Chapter 1

Her eyes abruptly filling with tears, Lola said, ‘And then you buggered off again! The tears took her by surprise and she brushed them away angrily; it wasn’t as if she’d had a miserable life without

‘No, no. God, that’s not what happened at all.’ Horrified, Nick James said, ‘Is that what you think, that I was the one who walked away? Because I didn’t, I swear. I loved your mother and I wanted the three of us to be a family, more than anything. She was the one who wouldn’t have it.’

‘Hang on.’ Lola stopped him, because this was just too surreal; there had to have been some kind of misunderstanding here. ‘This is Blythe we’re talking about?’

She had to double-check. Imagine if he sat back in dismay and said, ‘No, not Blythe! I’m talking about Linda.’

And the eyebrows had just been an eerie coincidence.

But he didn’t, he just nodded and said simply, ‘Blythe Malone, that’s right.’

‘Anything to eat, love?’ A waitress bustled over to their table, mopping up the tea Lola had spilled on the Formica.

‘No thanks.’ There was so much to take in, not least the discovery that her own mother had lied to her.

And in a pretty major way.

‘Sure? We’ve got a lovely lamb hotpot.’ The waitress helpfully pointed to the appropriate photograph on the laminated menu. ‘Or faggots and chips, everyone likes our faggots.’

Normally Lola would have thought of something funny to say to this, but her brain was all over the place. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

‘She’d rather have a plate of carrots.’ One of the men at the next table chuckled and nudged his friend, who broke into a buck-toothed Bugs Bunny impression.

‘Sorry.’ Nick James looked at Lola. ‘I should have found somewhere better than this.’

Offended, the waitress sniffed and said, ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Lola shook her head. ‘I wish I wasn’t wearing a bunny suit, but that can’t be helped. And the tea’s great.’ She smiled up at the waitress. ‘Actually, I’ll have another one.’

‘My flat’s not far from here. We could go there if you wantto,’ Nick James offered. ‘But I thought that might seem a bit strange.’

‘A bit.’ Much as she’d have preferred to be wearing normal clothes, Lola had felt the same way about inviting him back to Radley Road.

He nodded in agreement. ‘Neutral ground’s better. For now, anyway.’

His voice was nice, well-spoken without being posh. He was wearing well-cut navy trousers and a mulberry and blue striped shirt. The watch on his wrist was a black and gold Breitling. And —

she now knew it was true; believed him absolutely — he was her actual biological father.

‘When I was little I always thought my dad was a film star,’ said Lola, ‘because the only Americans I knew were the ones I’d seen on TV.’

‘And you got yourself an advertising exec instead. Bad luck.’

‘That’s OK. It’s just weird, all these years imagining you being an American, talking like an American, and now having to lose that idea. I used to wonder if the dark one from Starsky and Hutch was my dad.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I never much liked his cardigans anyway. Or the guy from Miami Vice,’ said Lola. Don Johnson.’

Nick said gravely, ‘I promise I’ve never pushed up the sleeves of my suit.’

‘Or Robert Wagner from Hart to Hart. Or John Travolta. Even thingummy with the dodgy moustache who was in Smokey and the Bandit.’

‘If I’d known, I’d have brushed up on my American accent.’ He shrugged, half smiled. ‘I can’t imagine why Blythe told you that.’

Lola glanced at her handbag, lying on the chair next to her and containing her mobile.There was nothing to stop her calling her mother right now and demanding an explanation. Or even using the camera on her phone to take a photo of Nick James, then sending it to Blythe along with a message saying ‘Guess who?’

But she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

Ooh, Tom Selleck, he’d been another on her list of possible fathers. She’d evidently had a bit of a hankering for one with a moustache.

Except Nick James didn’t have one.

God, this was so weird.

‘How did you find me?’

‘The piece you did on the local news,’ he admitted. ‘When I said I hadn’t seen it ... well, that was a lie. I was flicking through the TV channels that evening and there you were, with your name up on the screen. Lola Malone. You were Lauren when you were born.’

‘I know’ said Lola.

‘Sorry, I meant I knew you as Lauren. But the day I came round to your mother’s house when you were a baby, she handed you over to a friend and said, "Could you take Lola out into the garden?"‘

‘Our next door neighbour’s daughter couldn’t say Lauren so she called me Lola. It stuck.

Nobody calls me Lauren.’

He nodded. ‘Well, anyway, I didn’t know for sure if it was you, but it was an unusual name and you were the right age and colouring. So I had to come to the shop and see you.’

That was why he had engaged her in conversation.

‘Hang on, so you didn’t really like those books I recommended.’ Lola’s pride was wounded.

‘You were just pretending.’

Nick smiled and shook his head. ‘I loved the books. I read them because you’d recommended them. Don’t worry, I’m definitely converted.’

He was telling the truth.That made her feel better. Lola took another sip of tea. ‘I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to you now. Wait till I tell Mum.’

A flicker of something crossed her father’s — her father’s! — face. ‘How is Blythe?’

‘She’s great. Living in Streatham. Having fun.’

‘Married?’

‘I had a fantastic stepdad. He died five years ago.’

Nick shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But Mum’s doing really well. She’s started dating again. I’m trying to do something about her clothes. Did she have really weird dress sense when you knew her?’

He looked amused. ‘Oh yes.’

‘At least that’s something I didn’t inherit from her.’ Lola patted her furry white nylon suit. ‘I mean, I’d rather shoot myself than go out in public wearing something that people might laugh at.’

Nick nodded in agreement. ‘Thank goodness for that. I have pretty high standards myself.’

He did, come to think of it. Each time she’d seen him he’d been wearing expensive clothes well.

A million questions were bubbling up in Lola’s brain.

‘So what happened?’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t understand. Why did you and Mum break up?’

He paused. ‘What did she tell you?’

‘Well. A big lie, obviously. But the story was that she met an American guy called Steve when he was working over here one summer. She thought he was wonderful, completely fell for him, discovered she was pregnant, told him she was pregnant and never saw him again after that day.

When she went along to the pub he’d been working in, they told her he’d left, gone back to the States. They also told her his surname wasn’t what he’d said it was. So that was that. Mum knew she was on her own. She’d fallen for a bastard and he’d let her down. She told me she never regretted it, because she got me, but that she’d learned her lesson as far as men were concerned.

Then when I was four years old she married Alex Pargeter, who was the best stepfather any girl could ask for.’

‘Good.’ Nick sounded as if he meant it. ‘I’m glad.’

‘But none of that stuff was true, was it?’ Lola’s fingers gripped the now-empty mug in front of her. ‘Your name isn’t even Steve. So now it’s your turn. I want to know what really happened.’

‘What really happened.’ Another pause, then Nick exhaled and shook his head. Finally, slowly, he said,’What really happened is I went to prison.’

‘It was my own stupid fault. There’s no one else to blame. Everything would have been different if I hadn’t messed up.’

Having left the café, they were now heading in the direction of Notting Hill. It was a frosty night and the pavement glittered under the street lamps but Lola was protected from the cold by her bunny suit. She was getting a bit fed up, though, with groups of Christmas revellers singing

‘Bright Eyes’ at her. Or bellowing out ‘Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run run run’ while taking aim with an imaginary shotgun. Or bawdily asking her if she was feeling rampant .. .

Which was the kind of question you could do without, frankly, when you were out with your dad.

Your jailbird dad.

God, look at me, I’m actually walking along the Bayswater Road with my father.

‘Blythe knew nothing about it,’ Nick went on. ‘She was four months pregnant. We’d been together for almost a year by then. Obviously we hadn’t planned on having a baby, but these things happen. We started looking around for a place to buy, so we could be together. That was an eye-opener, I can tell you. I was only twenty-one; there wasn’t much we could afford. I felt such a failure. If only we had more money. Are you cold? Because if you’re cold we can flag down a cab.’

‘I’m fine.’ Lola’s breath was puffing out in front of her but the rest of her was warm. ‘So what did you do, rob a bank?’

‘I got involved with a friend of a friend who’d set up a cigarette and booze smuggling operation.

Bringing the stuff over from the continent, selling it on, easy profit.’ Drily, Nick said, ‘Until you get caught. Let me tell you, that wasn’t the best day of my life.’

‘You were arrested.’ Lola tried to imagine him being arrested; she’d only ever seen it happen on TV.

He nodded. ‘What can I tell you? I was young and stupid, and I panicked. Blythe would have been distraught, so I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I appeared at the magistrates court, still didn’t tell her. Had to wait four months for the case to come up in the crown court. Still didn’t tell her. Because I’d only been involved in the operation for a few weeks my solicitor said there was a chance I wouldn’t go down and I clung on to that. I know it’s crazy, but I thought maybe, just maybe, Blythe wouldn’t need to know about any of it. That she’d never find out.’

Lola could kind of see the logic in this. Hadn’t she once failed to hand in an entire geography project and pinned all her hopes on the school burning down before her teacher found out? Oh God, she was her father’s daughter .. .

Aloud, she said, ‘Good plan.’

‘It would have been if it had worked. Except it didn’t.’ Nick shrugged. ‘The judge wasn’t in a great mood that day. I got eighteen months.’

They’d both gambled and lost. Except her punishment hadonly been a trip to the headmistress and three weeks’ detention. ‘So how did Mum find out?’

‘My cousin had to phone her. Can you imagine what that must have been like? She came to visit me in prison ten days later, said it was all over and she never wanted to see me again. I told her I’d only done it for her and the baby, but she wasn’t going to change her mind. As far as she was concerned I was a criminal and a liar, and that wasn’t the kind of father she wanted for her child.

It was pretty emotional. Understandably, Blythe was in a state. Well, we both were. But she was nine months pregnant, so all I could do was apologise and agree with everything she said. That was the second-worst day of my life.’ He paused. ‘You were born a week later.’

Lola was beginning to understand why her mother had invented an alternative history.

‘I served my time, behaved myself and got out of prison after nine months,’ Nick went on. ‘You and your mother were all I’d thought about. I was desperate to see you, and to make Blythe understand how sorry I was. If she still had feelings for me, I thought I might be able to persuade her to change her mind, give me another chance. So I came round to the house and that’s when I saw you for the first time. It was incredible. You were ... well, it’s not something you ever forget.

You were beaming at me, with your hair in a funny little curly topknot and Ribena stains on your white T-shirt. But your mother wasn’t open to persuasion, she said she’d never be able to trust me. She also said I’d put her through hell and if I had an ounce of decency I’d leave the two of you in peace, because no father at all would be easier for you to deal with than a lying, cheating, untrustworthy one. She fmished off by saying if I really wanted to prove how sorry I was, the best thing I could do was disappear. And you know what?’ As they waited for the traffic lights to change, he gave Lola a sideways look. ‘She meant it.’

‘Hey, it’s the white rabbit!’ someone bawled out of a car window ‘Where’s Alice?’

The lights turned green. Together they crossed the road. ‘So that’s what you did: said Lola.

Notting Hill tube station was ahead of them now

‘I didn’t want to. But I was the one who’d messed up. I felt I owed Blythe that much. So I said goodbye and left.’ He waited. ‘That was the worst day of my life.’

Crikey, this was emotional stuff.

‘I keep feeling as if I’m listening to you talk about some television drama.’ Lola shook her head in disbelief. ‘Then it hits me all over again; this is actually about me.’

‘Oi, you in the fur,’ roared a bloke zooming past in a van. ‘Fancy a jump?’

‘My flat’s down here.’ Loftily ignoring the van driver, Lola turned left into Radley Road. ‘I’ve still got loads more questions.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Have you been in trouble with the law since then?’

Nick shook his head. ‘No, no. Apart from three points on my licence for speeding. I learned my lesson, Your Honour.’

‘Are you married?’

Another shake. ‘Not any more. Amicable divorce six years ago.’

‘Any children?’

He broke into a smile. ‘No other children. Just you.’

Lola swallowed; God, this was really happening. Wait until she told her mum about tonight.

‘Well, this is where I live.’ She stopped outside number 73; they’d walked all the way from Soho.

‘Nice place.’

‘Thanks.’ The events of the evening abruptly caught up with Lola; one minute she’d been strolling happily along, the next she was so bone tired all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a week. But this man – her father – had just spent the last hour walking her home .. .

‘Right then, I’ll be off.’ Nick James watched her yawn like a hippo.

‘I feel awful, not inviting you in for a coffee.’

‘Hey, it’s fme. I’ll get a cab.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s been a lot to take in.’

Lola nodded; gosh, and now she didn’t know how to say goodbye. This was even more awkward than the end of a disastrous blind date. Was she supposed to hug him, kiss him, shake hands or what?

Nick James smiled and said, ‘Tricky, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Relieved that he understood, Lola watched him take out his wallet. ‘Ooh, do I start getting pocket money?’

‘I was thinking more of a business card.’ The smile broadened as he handed over his card. ‘I don’t want to put pressure on you, so from now on I’ll leave it up to you to get in touch with me.

That’s if you decide you want to.’ Turning, he began to walk back down the street.

Lola watched him go, a lump forming in her throat. What a night, what a thing to happen out of the blue. Tucking the rabbit’s head under one furry arm, she delved into her bag for her front door key.

Nick James was about to turn the corner when she cleared her throat and called out, ‘Um ...

Nick? I will be in touch.’

He paused, turned to face her and raised a hand in acknowledgement. ‘I hope so.’

Chapter 19

At four o’clock the following afternoon the taxi pulled into Radley Road. Gabe said, ‘It’s the blue and white house up there on the left.’

OK, he was back.

When the cab had disappeared he hauled his luggage up the steps and let himself in through the front door. Leaving the cases in the hall, he made his way upstairs.Then, bracing himself, he knocked on Lola’s door.

So much for bracing. No reply.

Well, it wasn’t as if she was expecting him. As far as Lola was concerned he was still on the other side of the world.

Gabe went downstairs and fetched his cases, piling them up outside Lola’s. Then he crossed the landing and knocked on the door of his own flat.

The girl was out too. He knocked again to make extra sure. OK, it was his property and he had a right to enter it. Plus, drinking far too much water earlier meant he could do with using the loo.

Exhausted after the flight and irrationally annoyed by the lack of welcome, Gabe twiddled the keyring around until he located the right key.

He fitted it into the lock, twisted it to the left and pushed open the door.

Jesus Christ, the place had been burgled. Stepping back in horror, Gabe surveyed the scene of devastation. Except if burglars had been here, wouldn’t they have made off with that flat-screen TV? Or the expensive DVD recorder? Or that pile of money over there on the floor next to the plate of spaghetti bolognese?

What the bloody hell was this? Gabe ventured further into the living room, treading a careful path between abandoned clothes, CDs, magazines, opened packets of biscuits and half-full coffee mugs. Did the girl have some kind of stalker ex-boyfriend who’d been round to the house and trashed it?

But he knew that wasn’t right either. The mess and devastation wasn’t ... vindictive, somehow. It was too casual to have been done in anger. Squeezing his eyes tight shut then opening them again, Gabe realised with a sinking heart what kind of a tenant had moved into his home. He investigated the rest of the flat and had his worst fears confirmed. The kitchen was beyond belief. The bedroom looked as if it had been ransacked. The bathroom resembled a small branch of Boots that had been caught in a hurricane.There was a packet of smoky bacon crisps in the sink. The bath brimmed with water that was emerald green and stone cold. There were at least six damp towels on the floor.

He’d been away for four days.

His beautiful flat, his pride and joy. The muscles in Gabe’s temples went into spasm and his head began to ache. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with right now Oh well, the sooner the girl was out of here, the better. Maybe it was just as well he’d come back.

That was when he heard the bang of the front door downstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps on the staircase. Was it Lola or the new girl, the Queen of Trash?

Gabe left the flat, closed the door behind him and waited on the landing to see which one of them it-

‘Aaaarrrggh!’ Lola let out a shriek of fright and almost lost her footing on the stairs. One hand grabbed the banister while the other covered her mouth.

‘No, I’m not a ghost,’ said Gabe. ‘It’s really me.’

Lola was clasping her chest now. ‘But you’re ... you’re .. what’s going on?’

‘Didn’t work out.’ He loved Lola to death but still hated having to tell her, to admit he’d failed.

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You changed your mind?’

‘No.’ Gabe briefly shook his head. ‘She changed hers.’

Lola threw herself at him, knocking the air from his lungs. Whoosh, she was in his arms babbling, ‘You mean you’re back? Oh my God, that’s fantastic! Is Jaydena completely mad? I can’t believe it, I thought I was hallucinating! What a cow!’

This was why he loved Lola. ‘I think so too. She got back together with an ex.’

‘Oh well, her loss.’ Lola gave him another rib-crushing squeeze. ‘Come in and tell me all about it. Shall we leave your stuff out here? My God, you went all that way for nothing! Will you be able to get your job back? Where on earth are you going to live?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Following Lola, Gabe said, ‘I’m back. I’ll be living here, of course.’

‘You mean in Sally’s flat?’

‘For crying out loud, it’s not her flat! It’s mine! I’ll explain to her that I need it now, give her a week’s notice. And I’vejust been in there,’ he said incredulously. ‘Have you seen the state of the place?’

‘She’s not terribly tidy.’ Hastily, since she was the one responsible for Sally moving in, Lola added, ‘ Very nice though.’

‘Not terribly tidy? That’s like saying the Beckhams aren’t terribly thrifty. She only moved in four days ago – imagine what it’d look like after four months! No,’ Gabe shook his head, ‘she has to go. As for a job, I’ve no idea. I haven’t even thought about that yet. The last week hasn’t exactly gone according to plan.’ He took the can of lager Lola was offering him and pinged off the ring pull.

‘No wonder you’re a bit grumpy,’ Lola said sympathetically.

‘I’m not a bit grumpy. I went to Australia, I came back again and I didn’t even have time to get a suntan.’ Exasperated, Gabe glugged down ice-cold lager before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dammit, I’m pissed of

‘OK, you choose. Now, do you want to carry on talking about Australia or shall we change the subject?’

He surveyed Lola, who was evidently dying to unleash some gossip. Nodding in realisation he said, ‘Right, of course, you’ve seen that guy again. Doug, isn’t it? Has he forgiven you yet?’

Lola’s face fell at the mention of her first love. ‘Not even slightly.’Then she brightened. ‘But something else has happened. I’ve met another man.’

‘And to think they call you fickle.’ Gabe regarded her with affection, because it wasn’t her fault his own life was crap. ‘Go on then. Who is he?’

‘Actually,’ Lola grimaced, ‘this is the weird bit. He’s my father.’

At seven o’clock they heard the front door open and close, then the sound of someone climbing the stairs.

‘Here’s Sally.’ Lola stayed sitting, clearly not looking forward to the next bit.

‘Right, I’ll speak to her. The sooner this is sorted out, the better.’ Gabe rose to his feet, ready to do battle with the bag lady who’d wrecked his flat.

‘The thing is, she—’

‘Don’t worry, I know she’s Doug’s deranged sister, I won’t yell at her.’ Ha, much.

‘But—’

‘I shall be charm personified: said Gabe, opening the door.

Except the girl he came face to face with on the landing was no bag lady. This girl was tall and curvaceous in a red wraparound dress and an elegant cream coat. Her hair was baby-blonde and swingy, her eyes were the colour of chestnuts, accentuated by expertly applied eyeliner. Her mouth was curvy and painted red to match her dress. She was even wearing Jo Malone’s Lime, Basil and Mandarin, which was Gabe’s all-time favourite perfume.

This couldn’t be the girl he’d spoken to on the phone last week, surely.

‘Hello!’ She smiled cheerily at Gabe and, key poised, headed for the door of his flat.

It just couldn’t.

Gabe cleared his throat. ‘Are you Sally?’

She stopped, turned. ‘Yes! And you must be a friend of Lola’s.’ Her eyes sparkling, she indicated the mountain of luggage and said jokily, ‘Are you moving in?’

‘I’m Gabe Adams.’ God, it was her.

‘Gabe?’ Sally looked puzzled. ‘But that’s the name of the one who moved to Australia.’

‘I didn’t move to Australia, I went to Australia. But things didn’t work out,’ Gabe said evenly,

‘so now I’m back. Look, I realise this is inconvenient for you, but I’ll help you pack up your stuff. And if you could be out by the end of the week, that’d be great.’

She stared at him. ‘Excuse me?’

How could any girl who lived in such abject squalor look like this? How was it physically possible? ‘Well, you’ll be moving back in with your mother.’ Ha, lucky old her. ‘I’ll even hire a van if you like.’ Gabe felt he was being more than generous; with all the stuff she’d strewn around his flat he’d need a pantechnicon. ‘And we can do it any time this week, whenever suits you best.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Sally. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘But you have to. Because it’s my flat and I need it back.’ Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘And I’m saying you can’t have it back because the agreement was that I could live here for a year at least.’

‘OK, OK.’ Gabe heaved a sigh; it had always been on the cards that she might dig her heels in, decide to be difficult. ‘I’m giving you official notice as of today. That’s in the contract.You have one month to find somewhere else. God knows where I’m going to stay until then, but—’

‘Hang on,’ Sally interrupted. ‘What contract?’

‘The one you signed with the lettings agency.’

‘I haven’t signed any contract,’ said Sally.

Behind him, Gabe heard Lola’s door click open. He turned and said evenly, ‘What’s going on here? Why didn’t she sign the contract?’

Lola could feel her heart clattering away in overdrive. She’d been hiding behind the door listening to their heated exchange. Now it was time to face the music. Uncurling her clenched toes, she took a deep breath and said reluctantly, ‘I cancelled the agency.’

‘Why?’

Oh God, Gabe had been dumped by his girlfriend, he’d just arrived back from Australia, and he was suffering from jet lag on top of jet lag. All in all, he wasn’t in the sunniest of moods.

‘OK, the thing is, I was trying to help.’ When she went on the defensive, Lola knew she used her hands a lot; now they were going like a pair of wind turbines in overdrive. ‘And you told me yourself that the lettings agency charges a fortune, so when Sally came along I thought I could save you a heap of money, which I thought you’d be happy about. Because I knew we could trust Sally, she obviously wasn’t going to be giving you any trouble with the rent, so it made sense to just, you know, deal with her direct and cut out the middleman. She gave me the deposit and the first month’s rent in cash and I paid them into your account.’

‘No problem, I’ll give it straight back,’ Gabe retorted.

‘This isn’t fair.’ Sally’s tone was heated. ‘You’re being completely unreasonable.’

‘Me?’ Gabe jabbed at his own chest and yelled, ‘I’m being completely unreasonable? What about the state of my flat?

Would you say the carnage you’ve reduced it to is reasonable?’ Sally stared at him. ‘How do you know what I’ve done to it?’

‘Because I went in and had a look!’

She gasped. ‘You can’t just let yourself in whenever you like.’

‘You can’t stop me.’ Gabe was really losing it now. ‘It’s my flat!’

‘Which you rented to me. And I like living here.’ Sally’s eyes abruptly brimmed with tears.

‘What’s more, I’m not going to move out.’

‘Oh please.’ Lola was by this stage feeling absolutely terrible. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something. Who are you phoning? Not the police?’

Having pulled out her mobile, Sally was blindly jabbing at buttons. ‘I’m getting Doug over here.

He’ll sort this out.’

Doug? Yeek, the very name was enough to set Lola’s heart racing. Would Gabe and Sally think her shallow if she quickly washed her hair and re-did her face before he turned up?

Chapter 20

The answer to that was a resounding yes, but she’d gone ahead and done it anyway. When Doug arrived at her flat forty minutes later he surveyed the three of them and said levelly, What a mess.’

Lola really hoped he didn’t mean her. If she said so herself, she was looking pretty good.

‘You’re telling me.’ Gabe’s tone was curt. ‘Have you seen what your sister’s done to my flat?’

‘I don’t need to. I can guess. She’s not what you’d call tidy,’ said Doug with heroic understatement.

‘And she’s a liar.’ Gabe turned to Sally and said accusingly, ‘When we spoke on the phone, you told me you were completely trustworthy’

‘I am!’

‘You promised you were super-housetrained.’

‘Oh God, you’re so picky.’ Sally rolled her eyes. ‘That’s just what people say when they want to rent somewhere. Like when you go for a job interview, you have to act all enthusiastic and tell everyone you’re a really hard worker. If you said you were a lazy toad who’d be late for your own funeral, they wouldn’t take you on, would they?’

Gabe threw his hands up in the air. ‘So you lied.’

‘It wasn’t a lie. Just a little fib. It’s not against the law to be untidy.’

Gabe addressed Doug. ‘I just want her out.’

‘I can see that,’ said Doug. ‘Right, tell me exactly what’s going on.’

When they’d finished explaining the situation, Doug looked at Lola and said, ‘So basically this is all your fault.’

‘Oh, of course it is. I do my best to help people out and this is what happens, this is the thanks I get.’

‘Legally’ Doug turned to the others, ‘either of you can cause untold hassle to the other. If you ask me, that’s a waste of everyone’s time and money. Shall we go and take a look at the flat now?’

‘Everyone put on their anti-contamination suits,’ said Gabe.

Over in Gabe’s formerly pristine living room, now awash with magazines and clothes and abandoned food and make-up, Doug nodded sagely. ‘Oh yes, this is familiar.’

Defiantly Sally said, ‘But it’s still not an arrestable offence.’

‘What I don’t understand,’ Lola was puzzled, ‘is when I came to the house in Barnes, your bedroom was fine. Completely normal.’

‘That’s because I have a mother who nags for England.’ Sally heaved a sigh. ‘And because she has two cleaners who barge in and tidy my room every day. Which is why I was so keen to get out of there.’ Glaring defiantly at Gabe she added, ‘And why I’m defmitely not going back.’

‘How many bedrooms here?’ Doug was exploring the flat. ‘Two?’

There was a pause.

‘I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,’ said Gabe.

AC Doug shrugged. ‘Do you have any better ideas?’

‘I have a very much better idea,’ Gabe retorted. ‘She’s your sister. You can take her home with you.’

‘Not a chance. Lola, could you have her?’

Sally complained. ‘You’re making me sound like a delinquent dog.’

‘Trust me,’ Gabe gestured around the room in disgust, ‘a delinquent dog wouldn’t make this much mess.’

‘I would take her.’ Keen though she was to scramble into Doug’s good books, Lola couldn’t quite bring herself to make the ultimate sacrifice and thankfully had a get-out clause. ‘But I’ve only got the one bedroom.’

‘Fine. So you two,’ Doug turned back to Gabe and Sally, ‘have a choice.You either hire yourselves a couple of solicitors to slug it out or you give flat-sharing a go for a couple of weeks.’

‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’The stubble on Gabe’s chin rasped as he rubbed his hands over his face.

‘You never know,’ Lola said hopefully. ‘It might work out better than you think.’

‘Ha! I’ll end up strangling her, then I’ll be arrested and slung in prison, then neither of us’ll end up living here.’ As he said the word prison, Gabe winced and looked apologetically at Lola.

‘Sorry.’

‘Right, decision time.’ Doug pointed to Sally. ‘Would you be willing to give it a try?’

Huffily she said, ‘Oh great, be chopped up into tiny pieces and hidden tidily away in a black bin bag. Just what I always wanted.’

‘So you’d prefer a solicitor. Expensive,’ mused Doug. ‘That’s a lot of shoes.’

You had to admire his style. Sally was now looking like a sulky fourth-former being told her homework wasn’t up to scratch. Lola kept a straight face as Sally shrugged and said, ‘I don’t see why I should, but I suppose I could give sharing a go for a couple of weeks.’

Doug swung back to Gabe. ‘But you still want to stick with the legal route, or ... ?’

What a pro. He was like an auctioneer juggling bids. Entranced by his masterful air, Lola watched and held her breath.

Gabe hesitated, then exhaled and threw up his hands. ‘Oh, for God’s sake. We’ll try it, then.

Seeing as I don’t have any choice.’

‘Good call,’ said Doug.

‘But only for a couple of weeks. Then she has to move out. And I’m not living like this.’ Gabe gestured at the floor in disgust.

‘We’ll help you clear the stuff away, won’t we?’ Lola beamed hopefully at Doug; now she could impress him by showing him how great she was at tidying up.

But Doug just looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘Me? Not a chance, I’m out of here. And you,’

he instructed Sally, ‘behave yourself and don’t give him a reason to chop you into pieces. Just try and get along together, OK? And put your clothes away once in a while.’

‘Not once in a while!’ Gabe exploded. ‘All the time!’

‘Oh, don’t start already,’ Sally jeered. ‘You sound like such an old woman.’

Doug forestalled their bickering. ‘My work here is done.’ His gaze fixed on Lola. ‘You can show me out.’

Lola’s breathing quickened; she so desperately wanted him to stop regarding her as the wickedest woman in Britain.

In the hallway downstairs Doug came straight to the point. ‘What was that about prison, earlier?’

He didn’t miss a trick.

‘What?’ Lola thought rapidly.

‘Your friend Gabe mentioned prison.Then he looked embarrassed and apologised. Who’s been to prison?’

‘My father.’

‘Really? God. Alex?’ Doug frowned. ‘What happened?’

Lola felt her throat tighten. ‘Not Alex. My real father. His name’s Nick James.’ Her voice began to wobble. ‘It’s all been a bit strange really. I only met him for the first time yesterday. Well, that’s not true, he’s been coming into Kingsley’s and chatting to me but it wasn’t until last night that he actually told me he was my real d-dad. And there was me, dressed like a r-rabbit ... God, sorry, I wasn’t expecting this to h-h-happen. Must be having some kind of delayed reaction.’

Hastily she pulled a tissue out of her bra and wiped her eyes. ‘To be honest I think it’s all c-come as a bit of a sh-shock.’

‘OK, don’t cry.’ There was a note of desperation in Doug’s voice; this was rather more than he’d been expecting and way more than he could handle. Lola realised he’d never seen her crying before. It was something she hardly ever did in public, darkened cinemas excepted, largely because some girls — the Snow White brigade — might be able to cry prettily but she always turned into a pink blotchy mess. In fact, the only way to hide her face from Doug now was to bury it in his chest.

If only he wouldn’t keep trying to back away...

Finally she managed to corner him against the front door and conceal her blotchiness in his shirt.

Oh yes, this was where she belonged, back in Doug’s arms at last. She’d missed him somuch. If she hadn’t needed to take the money, would they still have been together now? It was heartbreakingly possible.

Gingerly he patted her heaving shoulders. ‘Hey, sshh, everything’ll be all right.’

The fact that he was now being nice to her made the tears fall faster. Nuzzling against the warmth of his chest, making the most of every second, Lola said in a muffled, hiccupy voice,

‘All these years my mum lied to me about my f-father.’

‘And he’s only just come out of prison?’

‘No, that was years ago. Cigarette smuggling, nothing too terrible. He went to prison just before I was born. Pretty ironic really. My mother decided he wasn’t good enough to be my dad, so she refused to let him see me. And then seventeen years later, your mother decided I wasn’t good enough to be your girlfriend.’

‘That is a coincidence.’ Doug paused. Did she offer him twelve thousand pounds to stay away too?’

OK, still bitter.

‘I haven’t even told Mum yet. Heaven knows what she’s going to say when she finds out he’s been in touch. It’s just so much to take in.’ Lola raised her face and wondered if he ever watched romantic movies, the kind she loved, because this would be the perfect moment for him to sweep her into his arms for a passionate Hollywood kiss.

‘You’ve got mascara on your nose.’ Doug evidently hadn’t read the romantic-hero rules.

So close your eyes.

But that didn’t happen. Even less romantically, his phone burst into life in his jacket pocket, less than three inches from her ear.

The spell was broken. Doug disengaged himself and answered the phone. He listened for a few seconds then said, ‘No, sorry, I was held up. I’m on my way now’ He ended the call and opened the front door. ‘I have to go.’

‘Mustn’t be late. Or you’ll get home and fmd your dinner in the dog.’ She was longing —

longing — to know who he was rushing off to meet, but all Doug did was give an infuriating little smile. Almost as if he knew she was fishing for clues.

‘Why were you dressed as a rabbit when you met your father?’

Ha, he wasn’t the only one who could smile infuriatingly. ‘It’s a long story’ Lola was apologetic.

‘And you have to rush off.’

He had the grace to nod in amusement. ‘Touché. So what’s he like?’

‘Nice, I think. Normal, as far as I can tell. We have the same eyebrows.’ If he made some smart remark about the two of them having the same morals she might have to stamp on his foot.

‘The same eyebrows? You mean you take it in turns to wear them when you go out?’ Doug shook his head. ‘You want to splash out, get yourselves a pair each.’

Chapter 21

’Look, I’m sorry about yesterday,’ said Gabe.

Sally, just home from yet another pre-Christmas shopping trip, dumped her bags and took off her coat. ‘Really? Yesterday you were like a grizzly bear with a sore head.’ Actually that didn’t begin to describe him; yesterday he’d been like a bear with a sore everything.

Gabe shrugged and smiled. ‘Yesterday wasn’t the best day of my life. Now I’ve slept for thirteen hours I’m feeling a lot better.’

Well, that was a relief.

‘So I hope we can get along,’ he continued, clearly keen to make amends.

‘Me too. Can I ask you something?’

‘Fire away’

Sally eyed him in his falling-to-pieces Levi’s, bare feet and ancient T-shirt full of holes. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit weird to be so tidy and nitpicky and go around looking such a scruffy mess?’

It had been a genuine question — she was interested, that’s all — but Gabe instantly got his hackles up.

‘No. Don’t you think it’s weird that you go around looking like you’ve stepped out of Vogue, yet at home you live in a tip?’

She pointed a warning finger. ‘Look, we’re stuck with each other, for better or worse. Please don’t start being annoying again.’

For several seconds their eyes locked. Sally could tell he was struggling to control his irritation.

Lola hadn’t said as much, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Gabe was a little bit gay on the quiet.

He was exceptionally good-looking for a start. Obsessive-compulsive when it came to tidiness.

And what straight man would ever have eyelashes that long?

‘Right. Sorry’ Evidently having reminded himself that he was supposed to be making amends, Gabe said, ‘How about a cup of tea?’

Oh well, she could be conciliatory too. ‘Great. White please, one sugar.’

‘And I’m making fettuccine Alfredo if you’re hungry.’

Ha, absolutely without a question gay. Bisexual anyway. The Australian girl must have found out — caught him flirting with some leathery-wiry Crocodile Dundee type or something — and packed him off on the first flight home.

But who cared, if he was a good cook? Sally slipped out of her shoes and removed her silver drop earrings. ‘I love fettuccine Alfredo. OK if I have a shower first?’

‘Fine.’ But the way the word came out, it didn’t sound fine.

‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’ From the way Gabe was acting, you’d think she’d just ripped the head off a baby bird.

‘You’re just going to disappear into the bathroom and take a shower now?’

Sally gazed at him in disbelief. ‘Am I supposed to make an appointment?’

‘No.’

‘You want me to say please? Is that it?’

A muscle was thudding away in Gabe’s jaw. ‘No, I don’t want you to say please. I just don’t want you doing what you’ve just done.’

He was off his rocker. Would he prefer her not to breathe? Bewildered, Sally said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘This!’ He pointed to the dumped carriers, and to her coat and umbrella on the chair. ‘This’ Her handbag on the coffee table. ‘Those.’ Her shoes on the carpet. ‘And them.’ Her silver earrings on the window ledge. ‘And those.’ The armful of glossy magazines she’d tried to put on the arm of the sofa, which had slithered off and landed in a heap on the floor. ‘You came into this flat one minute ago and look at the mess!’

‘Oh. Sorry’ Was that really what was upsetting him? ‘I’ll pick them up later,’ Sally said nicely, to humour him. ‘I promise.’ No you won’t, you’ll pick them up now’

‘But I’m just—’

‘Now,’ Gabe repeated firmly.

‘But—’

‘Or I throw them out of the window into the street.’

God, talk about neurotic. But since he clearly wasn’t going to give in, she rolled her eyes and retraced her steps around the living room, picking everything up. Even though it was a complete waste of time because she was going to need all these things when she left for work tomorrow morning.

‘Good. Well done,’ said Gabe when she’d finished. You had to pity him really.

Sally said sarcastically, ‘Thank you, Mr Anal.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Slob.’

‘Where’s Sally? Have you strangled her yet?’ Having followed the smell of cooking up the stairs, Lola gave Gabe a hug. ‘Give me a couple more days.’

‘Ooh, Alfredo. My favourite.’ She inspected the pans on the hob. ‘So apart from the tidiness thing, how d’you think the two of you’ll get on?’

‘God knows. If I met her in a bar I’d think she was fine,’ said Gabe. ‘But that’s because I wouldn’t know what she’s really like.’ He paused. ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend, right?’

Lola pulled a face. No. Bit of a disastrous history with men. One of them jilted her practically at the altar.’

‘And we don’t have to wonder why.’

‘That’s mean. You’ve just been dumped yourself.’

Gabe shrugged and tipped fettuccine into a pan of boiling water. ‘I’m just saying, she could get a crush on me. I don’t need that kind of hassle. Platonic flat-sharing only works as long as one person doesn’t secretly fancy the pants off the other.’

Enthralled, Lola said, ‘You think she fancies you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ Another pause. ‘It’s happened before. And let me tell you, it’s the last thing I need right now.’

Lola pinched a slice of parmesan; she loved to tease Gabe about his effect on women. ‘Serves you right for being so gorgeous. What did Sally do to give herself away then?’

‘Oh, you know those looks girls give you. She was doing it earlier.’ Gabe added a carton of double cream to the garlic sizzling in the pan. ‘That kind of moony, pouty thing. I just thought, oh God, please don’t start, I can’t be doing with—shit!’

The hairbrush whistled past his ear and ricocheted off the kitchen wall. ‘What the ... ?’ Gabe twisted round in disbelief. ‘Sorry, but someone had to shut you up.’ Sally was in the doorway, wrapped in a brown silk dressing gown, her hair wet from the shower and her face the picture of outrage. ‘You’re talking rubbish, you’re making it all up! You’ve been chucked by some girl in Australia who didn’t find you irresistible so now you’re fantasising that someone else likes you, to give your ego a bit of a boost. But you can’t go around saying stuff like that.’ Her eyes glittered. ‘Because it’s not true.’

‘OK, I’m sorry. I got it wrong. You could have done me an injury with that hairbrush,’ said Gabe.

‘I meant to. I’m just not a very good shot.’ Turning to Lola, Sally said, ‘And you believed everything he was telling you!’

Lola shook her head apologetically. ‘He’s usually right. Most girls do fancy him. Gabe’s a bit of an expert when it comes to that sort of thing.’

‘Well, he’s got it wrong this time, because I promise you I don’t fancy him, and I definitely wasn’t giving him any kind of moony pouty look.’ Brimming with derision, Sally said, ‘If anything, I was thinking that any man who makes such a big fuss about keeping his flat perfect is probably gay’ - - Lola stifled laughter but Sally was clearly peeved.

‘I’m not gay,’ said Gabe.

‘And I don’t fancy you. At all.’

‘Fine. I believe you.’

‘Ha, you’re saying that now, to be polite. But I bet you secretly still think I do.’

‘I promise I don’t think that. Cross my heart and hope to die. And in return you have to stop thinking I’m gay’

‘Could we call a truce and stop talking about you two now?’ Lola had been patient but enough was enough. Plaintively she said, ‘If nobody minds, I’d quite like us to talk about me.’

Chapter 22

Over dinner Lola brought them up to date with the Newfound Father situation.

‘I phoned Mum today to try and casually drop Nick’s name into the conversation, and she said,

"Oh hello, darling, you just caught us, Malcolm and I are off to Cardiff." She told me they’re spending the night with Malcolm’s brother and his family. So I couldn’t really say anything about Nick James, could I? I’ll have to wait until she gets back. To be honest, I hadn’t realised she and Malcolm were getting so serious, I thought they were just good friends, but Mum said he wants to introduce her to everyone? Lola paused and tore into a chunk of focaccia. ‘I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like Malcolm. He’s just ... well, not the kind of man I had in mind for my mum. He has this awful beard that makes you want to pin him down and hack away at it with nail scissors. And he wears weird baggy jumpers, and sandals with the hairs on his toes poking through ...’

‘Over the years I’m sure she’s wished you’d chosen different boyfriends,’ said Gabe, ‘but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Besides, they’re visiting his brother in Cardiff, not eloping to Gretna Green.’

Lola pulled a face. ‘I really hope they’re not sleeping together.’

Brightly Sally said, ‘At least she’s too old to get pregnant.’

Which was another mental image Lola could do without. Mopping up the last of the Alfredo sauce from her plate, she amused herself instead by watching Gabe pretend not to care that Sally had dripped Frascati from her glass onto the table.

‘And how would you have felt if you’d met your father for the first time,’ Sally went on, ‘and he looked just like this Malcolm character?’ Her tone vas encouraging. ‘It wouldn’t put you off him then, would it?’

Oh crikey, it might. Especially the hairy toes. Lola went hot and cold at the thought. At least Nick James hadn’t done that to her; she was almost sure he wasn’t the type to get his toes out in public or wear

‘You’ve spilled a bit of wine,’ Gabe blurted out.

Sally shrugged comfortably. ‘Never mind, it’s only white.’ Gabe sighed. Lola kept a straight face and watched him pointedly not saying anything.

‘Oh, look at yourself.’ Sally grinned and reached behind her for the magazine she’d been allowed to leave – neatly – in the magazine rack. She opened it out, turned it upside down and blotted up the wine. ‘There, better now?’

‘Yes. Although a normal person might have used kitchen roll.’

‘This was closer.’ Turning the magazine back over and studying the wet pages, Sally said,

‘Anyway, it’s only Jack Nicholson in his swimming shorts. He won’t mind.’

‘Ah, look at him.’ Lola leaned across to peer at the shot. ‘Got a bit of a belly on him now. I had such a crush on that man when I first saw One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?

‘She has pretty strange taste in crushes.’ Gabe reached for the Frascati bottle. ‘More wine?’

‘Yes please. Try not to spill it this time. Go on,’ Sally flashed him a saucy smile, ‘who else does she like?’

‘Ricky Gervais.’

‘Euww.’

‘That’s supposed to be a secret.’ Commandeering the magazine, Lola riffled through in search of inspiration. ‘I have normal crushes too! She jabbed triumphantly at a photo on the next page.

‘Heath Ledger, he’s one. And Johnny Depp, obviously.’

‘Not to mention Alan Sugar,’ said Gabe.

‘And my brother,’ Sally chimed in. She wrinkled her nose. ‘To me, that’s even weirder than fancying Alan Sugar.’

‘They’re both mean. But in a sexy way. Ooh, that reminds me, Tom Dutton.’ Lola’s eyes lit up and she puffed out her cheeks in appreciation. ‘Now he’s mean and sexy. And wasn’t he fantastic in Over You? I cry my eyes out every time I see it. Gabe came with me to the cinema and was laughing at me as usual ... where are you going?’ She swivelled round as Gabe jumped up and headed for his bedroom. ‘Can’t stand the competition? Feeling inadequate? Worried that no one will ever fancy you again?’

Gabe returned with his camera. ‘I forgot to tell you. I saw him.’

‘Alan Sugar?’ Lola’s heart gave a little skippety skip of excitement. It was one of her fantasies that Sir Alan would one day march into Kingsley’s in a filthy mood because he urgently needed a certain book and no one in any of the other bloody useless bookshops in the whole of London had been able to bloody help him. Then he’d fix her with his challenging, pissed-off stare and bark out the name of the book and she, Lola,would say, ‘Sir Alan, we did have a copy of this book in stock, but it was sold this morning. Happily,’ she’d continue before he could explode with frustration, ‘it was sold to me, and I have it in my bag, out in the back office. If you like, I’ll get it for you now.’ And the look of relief on Sir Alan’s face — relief and respect — would be just fantastic. Naturally he would whisk her off at once in his limo and insist on treating her to lunch at the Oxo Tower

‘Not him. Tom Dutton.’ Whilst Lola was joyfully running through her favourite daydream, Gabe had been busy with his laptop.

‘What? Where? At the airport?’

‘On the way to it. Hang on, nearly there.’

‘You’re so lucky,’ wailed Sally. ‘I never see anyone interesting. Bumped into Dale Winton once in a newsagents and that’s about it. He was buying TicTacs and— ooh!’

‘Let me see.’ Lola joined them in front of the laptop and jostled with Sally in order to gaze at the photo Gabe had brought up on the screen. ‘Wow, it is him. Who’s he kissing?’

A second photo flashed up and Lola saw at once who it was. Next to her Sally let out a squeal of recognition and yelped, ‘Jessica Lee!’

‘I thought you’d like to see them.’ Pleased with himself, Gabe clicked onto the third photo, the one showing Tom loping back to his car. ‘They pulled up separately at this service station and disappeared together up a side alley. I just happened to have the camera in my hand. I knew you’d think I was making it up if I didn’t have proof.’ His fingers hovered over the laptop’s touchpad. ‘I could make this one your screensaver if you like. Or shall I just delete them?’

‘Excuse me! Are you mad?’ To be on the safe side Sally grabbed his hand before he could press anything drastic and lose the photos forever. ‘It’s Tom Dutton and Jessica Lee!’

‘I know.’ Gabe looked aggrieved. ‘That’s why I thought Lola would be interested.’

He didn’t understand. He didn’t have a clue. Lola and Sally exchanged glances.

‘This is two major Hollywood celebs we’re talking about,’ said Sally.

‘Bloody hell, will you stop treating me like a three-year-old? I know that!’

Lola patted his shoulder. ‘They’re ‘nogging.’

‘So?’

‘So, no one knows they’re even seeing each other.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because if it was known, it would be in all the papers,’ Sally patiently explained. ‘Because those of us who aren’t major Hollywood celebs are interested in things like that.’

Ri-ight.’ Gabe was still looking baffled. Gossip magazines simply didn’t feature in his life.

It was time to treat him like a three-year-old. Sally tapped the photos on the screen. ‘You can sell these, Gabe. For a lot of money.’

‘Oh!’ He frowned. ‘What, to a newspaper?’

‘To a picture agency,’ Sally said promptly. ‘They’re the experts. They’ll sell the rights to newspapers and magazines all over the world. It’s money for old rope. We can phone one right now. These photos were taken how long ago? Three days? Wow, you’re lucky no one else has caught them since then. This is what’s known as a scoop.’

‘Hold on, hold on,’ Gabe protested. ‘I’m not so sure about this. What if they don’t want people to find out? They might already have partners.’

‘Oh, aren’t you sweet?’ Sally looked at him as if he were a puppy, then said briskly, ‘Number one, they don’t. Jessica Lee broke up with Kevin Masterson six weeks ago and Tom hasn’t had a girlfriend for months. Number two, it’s not your job to protect celebs. If they’re playing away and get caught out, that’s not your problem. In fact it jolly well serves them right, and their other halves should know what’s been going on behind their backs.’

Drily Gabe said, ‘There speaks someone who’s had it done to her.’

‘Well, yes, I have.’ Sally looked indignant. ‘Not that I did anything to deserve it.’

‘Has it ever occurred to you that they might not have been able to handle the way you live? Who knows, maybe if you’d been a bit tidier,’ Gabe shrugged, ‘you could have been down off that shelf by now’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Sally exploded. ‘I’m trying to help you here and you’re being completely ungrateful. Go on then, press the delete button, just wipe those photos out. See if I care.’

Will you two give it a rest?’ complained Lola. ‘I’m starting to feel like a Relate counsellor. Here you go.’ She dumped a copy of theYellow Pages in front of Gabe. ‘Find a picture agency and give them a ring.’

‘How do I know which one to choose?’

‘That one.’ Leaning over Gabe’s shoulder, Sally pointed to a small box advert for the Carter Agency.

Gabe twisted round to look at her. ‘Why?’

‘I know Colin Carter. He’s married to my friend Janey. That’s how I know about picture agencies,’ said Sally. ‘Colin’s a good bloke and he wouldn’t rip you off. I can give him a ring now if you like, tell him what you’ve got.’

‘Great! Gabe passed her his phone.

But Sally hadn’t completely forgiven him yet. As she began keying in the number she said crisply, ‘Not that you deserve it. I can’t imagine why I’m being so kind to you when you’re always so horrible to me.’

Chapter 23

The photographs appeared in the Daily Mirror two days later. They were also sold to newspapers and magazines all over the world. Colin Carter had just phoned Gabe and told him that he had a good eye for a picture; if he came up with any more photos he should be sure to give him a call.

It was Christmas Eve and without ever having considered it, Gabe now found himself with the possibility of a brand new career as a member of the paparazzi.

He gazed at the newspapers spread out on the coffee table in front of him and frowned. ‘I couldn’t do it. Everyone hates the paparazzi.’

‘It might be fun. All those celebs,’ Lola said encouragingly. ‘All that fresh air.’

Gabe hesitated. He really didn’t want to go back to being a chartered surveyor. ‘But you know what I’m like. I wouldn’t recognise half the people I was supposed to be photographing.’

‘God, listen to you: Sally emerged from her room, her arms loaded with gift-wrapped presents.

‘You old fogey! You don’t say photographing, you say papping.’ Never one to pass up the opportunity to have a dig, she said gleefully, ‘You’ll be playing records next, on your wind-up gramophone, whilst puffing away on a Woodbine.’

Gabe rolled his eyes. ‘Are you off? Don’t let us keep you.’

‘Oh, are you leaving now?’ Lola jumped up; it was seven in the evening and each of them was heading home to spend Christmas day with their families. ‘Are you getting a cab to Barnes? Give everyone my love.’ Well, Dougie. She didn’t want Adele appropriating any of it; more to the point, couldn’t imagine Adele wanting any of her love.

No, I’m catching the tube to Doug’s then we’re going in his car. If you like,’ Sally told Gabe,

‘you can borrow my magazines and start learning who everyone is.’

‘Maybe next week. I’m not spending Christmas doing homework.’

Doug lived in Kensington. ‘You can’t carry all those presents on the tube by yourself,’ said Lola.

‘Why don’t I give you a hand? Kensington’s practically on the way to Streatham.’

Sally frowned. ‘But you’ve got loads of stuff to carry too.’

‘Less than you have. Wouldn’t it be easier for me to help you?’

‘OK, better idea,’ said Sally, ‘how about if I give Doug a call and ask him to come and pick me up. I’ll just say I’ve got too many bags.’ She paused, looked at the expression on Lola’s face.

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem fair on him ...’

‘But he won’t mind!’

Lola looked doubtful. ‘He might say he doesn’t.’

‘Well, I don’t get this.’ Sally shook her head, baffled. ‘I thought you’d have liked the idea of Doug coming over. Don’t say you’ve gone off him.’

Gabe grinned at her. ‘Are you serious? Try turning it around.The reason Lola doesn’t want your brother driving over is because ... hmm, let me think, she’d far rather see where he lives and have a good look around his flat. Because she’s nosy.’

‘Is that why?’ Sally turned to Lola, surprised. Lola shrugged evasively; Gabe knew her too well.

‘Might be.’

‘For heaven’s sake! Why didn’t you just say so, then? What am I, a mind-reader?’ Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Get your coat on and let’s go.’

Lola didn’t need to be asked twice. Since sobbing all over Dougie the other evening he’d been occupying her thoughts even more than before. He’d been so nice to her and being back in his arms — albeit briefly — had felt so right. She’d been dreaming about those arms. And for the first time she’d seriously begun to wonder if it might be possible to win Dougie back.

Doug lived in the ground floor flat of a huge Victorian pillar-fronted house in Onslow Gardens.

If Lola thought she’d done pretty well for herself property-wise, his flat was several rungs further up the ladder. Then again, he was a management consultant with a super-successful company he’d built up from scratch; it had to pay well.

‘Phew, here we are,’ panted Sally, climbing the white marble steps and ringing the bell with her shoulder.

‘I’m feeling so Christmassy! Wouldn’t it be great if it could start to snow now?’ Lola hugged the bags of presents and felt her stomach tighten with excitement. For so many years she’d felt this way about the thought of seeing Father Christmas; now she was feeling it at the prospect of seeing Dougie again.

What’s more, she’d watched Love, Actually enough times to know that magical things could happen on Christmas Eve. Her cheeks were glowing and her hair was fetchingly tousled. She was wearing her favourite white fluffy scarf. And her mouth was slicked with a subtle but sparkly Guerlain lipstick that looked like pink frost and tasted delicious. If Doug wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss her, she could guarantee he wouldn’t be disappointed.

‘Come on, come on, hurry up,’ Sally urged through chattering teeth.

Well, he wouldn’t be disappointed if only he’d come and open the door. Checking for CCTV

cameras, Lola suppressed the less than welcome thought that Doug could have seen her on his doorstep and was now pretending to be out. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Had he never watched Love, Actually? Didn’t he know how romantic Christmas Eve could be, if only he’d relax into it, let bygones be bygones, and just let fate take its natural course?

Then the front door opened and there he was, barefoot and wearing a blue and white striped shirt over frayed jeans. Unable to help herself, Lola took a quick intake of breath and began to cough as the ice-cold air hit the back of her throat. One day, one day, she’d learn to be elegant and in control.

‘Bloody hell, about time too,’ Sally complained, bustling past him. ‘It’s freezing out there.’

‘OK, two things. It’s not even eight o’clock yet. I said to come over at nine.’

‘You said eight.’

‘Nine. Definitely nine.’

‘Oh well, never mind. I’m early!’

‘And secondly,’ Doug’s dark eyes narrowed, ‘what’s Lola doing here? Because I’m fairly sure our mother hasn’t invited her to spend Christmas Day with us.’

Lola’s heart sank. So he hadn’t ever watched Love, Actually.

‘Don’t be sarcastic. Lola’s here because she’s doing me a favour,’ said Sally. ‘I had too much stuff to carry so she offered to help me out.’

‘See? I’m a nice person really.’ Lola beamed hopefully. ‘And don’t panic, I’m on my way to my mum’s. I just saw that Sal was struggling with all her parcels so I said I’d lend her a hand getting them here.’

‘Fine. I’ll take them off you, shall I?’ Having seized the bags containing the presents, Doug stepped back. ‘There we go. Thanks. Have a good Christmas.’

He was a man. He probably only watched testosterone-fuelled, action-packed films like Mission: Impossible and The Great Escape.

‘Don’t be so rude,’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Honestly, I’m so ashamed of you sometimes. I was going to ring earlier and ask you to come and pick me up, but Lola said I mustn’t do that, you were far too busy and important to have time to drive over to us, and that she really didn’t mind struggling onto the tube and fighting through the crowds and trudging through the streets ...’

Lola cleared her throat; Sally was getting carried away now

‘Anyway, the least you can do is invite her in for a drink to say thank you.’

Doug gave her a long-suffering look, then turned and said, ‘Lola, thank you for helping my sister. Won’t you come in for a drink?’

‘Doug, that’s so kind of you.’ Checking her watch, Lola broke into a delighted smile. ‘I shouldn’t really, but ... oh, go on then. You’ve twisted my arm!’

The living room was blissfully warm, L-shaped and comfortably furnished. Lola, greedily taking in every detail, noted that Doug — thank God — was neither as chaotically untidy as his sister nor as obsessively neat as Gabe. Charcoal-grey curtains hung at the long sash windows, contrasting with the deep crimson walls. There were magazines beside the sofa, DVDs next to the TV, a dark blue sweater left hanging over the back of a chair, various prints and paintings on the walls, two discarded wine glasses on the coffee table .. .

Oh, and a blonde in the kitchen doorway. Now there was an accessory she could have happily done without.

‘Hi,’ said the blonde.

‘Hi.’ Lola felt as if she’d just stepped into a lift that wasn’t there.

‘Well, well, this is a surprise.’ Sally, never backward in coming forward, said, ‘Who are you?’

‘This is Isabel. A friend of mine.’ The way Doug moved towards her was oddly protective, almost as if he was preparing to defend an innocent gazelle from a couple of boisterous lion cubs. ‘Isabel, this is my sister Sally.’ In throwaway fashion he then added, ‘And her friend Lola!

Just to make crystal clear to everyone in the room how completely unimportant she was, how utterly irrelevant to his life.

To compound it, Isabel smiled widely and said, ‘Sally. I’ve heard all about you. Doug’s always talking about you!’

‘Is he? He’s kept very quiet about you.’ Sally unwound her lime-green scarf, flung aside her handbag and plonked herself down on the sofa. ‘So, how long have you two known each other?’

‘Glass of red?’ Evidently keen to be rid of her ASAP, Doug appeared in front of Lola with the open bottle and a clean glass.

Talk about brisk. What could she ask for that would spin things out a bit longer?

‘Actually, I’d love a coffee.’

‘Well, we’ve known each other for ages.’ Across the room, Isabel flipped back her ironed blonde hair and sat down cosily next to Sally. ‘We work together,’ she confided. ‘But we’ve only recently become ... you know, closer.’

It hadn’t been love at first sight then. That was something to be grateful for. Although it would be nice if she could have been a bit less pretty.

‘I was seeing someone else,’ Isabel went on, ‘but we broke up. After that, Doug and I just ended up getting together.’

Lola looked at Doug, sending him a telepathic message: we could do that, you and me .. .

‘Coffee.’ Doug’s tone was brusque; he didn’t appear to be telepathic. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make it.’

‘Actually I’ll come with you.’ Lola flashed him a sunny smile. ‘Then I can make sure you don’t palm me off with instant!

As she followed Doug into the kitchen, Isabel was saying cheerily, ‘... and I’m going down to Brighton tonight, to stay with my parents. That’s what Christmas is all about, isn’t it? Mind you, I’m going to miss Doug! I can’t wait to see what he’s bought me. He wouldn’t let me open it tonight.’

The kitchen was nice, black and white and boasting, among other items, a huge chrome Dualit toaster.

‘Still keen on toast, then,’ said Lola.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Inspecting the cupboards. What happened to the Pot Noodles? You used to love Pot Noodles.’

Exasperated, Doug said, ‘When I was seventeen.’

‘I bet you still secretly like them. Once a Pot Noodler, always a Pot Noodler.’ Lola carried on opening and closing drawers and cupboards; finding a secret stash of Hot’n’Spicys would bring her so much joy. ‘I bet you put on a hat and dark glasses, sneak off to some supermarket miles away, praying you won’t bump into anyone you know, and buy up trolley loads at a time. And then you have to smuggle them back to Kensington — imagine the shame if the neighbours found out!’

‘Will you stop riffling through my cupboards?’

‘Why, am I getting warm?’

‘Here, just take your coffee.’ Having sunk the plunger on the cafetière in record time, Doug shoved a small cup into her hands.

Lola peered into the cup. ‘Bit weak.’

‘Too bad. Shall we head back through?’

‘What did you buy Isabel for Christmas?’

Doug looked exasperated. ‘I’m not telling you that.’

Sally, whose eavesdropping skills were second to none, said, ‘You’re not telling her what?’

when they returned to the living room.

‘I was wondering what he’d bought you for Christmas,’ said Lola, ‘that’s all.’

‘Anything’s fine by me.’ Sally beamed at Doug. ‘So long as he’s kept the receipt.’

‘Oh poor Dougie! I wouldn’t dream of taking back anything he bought me,’ trilled Isabel.

‘Whatever it was:

‘Remember when we bought each other the same CD? Parklife,’ Lola fondly reminisced without thinking. ‘God, we used to play that album non-stop. I can still remember the words to every song.’

‘Hang on, you mean you and Doug bought each other the same CD?’ Isabel looked confused.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise ...’

Lola shrugged and managed a smile that was both carefree and tinged with regret; it seemed a bit mean to announce that Dougie had been her first love.

‘Oh yes,’ Sally said helpfully. ‘They were boyfriend and girlfriend.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ Doug cut in. ‘Back in the days when I still ate Pot Noodles. As I was just explaining to Lola,’ he added pointedly, ‘our tastes change over the years.’

Isabel let out a high-pitched shriek of laughter. ‘You used to like Pot Noodles? Oh my God!’

Lola was extremely fond of Pot Noodles and felt as protective as a new mother whenever anyone made fun of them. She said evenly, ‘I like Pot Noodles. They’re brilliant. Chicken and Mushroom’s my favourite.’

Chapter 24

’How are things going with Gabe?’ In order to spare Isabel’s blushes, Doug swiftly changed the subject.

‘Hideous.’ Sally shuddered. ‘Talk about pernickety. He’s so gay, just won’t admit it.’

‘He’s not gay.’ Lola hadn’t yet managed to convince Sally but she kept saying it anyway. ‘If Gabe was gay, he’d be gay. He’s Jack Lemmon, you’re Walter Matthau and you drive him insane, that’s all it is. Some people leave tea bags in the kitchen sink,’ she told Doug, because there were times when you couldn’t help feeling sorry for Gabe. ‘Yesterday your sister left hers on the coffee table.’

Sally shrugged. Not on purpose. Only because I hadn’t realised it was still in my mug.’

Lola had been making her coffee last as long as possible. Finally she was down to the lukewarm grounds.

‘Finished? Good.’ Doug whisked away her cup, clearly keen to see the back of her.

Which – and here was her optimism rushing to the fore again – could mean that her presence was disturbing him in a good way.

‘Could I use your bathroom before I. go?’ It was freezing out there; even Doug couldn’t banish her and her bursting bladder to the vagaries of the great outdoors, surely?

Although he looked as if he’d quite like to.

‘Out in the hall. Second door on the left.’

It was actually a tricky exercise, walking the length of the living room in a natural manner, super-aware of Dougie’s eyes upon her. What was he really thinking? Was he mentally comparing her with Isabel? Come to that, how did she compare with Isabel? Her rival – the rival she hadn’t known existed before now – was a cool sleek blonde with high-maintenance hair and a hint of the ice princess about her. She was probably more classically beautiful but was she as much fun? Pretty was all very well but Lola felt she might have the edge when it came to character. She was the playful spaniel whereas Isabel was more of a pampered feline; Isabel was Grace Kelly while she was Doris Day; Isabel had the kind of high-pitched laugh that could easily start to get on a man’s nerves after a—

‘I said second door on the left.’ Out in the hall Doug’s voice behind Lola made her jump. ‘That’s the second on the right.’

But he was a split second too late; she’d already opened the door and walked into his bedroom.

Bingo!

‘Sorry. I’m always getting my left and right mixed up. Wow, this is nice!’ Taking another step into the room, she drank in the burnt-orange walls, the duvet and pillowcases in bitter chocolate, the polished oak floorboards and mahogany furniture. This was where Doug slept, this was his bed. Lola did her best to picture him in it, except there was one small but vitally important detail missing. She couldn’t see any pyjamas but .. . ‘Do you still sleep naked?’

There, she’d said it.

Doug shook his head. ‘You don’t change, do you?’

Oh well. She shrugged. ‘I like to know these things.’

‘Even though "these things" aren’t any of your business?’

But he wasn’t sounding entirely pissed off. Encouraged, Lola said innocently, ‘I just wondered if you’d turned into the kind of man who wears stripy cotton pyjamas all buttoned up to the neck, like Kenneth Williams in Carry On Nurse.’

His mouth twitched. ‘Oh yes, that’s me. That’s what I wear.’

‘You don’t.’

‘I definitely do.’

‘You still sleep naked.’ Lola exhaled with relief; now she was able to picture him in his king-sized bed. Even better, ice queen Isabel wasn’t in there with him.

Hmm, ice queens probably had cold feet.

‘OK, you’ve had your snoop around,’ said Doug. ‘Now I’ll show you where the bathroom is.’

She couldn’t help herself; the question was bubbling up. ‘Do you really like her?’

‘Do I really like who?’

‘Isabel.’

As he steered her out of the bedroom and pointed her in the direction of the door opposite, Doug said, ‘Again, not actually any of your business. But if it helps,’ he paused, causing Lola’s heart to expand with hope, ‘then I suppose I’d have to say yes, I do.’

The pause had been deliberate. He knew exactly why she was asking and now he was getting his own back. Recklessly Lola said, ‘Is sleeping with her as much fun as it was with me?’

There, there was that flicker again. God, she loved that flicker behind the eyes.

‘Lola, you’re talking about ten years ago. I don’t even remember what sleeping with you was like.’

Which, if she’d believed him, might have counted as a put-down. Luckily Lola didn’t for a minute.

‘You know what I think? I think I must be having an effect on you if you’re having to say stuff like that.’ There was a warm glow in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with needing the loo. With a playful smile Lola said, ‘Because I know you’re lying now I remember every detail of every minute of every time with you, Dougie. And I still will when I’m ninety. Because it was the most important thing in the world to me. It meant everything. And I know you remember it too.’

Another pause. He took a step closer and leaned forward, causing her to suck in her breath .

‘It was almost the most important thing in the world to you.’ Doug whispered the words in her ear. ‘Remember? It came in second, behind money.’

Which put a bit of a dampener on a potentially promising moment. Doug turned and headed back to the living room and Lola paid her visit to the bathroom, which was white and modern and thankfully devoid of girly toiletries. Careful not to clink the bottle against the glass shelf, she unscrewed the top of Doug’s aftershave and inhaled. It never failed to astound her that smells could be so evocative. Christmas trees, her mum’s chocolate cake, fireworks, Ambre Solaire ...

so many smells, each triggering a different memory, and now she had Doug’s distinctive aftershave added to the list, one more unique scent with the ability to transport her back to the night she’d met him again, the power to make her knees go weak with longing.

And it would still be happening when she was ninety.

OK, better put the bottle back on the shelf before she dropped it into the sink; that would be a giveaway. Time to say her goodbyes and leave. Gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Lola pinched her cheeks and jooshed up her hair. With a bit of luck, what with everyone being jolly and wishing each other Happy Christmas, she might get the chance to give Doug a festive hug and a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

Not much to pin your hopes on, maybe. But every little helped.

’Oh, come here, don’t you look gorgeous, where did you get that scarf?’ Blythe flung open the front door and enveloped her daughter in her arms. As the car pulled away and disappeared up the road she said, ‘Did somebody give you a lift? Why didn’t you invite them in for a drink?’

Lola closed her eyes and revelled in being in her mother’s arms; at least it wasn’t going to be a completely hug-free evening. And yes, she was looking gorgeous, not that it had had the desired effect.

‘I would have,’ she fibbed, ‘but they were in a hurry. It was Doug.’

‘Doug? You mean Dougie Tennant?’ Blythe exclaimed. ‘Oh, he was always such a dear boy –

I’d love to have seen him again. You should have forced him to come in!’

Oh yes, and wouldn’t that have been relaxing? Earlier, as they’d all been preparing to leave Dougie’s flat, Lola had briefly cornered him and murmured, ‘By the way, my mum doesn’t know about the money thing, OK? I’d rather she didn’t find out.’

Doug had given her one of his withering looks, the kind that made her insides curdle with shame.

‘I’ll bet you don’t.’ It was horrible but there was nothing she could do. And shehadn’t been able to risk not warning him, because there was always the chance that Blythe could have come rushing out of the house, blurting out anything. As far as she was aware, Lola had known that Dougie’s mother disapproved of their relationship but that was all. The decision to finish with Dougie and move to Majorca had been Lola’s alone, typically impetuous and possibly foolhardy, and based on Lola’s decision that a long-term, long-distance relationship with Dougie could never work out.

‘But if he gave you a lift over here, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?’ Now, studying her daughter’s face, Blythe said hopefully, ‘Do you think he might be starting to forgive you yet?’

‘Mum, stop it, don’t get carried away.’ Phew, just as well Doug had driven off at the speed of light; Lola envisaged her mother telling him that there were worse things in life than a bit of wounded pride. Hurriedly she nipped her mother’s fantasies in the bud – it was bad enough being disappointed by her own. ‘He’s with his girlfriend. I went over to his flat with Sally. He only gave me a lift because she forced him to.’ Maybe she was being extra-suspicious but Lola also wondered if Doug had done it in order to avoid the festive goodbye hugand-a-kiss. When she’d clambered out of the back of the Mercedes with her bags of presents, he’d pretty much made reaching him a physical impossibility by remaining in the driver’s seat with Isabel next to him.

Had that been deliberate?

‘Oh well, never mind. Men and their silly egos.’ Blythe was nothing if not supportive. ‘Come on inside, it’s freezing out here. We’re going to have such a lovely time,’ she went on proudly. ‘I’ve got smoked salmon and Madagascan king prawns from Marks and Spencer. Your favourites.’

It was the not knowing how her mother might react that was causing Lola to hesitate. On the one hand she wanted, more than anything, to talk about her father.

Not her stepfather, Alex. The biological one, Nick.

On the other hand, it was Christmas morning and the very last thing she wanted to do was upset Blythe. Their family Christmases had always been extra-special, but since Alex’s death five years ago, she and her mother had made even more of an effort, drawing closer still, both of them treasuring this time together and cherishing all the shared happy memories that meant so much.

Which was why, despite longing to raise the subject of Nick James, every time she geared herself up to do it Lola felt her stomach clench and the words stick in her throat. She had the number of his mobile keyed into her phone. Was he wondering why she hadn’t contacted him yet? It was Christmas Day and the schmaltzy, happy-ever-after side of her - the kind that wept buckets over the festive films shown on Hallmark - had dared to fantasise about blurting everything out to her mother, followed by Blythe getting all emotional and admitting that she’d made a terrible mistake all those years ago, and that she’d never stopped loving Nick. Cut to Nick, sitting alone in his flat on Christmas Day, gazing blankly out of the window at small children having a boisterous snowball fight outside in the street - because in Hallmark films it always snows on Christmas Day. A look of regret crosses his face; he made a mistake and has spent the last twenty-seven years paying for it. Blythe is still the only woman he’s ever loved, but it’s all too late now, she’s The phone rings, brrrrrr brrrrrr. Nick hesitates then answers it. His eyes widen in wonder as he whispers, ‘Blythe?’ Cut to: a sunny, snowy hill overlooking an insanely picturesque London. Lola, wearing her beautiful sparkly white scarf, sends Blythe up the hill ahead of her and sits down on a bench to wait. At the top of the hill, Nick paces nervously to and fro through the snow. Then he sees Blythe and everything goes into warm and fuzzy slow motion until somehow they’re in each other’s arms, spinning round and round in that way that can make you feel dizzy just watching them .. .

Well, it could happen, couldn’t it?

‘Okey dokey, that’s the parsnips done: Wiping her hands on her blue striped apron, Blythe counted the saucepans and consulted her list. ‘Stuffing, check. Bread sauce, check. Chipolatas, bacon, baked onions, check check check. How are those carrots coming along?’

‘Finished.’ It was a ridiculous amount of work for one meal but that was tradition for you. They both enjoyed the whole cooking ritual. In fact, Lola discovered, while she’d been lost in her happy Hallmark reverie, she’d managed to peel and chop enough carrots to feed the entire street.

‘Ready for a top-up?’ Blythe took the bottle of sparkling Freixenet from the fridge and gaily refilled their glasses. ‘That skirt’s wonderful on you. And the belt’s perfect with it. Oh, sweetie pie, I love you so much, give me a hug.’

Mum, guess whose number I’ve got stored on my phone ... ? Mum, remember when I was born ... ?

Mum, you know how sometimes you bump into someone you haven’t seen for years ... ?

Still the words wouldn’t come. As Blythe wrapped her in a Fracas-scented embrace, Lola decided to wait until lunch was over. Maybe this afternoon, when they were relaxing together in front of the fire eating Thornton’s truffles, she could casually slide the conversation round to the opposite sex in general, then old boyfriends in particular and how they might have changed since they’d last seen them

‘Ooh, I’ll get that.’ Blythe darted across the kitchen as the phone began to ring. ‘It’s probably Malcolm, calling from his sister’s in Cardiff.’

It was Malcolm. Lola popped a chunk of carrot into her mouth, tipped the rest into a pan of sugared and salted water, and went upstairs to the bathroom. By the time she came back down, her mother was off the phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Lola.

Nothing’s wrong.’ Blythe’s freckles always seemed to become more prominent when she was feeling guilty.’That was Malcolm.’

‘I know. He’s staying with his sister’s family in Cardiff.’ Malcolm was a divorcee whose son was serving overseas in the army.

Blythe leaned against the dishwasher. ‘He was. But now he’s back. His sister’s mother-in-law had a heart attack yesterday afternoon and they all had to rush up to the hospital in Glasgow.

She’s in intensive care, poor thing, and it’s touch and go. But poor Malcolm too,’ Blythe went on pleadingly. ‘He had to drive back from Cardiff last night and now he’s all on his own at home.’

Lola experienced a sinking sensation in her stomach, like water spiralling down a plughole.

‘Can you imagine?’ Blythe’s eyes widened. ‘On Christmas Day.’

It was so obvious what was coming next. Lola wanted to wail N0000’ and hated herself for it.

She wished she was less selfish, more generous, one of those genuinely kind people who wouldn’t hesitate for a second to suggest what she knew perfectly well Blythe was about to suggest.

‘On his own,’ Blythe prompted.

The frustrated ten-year-old inside Lola was now stamping her foot and yelling, But it’s not _fair, this is our Christmas and now it’s all going to be spoiled.

The grown-up, rational 27-year-old Lola fiddled with a teaspoon and said, ‘Doesn’t he have any other friends he could spend the day with?’

‘I don’t suppose he wants to be a burden.’ Her mother tilted her head to one side, the diamanté clip Lola had bought her from Butler and Wilson glittering in her coppery hair. ‘Everyone has their own families.’

So he has to pick on ours, bawled the bratty ten-year-old Lola. No, Mummy, make the nasty man go away, I don’t want him here!

God, she was horrible. How could she even think that? Awash with shame and self-loathing, Lola forced herself to say brightly, ‘So he’s coming over?’

‘Is that all right, love?You don’t mind, do you?’Which meant the invitation had already been extended and accepted. ‘Dear Malcolm, if it was the other way round he’d be inviting us to stay.

He’s an absolute sweetheart. If ever anyone needs any help he’s there like a shot.’

‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Disappointment hit Lola like a brick. Bang went the opportunity to raise the subject of her real father.

‘Thanks, love.’ Beaming with relief, Blythe slotted a new compilation CD into the hi-fi. ‘You’re an angel. We’ll have a lovely day together.’ Then she clapped her hands as, in his familiar raspy voice, Bruce Springsteen began to sing ‘Merry Christmas, Baby’. ‘Oh, my favourite! Did I ever tell you I used to lust after Bruce Springsteen? Those skintight jeans, that sexy red bandanna, those beautiful dark eyes ...’

Yeek, and now she was dancing around the kitchen in a scarily early eighties way. This was her mother; once upon a time she had lusted after snake-hipped gypsy-eyed Bruce Springsteen and now she was involved with Malcolm Parker who sported patterned sweaters, hideous sandals and the world’s bushiest beard.

This was what getting older did to you, Lola realised. Your priorities shifted and you truly began to believe that things like hairy-hobbity toes weren’t so bad after all.

Please, God, don’t ever let that happen to me.

Chapter 25

’Ho ho ho! Happy Christmas one and all!’ In celebration of the day, Malcolm was wearing a bright red, Santa-sized sweater over his plaid shirt and bottle-green corduroys. As he made his way into the house he grazed Blythe’s cheek with a kiss and beamed at Lola. ‘Well, this is a treat! How kind of you both to invite me. I hope it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Lola felt ashamed of herself; he was a sweet man, if not what you’d call a heart-throb. And at least he wasn’t wearing sandals today, so the hairy toes weren’t on show.

‘The more the merrier,’ Blythe gaily insisted. ‘Come on through to the living room. We’re going to have a lovely day!’

Lola watched Malcolm sit down and realised that for the rest of the day, instead of sharing the comfortable squashy sofa with her mother, she was relegated to the slightly less comfortable armchair with its less good view of the TV.

‘I didn’t know if you had a Monopoly set, so I brought my own.’ Triumphantly Malcolm produced it from his khaki haversack. ‘Nothing like a few games of Monopoly to get Christmas going with a swing! Those people who just sit around like puddings watching rubbish on TV ...

what are they like, eh? They don’t know what they’re missing!’

Lola, who couldn’t bear Monopoly and had been banking on sitting like a pudding watching TV, said brightly, ‘What can I get you to drink, Malcolm?’

And it wasn’t rubbish.

Evidently detecting the bat-squeak of panic in her voice, he looked anxious. ‘Unless you don’t like playing Monopoly?’

‘Of course we do, Malcolm.’ Blythe rushed to reassure him. ‘We love it!’

The day was long.Verrrrrry lonnnnnng. Being relentlessly nice and having to pretend you were having so much fun had been exhausting. By ten o’clock, with Malcolm still showing no sign of leaving, Lola conceded defeat. Faking a few enormous yawns, she made her excuses and kissed Blythe goodnight.

‘Sure I can’t tempt you to one last game of Monopoly?’ Malcolm’s tone was jovial, his eyes bright with hope.

‘Thanks, Malcolm, but I just can’t stay awake.’ Poor chap, it wasn’t his fault he was boring. ‘I’m off up to bed.’

‘Let’s hope it’s not because I’m dull company, ha ha ha!’ Crumbs from the slice of fruit cake he’d been eating quivered in his beard as he beamed at Blythe. ‘You’d tell me if I was, wouldn’t you?’

The thing was, people said that, but they didn’t actually mean it; if you told them how staggeringly dull they were, they’d be shocked and hurt.

‘Don’t be daft, Malcolm.’ Cheerily Blythe said, ‘How about a nice drop of Scotch to go with that fruit cake?’

Upstairs in her old bedroom Lola sat up in bed with a book and tried hard to feel more like Mother Teresa, less like a selfishspoilt brat. Malcolm’s last words to her had been, ‘Thanks for being so welcoming, pet. I tell you, this has been one of the best Christmases of my life.’

Which had brought a bit of a lump to her throat. Because Malcolm was a sweet, genuinely good man who had given up his Sundays for years to do volunteer dog-walking, and who would never say anything unkind about anyone. He would never hurt Blythe.

But he was no Bruce Springsteen either. He wasn’t even Bruce Springsteen’s older, grizzled, weatherbeaten uncle. Lola really, really hoped he wasn’t going to spend the night here .. . oh God, how did other people with parents-who-were-datingagain cope when their parents chose partners who just weren’t ... well, right?

The book wasn’t holding her attention. After a couple of chapters Lola gave up and listened to the murmuring voices of Malcolm and her mother downstairs in the living room. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but at least the fact that they were saying something meant they weren’t . urrghh, snogging on the sofa.

Reaching for her mobile, Lola scrolled through the address book until she found Nick James’s number.

As it began to ring at the other end she felt her chest fill with butterflies and, panicking, pressed Cancel.

OK, this was ridiculous. He was her father. It was allowed.

Taking deep breaths she rang again. Had he spent the last five days waiting for this moment, getting all jumpy every time his phone burst into life, then being disappointed each time it wasn’t her?

Or, or, what if she’d been a disappointment to him and he’d decided he didn’t need a daughter like her in his life after all?

What if he’d hastily changed his number? Oh God, what if it had been a fake one all along?

Five rings. Six rings. Any moment now it was going to click onto answerphone and she’d have to decide whether to leave a—’Hello?’

Whoosh, in a split second all Lola’s nerves vanished. His voice was as warm and friendly as she remembered.

‘Nick?’ She couldn’t call him Dad, that would feel too weird. ‘Hi, it’s ... um, Lola.’

‘Lola.’ She heard him exhale. Then, sounding as if he was smiling, he said, ‘Thank God. You don’t know how glad I am to hear from you. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t.’

She waggled her toes with relief. ‘And I was just wondering if you’d given me a made-up number.’

‘You seriously thought I’d do that?’

‘Well, I was dressed as a rabbit. It could put some people off.’

‘I’m made of sterner stuff than that. Hey, merry Christmas.’

Lola grinned, because her actual biological father was wishing her a merry Christmas. How cool was that? ‘You too. Where are you?’

Just got home. Spent the day with friends in Hampstead. How about you?’

Thank goodness he hadn’t been on his own; that would have been just awful.

‘I’m at Mum’s house.’

He sounded pleased. ‘You mean you’ve told her?’

‘Um, no.’ Realising that he thought Blythe was in the room with her now, Lola said, ‘I wanted to, I was going to, then this friend of hers turned up and I couldn’t. They’re downstairs. I’m up here in bed. Too much Monopoly takes it out of you.’

‘God, I can’t stand Monopoly.’ Nick spoke with feeling. ‘Sorry. So how do you think she’ll react when you do tell her?’

‘That’s the thing, I just don’t know.’ She hesitated, hunching her knees under the duvet. ‘But I’m a bit worried that she might refuse to see you. And once Mum makes up her mind about something she can be a bit, well ...’

‘You don’t have to tell me.’ Nick’s tone was dry. ‘OK, let me have a think about this. What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Working.’ Lola shuddered, because tomorrow was going to be hell on wheels; when she was crowned Queen of the World, opening shops on Boxing Day wouldn’t be allowed.

‘Friday?’

‘Working:

‘Saturday?’

‘I’m not working on Saturday.’

‘How about Blythe? Would she be free then?’

‘As far as I know’

‘OK, now listen,’ Nick said slowly. ‘How about this for an idea?’

But before he could tell her what it was, there was a knock at the bedroom door and Blythe poked her head round. When she saw Lola’s mobile, she said, ‘Well, that’s a relief, I thought you were talking to yourself! Who’s that you’re on the phone to?’

Um ... ‘Gabe’

Her mother, who was fond of Gabe, said brightly, ‘Say hi to him from me!’

‘Mum’s here.’ Lola gripped the phone tightly as she spoke into it. ‘She says hi.’

‘Am I Gabe?’ Nick sounded amused. ‘Say hi back. And wish her a merry Christmas from me.’

OK, this was seriously weird now. ‘He says hi, and merry Christmas.’

‘Tell him I hope he’s had a good day.’ Blythe smiled broadly. ‘Tell her very good, thanks,’ said Nick. ‘All the better for hearing her voice.’

‘And I hope he’s been behaving himself,’ said Blythe.

‘She hopes you’ve been behaving yourself.’ OK, enough now. Nick sounded as if he was smiling. ‘Oh yes. Tell her I haven’t been arrested in years.’

If there was anything more manic than working in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing, it was shopping in the West End after Christmas when the sales were in full swing. Elbows were out, toes and small children were getting trampled on and everyone was carrying bags of stuff they’d either just bought or had been given for Christmas and were about to take back. And it was worth queuing for forty minutes to return a load of clothes to Marks and Spencer’s, because who but a fool would want to keep them, when the exact same items were now half price on the rails, enabling you to buy – ha! – twice as many? This was Blythe’s favourite bit.

‘Mum, we’ve been shopping for three hours. My feet hurt. My back’s starting to ache.’

‘Lightweight!’

‘And I’m thirsty,’ Lola said whinily.

‘We’ll buy you a bottle of water.’ Her mother was in the grip of buying fever; her eyes were darting around, greedily taking in sequinny sparkly tops, dresses awash with flowers and frills, things with spots and stripes and fringes ... OK, some of the colours might be iffy, but they were reduced in the sale .. .

‘And I’m hungry,’ Lola pleaded. Sono hungry. Mum, if youmake me carry on shopping now, I’ll last another hour. But if we stop for a proper rest and have something decent to eat, I’ll be set up for the rest of the day’

Blythe heaved an impatient sigh. ‘You were easier to take shopping when you were in a pram.

OK, we’ll eat. Where d’you want to go?’

‘Marco’s,’ Lola said promptly. ‘We always go to Marco’s.’

‘Are you sure? It’s a ten-minute walk from here. We could just go to the café downstairs.’

‘Oh no, no.’ Lola shook her head. ‘Because then you’ll just try and fob me off with orange juice and a prawn baguette. We’re going to Marco’s and we’re going to have chicken cacciatore and a nice glass of red, just like proper ladies who lunch.’

The restaurant was busy, warm and welcoming. Lola slipped her shoes off under the table and took a big sip – OK, maybe slightly bigger than a big sip – of Merlot. ‘Oh, this is better. My feet thank you. My stomach thanks you. Are we both having the chicken?’

‘Fine by me. Steady with that wine, love. You’re glugging it down like water.’

It was one o’clock. Lola felt the butterflies start up in earnest; any time now, her mother was going to find out why.

She saw him twenty minutes later through the full-length front window, making his way across the street. Blythe, sitting with her back to the entrance, was chattering away about holidays. Lola took a deep breath; in an ideal world her mother’s hair would be just brushed and she’d be wearing rather more make-up, but short of lunging across the table and forcibly applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her mouth, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Yeek, and now the door was being pushed open, here he came, it was really going to happen.

‘... so I said I’d think about it, although I’m not sure it’s really my thing.’ Blythe wrinkled her nose. ‘I mean, hill walking in Snowdonia. In big clumpy hiking boots. Sleeping in a tent, for heaven’s sake! Would you say I was the tenty type? It’s all right for Malcolm, but where would I plug in my hairdryer? And what happens when I need to ... to ...’ Her voice trailed away and the piece of chicken she’d been about to eat slid off her fork. All the colour abruptly drained from her face, leaving only freckles behind.

Nick, standing behind Lola’s chair, said, ‘Hello, Blythe.’

Chapter 26

Blythe was in a state of shock. For a split second Lola thought she might bolt from the restaurant. Then, visibly gathering herself, she managed a fixed smile. ‘Nick, what a surprise.

How nice to see you.’ Even her voice sounded different. ‘How are you? Looking well.’ Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw clenched with terror; mentally she was screaming go away, go away, please go away.

‘I’m fine, thanks. And you haven’t changed at all. It’s incredible.’

Lola said, ‘Mum—’

‘Oh, sorry, love, this is Nick.’ Blythe jumped in before Lola could ask any awkward questions.

‘We knew each other years ago ... well, nice to see you again, we mustn’t keep you .. . heavens, is that the time already? We’re going to have to rush ifwe’re-----’

‘Mum, it’s OK.’ Desperate to explain, Lola blurted out, ‘I know who Nick is. And this isn’t a coincidence; he knew we’d be here today because I told him. We met up before Christmas. He’s my father. And we really like each other.’ Hopefully, because her mother was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted an extra pair of ears, she said, ‘So that’s good, isn’t it?’

Blythe’s hand trembled as she took a gulp of wine. Then another gulp. ‘You planned this.’ Her voice rose in disbelief. ‘You met up before Christmas?’

‘I was going to tell you,’ Lola said hurriedly, ‘but I didn’t know how you’d react. And then Malcolm turned up on Christmas morning ...’

‘OK if I sit down?’ Nick indicated a spare chair.

‘My God, this is too much to take in.’ Clutching her head, Blythe said, Just turning up like this, out of the blue ... how did it happen? Who found who?’

‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said Lola. ‘It couldn’t have been me, could it? Seeing as you told me my father was an American who never even told you his real name.’

Her mother rubbed her forehead with both hands and said nothing.

‘Because that wouldn’t have exactly given me a lot to go on.’ Lola’s tone was dry.

‘Which is why I said it. And it worked,’ Blythe retaliated. ‘It did the trick perfectly well.’

Pointedly she added, ‘For twenty-seven years.’

‘I saw Lola being interviewed on the local news.’ Nick pulled out the chair and sat down. ‘Just for a few seconds, but it was enough. I had to find out if she was my daughter. And she is.’ His eyes softening, he slid one hand across the table towards Blythe then withdrew it as she snatched hers out of reach. ‘You’ve done a fantastic job, Blythe. She’s an absolute credit to you.’

Lola felt ridiculously proud. Her father thought she was pretty good, possibly even fantastic.

‘And to Alex. Her stepfather,’ Blythe said stiffly. ‘He’s the one who helped to bring her up.’

Nick nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘I’ve told him all about Alex,’ said Lola.

‘And did he tell you everything too?’ Breathing rapidly, Blythe turned her attention to Nick.

‘Hmm? Did you? Everything?’

People at other tables were starting to pay attention. Maybe organising this surprise reunion in a restaurant hadn’t been such a great idea. Lola, who had thought having other people around might help to keep things under control, said surreptitiously, ‘Mum, sshh.’

Which was kind of pointless seeing as Nick didn’t bother to lower his own voice when he said,

‘Yes, Blythe, she knows I went to prison.’

Now it was the turn of the avidly eavesdropping woman at the next table to go sshh at her husband who was droning boringly on about golf.

‘That was twenty-seven years ago,’ Nick continued. ‘I made a mistake and I paid for it a hundred times over. I lost you and I lost my daughter. And before you ask, no, I haven’t been in trouble with the police since then. I am a normal decent law-abiding citizen.’

‘Congratulations’ Frostily Blythe said, ‘Some of us have always been that.’

‘Hey. Blythe.’ His smile crooked, Nick seized the bottle of Merlot and poured some into Lola’s empty water glass. ‘It really is fantastic to see you again. We don’t have to fight, do we? Can’t we just be friends?’

‘What? I don’t know. This has only just happened.’ Blythe noisily exhaled, shook her head. ‘I can’t even think straight.’

‘I never stopped thinking about you. About both of you.’ For a second her eyes flashed. ‘And I never stopped thinking about the way you lied to me.’

‘Mum, it’s all in the past.’

‘But it happened,’ Blythe insisted. ‘I was eight months pregnant when I got the phone call telling me my boyfriend was in prison. No warning, no hints, just ... bam. It was like .. . God, it was like the whole world had exploded. I thought my life was over, I didn’t know what to do, I was desperate. And now here you are, turning up again out of the blue, saying, hey, never mind all that, it’s in the past, let’s just put it behind us and be friends!’ She paused, sitting back in her seat and raking her fmgers through her hair. ‘Because I don’t know if I want us to be friends. I’m fine as I am, thanks.’

‘I’m Lola’s father,’ said Nick.

‘Not as far as I’m concerned. Alex was the one who was there for her.’ Heatedly Blythe said, And guess what? He didn’t go to prison once!’

Lola closed her eyes; not quite the Hallmark reunion she’d been hoping for. ‘Mum, you lied to me about Nick, remember? You didn’t tell me the truth because you wanted to protect me, you didn’t want me to be hurt.’

Her mother said defensively, ‘So? Was that wrong?’

‘No! You did it because you loved me!’ Spreading her arms wide, narrowly missing the groin of a startled passing waiter, Lola said, ‘But that’s exactly why Nick lied to you! He didn’t tell you about being arrested and charged because he loved you and didn’t want you to be upset!’

‘And didn’t that work well.’ Bright spots of colour burned in Blythe’s cheeks as she scraped back her chair. ‘No warning, no nothing, just a phone call from some stranger letting me know you were in jail. Why on earth would I be upset about that?’

‘What are you doing?’ said Lola as Blythe made a grab for her bag.

‘I’m going to the bathroom, then home.’

‘Mum, don’t!’

‘It’s OK.’ Nick rose to his feet. ‘I’ll leave. I’m sorry.’ He rested his hands on Lola’s shoulders as Blythe, blindly ricocheting off chairs, hurried to the loo. ‘We got that a bit wrong, didn’t we?

Give her a while to calm down. Maybe I’ll see you later.’

Lola nodded, unable to speak.

Some time later her mother returned to the table.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Lola said at once. ‘I made another mistake.’

‘Sorry, love. Talk about a shock.’ Freckles glowing, Blythe energetically fanned her face.

‘Maybe next time you magic a father out of thin air I could have a few minutes’ warning. I’ve never been much of a one for surprises.’

Was it any wonder? Lola pushed away her plate and divided the last of the wine between their glasses. Of course her mother had been shocked but had she also, deep down, been just a teeny bit impressed by how Nick had turned out? Tentatively she said, ‘Our eyebrows do the same thing.’

Blythe hesitated, then managed a brief smile. ‘I know’

‘He’s very good-looking.’

‘Oh yes, he always had that going for him. And he knew it. Nick was a charmer, all right.’

Valiantly, Lola carried on. ‘Nice clothes too. He dresses well.’ Her mother’s smile changed, grew faintly mocking. ‘And that makes all the difference.’

Which was unfair, because it didn’t make all the difference. It was just that when you compared Malcolm’s external appearance, his woolly, unkempt, hairy-toed appearance, with Nick’s smooth metropolitan one, well, it made quite a lot.

And was that really so wrong? When it was, after all, the reason why there were more posters of Johnny Depp on bedroom walls across the country than there were of Johnny Vegas?

‘I like him,’ said Lola.

‘Of course you do.’ Blythe shrugged. ‘Look, I’m sorry if you think I’ve deprived you of your father all these years, but—’

‘Mum, that’s OK, you thought you were doing the right thing. But we’ve found each other now.

He’s back in our lives. And we can take it slowly, all get to know each other properly. You liked him once, you can like him again.’ Lola raised her glass with a surge of hope and a flourish.

‘Same as me and Dougie.’

‘I think you’re forgetting something.’ Signalling a waiter for the bill, Blythe said,’ You still like Dougie. But from what you’ve told me, he doesn’t seem to be too crazy about you.’

Mothers could be cruel. ‘He’ll change his mind,’ said Lola. ‘I haven’t given up on him yet.’

Chapter 27

Across the hallway Lola’s doorbell was ringing. Sally, engrossed in the ice skating on TV — and the bowl of Ben and Jerry’s in her lap — wiggled her toes and imagined herself in a sparkly, hot-pink figure-hugging outfit twirling across the ice.

Ddddrrrrrrinnnggggg. Whoever was at the front door wasn’t giving up. As the skating routine drew to an end, Sally put down her ice cream and clambered off the sofa.

She hauled up the sash window and leaned out. ‘Hello? Lola’s not at home.’ Then she almost lost her balance and toppled out, because the man gazing up at her was just .. .

Wow.

Let’s just say he was a definite cut above your average carol singer.

‘Any idea when she’ll be back? I’ve tried her mobile but it’s switched off.’ His dark hair gleamed in the light from the street lamp. Even at this distance his eyes were hypnotic.

Effortlessly hypnotised, Sally said, ‘She could be back any time now Do you want to come in and wait?’

His teeth gleamed white. ‘Are you sure?’

With a smile like that? Was he kidding? Praying Lola wouldn’t be back too soon, Sally called out, ‘Hang on, I’ll buzz you up.’

‘Thanks: His smile broadened when she opened the door to her flat. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance. But it’s pretty icy out there: No worries, come here, I’ll soon warm you up!

Thankfully she managed to keep these words inside her head. Oh, but he was to die for, really he was, with those expressive eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones, and that dark swept-back hair curling over the collar of his coat. This was defmitely lust at first sight. And wasn’t there something familiar about those eyebrows?

‘Come on in, I’ll make us a cup of tea ... oops.’ In her excitement she almost kicked over the bowl on the carpet. ‘Don’t step in the ice cream! I’m Sally, by the way.’

‘I know. Lola’s told me all about you.’

‘Has she?’ Ridiculously flattered, Sally turned to look at him as she filled the kettle at the sink.

Wh000sh, ice-cold water promptly ricocheted off the spout, drenching her from neck to navel.

When you were in the grip of lust it was hard to concentrate.

‘Why don’t I make the tea?’ Amused, he said, ‘You’d better go and change out of those wet things.’

Which was how real life differed from the movies because if this hadn’t been real he might have offered to help her.

By the time she re-emerged in dry clothes she’d figured it out. ‘I’ve heard all about you too,’

Sally announced as he carried the tea through to the living room. ‘You’re Lola’s dad.’

‘Nick James.’ His humorous dark grey eyes crinkled at the corners. Gorgeous eyes, gorgeous corners. And the way he dressed ... well, that was right up her street too. A dark greenshirt, black trousers and black shoes, you couldn’t get plainer than that, but they were of excellent quality and so well-cut, and he wore them like a Frenchman. The glamorous citified kind you saw sitting at pavement cafés on the Champs Elysées, not the gnarled leathery farmer types with strings of onions slung around their necks.

Unlike grungly Gabe with his bleached T-shirts and disintegrating jeans, this was a man with élan, with savoir faire . . a man who knew how to dress. He even — mais naturellement! —

smelled fantastic. And he was Lola’s father. Would this make things tricky or awkward?

Sally considered the facts then decided there was no reason why it should. If Lola was allowed to have a crush on her brother and yearn for him shamelessly, it seemed only fair that she should be allowed a shot at Lola’s dad. Crikey, if Lola married Doug and she married Nick, she’d be Lola’s stepmother and her sister-in-law; wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books? It was the kind of thing that got you invited onto TV shows and ... um, OK, maybe getting a teeny bit carried away here, just the weeniest bit ahead of herself .. .

‘The ice cream had pretty much melted,’ said Nick. ‘So I put the bowl in the sink.’

‘Right. Um, thanks.’ Oh God, please don’t say he was going to turn out to be another neurotic-obsessive-compulsive-tidierupper. But he hadn’t cleared away anything else, so that was good.

He had lovely hands too, capable-looking fingers and clean, well-shaped nails. Ooh, and if we all had children they’d be simultaneously each other’s cousins and uncles and aunts . . .

‘What are you thinking?’ Nick was regarding her with interest, his dark head tilted to one side.

Again, probably best not to tell him. ‘Just wondering if I’m allowed to ask how it went today, meeting up with Lola and her mum.’

‘Not brilliantly. It wasn’t a fairytale reunion.’ He paused, stirring his tea. ‘Hardly surprising, I suppose. Bit of a shock for Blythe. That’s why I came over to see Lola, to find out how things are now. Relationships are ... complicated.’

‘Ha, tell me about it.’

Nick grinned. ‘Lola did happen to mention you’d had your share of bad luck with men.’

Oh Lola did, did she? Cheers, Lola. Then again, maybe it had been fate all along, nature’s way of forcing her to wait until Mr Right — no, Mr Absolutely Perfect — turned up.

And since he already knew, there was no point trying to deny the past.

‘That’s a very polite way of putting it,’ Sally said ruefully, ‘but I think you mean my share of bastards.’ On the TV a groan of disappointment went up from the audience and she pointed to the pair of skaters sprawled on the ice. ‘It’s like that, isn’t it? One minute it’s all going so well, you’re twirling and flying through the air and actually starting to think you’re in with a chance of gold. And the next minute, splat, you’re flat on your face. That’s why I love watching my old video of Torvill and Dean doing Bolero. Because I know it doesn’t go wrong, nobody falls over and they carry on being perfect right to the end.’ She paused then said with a lopsided smile,

‘Wouldn’t it be great if our lives could be like that?’

Oops, had that been a bit too heartfelt? Did it make her sound needy and desperate? Was he going to make fun of her now?

But that didn’t happen. Instead, nodding in agreement, he said, ‘It’s what everyone wants, if they’re honest. We just can’thelp buggering things up. But the right man’s out there somewhere, I know he is.’

Sally looked innocent. ‘For you?’

He smiled easily. ‘For you. It’s just a question of tracking him down.’

They carried on chatting for another hour. He was so wonderfully easy to talk to. She learned about his career in advertising and told him about her own job — you couldn’t really call it a career — as a receptionist in a busy doctors’ surgery in Wimbledon.

Nick was surprised. ‘And this is NHS? I wouldn’t have had you down as a doctors’ receptionist.’

‘Because I’m not tidy?’ Hurt, Sally said, ‘I’m very organised at work.’

‘I actually meant you look too glamorous.’

She flushed at the compliment, smoothed back her hair. ‘I love my job. OK, it’s not high-powered and it isn’t glamorous, but the doctors I work with are great. Really friendly. It’s never boring. And I’m good at what I do,’ she added with pride. ‘Dr Willis says I’m the most efficient receptionist they’ve ever had.’

‘So this surgery then, is it not a good place to meet men? What are these doctors like?’

‘Old and married.’ Hastily, because she knew Nick was forty-eight, Sally said, ‘I mean, ancient.

Sixties. Much older than you.’

His mouth curved at the corners. ‘Glad to hear it. How about the patients, then? Must be a few promising ones there.’

‘Well, yes, until you look through their medical notes.’ Sally pulled a face. ‘And read all about their stomach upsets, their erectile dysfunction, the excessive sweating and eczema in their skin folds, not to mention their problems with excessive wind and snoring ... I don’t know, somehow all the magic goes out of them after that.’

He looked appalled. ‘Jesus, who d’you have coming to your surgery? A bunch of trolls?’

‘They don’t have all those things. And not all at once. It’s just when you type a name into the computer, the whole medical history comes up on the first page. Say it’s an ultra-respectable bank manager,’ Sally explained. ‘He might look really nice, he might sound really nice. But one glance at the screen and I know he caught a sexually transmitted disease when he was nineteen, had a stubborn fungal infection between his toes when he was twenty-eight and for the last three years has been seeing a specialist at a centre for gender reassignment.’

‘I take your point. What’s more,’ said Nick, ‘I’ll never try and chat up my doctor’s receptionist again.’

‘You missed Nick. He left twenty minutes ago.’ Sally beckoned Lola into the flat, eager to tell her everything. ‘Isn’t he great? He’s been waiting here for you to get back. In the end he had to leave, but we’ve had a lovely couple of hours getting to know each other. He’s just so—’

‘Oh no, he waited a couple of hours? Why didn’t he ring me?’ Distracted, Lola scrabbled for her phone. ‘Damn, when did I switch that off?’

‘It wasn’t a problem. We’ve been chatting non-stop. In fact—’

‘Hang on, let me just give him a quick call.’

Sally waited impatiently for Lola to get off the phone; she was longing to tell her how well they’d got along together and what an attractive man her father was. Not that Lola could have any reason to mind, but to be polite she was going to jokily ask her permission before making a proper play for him.

‘Damn, now his phone’s switched off.’ Lola shook her head, then straightened up and broke into a dazzling smile. ‘Sorry, not concentrating.What a day! So you met Nick. Did you like him?’

Ha, just a bit! ‘He’s great,’ Sally said eagerly. ‘I really liked him; in fact—’

‘Oh God, I’m so glad, because when you think about it, what would you do if you met your real father and he turned out to be awful? Wouldn’t that be just the worst thing in the world? But he isn’t awful, and we get on so well together, I couldn’t—’

‘So did we. Get on well together,’ Sally blurted out.

‘See? That’s it exactly, he’s a genuinely nice person. That’s why I know I can do it.’

‘Do what?’

Lola looked smug. ‘Get them back together.’

Do what?

‘But, but

‘Wouldn’t that be perfect?’ Lola, her eyes shining, unwound her scarf and collapsed onto the sofa. ‘And I’ve made up my mind now. I’m going to make it happen. OK, it didn’t get off to the best of starts, but that was just the shock factor. I went home with Mum this afternoon and we had a proper talk about everything. It was amazing, hearing all this stuff for the first time. And look what she gave me.’ Lola took an envelope from her bag and carefully slid out a photograph.

‘It’s the two of them together, before I came along.’

Feeling numb, Sally gazed at the photograph. Lola’s mother, her red-gold hair swinging around her shoulders, was wearing a purple and white sundress, a stripy green cardigan and clumpy white platform shoes. Nick, sitting on the wall next to her with a proprietorial arm around her narrow waist, grinned into the camera. He was twenty years old, cocky and good-looking in a denim shirt and jeans, with everything going for him. Lola’s mother looked like a young Jane Asher – minus the dress sense – and Nick was her Paul McCartney.

‘This is how I know I can do it,’ said Lola, tapping the oldphoto. ‘My mum kept it all these years. That means she still cares about him: Sally exhaled slowly. The disappointment was crushing. Why did stuff like this always have to happen to her? Struggling to sound normal, she said, ‘Maybe she just forgot it was there. I’ve got photos at home of my seventh birthday party but it doesn’t mean I care about the kids I was at infants school with. I can’t even remember their names.’

‘That’s completely different.’ Lola shook her head. ‘You were seven years old. When it’s boyfriend-girlfriend stuff, you don’t hang on to photos of the ones you don’t like any more. You just don’t want those pictures to exist! But if you do still care about the other person, you keep the photos. Like I’ve still got all mine of me and Dougie.’

‘Maybe, but has he still kept his ones of you? Anyway,’ Sally was defensive; ‘it’s a personal thing. Some people keep all their photographs regardless.’ Meaning that she had. Crikey, if she were to tear up all the photos of her with the exes who’d chucked her, she wouldn’t have any left. Dammit, and now she wasn’t even going to be allowed to have a shot at Lola’s father because Lola – completely selfishly – had decided that she wanted him to get back together with her mother.

Bum.

The door swung open behind them and for a split second Sally’s foolish heart leapt, because what if it was Nick rushing back to tell her he couldn’t bear to be without her, that it had been love at first sight for him too, that he had no interest in getting back together with Blythe.. .

Oh, and that he’d secretly had a spare key cut, which was how he’d been able to burst back into the flat.

‘They do it deliberately,’ Gabe announced, tipping Lola’s feet off the sofa and throwing himself down with a groan of despair. ‘I swear to God, their mission in life is to officially do my head in.

Celebrities.’ He exhaled, pushing his hands through his floppy blond hair. ‘Couldn’t you just roll them up in a big red carpet and tip them over a cliff?’

‘Not a good night?’ Lola was sympathetic.

‘Bloody useless. Complete waste of time. I waited three hours for this actress to come out of a hair place in Primrose Hill. I was getting thirstier and thirstier, but I stuck it out because I knew she had to be finished soon. Then finally I couldn’t stand it a minute longer and raced into the shop across the road. I was in there for fifteen seconds, no more than that. And when I came out, her limo was pulling away. I tell you, I felt like throwing rocks at it.’

‘Poor you.’ Lola gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Yeurgh, you’re freezing. What’s all this stuff in your pocket?’ She had a quick rummage, pulling out sandwich wrappers, crisp packets and a folded sheet of A4 paper.

‘Homework. Colin gave it to me.’ Gabe shook his head wearily. ‘It’s a list of car registration numbers belonging to celebs. If you spot one in the street, you know they’re in the vicinity. I’m supposed to learn the whole list. Oh hell, I can’t do this job. How am I supposed to recognise all these people when there’s so damn many of them? And when it comes to the girls with blond hair extensions, well, they’re even worse. They all look exactly the same!’

‘You’ll get the hang of it.’ Lola’s tone was consoling. ‘What about the other paps, are they friendly?’

‘They’re OK,’ grumbled Gabe. ‘But they’re taking the mickey out of me because I keep getting things wrong. I thought I’d spotted Britney Spears coming out of Waterstones with an armfulof dictionaries but it wasn’t her. And this. morning I got a great shot of George Clooney pushing a pram in Hyde Park, except it turned out to be some bloke from last year’s Big Brother. I’m a laughing stock. They keep pointing to old homeless guys in the street and saying, "Quick, Gabe, it’s Pierce Brosnan!" and "Hey, Gabe, isn’t that George Bush?"‘

‘But your photos of Tom Dutton and Jessica Lee were in Heat this week,’ said Lola. ‘Look how much money you made from those shots. They’re just jealous.’

‘That was a fluke. I could work for the next five years and not get another chance like that.’

‘Or it could happen again tomorrow,’ Sally chimed in. ‘That’s the thing, you never know. It’s like panning for gold.’

‘We’ll see. This isn’t as great as I thought it might be. And I have to work on New Year’s Eve,’

grumbled Gabe. ‘What a lousy way to spend the night, hanging around outside all the best parties, freezing my nuts off.’

Sally looked smug. ‘You can take my photo if you like. I’m off to a fantastic glitzy do on New Year’s Eve.’

‘That’s three days away’ Eyeing the plates with crumbs on, the dirty cups, the pistachio nut shells and the basket of makeup on the coffee table, Gabe said evenly, ‘Any chance of clearing this mess up before you go?’

‘See what I’m up against?’ Sally rolled her eyes and grinned at Lola. ‘Totally neurotic!’

It was seven o’clock on New Year’s Eve. ‘You won’t believe what’s happened,’ wailed Sally, bursting into Lola’s flat. ‘My bloody boss has only been and gone and stood me up: Lola, hopping around with one shoe on and one shoe off, said, ‘For your posh do? You can come along to the White Hart with us if you like. It won’t be posh and you’ll definitely get beer spilled over you, but it’ll be a good night.’ It would actually be a sweaty, crowded, extremely rowdy night but Tim from work had bullied everyone into buying tickets and Lola hadn’t had the heart to refuse. Persuasively she added, ‘A tenner a ticket and all the burgers you can eat.’

Sally looked horrified. ‘My God, I can’t imagine anything more horrible. My ticket for the Carrick cost a hundred and fifty pounds.’

‘Blimey, I’d want gold-plated, diamond-encrusted burgers for that price.’

But it was for charity, Lola learned. And they certainly didn’t serve burgers at the five-star, decidedly glitzy Carrick Hotel overlooking Hyde Park. The event was dinner and a quiz, with tables of ten forming teams who were to compete against each other. Dr Willis, Sally’s boss, had been due to partner her for the evening — in a platonic way, naturally, what with him being sixty-four years old and keen on astronomy — but had just phoned to apologise that he couldn’t make it after all, his daughter having begged him to babysit his grandchildren instead.

‘So the ticket’s already been paid for,’ Sally finished. ‘Seems a shame to waste it. Wouldn’t you rather come with me to the Carrick than squeeze into some scuzzy, sticky-carpeted pub?’

Weakening, Lola pulled a face; she hated letting people down. ‘Tim’s expecting me to be there. I don’t want to disappoint him.’

‘Sure? It’ll be fun.’ Sally played her trump card. Doug’s on our table.’

Oh well, everyone else from Kingsley’s was going along to the White Hart; it wasn’t as if Tim would be all on his own. ‘Go on then.’ Lola’s heart began to beat faster, because this could be her chance to really impress Dougie. ‘You’ve twisted my arm.’

Having changed out

Chapter 23

of her beer-friendly black lycra top and frayed jeans into an altogether more suitable peacock-blue dress with spaghetti straps and swishy sequinned hem, Lola entered the Carrick’s ballroom feeling quite the bee’s knees. Moments later those same knees quavered with excitement as, through the crowds, she spotted Dougie over by the bar, looking even more handsome than ever in formal black tie. Heavens, how could any girl resist him? He was gorgeous. Giving herself time to mentally get her act together, Lola hung back as Sally approached the group at the bar.

‘Hey, you’re here.’ Doug turned when she tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Everyone, this is my sister Sally, specialist subjects fashion and shopping. And rather more usefully she’s brought along her boss who’s a doctor, so any medical questions and he’s our man. He’s also excellent on astronomy, which ... which is ...’ As he was speaking, Doug’s gaze had veered past Sally, searching for someone who would fit the description of aged, avuncular, planet-watching Dr Willis. When he spotted Lola his voice trailed off, his welcoming smile faded and he said, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, I don’t believe it. You again?’

Which was, frankly, more than a little hurtful.

‘Honestly.’ Sally rolled her eyes at the rest of the group. ‘Is this what he’s like at work? Frank couldn’t make it, he has to babysit his grandchildren tonight, so I asked Lola if she’d come along in his place. Otherwise we’d have been a team member short for the quiz.’

Doug shook his head. ‘So Lola’s our medical expert for the evening. Perfect. Let’s just hope no one needs an emergency tracheotomy’

‘Doug, calm down. I’ll answer the medical questions,’ said Sally. The tall man next to Doug said intently, ‘Are you a doctor too?’

‘Well, no, not exactly, but I’m a GP’s receptionist.’ As the man’s lip began to curl into a sneer Sally said, ‘Do you know what papilloedema is?’

He looked startled. ‘No’

‘See? I do. I know where the medulla oblongata is. I know about systolic and diastolic blood pressure measurements. I can tell you what talipes are.’ Airily Sally added, ‘And I can tell you exactly what to do with a sphygmomanometer.’

The man took a gulp of his drink. Lola stifled a grin.Touché. ‘Fine.’ Doug looked resigned. ‘Just don’t try and take out anyone’s appendix.’

‘Sally, hiiii!’ Yeeurgh. Isabel joined the group, flicking back her silky ice-blond hair and clutching Sally’s arms as if they were long-lost friends. Moments later, spotting Lola, she said with rather less enthusiasm, ‘Oh, hello again.’

‘I’m Tony, history and politics,’ the tall man announced. Gesturing towards the others he said,’Alice is biology and Greek mythology. Jerry’s Egyptology and maths. And this is Bob, whose speciality is—’

‘Trying to swim the Channel with his arms and legs tied up?’ Lola couldn’t help herself; when she was nervous, stupid stuff just came out of her mouth.

Tumbleweed rolled past. Quite deservedly, no one laughed. Tony cleared his throat and said,

‘No, Bob’s speciality is classical music.’

‘And cricket,’ said Bob.

‘Great,’ said Lola.

‘How about you?’

Crikey, how about me?

‘Um ... well, literature.’

‘And?’ Tony eyed her beadily; it appeared everyone was required to be an expert in two subjects.

‘And ... er, sumo wrestling.’ That would be safe surely?

‘Excellent, excellent.’ As he rubbed his hands together they made a rasping, sandpapery sound.

‘So which should we be hoping for this evening, hmm? Kachikoshi? Or makekoshi?’

Bugger. And his lip was curling again. He knew.

‘OK,’ said Lola, ‘I was lying. I don’t know anything about sumo. I only have one specialist subject and I’m sorry if that’s not enough, but I’m only here as a last-minute replacement. It’s either me or an empty chair.’

’Don’t worry about Tony, he’s a pompous twit.’

‘Is he? I mean, I know he is.’ To Lola’s relief, not everyone in the group was unfriendly. With the quiz due to start in five minutes, she beamed at the girl redoing her make-up in the ornate gilt mirror in the cloakroom. ‘I just didn’t realise people would be taking it so seriously’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. God, this skirt’s killing me.’ The girl, whose name was Elly, straightened up and gave her stomach a disgruntled prod. ‘I’ve put on almost a stone over Christmas, nothing fits any more. I’m going to have to join a gym before I turn into a complete hippo.’

‘I hate gyms.’ Lola pulled a face.

‘I thought of giving Doug’s a go. He says it’s all right.’ Disconsolately tugging down her corrugated skirt, Elly said, ‘But they’ll still make you suffer, won’t they? What I really need’s a magic wand.’

Lola carefully untwiddled a strand of hair from around one of her silver earrings. ‘Is that Holmes Place?’

Yh00000sh, Elly sprayed Elnett Ultrahold wildly around her head like a cowboy twirling a lasso.

‘No, Merton’s in Kensington — ow, sod it!’

She’d sprayed Elnett right in her eye. ‘Here,’ Lola passed her a clean tissue; the thought of Dougie working up a sweat on a rowing machine was enough to send any girl’s aim wonky.

‘Thanks. And just ignore Tony.’ Elly’s smile was encouraging. ‘We’ll still have fun; you don’t have to try and impress him.’

‘You’re right.’ Lola didn’t tell her that the person she really wanted to impress was Doug.

Their table was doing well in the first round; everyone was getting their chance to shine. Rivalry between the thirty or so teams in the banqueting hall was intense. Having answered a fiendish question about the last rugby World Cup, Doug (specialist subjects sport and economics) was so elated he actually grinned across the table at Lola before realising what he was doing and abruptly reaching for his drink instead. But the moment was already imprinted in Lola’s mind; for a split second there, it had been just like old times. Fresh hope surged inside her; please please let him be weakening, let him realise that the attraction was still there. From what she could tell, this thing with Isabel was pretty shallow, hardly the romance of the century. Isabel might be beautiful but her personality wasn’t exactly dazzling; in fact she was like an irritatingly chirpy child, tugging Doug’s arm for attention, giggling and endlessly whispering in his ear.

Basically she was nothing but an airhead ...

‘And now,’ boomed the question master, calling the noisy room to attention, ‘the penultimate question in Round One. Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen, because every point counts.’

He paused for effect. ‘And this question is in two parts. The first part is this. What is the speed of light?’

Lola’s spirits sank; she was desperate to show Doug she wasn’t a deadweight, that she could be a useful member of the team, but how was anyone supposed to know

‘Three hundred thousand kilometres per second,’ Isabel whispered.

What?

What?

‘Good girl.’ Tony wrote down the answer without blinking.

‘And now for the second part,’ the question master announced. ‘In order for any object to escape the earth’s gravitational pull, it must be flying at or above the earth’s escape velocity. The question is, what is that velocity?’

Everyone at the table turned their gaze on Isabel. No, Lola wanted to yell, no, you can’t know the answer to that, you just can’t .. .

With a self-deprecating smile Isabel murmured, ‘Eleven kilometres per second.’

Smirking, Tony scribbled down the answer on their table’s card.

‘OK, time’s up, please raise your cards.’

All across the room, cards were lifted and checked. The question master announced, ‘The answers are three hundred thousand kilometres per second and eleven kilometres per second.’

A great cheer went up around their table. Isabel took a sip of iced water and continued to look modest. ‘And Table Sixteen, the Sitting Tennants, were the only ones to get both parts of that question right. Well done, you Sitting Tennants!’

Lola, leaning over to Elly on her left, said incredulously, ‘How did she know that?’

Elly said, ‘Who, Isabel? Oh, she’s mad about stuff like that. She went along to evening classes last year, just for fun. Got an A in A-level physics.’

Lola’s stomach clenched as she observed Isabel, with her dinky little nose and perfect smile.

Geeky boffins were supposed to look like geeky boffins, not swan around like Grace Kelly in slinky sea-green silk with strappy Gucci sandals on their feet.

‘And now, the final question of the first round.’ Up on the dais, the question master tapped a knife against his glass to regain everyone’s attention. ‘Ready? This is one for all you book lovers out there.’

Lola’s heart promptly broke into a gallop. Now she was the centre of attention. Adrenaline buzzed through her veins and her knees began to judder. Across the table, only slightly patronisingly, Isabel said, ‘Come on, Lola, you can do it!’

‘Right, ladies and gentlemen, your question is this.’ As the question master paused for further dramatic effect, Lola concentrated on looking serious, focused and super-intelligent. ‘What word appears one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five times in the Bible?’

Oh, for bloody crying out loud.

‘Lola?’ demanded Tony when she shook her head and sat back. ‘Come along now, what is it?’

‘How am I supposed to know the answer to that?’

He looked at her as if she were an imbecile. ‘Because it’s a literature question and books are your speciality.’

‘It’s the Bible!’ Stung by the unfairness of it all, Lola cried, ‘Even if I had read the Bible, I promise you I wouldn’t have counted how many times each word appeared!’

‘Quick!’ shouted Jerry.

‘Um, OK ... "and".’ Lola blurted the word out in a panic, aware that across the table Isabel was writing something on the back of one of the programmes.

AND, Tony scrawled on the answer card.

‘Time’s up,’ called the question master. ‘Raise your cards please. Ah, I see lots of you got it right this time. Well done, all of you who knew that the correct answer is Lord.’

‘Oh, bad luck, Lola.’ Isabel smiled sympathetically.

The others didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. Then Jerry, peering at the programme by Isabel’s elbow, exclaimed, ‘You wrote it down! You knew Lord was the right answer.’

‘Shh, it doesn’t matter. Questions about books are Lola’s field of expertise. I didn’t want her to feel I was muscling in.’

Intrigued, Sally said, ‘But how did you know it was Lord?’

‘Same way as everyone else who got it right, I expect.’ Isabel dimpled prettily — dammit, she even had dimples. ‘It’s a Trivial Pursuit question. Once you’ve been asked it, it’s not the kind of answer you forget.’

Chapter 30

The four-course meal, each course served between rounds of questions, was sublime.The glittering ballroom with its mirrored walls, opulent décor and hundreds of tethered gold and white helium balloons, was beautiful in every way. By concentrating on the good parts and reminding herself that she never had to see the ultra-competitive contingent again, Lola chatted to Elly and Sally and began to enjoy the evening. It was, after all, a far cry from warm beer and burst eardrums at the White Hart.

By the beginning of the fifth and final round they were joint leaders along with the Deadly Dunns, a team from another management consultancy. The rivalry was intense now; there might be laughter on the surface but, deep down, reputations were at stake.

Sally got them off to a flying start by knowing the whereabouts in the body of the islets of Langerhans, which Lola privately felt should be found not in the pancreas but somewhere off the west coast of Scotland in the vicinity of Barra, Eriskay and Skye.

The questions continued and their table’s points continued to mount up. Bob knew something ridiculously obscure aboutthe composer Dmitri Shostakovich and earned himself a round of applause. Jerry the Egyptologist preened, having correctly answered a question about the identity of the tekenu. Elly dithered a bit but finally guessed correctly that David Hockney had attended Bradford Grammar.

Lola began to wonder if she was actually the least intelligent person in the entire room. Even people who didn’t look remotely clever were getting things right whilst she was still struggling to break her duck.

Isabel let out a shriek of delight and smothered Doug in kisses when he correctly answered that David Campese was the player who’d scored the most tries in test rugby.

Lola helped herself to more wine. One booky-type question, that was all she asked, a question that nobody else knew the answer to. And when she answered it correctly, everyone would break into wild applause and Dougie would give her one of his heart-melting smiles .. .

Finally it was the penultimate question of the quiz. Doug’s table and the Deadly Dunns were still neck and neck: It’s only a game, Lola told herself, it’s only a game. But she felt sick anyway; it felt more important than that.

‘Right, here we go,’ said the question master. ‘James Loveless, George Loveless, John Standfield,Thomas Standfield, James Brine and James Hammett are the names of ... ?’

Lola, busy knocking back wine, froze in mid-glug. She knew who they were. Bloody hell, she actually knew an answer!

Everyone else looked blank. Sally whispered, ‘Is it the Arctic Monkeys?’

‘Soldiers who won the VC?’ guessed Bob.

History was Tony’s specialist subject. He was shaking his head, gazing in turn at the others in search of enlightenment.

‘Are they footballers?’ hazarded Jerry the Egyptologist.

Tony looked at Isabel, then at Doug, before glancing briefly in Lola’s direction. Hastily swallowing her mouthful of wine and keen not to let anyone at nearby tables overhear, she mouthed the answer at him.

Tony frowned and mouthed back, ‘What?’

Tingling with excitement, Lola mouthed the words again, more slowly this time. ‘The Tolpuddle martyrs.’

Tony turned away as if he hadn’t seen her. Reaching for the answer card he scrawled a few words and, leaning across to Isabel, whispered in her ear.

Lola watched open-mouthed as she cried, ‘Oh Tony, you’re brilliant.’

‘Everyone raise your cards,’ called the question master. ‘And the correct answer ... is ... the Tolpuddle martyrs!’

‘Yayyyy!’ Everyone else on the table let out a huge cheer. Bob and Jerry clapped Tony on the back and Lola waited for him to announce that, in fact, she, Lola, was the one who’d known the answer.

But he didn’t. He just sat there looking smug and lapping up all the congratulations. Lola gazed around wildly; had none of them seen what had happened? Not even Doug?

‘Damn, the Deadly Dunns got it too,’ said Doug. ‘We’re still level. It’s right down to the wire.’

Bloody Tony, what a cheater! Lola was so busy being outraged and glaring at him that she barely listened to the final question.

‘... famous writer died in eighteen eighty. Her nom de plume was George Eliot. But what was her real name?’

This was it. Lola sat up as if she’d been electrocuted. Ha, and it was a trick question! Everyone else was going to think theanswer was Mary Ann Evans. More importantly, the Deadly Dunns were going to think that. But the clue was in the way the question had been phrased, and seven months before her death at the age of sixty-one, Mary Ann Evans had married a toyboy by the name of John Cross. So the question being asked was, in fact, what was her real name when she died .. .

‘Well?’ said Bob. ‘Do you know it?’

‘Of course I know it.’ Lola signalled for the answer card and a pen. With a flourish she wrote Mary Ann Cross. Oh yes, was that a flicker of respect in Doug’s eye? About time too! She was about to win his team the competition!

‘Raise your cards, ladies and gentlemen.’

Trembling with excitement, Lola held it above her head. Timm.’ Doug was looking at the other raised cards. Oh Dougie, have faith in me, would I let you down?

‘And the correct . .. answer ... is ...’ the question master strung it out X Factor style, ‘... Mary ...

Ann ... Evans!’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ groaned Bob.

‘No,’ Lola heard herself blurt the word out, shock prickling at the base of her skull. Shaking her head in disbelief, she said, ‘That’s wrong!’

Jerry’s tone was bitter. ‘You’re wrong.’

‘YEEEAAAHHH!’ Realising they’d won the competition, the Deadly Dunns were cheering their heads off.

‘But I’m not wrong. Mary Anne Evans married a man called John Cross ... she did ..: The words died in Lola’s throat as she realised it no longer mattered; the game was over and she’d lost it —

irony of ironies — by trying to be too clever.

Barn, went the cork as it flew out of the Deadly Dunns’ triumphantly shaken bottle of champagne. Everyone else in the room was applauding them. They rose to their feet and bowed, before breaking into a boisterous chorus of ‘We Are the Champions’.

Bob shook his head in disgust.

Tony said, ‘Shit, they’re never going to let us forget this.’

Lola was bursting for the loo. If she left the table now, they’d all talk about how rubbish she was.

Oh well, who cared? If she didn’t leave the table now she’d really give them something to talk about.

The ladies’ loo was blessedly cool, a calm ivory marble haven from the babbling crowds in the ballroom. Having touched up her make-up and enjoyed five minutes of peace and quiet, Lola was just putting away her lipstick when the door swung open and Doug said, ‘There you are.’

His miss-nothing gaze checked out her face. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine: As one of the loos was flushed behind her, Lola said, ‘You aren’t allowed in here.’

‘Come outside then.’ He held the door open and ushered her past him. In the corridor he said, ‘I thought you might have been upset.’

‘You mean crying?’ Lola was glad the whites of her eyes were still clear and white. ‘I wouldn’t give your friends the satisfaction. And I’m not upset, I’m just sorry I let you down.’

Doug shook his head. ‘Hey, it doesn’t matter. It was only meant to be a bit of fun. I had no idea Tony was going to take the whole thing so seriously. They’re not my friends either,’ he added.

‘Tony works for me. Jerry and Bob are friends of his. Tony was the one who persuaded me that coming here tonight would be good PR. He can be a bit of an arse. Well, quite a lot of an arse.

Tony takes his quizzes very seriously.’

‘He’s a cheating arse,’ said Lola; it was no good, she couldn’t not tell him. ‘I gave him the Tolpuddle martyrs answer. I did,’she insisted when Doug look amused. ‘That was me! He just couldn’t bear to admit it.’

‘OK. Well, I’m glad you’re all right. And I’m sorry about Tony.’

Touched by his concern — that had to be an encouraging sign, surely — Lola smiled and said,

‘Thanks. Not your fault.’

Doug hesitated. ‘I was going to ask you, how’s it going with your father?’

Yay, another encouraging sign! ‘Pretty good. I’m trying to’ fix him up with my mum but she’s digging her heels in. I won’t give up though. When you know two people would be perfect together, if one of them could just forgive the other for some silly mistake they made years ago, you have to persevere. Otherwise it would just be a terrible waste,’ Lola said innocently. ‘Don’t you think?’

Dougie gave her that look she knew so well. ‘Maybe your mother really isn’t interested.’

‘Ah, but that’s the thing. Deep down, I think she still is.’ Lola gazed at him, longing to touch his face.’Remember that weekend we went to Brighton and you took loads of photos of me on the beach?’

Doug paused, clearly wondering if there was any point in trying to say no. He shrugged.

‘Vaguely.’

Vaguely, right. Which meant he was definitely lying. He’d been eighteen, she’d been seventeen and they’d made love at midnight on a lilo on the beach. How could any red-blooded male fail to remember a weekend like that?

‘I’d love to see those photos again.’

His mouth twitched. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

Lola smiled back, realising that he wasn’t going to tell her whether or not he still had them. That was the trouble with trying to outsmart someone smarter than yourself. On the other hand, reminding him of the existence of the photos might prompt him to dig them out and the sight of her cavorting in the sea in her pink bikini might in turn remind him of how happy they’d been, and how happy they could be again.

‘Well,’ Dougie cleared his throat. ‘I suppose we’d—’

‘Yes, better get back.’ She dived in, saying the words before he could say them himself. ‘Don’t want people starting to wonder where we’ve got to. Just one thing first.’ Her heart beating faster, Lola rested a hand on his arm. ‘Seeing as- it’s New Year’s Eve and I probably won’t get the chance later, can I wish you a ...’ move towards him’. . . happy ..’slide your free arm, around his neck ‘... New ..’ half close your eyes, half open your mouth .. .

‘Year,’ said Doug, planting a brisk kiss on her cheek before stepping back.

Damn, foiled again. So near yet so far. This was a man with way too much self-control.

What a job.What was he doing here, freezing his nuts off outside a club, listening to everyone on the inside counting down to midnight?

Next to Gabe, Jez muttered, ‘Hey, man, happy New Year.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ Gabe huddled further inside his fleece, his breath puffing out in front of him, his hands so cold he could barely grip the camera.

‘It’s midnight. They’re all in there, going crazy.’ Shivering, Jez jerked his head. ‘Fancy a cup of tea in that café up the road?’ Gabe nodded; this had to be the best time to get one. Ten minutes later they made their way back to the club. ‘Bloody hell,’ cried one of the other paps, ‘you missed it! That EastEnders guy ran out; all he was wearing was his cowboy boots.’

‘You’re having us on.’ Jez paled.

‘Naked as a baby, I swear to God. And he did a handstand. Not a pretty sight.’ Chuckling, the pap showed them the shots on his camera. ‘That’s my work done for the night. Picked the wrong time to leave, you lads. Look out for these pictures in the News of the World.’ He left, crowing with delight.

Jez said with feeling, ‘I bloody hate this bloody job.’

‘Me too.’ But the annoying thing was, it had its addictive side. Balanced against the cold and the tedium and the endless hanging around was the knowledge that the next big picture might be only a click away. It was like shark fishing: one minute you were bored out of your mind, the next you were firing on all cylinders because at any second anything could happen .. . like this stretch limo heading down the street towards them now, slowing down. Getting his camera ready, Gabe experienced the now-familiar rush of adrenaline as a blacked-out window slid down.

He moved into position alongside Jez. Because this could be anyone — Jack Nicholson dressed as a nun, Mick Jagger with Lily Allen, Simon Cowell with

‘What the fuck?’ yelled Jez as half a dozen yellow plastic bazookas fired torrents of ice-cold water at them. Shaking his dripping hair out of his eyes, almost dropping his camera, Gabe cursed and watched the limo accelerate away. The occupants were roaring with laughter, delighted with their prank, and no one even knew who they were.

‘Happy New Year, losers,’ one of them bellowed through the window Gabe was soaked to the skin. Four interminable hours and he hadn’t managed so much as a single decent photo. This was possibly the very worst New Year’s Eve of his life.

Chapter 31

’I’m not sure this is such a good idea,’ said Lola. ‘Remind me again why we’re here?’

Because I’ve got the most enormous crush on your father and I’m longing to show off in front of him, knock him dead with my dazzling footwork and spinny twirls!

Sally didn’t actually say this out loud. Turning to Lola she explained, ‘Because it’s fun and it’s something you’ve never done before. I mean, look at this place! Did you ever see anything so pretty?’

Lola followed the expansive sweep of her arm, dutifully taking in the flaming torches and architectural lighting illuminating the courtyard’s classical façades. ‘I’m going to fall over and break my ankles.’

‘You won’t. I’ll show you how to do it properly. Besides, falling over’s all part of the fun.’

Personally Sally felt her choice of Somerset House ice rink, off the Strand, had been inspired.

‘And it’s only here for a couple more weeks – ooh look, there’s Nick!’

Luckily the sub-zero temperatures meant that her cheeks were already pink. In her white fake-fur hat and matching gilet,worn over a red cashmere sweater and black jeans, Sally was ready to impress the hell out of Lola’s dad. When Lola had idly wondered what father-daughter things she and Nick could do together on their road to getting to know each other, it had taken her ...

ooh, all of two seconds to think of something that could include her as well.

Even if it meant having to sacrifice Lola’s ankles to do it.

OK, that was just a joke; it wouldn’t really happen anyway. Oh God, look at Nick, he was so gorgeous, she could just-

‘Over here,’ Lola called out, windmilling both arms to attract his attention.

‘Hey, you two.’ Joining them, he gave Lola a hug and a kiss. She beamed, clearly delighted to see him again. ‘Look at you, so brown.’

Nick, just back from ten days in St Kitts, in turn greeted Sally with a kiss on the cheek that made her quiver like a terrier on a leash. Even his polite kisses were thrilling.

Nick grinned. ‘So you’re going to be teaching us all the moves tonight.’

Was that an unintentional double entendre or was he saying it like that on purpose?

‘Absolutely. You’re both going to love this.’ Her eyes shining – just in case he was flirting with her – Sally said, ‘By the time I finish with you two tonight, you’ll be whizzing round like pros.’

‘And by this time next year we’ll be going for gold in the Olympics.’ Inspired, Lola said excitedly, ‘Can we get out onto the ice now?’

‘Lesson one.’ Sally yanked her back. ‘Always best to queue up first and hire some skates.’

Lola was a revelation on the ice, more spectacularly useless than Sally would ever have guessed.

She had no sense of balance whatsoever. Clinging to the barriers and wailing, ‘This is really slippy!’ she was edging her way round the outside of the rink at the speed of a lame tortoise.

Happily this meant Sally was free to coach Nick, who might not be any great shakes on the ice but who was fifty times better than Lola. At least he could stand up and — more or less —

manage circuits, so long as Sally was there to hold on to his hands.Which was heaven, almost as good as when, upon losing his balance and wobbling crazily in . the centre of the rink, he had flung both arms around her waist.

Oht yes, that had definitely been a highlight, a moment to treasure. Maybe later she’d make it happen again and this time allow herself to stumble and fall on top of him in a laughter-filled tangle of arms and legs. When Lola wasn’t looking, of course.

Leaning closer and breathing into her ear, Nick protested, ‘This can’t be much fun for you.’

Was he serious? This was the most fun she’d had in years. ‘I’m fine.’ Sally experienced a frisson of excitement as his left thigh brushed against hers, then another as the right thigh followed suit.

Was that an accident?

‘No, it’s not fair.’ Nick shook his head. ‘Why don’t I have five minutes’ rest, then you can do some proper skating without having to hold me up. I’ll just watch from the side and admire the way you experts do it.’

Oh dear, nobody liked a show-off. But his eyes were glittering and she couldn’t resist. Having guided him to the barriers then skated back to the less crowded centre of the rink, Sally struck a pose then pushed off into an impromptu routine. God,skating was so brilliant, it was one of the few things she was really good at. And she was gliding across the ice now, as accomplished and elegant as a swan, with the stars twinkling overhead in an inky sky and hundreds of admiring eyes upon her ... if she went into a fabulous spin or launched into a triple salchow, would everyone gasp with delight and break into a spontaneous round of applause?.

OK, a triple salchow was too ambitious, but how about a double axel? Was Nick watching?

Would he be suitably impressed by her technique? Yes, there he was, Lola had managed to hobble-skate over to him and they were both hanging on to the barriers, watching her. Right, here goes .. .

‘OW!’ bellowed Sally, crashing to the ice like a felled tree. ‘OW, OW, OW, who did that?’

Because someone had come up behind her and delivered a vicious kick to the back of her calf.

Letting out a shriek of pain she clutched her left leg as melted ice soaked into her jeans. What kind of psychopath would sneak up like that and kick a complete stranger so hard? Ow, God, she couldn’t breathe, she could barely think straight, it hurt so much .. .

‘Are you OK?’ Nick and Lola slithered up to her, having somehow managed to weave their way through the crowds of skaters. For heaven’s sake, did she look OK?

Did you see who kicked me?’ Sally felt perspiration breaking out on her forehead.

‘Nobody kicked you.’

‘They did! I felt it!’

‘There was no one near you.’ Lola pulled an apologetic face. ‘If it felt like being kicked by a donkey, you’ve probably snapped an Achilles tendon.’

Damn, she was right. ‘Noon!’ Sally sank down in despair and rested her face against the ice, because this was a nightmare. ‘I don’t want it to be my Achilles tendon!’

Lola, valiantly attempting to help her into a sitting position, promptly lost her balance and gasped, ‘Oof!’ as she tumbled back like an upturned beetle on to the ice.

’What’s going on?’ Puzzled by the commotion on the stairs, Gabe emerged with dripping wet hair and a dark blue towel draped around his hips.

‘What does it look like?’ Sitting on her bottom, inelegantly hauling herself up one stair at a time, Sally was huffing and puffing and looking fraught.

‘Ice skating went well, then.’ Gabe looked at Lola and her father, who were following her up the stairs carrying a pair of crutches.

‘It’s not funny,’ Sally wailed. ‘We’ve just spent three hours in casualty. When they told me I’d torn my calf muscle I thought I’d just be limping a bit for a few days. I was actually relieved because I thought it was better than snapping an Achilles tendon, but it’s not better at all, it’s going to be a complete nightmare.’ Finally, laboriously, she reached the top step, raised both arms and demanded imperiously, ‘Don’t just stand there. Help me up.’

Gabe’s heart sank. Was his luck ever going to change? ‘Sorry, who’s going to be a complete nightmare?’

Nick, struggling to keep a straight face, said, ‘She has to rest the muscle completely, keep the leg elevated at all times. She’s going to need some serious looking after.’

Oh God.

Lola said helpfully, ‘You’ll have to lift her in and out of the bath.’

Fat chance of that.

‘No you won’t,’ Sally hurriedly chipped in before he could say anything about cranes. ‘I can still manage a shower.’

‘So long as you don’t fall over.’ Lola winked as she held open the door for Sally to go through.

Gabe winced as one of the aluminium crutches clunked against the door frame. ‘Look, wouldn’t it be easier to go and stay with your mother? Then she could look after you.’

Crash went the other crutch against the skirting board as Sally lurched inside. ‘Whoops, these are tricky things to get the hang of.’

Gabe took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I’m going to be out working a lot of the time.’

‘But if I went to my mother’s house I’d be on my own all the time.’ Over her shoulder Sally said,

‘Because she and Philip are off on holiday tomorrow. So that wouldn’t be very good, would it?’

There was a crash as she stumbled into the coffee table, sending flying the cups and plates she hadn’t cleared away earlier. With a sigh of relief she lowered herself onto the sofa and stretched out across it, propping her leg up on a couple of cushions. ‘There, that’s better. All comfy now.

Ooh, I’d love a cup of tea.’

Chapter 32.

Sometimes a name simply didn’t register on your personal radar but it turned out that everyone else knew at once who it belonged to. Such was the case with EJ Mack, whom Lola had never heard of. But when his publishers had announced that he’d be available during the third week of January for signing sessions, everyone else at Kingsley’s had got as over-excited as if Al Pacino had offered to turn up.

‘But how can you know who he is?’ Bemused, Lola had studied the publisher’s press release.

‘He’s only a music producer.’

Cheryl,Tim and Darren had exchanged despairing looks. ‘He’s huge: said Darren. ‘He’s worked with everyone who’s anyone.’

‘And he’s so brilliant, all his female artists get crushes on him,’ Cheryl chimed in with relish.

‘He’s very discreet but I bet he’s slept with loads of them.’

‘Fine, we’ll let him come here then.’ Still unconvinced, Lola said, ‘But it’ll still be your fault if nobody turns up.’

It was always embarrassing when that happened. Watching the poor authors’ faces fall as they sat there behind their teetering piles of books, gradually realising that not one single person was going to come along and buy one. Their smiles faltered;sometimes they pretended they’d never wanted to sell any copies of their book anyway. Other times they feigned illness and escaped early. On one memorable occasion an author had reacted particularly badly, launching into a major temper tantrum and flinging his greatest rival’s books all across the shop.

Anyhow, it didn’t seem as if this was a problem they were likely to encounter tonight with EJ

Mack. Loads of customers had been thrilled to discover he was coming to Kingsley’s. As Lola unloaded boxes of his books and arranged them in spiral towers around the signing table, people were already starting to gather in the shop. Too cool to form an orderly queue but not cool enough to turn up at seven thirty, which was when EJ Mack was scheduled to arrive.

And he wasn’t even good-looking, according to Cheryl. Turning over one of the hardbacks, Lola scrutinised the arty, grainy black and white portrait that gave away hardly anything at all.The face was averted from the camera and further obscured by the brim of some weird trilby-style hat.

Oh well, he’d be here soon. Hopefully to sign two hundred copies of his book in double-quick time so they could all be home by nine thirty. OK, maybe not home by nine thirty on a Friday night if you were a super-successful uber-cool cutting-edge music producer, but definitely if you were a knackered bookshop manager with a drastically empty stomach and hot achy feet.

‘He’s here!’ squealed Cheryl twenty minutes later.

Lola scanned the crowded shop, absolutely none the wiser. ‘Where?’

‘That’s him, the one in the blue anorak.’

Oh good grief, how could anyone be cutting-edge in a turquoise anorak?

Then her gaze stuttered to a halt and her eyes locked with those of EJ Mack.

‘God, man, this is wicked,’ gushed Darren, appearing out of nowhere. ‘Look at him, he’s so brilliant.’

Tim, next to him, breathed enviously, ‘And he’s slept with some of the most beautiful women on the planet.’

Lola opened her mouth but no sound came out. Flanked by his publisher’s balding rep and blonde PR girl, EJ Mack approached them.

‘Well, this is a coincidence.’ Smiling, he stuck out his hand. ‘Who’d have thought we’d be bumping into each other again? How’s your partner?’

Lola tried her best to come up with an answer. Tim, keen to bridge a potentially awkward silence, leapt in with, ‘Hi, I’m Tim! She doesn’t have a partner.’

‘God, sorry.You mean you broke up? What’s going to happen with the baby?’

Funny how someone could look like a geeky speccy accountant-type one minute and not quite so geeky and accountanty the next, even if he was still wearing spectacles and that bizarre anorak.

Although now that she knew who he was, Lola could see that the silver-rimmed rectangular spectacles were probably trendy in an ironic postmodern kind of way.

‘It’s all going to be fine,’ she told EJ Mack.

‘Baby?’ Cheryl stared in disbelief at Lola’s stomach. ‘What baby?’

EJ Mack gave her a speculative look.

Right,’ Lola said hurriedly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Can I take your coat? And welcome to Kingsley’s! You’ve got lots of fans queuing up to meet you! And can I just say how much I enjoyed your book ...’

‘That’s very kind.’ EJ Mack slowly removed his anorak and passed it over to her. ‘Which chapter did you like best?’

‘Oh, um ... all of them.’

‘So that means you haven’t read it.’

‘Sorry, no, but I definitely will.’ Lola blinked as someone took a photograph. ‘Can I get you a drink? Coffee, water, anything else?’

Did my publisher not send you my list of needs? Bourbon biscuits,’ E J Mack said gravely.

‘Peeled grapes. And a bottle of Jack Daniels.’

Cheryl was still frowning. ‘What baby?’

The signing session had been a great success. In the music world EJ was a 31-year-old legend and devotees of his work were thrilled to have this chance to meet him. EJ in turn didn’t disappoint them, he was charming, witty and interested in talking about music. He had worked with everyone who was anyone and plenty of tonight’s book-buyers were keen for him to work with them too. By the time they’d finished, EJ had been saddled with a stack of CDs pressed upon him by starry-eyed wannabes.

‘Occupational hazard,’ he said good-naturedly

‘I’ll get you a carrier bag,’ Lola offered.

‘I’d rather have a private word, if that’s all right. In your office?’

Bum, so he hadn’t forgotten. Lola felt herself go pink, glanced awkwardly at her watch. ‘Um .. ‘

‘Just for a couple of minutes.’ Turning to the rep and the PR girl, EJ said, ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it’s OK,’ the PR girl exclaimed. ‘Take as long as you like! Take a couple of hours if you want to!’ Because being lovely to her company’s authors was her job.

The light glinted off EJ’s steel-rimmed spectacles as he smiled briefly at the enthusiastic blonde.

‘Don’t worry, a couple of minutes will be fine.’

Once inside the office Lola said, ‘OK, I’m sorry, I told a fib.’

‘More than one, at a guess.’ He leaned against the chaotic desk, counting off on his fingers. ‘The pregnant woman isn’t – never was – your partner. Was she even pregnant?’ Shamefaced, Lola said, ‘No’

‘And the smell?’

‘We boiled an awful lot of cabbage.’

‘You really didn’t want me moving into that flat, did you?’

‘Oh, please don’t take it personally. We didn’t know who you were. Whoever turned up, we were just going to do everything we could to put them off. Like playing that music ...’ Lola’s voice trailed away, because they’d been playing Eminem. Damn, hadn’t she overheard a fan earlier, gushing about the album EJ had worked on with Eminem?

‘Hmm.’ EJ raised an eyebrow ‘The music was fine, it was the dancing that worried me. So who lives there now?’

‘Um, Sally. The one who wasn’t pregnant. And the guy who was meant to be letting the flat unexpectedly came back from Australia so they’re both in there now, driving each other nuts.’

Eagerly Lola said, ‘So in fact you had a bit of a lucky escape ..’

‘Look, it’s not that big a deal.’ He shrugged and helped himself to a liquorice allsort from the bag on the desk. ‘I live in Hertfordshire and staying in hotels whenever I’m up in town gets tedious. I just thought it’d be easier to have a base here, somewhere to crash when I can’t be bothered to drive home. I’m renting a place in Hampstead now’

Lola was just glad he’d taken it in his stride. ‘Well, I’m sorry we messed you about.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ His gaze slid downwards to where, having eased off one shoe, Lola was surreptitiously flexing her aching toes. ‘Been a long day?’

‘Just a bit. I can’t wait to get home and run a bath.’ Relieved to have been forgiven, she confided, ‘My feet are killing me and I’m completely shattered.’

‘Shame, I was just about to ask if you fancied a drink. Ah well, never mind.’

‘Oh!’ Lola’s eyes widened.

‘Doesn’t matter. Thanks for this evening anyway, I enjoyed it.’ EJ had reached the office door now. ‘Shall we go?’

‘But ... but ...’ Wow, that was an invitation she hadn’t expected, a bolt from the blue. Following him, Lola said, ‘Well, maybe a drink wouldn’t be so—’

No, no, you’re too tired.’ He turned back, his thin clever face pale beneath the overhead fluorescent strip lighting. ‘Forget I asked. You get yourself home and jump into that hot bath.’

With a glimmer of a smile he added, ‘You do look exhausted.’ Ouch. Or maybe touché. Talk about getting your own back.

Chapter 33

The advance proof copy of EJ Mack’s book, given to her months ago by the publisher’s sales rep, was lying under her bed unopened and covered in dust. Wiping it clean on the carpet, Lola raced barefoot across the landing to 73C. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gabe was bound to be out and he hadn’t thought to leave the door on the latch; how long was she going to have to wait for Sally to hobble across and unlock it?

Impatiently she hammered on the door. ‘Sal, quick, just roll off that sofa, crawl over here and let me in this minute because you are not going to believe who I met tonight!’ Then, as the door began to open, ‘And by the way, everyone at work was agog when they heard you were my pregnant lesbian lover— ooh!’

Of course it hadn’t been Sally answering the door that quickly. Of course it had to be Doug, whom Lola hadn’t seen for three weeks, not since New Year’s Eve at the Carrick when she’d made such a dazzling impression. Bloody Mary Ann Cross.

‘So now you’re having a lesbian affair with my sister.’ Doug shook his head in resignation. ‘My God, you really do want to give my mother a heart attack.’

‘Sorry. Hi, Doug, I didn’t know you were here.’ Otherwise I’d have quickly redone my make-up and definitely not just made myself that cheese and pickled onion toasted sandwich.

‘You know, I wish I was gay,’ complained Sally, lying in state across the sofa. ‘We’re far nicer people. It’s got to be easier fancying women than fancying men.’

‘Not when they reek of pickled onions,’ said Doug. Ouch.

Then again, speaking of fancying men. Doing her best not to breathe near him, Lola said, ‘No Isabel tonight?’ and for a split second allowed herself to get her hopes up. (Isabel, I’m sorry, it’s not you I love, it’s—’)

‘Yes, I’m here too!’ Emerging from the kitchen with a tray, Isabel said gaily, ‘Hi, Lola, look at us, meals on wheels!’

‘I ran out of milk.’ Sally eased herself into more of a sitting position, wincing with pain as she shifted her leg a couple of inches on its pile of cushions. ‘Gabe’s been gone for hours and he gets cross with me when I keep phoning him, so I gave Doug a call instead.’

To be fair to Gabe, Lola had heard about last night’s debacle when, whilst queuing at the pharmacy for Sally’s ibuprofen capsules, he had missed a headline-making punch-up between two A-listers outside Nobu.

‘Poor lamb, stuck here all on her own with no milk for a cup of tea,’ Isabel trilled. ‘Then when we said we’d pop over with a couple of pints she mentioned how hungry she was and asked us to bring her a takeaway.’

The poor starving lamb had the grace to look faintly ashamed at this point, as well she might.

Lola said indignantly, ‘What happened to the lasagne I brought over this morning? All you had to do was heat it up.’

‘It’s still in the fridge,’ Sally admitted. ‘Sorry, I was just in the mood for a Chinese.’ Hastily she changed the subject. ‘So who did you meet tonight?’

Lola’s stomach was still rumbling, baying for attention, despite the toasted sandwich. Oh well, if Sally didn’t want the lasagne — the delicious home-made lasagne she’d put together completely from scratch — she’d jolly well eat it herself. ‘Remember the geeky speccy guy who wanted this flat? Him!’

‘Yeek, you mean he came into the shop and saw you? Was it embarrassing?’

‘Just a bit, seeing as he was doing a signing. By the way, he • asked after you and the baby.’

Sally patted her stomach. ‘We’re doing great, thanks.’

Lola, still clutching the book in her hand, said, ‘Have you ever heard of EJ Mack?’

‘The music bloke? Worked with Madonna last year?’ Popping a forkful of chicken Sichuan into her mouth, Sally shrugged. ‘Kind of.’

‘EJ Mack’s a genius,’ Isabel exclaimed. ‘He’s worked with everyone.’

‘Well, it was him,’ said Lola.

Sally almost choked on a mushroom. ‘What? EJ Mack’s the speccy geek? Oh my God, he’s like a mega-millionaire and we didn’t even know ...’

‘Sounds like you missed your chance there, girls!’ As she said it, Isabel slipped her arm around Doug’s waist and gave it a proprietary squeeze, signalling, oh you poor creatures, here I am with the perfect man and there’s you two with not even a half-decent one to share between you ...

gosh, don’t you just wish you were as pretty and lucky as me?

Honestly, who did she think she was? Cinderella? More tothe point, who were the ugly stepsisters? Inwardly nettled — for heaven’s sake, she was still clinging on to Doug — Lola said airily, ‘Who says I missed my chance? EJ and I got on brilliantly. He asked me out.’

Oh yes, that made them sit up and take notice!

‘Seriously?’ Isabel’s eyebrows shot up.

Even Doug looked impressed.

Sally squealed, ‘The geek asked you out!’

‘Actually, he’s not as geeky as we thought.’ Lola rushed to EJ’s defence. ‘He wears those clothes because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. And behind those glasses his face is really quite interesting ... and he has these amazing cheekbones ...’

‘So what you’re saying is, the more money he has, the better looking he becomes,’ Doug drawled with just a hint of eye-roll.

‘Last time we saw him he hardly said anything at all.’ Reaching over to pinch a handful of Sally’s prawn crackers, Lola said defiantly, ‘Tonight I found out he has a really nice personality.’.

Doug’s mouth twitched. ‘Of course you did.’

‘So you’re actually going out with him?’ Sally was so excited she dropped her fork. ‘On a date?’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t forget to bring along his platinum Amex,’ said Doug.

‘Could somebody pick my fork up, please?’

‘He asked me out tonight,’ said Lola. ‘But I was worried about Sal being stuck here all on her own, so I turned him down.’ There, ha, now who was the most selfless, thoughtful and downright saintly person in this room?

‘Aah, isn’t that nice?’ Sally beamed. ‘Then again, I bet your feet were killing you in those new shoes you wore to work today. And far nicer to have some notice to get yourself tarted up. So when are you seeing him instead?’

Lola flushed. ‘I’m not. He asked me out and I said no thanks. We left it at that.’

‘Are you mad? You can’t not see him again! He’s EJ Mack!’

‘Well, it’s too late now’ Throwing up her hands, Lola said, ‘At least I can say I turned him down.’

Doug’s face was deadpan. ‘Either that or he never asked her out in the first place.’

‘Oh Doug, you are wicked.’ Isabel gave him a pretend slap. ‘You can’t call Lola a liar!’

‘You’d be surprised what I can call Lola.’ He scooped up his car keys from the coffee table and raised a hand in farewell. ‘When it comes to scruples and honesty she’s in a class of her own.

Right, we’re off ...’

‘I can’t imagine why I’m in love with your brother,’ Lola said crossly when Doug and Isabel had left. ‘He’s a complete arse.’

’You’re not doing terribly well, are you?’ said Colin Carter of the Carter Agency.

Gabe sighed and shook his head. Was he about to be told he should give up the day job? He hadn’t had much luck during the past few weeks.

But Colin was a kindly soul. ‘Don’t be too downhearted. You’re only ever one photo away from the next worldwide scoop. Look, we’ve had a tip-off that Savannah Hudson’s holed up in a cottage in the wilds of Gloucestershire. She’s been keeping a low profile lately. Here’s the address.’ He handed over a scrap of paper and said, ‘No one else knows about it, so this could be your big chance. Don’t bugger it up.’

‘Right, thanks, I won’t.’ Gabe was torn because he’d been short with Sally this morning — she’d woken him at five o’clock, calling out from her bedroom to ask him to turn off her beeping, run-down mobile phone — yet he knew she was the only reason Colin was giving him this break. He owed her for that, but at the same time she was doing his head in.

‘You do know who Savannah Hudson is,’ Colin double-checked, because last night Gabe had mistaken George Galloway for Des Lynam.

‘Don’t worry. I know who she is.’ Gabe nodded vigorously to prove it as he tucked the address into his wallet. ‘I won’t let you down.’

Chapter 34

London had been cold, grey and a tad breezy. Out in the Cotswolds the weather was rather less subtle; huge clouds raced across a gunmetal sky and there was a howling gale. Driving across Minchinhampton Common, high and brutally exposed, Gabe half expected to see the cows and sheep being swept off their feet and whisked into the air. Even the players on the golf course were struggling to stay vertical.

Which wasn’t great news as far as Gabe was concerned because it meant there wasn’t a huge incentive for Savannah Hudson to venture outside.

The cottage was perched on the side of a hill, only slightly set back from the narrow lane winding its way down from the common towards the small country town of Nailsworth. There was a nondescript green Peugeot parked in the driveway and a couple of lights on in the cottage, indicating that she was probably in there. Needless to say, there was nowhere to park outside the cottage; the lane was single-track with passing places dotted along its length. No sooner had Gabe pulled into one than a tractor came chugging up the hill as a yellow Fiesta appeared behind him, forcing him on. Which meant he wasgoing to have to leave his warm car further down the hill and spend the afternoon lurking in a wet hedge. It was probably one of the reasons Savannah Hudson had chosen to hide out in this cottage. Honestly, these camera-shy celebrities were so selfish.

Having parked in Nailsworth, Gabe stocked up in the bakery with a selection of pies and cakes to keep him going and stave off the tedium. He put a can of Coke and a bottle of water in the pockets of his Barbour. Back at the car he took out his camera, careful to keep it hidden from view, and slung it around his neck under the waxed jacket. Please God, make today the day he got a decent shot and could prove to Colin he wasn’t a complete waste of space.

Two hours later Gabe had cramp in his legs. He was going out of his mind with boredom. It would be getting dark soon, he’d eaten all his food and it was obvious Savannah Hudson wasn’t going to emerge from the cottage. The only good thing about the afternoon was that the pies from the bakery had been excellent.

Bugger, he wasn’t going to be able to impress Colin after all. Unless he knocked on the door of the cottage, fell to his knees and begged Savannah Hudson to take pity on him. Maybe she would, and he could just take a couple of quick faux-candid shots .. .

What the hell, it was worth a try. He unfolded his long legs, brushed himself down and headed for the cottage. There was definitely someone inside, he could see their outline through the drawn curtains as they moved about in the lit-up living room.

Putting on his most charming face — the one that didn’t seem to be getting a lot of use these days — Gabe braced himself and rat-tatted the black wrought-iron knocker.

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a purple velour tracksuit, clutching a duster and a can of lemon Pledge.

‘Oh, hi,’ charming smile, charming smile, ‘I’m here to see Savannah.’

‘Sorry, duck, she’s not here. Friend of hers, are you?’

Gabe knew he should say yes, then he might be invited into the cottage. He sighed inwardly; this was why he was so crap at this job. ‘No, not a friend exactly ...’

‘Off you go then, duck.’ The woman’s expression changed. ‘Wait, do you know when she might be back?’

‘Maybe tomorrow or the day after. Bye.’ The door was closed • firmly in his face.

That was that then. If the woman had been lying and Savannah Hudson was inside the house, she wouldn’t be coming out now. Terrific. No photos and it was starting to rain. He may as well get back to the car before the heavens opened. At least it was downhill.

As he set off down the lane, Gabe tried to work out what time he’d be home. His social life had taken a serious nosedive lately, what with work and having to look after Sallythe-whingeing-cripple and getting over the whole bloody soul-destroying business with Jaydena. Maybe a night off was what he needed, a few hours of mindless drinking and clubbing with old friends, chatting up girls, possibly even getting some long-overdue sex ... Ha, so long as they could go back to her place, because if he brought someone home to Radley Road they were bound to be interrupted in mid-shag by Sally banging on the wall that separated their bedrooms, bleating, ‘Gabe, I’m really thirsty and my leg hurts too much for me to get out of bed, could you bring me a glass of water pleeease?’

Oh yes, her leg was definitely a pain. The only good thingabout it as far as Gabe was concerned was that having Sally physically confined to the sofa all day meant the mess she created was confined to that area. The rest of the flat, practically undisturbed, was really quite tidy and Bloody hell.

Having rounded a bend, Gabe saw a figure hurrying up the lane towards him with a bag of shopping in one hand and a dog on a lead in the other. His brain shot into overdrive as he took in the oversized jacket, the skinny legs in skinnier jeans, the blonde head almost hidden beneath the hood of the jacket and the thick grey scarf wound round her neck. .. Bloody hell, it was her, Savannah Hudson was heading straight for him, this was his big chance.

Then her head tilted up and she saw him, her actress’s antennae on instant alert. As her hood blew back she stopped in her tracks, like a deer hearing the click of the hunter’s rifle. Gabe, already reaching for the camera slung around his neck, realised she was about to bolt and called out, ‘Please, could I just take one picture of—’

But the wind whipped his words away. Savannah was backing off, dragging the dog with her.

The dog, a black and tan Jack Russell, began barking furiously, leaping up on its back legs.

Tugging harder to keep it under control, Savannah almost dropped her bag of shopping. Then a ferocious blast of wind knocked her off balance and sent her staggering sideways into the verge.

She let out a shriek of alarm as the hedge bordering the lane bent and swayed, grasping at her with branches like mad spiky fingers.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Gabe yelled above the noise of the wind, advancing towards her. ‘I just wanted to ..

The words faded in his throat and he stopped dead, gazing in disbelief as the furiously waving branches clawed at her hair and, having yanked it free, waved it like an ecstatic contestant on Supermarket Sweep. Savannah Hudson let out a whimper of anguish and dropped the shopping as she attempted to shield her exposed head – click – from Gabe. Letting go of the dog’s lead, she used her other hand to grasp helplessly – click click – at the blonde wig caught up on the spiky branches.

Jesus Christ, she was as bald as an egg. This was a major scoop, bigger even than his petrol station exposé of Tom Dutton and Jessica Lee. Appalled, Gabe hastily sidestepped as the dog raced up to him barking furiously.

‘Sshh, it’s OK, don’t do that.’ Reaching down, he grabbed the dog’s lead before a car could come along and mow it down. Together they made their way over to the verge where Savannah Hudson was still battling to free the wig. It was a hawthorn hedge and the spikes were needle-sharp. Tears swam in her eyes and she ducked her face away at Gabe’s approach, flinching as a thorn scratched her wrist.

‘Here, let me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll do it,’ said Gabe. ‘You just hold the lead.’

‘Please,’ her voice broke, ‘just leave me alone. Bunty, shh.’

Bunty, what a name for the world’s yappiest terrier. The yaps were actually making his ears hurt.

Ignoring the scratches his hands were amassing, Gabe grimly disentangled strands of hair from the vicious branches and finally managed to liberate the blonde wig, although it did look as if it had just been dragged through a ... no, no, definitely not the moment to make a joke.

‘Thank you.’ Tears slid down Savannah Hudson’s white face; angrily she dashed them away.

‘Sorry,’ Gabe said again as she crammed the wig onto her head, covering her naked scalp and pulling up the hood of herjacket for good measure. He retrieved the dropped carrier of shopping from a clump of dead stinging nettles in the ditch and handed that back too.

‘Sorry? Really? I doubt that.’ Savannah’s lip curled with derision. ‘I should imagine you’re jumping for joy. You’ve got just what you wanted, haven’t you?’ She indicated the camera around his neck and said sarcastically, ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself.’

Gabe reached for the camera; earlier, Pavlovian instinct had taken over and he’d barely been aware of taking the photos. But – he checked – yes, there they were, clear as day on the screen, ready to reveal Savannah Hudson’s secret to the world.

She’d now turned and was already hurrying on up the lane with her shopping and her ridiculous yippy-yappy dog.

‘Wait,’ Gabe called out. He caught up within thirty seconds and put a hand on her arm to slow her down.

‘Please, just leave me alone.’ Snatching her arm away Savannah said evenly, ‘And don’t touch me either or I’ll have you for assault.’

‘OK, OK, just stop for a moment and watch me.’ Closing his mind to what he was about to do, Gabe waited until he had her attention. His hands trembled as he showed her the photos on the camera screen. ‘OK, see the delete button? You press it.’

If he’d expected Savannah Hudson’s rosebud mouth to fall open, for her to turn to him in wonder and whisper, ‘Seriously? Do you mean it? Are you really sure?’ he’d have been disappointed. In a nano-second her index finger had shot out, pressing the button and deleting the images forever.

Dink, dink, gone. Just like that. And if Gabe had been expecting her to fling herself at him in gratitude crying, ‘Oh God, my hero, thank you, thank you,’ well, he’d have been sorely disappointed there too. Instead she turned away, muttering, ‘And don’t tell anyone either.’

He watched Savannah Hudson trudge up the hill with Bunty still yapping at her side. Then they rounded the bend and disappeared from view. A smattering of icy rain hit Gabe in the face and he shivered at the realisation of what he’d just done.

Damn right he wouldn’t be telling anyone. If he did, they’d only call him a prat.

Chapter 35

In retrospect, Lola was able to acknowledge that she’d made a big mistake in confiding to the others at work — OK, boasting to the others at work — about having been asked out — OK, practically asked out — by EJ Mack. Now, at least half a dozen times a day someone would clutch their chest and exclaim, ‘Oh my God, here he is! Lola, EJ’s here to beg you to go out with him ... quick, look, he’s crawling on his knees through the shop ... he’s saying, "Pleeeease, Lola, pleeeeease will you go out with me?" ... Oh look, and now he’s crying, there are tears dripping all over his lovely blue anorak.’

Which might have been mildly amusing the first couple of times but was altogether less hilarious now.

Anyway, concentrate on the books that needed to be ordered. In the back office, huffing her hair out of her eyes, Lola returned her attention to the computer screen and double-checked a list of ISBNs.

Across the desk, after hastily swallowing the last mouthful of her lunchtime prawn sandwich, Cheryl picked up the ringing phone.

Seconds later, windmilling her free arm in front of Lola, she squealed, ‘It’s for you! You’ll never guess ... it’s him!’

‘Who?’ Lola couldn’t help herself; her ever-hopeful heart leapt at the idea that it might be Doug.

‘EJ Mack!’

God, weren’t they sick to death of playing that game yet? Cross with herself for even thinking it could have been Dougie, Lola said, ‘Well, tell him sorry, but I don’t want to speak to someone who has the nerve to go out in public wearing a turquoise anorak. Tell him to bugger off and pester Madonna instead.’

Hastily covering the receiver, Cheryl hissed, ‘You berk, I’m serious. It really is him.’

‘She’s right,’ EJ confirmed when Lola took the phone. ‘It really is.’

‘Oops. Hello.’

‘And I’ll have you know, the anorak is Jean Paul Gaultier.’

‘OK,’ said Lola. ‘Sorry. I’m nothing but a fashion heathen.’

‘The trouble is, you think I dress like a trainspotter because I can’t help myself. Whereas in fact I choose to dress like a trainspotter because I am a leading proponent of cutting-edge, postmodern, pseudo-supergeek fashion, as featured by Jean Paul in his last Paris collection.’

Shit. ‘Right. Sorry again.’

Gravely, EJ said,’That’s perfectly all right.You can’t help being a heathen. How are your feet now?’

‘What’s he saying?’ mouthed Cheryl frantically, her eyes like saucers.

‘They’re ... much better.’ Lola ignored her.

‘And you’re not feeling too shattered?’

No, I’m fine, thanks.’

‘So if I were to ask you if you’d like to meet me tonight, do you think you might say yes?’

Yeek! Cautiously — because he’d caught her out last time — Lola ventured, ‘I might.’

‘Shall we do that, then?’

It was like, Are you dancing? Are you asking?

‘If you want to,’ said Lola.