ditched me.’
‘Ah well, her loss. And our gain,’ he said gallantly as he poured the last of the champagne into Lesley’s glass. She realised she’d drunk practically the entire bottle single-handed. Al had only had a thimbleful as he was driving, Peter was sticking to water, and Stella sipped hers so slowly that she still hadn’t finished her first glass.
‘I’ve been trying to get Peter to start meditation,’ Stella said to Lesley. ‘You must send me your details.’
‘Yeah,’ Lesley nodded as she wound linguine onto her fork. Then she had an idea. ‘Why don’t you add me on Snapchat and I’ll message you?’
‘I don’t have Snapchat,’ Stella said with an apologetic smile.
‘Friend me on Facebook, then?’
‘I’m not on Facebook either.’
‘Really?’
‘Sorry. I don’t like social media.’
‘Oh.’ That was a bit weird. ‘Okay, well, give me your phone number and I’ll send you on my info.’
‘That went well,’ Lesley said as they drove back to her house.
‘Apart from you deciding to be a meditation teacher. Are you pathologically incapable of telling the truth about what you do?’
Lesley shrugged. ‘It was just a spur of the moment thing. Anyway, it went down well, don’t you think? Stella was very interested. Maybe it could be a bonding thing for us.’
‘What if she decides to pursue it?’
‘It’ll be fine. I can breathe in and out with the best of them.’
‘And you said you’d send her your details.’
‘No problem.’ Lesley had already decided she could use the site she was building for Madeleine. She could just tweak some of the content, replace Madeleine’s photo and contact details with her own, and send Stella a link to the back end.
‘Anyway, what did you think?’ Al asked.
‘Of Stella? She’s pretty reserved, isn’t she? I wouldn’t say it’s easy to get to know her.’
‘That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks,’ Al said with a smile.
‘She really clammed up when I asked her about her background, didn’t she?’
‘Yeah, she definitely didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘She’s very solicitous of Peter,’ Lesley said, thinking of how Stella had fussed over him, and he had consulted her about what he should eat. ‘But that could all be an act. I mean, it’s not as if she’s going to show her hand at this stage.’
‘And it’s in her interests to keep him fit and well for now. She’d want to make sure he survives long enough to endow her with all his worldly goods.’
‘She was different to what I was expecting, though,’ Lesley said thoughtfully. ‘More … low-key.’
Al nodded. ‘Me too. I suppose I thought she’d be more of a show pony,’ he mused. ‘You know, all platinum blonde hair, and acres of silicon cleavage.’
‘So you were expecting your cliché cartoon gold-digging bimbo?’
‘Exactly,’ he said with a grin. ‘Weren’t you?’
‘I was reserving judgement,’ she said primly. If she was honest, she had expected a pneumatic airhead in high heels and a low neckline. The fact was, Stella could hardly have been more different from the blowsy sex bomb of her imagination. But she wasn’t going to tell Al
that. ‘She is blonde, though. So you got that right. And she does have fake boobs.’
‘Really?’ Al’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You could tell?’
‘I’m pretty sure.’
‘Anyway, we’re out of the closet now,’ Al said. ‘We should start going out together in public and cross-pollinating our Facebook pages. How do you feel about coming on a mini-break with me?’
10
The following Saturday morning, Stella sat in the plush lounge of the Hotel Meyrick on Eyre Square, watching the door anxiously as she waited for Dan to join her. She’d been up early to catch the first train to Galway and had spent a long time getting ready, choosing her outfit with care, and fussing over her make-up and hair. She wanted to look good for Dan – grown-up and in control. It was important to show him she’d got her act together. She didn’t want him to worry about her. She was wearing a red polka-dot tea dress with low-heeled nude pumps, and her hair was tied up in an elegant chignon. The overall effect was sophisticated, demure and a little retro, perfect for afternoon tea in an upmarket hotel.
She fidgeted nervously, smoothing the skirts of her dress and sipping her coffee too quickly, jittery and excited about seeing him again after so long. Then he was there, being waved over to her table by a waiter. He was a little stockier than when she’d last seen him, his face doughier than she remembered. His thick, straw-coloured hair was still long, pulled back into a stubby ponytail. She could hardly believe he was really here, and tears pricked her eyes as he approached, his lovely warm face breaking into a broad grin. Stella stood and he pulled her into a hug.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said, squeezing him tight.
‘You too. You look amazing!’ he said, as they sat side by side on the banquette.
They ordered coffee, and the waiter brought a cafetière on a silver tray, with fine china cups. Stella poured, and smiled fondly as Dan spooned two cubes of sugar into his.
‘Why don’t you just have done with it and order cake?’ she asked as he reached for another.
Dan grinned and stirred his coffee vigorously. ‘I’m watching my figure.’
‘And calories consumed as liquid don’t count?’
‘Exactly. You taught me that.’
She laughed. ‘So I did.’
He took a sip of coffee and sank back against the sofa cushion, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
‘Tired?’
‘Yeah,’ he yawned. ‘It’s been kind of a long week.’
‘Sorry for making you get up early on a Saturday.’
‘That’s okay.’ He looked around the plush lounge. ‘I’ve had worse gigs.’
‘Where are you supposed to be today anyway?’
‘I told Annie I had a job in Galway.’
‘Devious.’
‘Yeah.’ Dan’s smile faded and he looked uncomfortable.
‘Sorry.’ She knew he hated lying to his wife. She felt bad that he was doing it for her.
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m building you a new set of wardrobes, just so you know.’
‘Yes, best to get our stories straight.’ She laughed. ‘In case this ever goes to trial.’
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Where are you supposed to be today?’
‘Peter knows where I am. I told him about you.’ She knew it wasn’t fair, when he couldn’t tell Annie about her. ‘We’re getting married. I had to tell him everything. But he’s the only one who knows.’
‘It’s okay. I get it.’
‘So, what’s up with you?’ she asked, eager to shift the focus from herself. ‘Tell me everything.’
‘Actually, I’ve got news,’ he said, his mouth widening in a grin. ‘Big news.’
‘Oh?’
‘I was waiting until today, so I could tell you in person. Annie’s pregnant.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Stella gasped. ‘That’s fantastic.’ Her eyes welled up and she reached for his hand, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment. Dan looked so happy he might burst. ‘Congratulations!’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m so happy for you, Dan.’ She was, but it was tinged with sadness, and she resented that even the most joyful event was shot through with some melancholy.
His fingers curled around hers. ‘You’re going to be an aunt,’ he said, and her smile faltered. Because she wasn’t going to be an aunt, was she? Not really. Not in any way that counted. She would never see Dan’s baby, never get to hold her tiny niece or nephew. She wouldn’t take them to the park, or sing at their birthday parties, or buy them extravagant, impractical presents. She’d be a stranger to them. If they passed her in the street, they wouldn’t know who she was.
She blinked hard, shaking off the unwelcome surge of self-pity. ‘How far along is she?’ she asked.
‘Only ten weeks.’
He picked up his jacket from the seat beside him and pulled his phone from the pocket. After thumbing through the screen for a few moments, he held it out to Stella.
It was a picture of Annie, his beautiful wife. She was tall and athletic, with olive skin and long, poker-straight dark hair. Her wide smile was dazzling, her whole face lit up. She was dressed in grey jogging bottoms and a white tank top, one hand holding the camera out at arm’s length, while the other rested significantly on her stomach. Stella had to look hard to make out the barely discernible bump.
‘She looks so happy.’ It felt odd to talk about his wife in such a familiar way, as if she knew her. But Stella felt strangely close to her, even though they’d never met.
‘She’s over the moon,’ Dan said, glancing lovingly at the screen as she handed him back the phone. ‘We both are.’
He was practically glowing, and Stella felt a surge of love for the woman who had made her brother so happy, together with a pang of longing to share in their joy and excitement. She yearned to wish Annie well, to be part of their family. But Annie didn’t even know she existed.
‘I wish you’d meet her, Stella,’ he said, closing the phone and putting it away. ‘You’d like her.’
‘I know I would. But would she like me?’
Dan frowned. ‘Yes, she would,’ he said, defensive. ‘She’s a good person.’
‘Sorry.’ She rubbed his shoulder. ‘I know she is.’ She sank back against the sofa. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad.’
‘Me neither.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘I just hope I’m better at it than our old man.’
‘Of course you will be.’ She rested her head on his shoulder.
‘Wouldn’t be hard, I suppose.’
‘Have you seen Mam and Dad lately?’ she asked, her voice hardening.
‘I saw them at Christmas. We exchanged crappy jumpers and socks.’
‘How are they?’
‘Still gobshites.’
‘Are they excited about being grandparents?’
‘We haven’t told anyone yet – just you. God, I just wish you could—’
‘I know.’ She lifted her head. ‘Me too. I’d love for you to be at my wedding. I’d love to meet your baby and get to know Annie.’
He clasped her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. ‘If it’s just about Mam and Dad … you know that if it’s a choice between you and them, I’d pick you, right? Every time.’
She blinked away tears. ‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘But it’s not just them. It’s what happened with Steve, and—’
‘That fucker!’ Dan snarled, his hand tightening almost painfully on hers.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘your baby should know its grandparents, however crap they are. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for depriving your child of its family.’
‘What about you? You’re family too. I fucking hate that you’re not going to be part of my kid’s life.’
‘It’s just better this way. For everyone.’ It was how she had chosen to live, cutting herself off completely from her past and everyone in it. Twice now she had shed her old self like a snake shedding its skin. It was easy mo
ving on and starting over; finding new friends and new jobs, inventing new identities. She had developed quite a talent for it. There was nothing she missed, nothing pulling her back – except Dan. He was the only link to her past that she couldn’t bear to break. She loved him too much, and she knew no one could ever love her more or know her as completely as he did, even if she told them everything. Because she was more than the sum of her secrets. Dan knew her from the start and he loved her as he always had. That was the one constant in her life, and she couldn’t let it go.
The cafetière was empty, and the lounge had started to fill up as they talked. Stella looked at her watch. It was just after one. She felt slightly panicked at how fast the time had gone.
‘Let’s get afternoon tea,’ she said to Dan, picking up the laminated card from the table.
She called a waiter over and ordered the most lavish option on the menu. He returned with a tall, tiered cake stand laden with dainty crustless sandwiches, light, fluffy scones and sweet, sticky pastries, along with a glass of Prosecco each.
‘Well, here’s to you.’ Dan clinked his glass against Stella’s. ‘Engaged!’ He made big scary eyes at her. ‘You’ve really done it this time.’
‘I know,’ she said, mirroring his expression. ‘Never thought you’d see the day, did you?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said softly. ‘You were always full of surprises.’
‘True.’ She watched him carefully, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, how he felt about this. They’d been apart for too long. She used to know him as well as she knew herself.
‘Bloody hell, though – Sir Peter Bradshaw! You won’t be bringing him home to Bally-go-Backwards.’
She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be bringing him home even if he was Joe Bloggs.’
‘No. But isn’t he a bit …’
‘Rich for my blood?’
‘Too old for you, I was going to say.’
‘I don’t care about that. It has its advantages.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, Peter doesn’t live his life online, for one thing. He doesn’t do social media much. So that’s good.’
‘Still, you’ll be a stepmum to Rafe and Scott Bradshaw,’ Dan said with a crooked smile. ‘How fucked up is that?’
For Love or Money: A laugh out loud, heartwarming romantic comedy Page 7