Chapter 1

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Do you really want to see me?’

‘Sorry, I’m playing it cool. Deep down I’d really like to see you.’

‘Progress at last. Do you play snooker?’

‘Er ... crikey, not very well.’

‘Great, more chance of me winning. Can I ask you something else?’

‘Fire away.’

‘If I looked like me and dressed like me but my job was collecting trolleys in a supermarket, would you still be agreeing to see me?’

Lola thought about it. Finally she said, ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

He laughed. ‘Good for you. A bit of old-fashioned honesty does it for me every time. When shall I pick you up?’

‘Um, eightish?’ How long did it take to play a game of snooker? ‘I live at—’

‘Don’t worry,’ EJ cut in, sounding amused. ‘I know where you live.’

When Lola had put the phone down, Cheryl let out a parrotlike shriek of excitement. ‘He actually rang! You’re going out on a date with EJ Mack! What was it he asked you when you said no you wouldn’t?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Lola shrugged and studied the computer screen. ‘He just wanted to know if I’d sleep with him while he was wearing his geeky anorak.’

‘My leg looks as if it’s gone fifty rounds with Mike Tyson,’ Sally complained. ‘The sight of it’s starting to make me feel sick.’

She had a point. In the ten days that had passed since the accident, her leg from the knee down had morphed into something grotesquely discoloured — it was literally black and blue — and so swollen it looked ready to burst. Lola, feeling faintly queasy herself, finished gingerly unstrapping the bright blue gel pack from Sally’s overheated calf and said as the doorbell rang,

‘It’s defrosted, I’ll get the other one out of the freezer. Who’s that?’

‘Oh,’ Sally looked at her watch, ‘is it seven already? Mum and Philip said they’d pop over.

Could you buzz them in?’

Adele, super-svelte in a pale grey wool suit and a cloud of Arpège, acknowledged Lola with the kind of distant smile one might bestow on a friend’s uninteresting five-year-old grandchild.

Crossing to the sofa, she gave Sally a kiss and said,’Darling, how horrendous! Did you get our card?’

‘Hello there, Lola: Philip, far more friendly, nodded at the defrosted gel pack in her hand. ‘Got you working overtime, has she?’

Lola grinned. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll get a shock when she sees the bill.’ Oops, possibly not the most diplomatic thing to say, given the circumstances.

Timm.’ Her tone dry, Adele addressed her daughter. ‘Well, just don’t let her haggle the price up.

Anyway, darling, now that we’re back we can have you at home with us.’

‘Thanks, Mum, but I’m fine here. Everyone’s been great, Lola and Gabe are looking after me really well. And Doug and Isabel have been helping out too.’

Adele beamed and said serenely, ‘Oh, isn’t Isabel an absolute angel? I’m so glad Doug’s found someone wonderful at last! We couldn’t be happier for him, could we, Philip?’

For a split second Philip and Lola exchanged glances. Lola struggled to keep a straight face because Adele was definitely doing it on purpose. Philip cleared his throat. ‘Whatever makes Doug happy, dear. That’s good enough for me.’

‘And she’s from such a good family,’ Adele exclaimed. ‘Her father’s a cardiac surgeon, you know.’

Wouldn’t it be nice, thought Lola, if he could whip out the old, mean, unforgiving heart in Adele’s chest and replace it with a lovely warm new one.

But no matter how much she knew Doug’s mother wasn’t going to change her mind about her, a small, ever-hopeful part of Lola couldn’t bear to give up trying. Returning from the kitchen with the frozen gel pack for Sally’s leg, she said, ‘I like your necklace, Mrs Nicholson. It’s beautiful.’

‘Why thank you.’ Delighted with the compliment, Adele reached up and stroked the silver and onyx necklace. ‘It was a present from Isabel. She has the most exquisite taste.’

The Groucho Club, that was where they’d be playing snooker. Lola had now read EJ’s book —

not an autobiography as such, but the story of his experiences in the music industry — and there had been a couple of mentions of playing snooker at the Groucho, where he was a member, so she was pretty sure this was where he’d be taking her. Which was unimaginably exciting because everyone knew the Groucho was stuffed with celebs. Imagine being able to boast to everyone at work that you’d spent last night potting pinks with Damien Hirst and Will Self and ... ooh, Madonna and Guy, Stephen Fry, the boys from Blur ... and she’d be witty and wonderful and make them all love her, then— ooh, doorbell.

The car was, frankly, a bit of a disappointment.

‘Is this yours?’ Lola hesitated as EJ opened the passenger door for her.

‘Yes, that’s why we’re driving off in it. Otherwise it would be called stealing.’

Oh well, maybe the car only looked like a grubby cherry-red Fiesta. Maybe it was actually a gleaming scarlet Ferrari Marinello in disguise.

‘Where are we going?’ Please say the Groucho, please say the Groucho, please don’t say some grotty dive in the back-streets of Bermondsey.

EJ’s mouth was twitching; had he read her mind? ‘Wait and see.’

’Well?’ said EJ forty minutes later. ‘What d’you think?’

‘I think blimey.’ The house was lit up from the outside like Buckingham Palace. In fact it looked a bit like Buckingham Palace. They were in Hertfordshire, out in the depths of the countryside but only a few miles from Hemel Hempstead.

‘I think blimey too,’ EJ said cheerfully. ‘Every time I see it. I grew up in a council flat in Chingford. Now I live here. Pretty cool, eh?’

So this was what he spent his money on. ‘Better not let the Beckhams see this place,’ said Lola.

‘They’ll be jealous.’

‘Come on, we’ve got a snooker match to play.’

Security lights zapped on as they crunched across the gravel. In the distance a couple of dogs began to bark. The front door, black and solid, looked as if it would keep out an army of marauders.

Did your anorak really come from Jean Paul Gaultier?’ Lola eyed its nylon sheen.

EJ grinned. ‘Nah, Millets.’

As evenings went, it was an experience. The house was vast and Lola got the full guided tour. EJ

beat her at snooker on the purple baize-covered table and she managed to shoot the yellow ball clear across the room, narrowly missing a mullioned window There were nine bedrooms, each one with an en-suite. He showed her his offices and recording studio, and the gold and platinum discs lining the bottle-green walls. There was also a home cinema complete with plush plum-velvet seats, a fully equipped gym, a stadium-sized living room and a kitchen bigger than Belgium.

‘Are you hungry?’ said EJ, reaching for his phone. ‘I can give Myra a call and she’ll make us something.’

Myra was the cook/housekeeper who lived with her husband Ted the handyman/gardener in a cottage in the grounds.

‘I’m starving. No, don’t drag her over here.’ Having nosily inspected the fridge, so packed with food it resembled a Tesco Metro, Lola stopped him dialling the number. ‘I’ll do us both a frittata.’

At one o’clock in the morning EJ drove Lola back to Notting Hill and said, ‘Thanks, I really enjoyed this evening.’

‘Me too.’ In the dim orange light from the street lamps overhead, Lola could see the lines and shaded angles of his thin, clever face. He still wasn’t conventionally good-looking but it was definitely the kind of face that the longer you studied it, the better it got.

‘Want to do it again?’

‘Maybe.’ She paused. ‘If you do.’

His cheekbones grew more pronounced. ‘Hedging your bets.’

‘I didn’t know if it was a trick question. What if I said ooh, yes please, and you said oh well then, good luck with finding someone to do it with.’

‘Hey.’ Taking her hand, EJ said, ‘I like you. And I’d like to see you again. I’m off to New York tomorrow, but can I give you a ring next week when I get back?’

‘Fine.’ Lola liked him too; he had a dry sense of humour and was good company. Plus he’d eaten all his frittata despite her having accidentally tipped in far too much chilli powder, causing it to be mouth-explodingly hot.

‘At this point, as a general rule, I’d give you a goodnight kiss.’ EJ paused. ‘But we’re being watched.’

Gosh, he was observant. Peering up, Lola saw he was right; the lights were off but there was a face pressed avidly to the window.

‘It’s my pregnant lesbian lover.’ Evidently Sally’s bad leg wouldn’t allow her to get up to make a cup of tea, but hobbling over to the window to spy on other people’s nocturnal goings-on was another matter.

‘Being nosy.’ Waving up at Sally, EJ said, ‘On the bright side, at least with her gammy leg she can’t dance.’

Sally waved back. Seconds later, Lola’s phone began to ring.

‘Is he nice?’ Sally demanded. ‘Have you had a good time? Where did he take you? You can bring him up for a coffee if you like. Are you going to have sex with him? And why’s he driving such a godawful car?’

‘I’m very nice.’ EJ, who’d grabbed the phone, said, ‘And yes, we had a great time thanks. We played snooker at my place. I won.And my car isn’t awful, it’s reliable and doesn’t get vandalised in town like the Lamborghini.’

‘Sorry,’ giggled Sally. ‘Are you coming up for coffee?’

‘Can’t, I’m afraid. Early flight to catch.’

‘How about sex?’

‘Thanks, generous of you to offer, but aren’t you supposed to be giving that leg of yours a rest?’

‘OK, stop that.’ Lola seized control of the phone.

‘I like him,’ Sally said delightedly. ‘You should definitely sleep with him.’

‘He can still hear you,’ said Lola. ‘I’m going to hang up now’ Before Sally could ask if she had any idea how big EJ’s willy was.

‘Tell her to move away from the window,’ EJ added.

Into the phone Lola duly repeated, ‘Move away from the window’

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to kiss Lola and I can’t do it if you’re watching. I’m very shy.’

Chapter 36

Coming to Malcolm’s house to celebrate his birthday hadn’t been Lola’s idea of a fun-packed way to spend a Saturday afternoon but it was part of the deal. Blythe had finally, reluctantly agreed to meet Nick again – and this time be civil to him – on condition that Lola first returned the compliment and met Malcolm’s family and friends.

‘But why?’ Lola protested. ‘What’s the point of me being there?’ Apart from anything else, they were bound to be a load of beardy, lentil-eating, Scrabble-playing old fogeys.

‘Because everyone’s heard all about you,’ Blythe said patiently, ‘and they’d love the chance to meet you properly. Come on, it’ll be fun.’

Hmm, that was debatable. In truth it was all a bit too meetthe-in-laws for Lola’s liking. She didn’t want her mother’s relationship with Malcolm to be progressing in this direction. Why would Blythe even want to carry on seeing Malcolm now that Lola had found her such an infinitely more desirable alternative? How could she possibly prefer bumbling teddy-bear Malcolm to someone as sleek and stylish as Nick?

But a deal was a deal and maybe Blythe just needed a bitmore time to venture out of her comfort zone, to get used to the idea that Nick James was back in her life. Lola vowed to be utterly charming to Malcolm’s family and friends no matter how bearded and dull they might be, and then her mother would be forced to do the same when she came over to Radley Road next week to meet up again with Nick.

Oh God, please don’t let anyone this afternoon suggest a nice game of Monopoly.

After two hours of being relentlessly charming, Lola was beginning to flag. She’d talked – well, bellowed – about books to Malcolm’s ancient deaf neighbour from across the road. Then she’d chatted some more about books to one of his other neighbours, who was very keen on gardening.

The drawback of her job was that when strangers were making polite conversation they invariably started talking about their favourite books and authors. She now knew that the ancient deaf lady was a fan of Daphne du Maurier, that the gardening fan liked books about .. . um, gardening, and that Malcolm’s ruddy-faced friend Miles was immensely proud of the fact that he was capable of quoting great swathes of P. G. Wodehouse he’d learned by heart. Even when nobody was remotely interested in hearing him do it.

It almost came as a relief when Miles’s boisterous son – ‘Can you ask J.K. Rowling to put me in her next book?’ – accidentally knocked a slice of pepperoni pizza down the front of Lola’s cream shirt. Resisting the urge to reply, ‘You mean squashed between the pages like a beetle?’ she excused herself and escaped to sponge off the stain.

In the kitchen she found Annie, Malcolm’s plump daughter-in-law, busy taking trays of quiche and stuffed peppers out of the oven.

Annie chatted away as Lola sponged the front of her shirt.

‘It’s so lovely to meet you at last. Malcolm’s told us so much about you.’ Her bosom jiggling as she carved up the quiches, she added jovially, ‘That’s when he isn’t telling us about your mum!’

‘Poor you.’ Lola pulled a sympathetic face.

‘Oh we love it, it’s so sweet! They get on so well together, don’t they? Just like a couple of teenagers!’

OK, they definitely weren’t like a couple of teenagers. ‘Mm.’ Lola kept her voice neutral. Talk about getting carried away.

‘It’s wonderful for both of them. Malcolm’s such a lovely person,’ Annie prattled on. ‘And of course your mum is too! And now it’s just so perfect that they’ve found each other. I’m a sucker for a good old romance, aren’t you?’

Lola said cheerfully, ‘Old being the operative word!’ Yuk, please let Annie be wrong.

‘Oh dear, that mark isn’t coming out.’ Annie eyed the orange pizza stain Lola had been scrubbing at on the front of her shirt. ‘And now you’re all wet!’

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine. And definitely don’t offer to lend me one of Malcolm’s jumpers to wear instead.’ Flippantly Lola added, ‘Or one of his lumberjack shirts!’

‘Oh but—’

‘Honestly, I’d rather stay wet. I’m sure Malcolm’s lovely, but the geography teacher look isn’t quite me.’ Lola pulled a complicit face because Annie was herself wearing a stunning navy silk dress and jewelled Karen Millen shoes, so would understand.

Annie paused and gave her an odd sideways look. ‘Malcolm’s just Malcolm. Clothes aren’t his number one priority.’ Tippingfrozen rosti onto a baking tray she, went on, ‘Why, does that bother you?’

Damn, she didn’t understand. Hastily, Lola said, ‘No, it was just a joke.’

‘He might not dress like Prince Charles,’ Annie said stiffly, ‘but he’s still a nice person.’

Oh God, now she’d offended Annie. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

‘And it’s not as if your mum’s a great style queen anyway.’ Now it was Lola’s turn to be offended. She might be allowed to criticise Blythe’s dress sense but no one else was.

‘See?’ Evidently reading her mind, Annie raised an eyebrow.

‘Not very nice, is it?’

‘I just want my mum to be happy.’ Lola dabbed furiously at her wet shirt with a fresh wodge of kitchen roll.

‘And you don’t think Malcolm’s up to the job? You don’t think he’s good enough for her, is that it?’

Honestly, all this kerfuffle because she’d said Malcolm dressed like a geography teacher.

‘Not at all,’ Lola ventured carefully. ‘I just wonder if they’re as compatible as you think they are.

They might enjoy each other’s company, but how much do they really have in common?’

‘They don’t have to have anything in common! People are different! You love books,’ Annie retorted. ‘I think books are boring! But that’s just me and it doesn’t matter. My husband’s a motorbike fanatic and I love slushy movies. I like listening to Barry Manilow, he’s crazy about Meatloaf. But we’re still happily married. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.’

‘You might go off him if he made you play endless games of Monopoly’ Lola couldn’t help herself; the words popped out.

But Annie didn’t take offence. Instead she handed Lola a tray of hot mini-samosas and said drily,

‘OK, you may have a point with the Monopoly. Could you be an angel and take these through?’

At least at a film premiere you could safely assume that anyone turning up wouldn’t object to being snapped. Gabe, who had high hopes for this evening, marvelled at the fact that the air temperature was minus several degrees and he was freezing his nuts off in his leather jacket, yet the endless parade of starlets doing their beam-and-pose bit on the red carpet were wearing dresses the size of your average J-cloth.

Maybe the layers of fake tan kept them warm.

‘Tana, over here!’ bellowed a gaggle of paparazzi as a slinky brunette in a shimmering purple scrap of nothing emerged from the next limo in the queue. Gabe wasn’t entirely sure who she was — one of the Coronation Street girls possibly — but he A clicked and snapped along with the rest of them and wondered briefly what it must be like to wear six-inch strappy stilettos. Oh well, with a bit of luck he’d never find out. Poor old Tania was developing a fine pair of bunions; soon all she’d be able to 1 fit those feet of hers into would be flip-flops. a

‘Matt, Matt, give us a smile,’ yelled the paps as the next celebrity sauntered up the carpet. OK, Gabe was pretty sure he knew this one, he was a Channel 4 TV presenter ... or maybe a member of that boy band with the reputation for unzipping their trousers and flashing their- Eurgh, right second time. What these boys didn’t seem to i realise was that where the sight of their backsides was concerned,familiarity bred contempt. Once you’d seen one spotty adolescent bottom, you’d seen them all.

‘What a tosser,’ murmured the photographer next to Gabe. ‘Their last single only just scraped into the top forty. They’re getting desperate now, terrified their record company’s about to dump them. By this time next month they could be back working in Burger King.’

‘Me too.’ Gabe spoke with feeling. Let’s face it, he hadn’t exactly set the paparazzi world alight since his fluke photo back in Sydney. As the next limo drew up he polished the lens of his Leica Digilux, ready for whoever might be about to

‘Hey, Savannah, this way!’The paparazzi lurched into a frenzy of action, galvanised by the unexpectedness of her appearance. With a jolt, Gabe saw her emerge from the car behind a huge security guy in a too-tight dark suit with the look of a debt collector about him.

This was the public face of Savannah Hudson. Tonight she was in full-on film-star mode. Her blond hair was carefully styled, her make-up perfect. Around her narrow shoulders she wore a silvery velvet wrap; the rest of her body was draped in bias-cut white satin. She looked like an infinitely fragile, stunningly beautiful goddess. Not a plastic carrier bag, not a pair of Wellington boots in sight.

No bald heads either, unless you counted the shaven one belonging to the security gorilla.

Savannah posed for the photographers, showcased her outfit and dutifully smiled while turning this way and that. Having taken a few pictures, Gabe stopped and put his camera down in order to watch her. Maybe it was his stillness amongst the frenzied screaming horde that attracted her attention but moments later she spotted him. Their eyes met for a second. Gabe nodded, acknowledging her with a brief smile, but there was no flicker of acknowledgement in return.

Savannah’s gaze slid past him., the smooth professional smile moved on to dazzle the next gaggle of photographers and after a few more poses she was off up the red carpet to cheers of delight from the assembled fans.

Well, what had he expected? For her to wave and yell out, ‘Hey, everyone, there’s the guy over there who papped me when my wig came off!’

Gabe got on with the business of snapping the next wave of celebs, standing his ground as the other paparazzi pushed and shoved around him. Several minutes later, just as he’d bagged a telling shot of a husband and wife giving each other the kind of look that hinted their marriage might be on the rocks, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

It was a firm hand and — bloody hell — an enormous one. Looking round, Gabe saw that it belonged to the security guy in the too-tight suit.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gabe took in the grim expression on the man’s face, the interest of the photographers around him. Shit, was he about to be beaten to a pulp on the pavement?

‘You’ve been pestering Miss Hudson: The words were accompanied by a menacingly jabbed finger. ‘My advice to you, sonny, is to leave her alone. Got that?’

For a split second Gabe thought he was being targeted by a pickpocket. Then he realised his wallet wasn’t being stolen, something was being pushed into his jacket pocket.

He murmured, ‘Got it,’ and — out of sight of the other paps — felt the huge man give his pocket a meaningful pat. ‘Glad to hear it.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said one of the paps when the incredible hulk had stalked off. ‘I thought he was going to hammer you into the ground.’

‘Me too.’ With a grimace Gabe raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Close call. In fact I’m going to get myself a drink to celebrate still having a neck.’

Chapter 37

Around the corner, away from the crowds and the noise, Gabe pulled a folded cinema flyer from his pocket. In the semidarkness he had to turn it over twice before spotting the mobile number scribbled diagonally across one corner.

Mystified, he called the number. It was answered by the incredible hulk.

This was getting more Dan Brown by the minute. ‘It’s me.’ Feeling stupid, Gabe said. ‘The photographer.’

‘That’s a polite way of putting it.’ The hulk sounded amused.

‘You could call yourself paparazzi scum.’

‘If there weren’t any of us,’ Gabe retorted, ‘you’d be out of a job. Why am I ringing you anyway?’

‘The boss wants to see you.’

‘Who?’ Why ever would his boss be asking to see him?

Evidently sensing his confusion, the hulk explained in a caring, gentle fashion, ‘Savannah, you dozy pillock. Wait on the corner of Irving Street and Charing Cross Road. We’ll be there in ten minutes.’

This was downright weird. Looking around to see if he was having an elaborate prank played on him – was Get Back atthe Paps some new reality TV show? – Gabe zipped the Leica inside his jacket and headed away from the crowds. Lost in thought, he made for Irving Street. Was he out of his mind, even going there? If the hulk turned up with a couple of readyfor-trouble friends he could end up getting more than his camera broken.

Thirteen minutes later a limo with the obligatory blacked-out windows slowed to a halt beside Gabe. The door slid open and the hulk said, ‘Get in.’

‘You must be joking,’ Gabe retorted. ‘Do I look stupid?’ The hulk grinned, flashing a gold incisor. ‘Now you come to mention it ...’

‘Oh, stop that,’ exclaimed a despairing female voice and Gabe’s mouth fell open as Savannah Hudson’s face came into view. Beckoning to Gabe she said, ‘Ignore him. Just please get into the car.’

It was something of a novelty, checking there were no paps lurking around the entrance to the Soho Hotel before diving out of the limo, through reception and into the lift.

The hulk waited downstairs in the bar. Up in her suite Savannah disappeared into the bedroom to change out of the liquid silk gown and into one of the hotel’s oversized towelling robes. When she returned Gabe sat in a chair over by the window and she perched cross-legged on the vast bed.

‘I wanted to say thanks properly,’ she ventured at last, ‘for doing what you did.’

‘That’s OK.’ Gabe was nursing a bottle of tonic from the minibar.

‘And for not doing what you could have done.’ As she spoke, Savannah’s hand fiddled nervously with a tendril of styled blond hair. ‘I should have thanked you when you deleted those pictures. I was just in such a panic at the time, you have no idea. Then when you’d gone I was convinced you’d only pretended to delete them. But it’s been over a week now. If you’d still had them they’d have been everywhere by now.’

‘I deleted them. Actually,’ Gabe pointed out, because it had been her index finger on the button,

‘you did.’

Savannah shrugged. ‘You didn’t tell anyone, either. My manager’s been bracing himself for a barrage of phone calls about my health and there haven’t been any. Not one.’

‘When I make a promise I keep it.’

1 didn’t trust you. I’m really sorry’

‘That’s all right. To be honest, I don’t think I’m cut out for this paparazzi business. Can I ask you two questions?’

Savannah took a deep breath then exhaled like a diver. ‘Go on then, fire away.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be sitting in that cinema watching the film?’

For a moment Savannah looked nonplussed.Then the corners of her mouth began to twitch.

‘You’re new, right? We might turn up at a premiere but it doesn’t mean we watch the film. Most of us walk up the red carpet, disappear into the cinema and then head straight out again through the back door.’

‘Oh’

‘That’s so sweet. If it’s any consolation,’ said Savannah, ‘I love it that you didn’t know that.’

‘There’s lots of things I don’t know about this stupid job. Can I ask my other question now?’

She nodded, took a sip of water.

‘Do you have cancer?’ said Gabe.

Flushing, Savannah shook her head. ‘No I don’t. And thankgoodness I don’t, I’m truly grateful I don’t. But if I was bald because I had cancer at least people would feel sorry for me.’ She put the bottle of water down on the bedside table and said, ‘But I don’t, I have alopecia, which is something actresses like me aren’t supposed to get because it’s not glamorous and it’s not attractive, and p-people would make f-fun of me ... oh God, and my career would be over .. ‘ As she spoke, the tears spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. Shaking her head, she buried her face in her hands and began to sob, great heaving sobs that shook her tiny, towelling-clad frame.

‘Oh don’t do that.’ Appalled, Gabe jumped to his feet.

The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, as fragile as a baby bird, weeping helplessly and soaking the front of his grey sweatshirt.A spider appeared and Gabe brushed it away in horror then realised when. it landed on the white carpet that it was a clump of false eyelashes.

‘You’re so k-kind,’ Savannah hiccupped, her eyes now bizarrely lopsided.

‘Here, let me just do something ...’ Gently Gabe peeled the strip of lashes from the other eye.

With a handful of tissues he wiped away the dregs of the professionally applied make-up. It was surreal, doing something as intimate as this to a face he’d seen so many times on cinema screens.

Everyone in the country knew Savannah Hudson from her TV and film roles. She was beautiful, talented, fragile. And he was sitting with her on a king-sized bed, consoling her as she wept. To lighten the mood he said, ‘I was just thinking I can’t believe this is happening. But I bet you never thought you’d be here doing this with someone like me.’

She managed a watery smile. ‘Not in a million years.’

‘Everyone hates us,’ said Gabe. ‘We’re right up there with traffic wardens, tax inspectors and those people who club baby seals to death.’

‘And bitchy journalists,’ Savannah added, ‘who always manage to find something horrible to say about you, like how knobbly your knees are, or how unflattering your trousers. One of them wrote a piece last year about my eyebrows looking ragged. The headline was "Savannah Needs a Damn Good Plucking".’ She paused and tapped her wig. ‘Can you imagine the field day they’d have if they knew about this?’

‘But it’s not your fault.’

‘They don’t care about that.’ Two more tears popped out. ‘All they want is a good laugh and to sell a few more copies of their rotten magazine.’

‘Listen to me,’ Gabe said firmly, ‘you’re beautiful.’

Savannah shook her head. ‘Not without hair I’m not. My agent told me I looked like a wing nut.’

‘That’s not true. I saw you,’ Gabe insisted. ‘And you didn’t.’

‘You must have caught me at a flattering angle. Trust me, I do.’

‘You don’t.’

In response, Savannah reached up and peeled off her wig. She sat before him on her knees and gazed steadily at him.

How had he not noticed before? Minus the hair, her ears stuck out. She looked exactly like a wing nut. A weary, fearful, deeply ashamed wing nut.

•

‘See?’ whispered Savannah.

Gabe did the only thing he could possibly do. Reaching forwards, he cupped her damp, tear-stained face between his hands, drew her towards him and kissed her on the mouth.

He’d meant it to be a brief, reassuring kiss but Savannah clung on, wrapping her arms around his neck. Time stood still for Gabe; bloody hell, this was Savannah Hudson he was kissing and now she was the one making sure it carried on. All he’d wanted to do was stop her crying. Then again, he wasn’t going to be the one to pull away .. .

Finally Savannah did, but only by a couple of inches. Touching his cheek she whispered, ‘Do you really like me?’

‘You’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t anyone like you?’ Gabe stroked her head, as warm and smooth as a new-laid egg.

‘No wedding ring.’ She reached for his left hand, double-checked it was unencumbered.

‘Girlfriend?’

‘No girlfriend.’

‘You’re very good-looking.’

Gabe smiled. ‘Should have seen me before the plastic surgery.’

‘Oh no, you definitely haven’t had that. When it comes to men having plastic surgery, trust me, I’m an expert. Are you really single?’

He nodded. ‘Since just before Christmas!

‘I haven’t been with anyone for over a year! Savannah’s smile was wry. ‘Isn’t that pathetic? My manager says it’s no wonder my hair’s dropped out. But it’s so hard to trust people, you never know what they’re going to do or say. And now with all this business going on ...’ she indicated her head, ‘it’s even worse. It just seems like everyone lets you down, they can’t help themselves.

Every last one of my exes has done a kiss and tell. In the end you just think it’s easier not to bother.’

‘Right.’ Gabe realised he was still stroking her face. ‘Complicated.’

‘It is complicated. Nothing’s ever straightforward. You have no idea.’

‘My God, I’m glad I’m not a stunning, Oscar-nominated actress.’

Savannah broke into a smile. ‘I’m glad you’re not too.’ Then she kissed him again. Longingly.

And this time it didn’t stop.

’Hey, Gabe, any joy?’

Gabe stopped dead as he emerged from the hotel at nine o’clock the next morning. Lenny, one of the other paparazzi, was leaning against a wall smoking a roll-up and keeping his camera out of sight.

‘What?’Aware of the eyes of the bellboy on him, Gabe prayed he wasn’t giving himself away.

‘Any sign of Savannah Hudson? She’s meant to be staying here.’ When Gabe hesitated, Lenny said, ‘Isn’t that who you were looking for?’

‘Oh right, I didn’t know’ His pulse racing, Gabe gestured vaguely behind him. ‘I just called in to use the loo.’

Lenny rolled his eyes and grinned. Gradually Gabe’s heart slowed down. The bellboy, less amused, murmured, ‘Well, don’t do it again.’

Back at Radley Road by nine thirty, Gabe found Sally already ensconced on the sofa with an open packet of biscuits, a pile of magazines and Friends on the TV. It was the one where Rachel discovers Ross’s list of criticisms about her. Rachel, beside herself, was stamping her foot and yelling, ‘You think I’m SPOILT?’

‘Morning, cheap tart.’ Sally greeted Gabe jauntily through a mouthful of chocolate caramel digestive. ‘What time do you call this to crawl home?’

‘I call it time to Sellotape your mouth shut. Don’t do that,’ said Gabe as she flicked biscuit crumbs off her skirt and onto the rug.

‘I’m a poor helpless invalid who can’t even carry a cup of tea. What else am I supposed to do with crumbs? If I leave them on me I’ll just end up sitting on them. And I can’t exactly get the Hoover out. Anyway, don’t change the subject.’ Sally tapped her watch. ‘I still want to know where you’ve been.’

‘What are you, my probation officer?’

‘I’m interested!’

Avid, more like. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ said Gabe.

In the kitchen he rubbed his face and exhaled slowly. Of course he wanted to tell Sally that he’d spent the night with Savannah Hudson but he wasn’t going to. Nor Lola; neither of them would be finding out about it from him. When Savannah had anxiously asked him if he’d told anyone about their traumatic encounter last week, he’d been able to answer truthfully that no, he hadn’t.

Back in the living room Gabe handed Sally her mug of tea, put the biscuits on a plate and tidied up the slew of books and magazines on the floor.

‘Don’t put them where I can’t reach them.’ Sally’s tone was querulous.

On the TV, Rachel snapped, ‘I do not have chubby ankles.’ The penny finally dropped. Ha, that’s who she reminded him of.

‘You still haven’t told me.’ Sally adjusted the cushions supporting her leg.

‘Lenny and I were working late, staking out the Soho Hotel.’ Gabe shrugged, yawned widely.

‘Waste of time, didn’t get anything. And it was freezing too. In the end we went back to Lenny’s place to thaw out. I crashed out in a chair, woke up at eight o’clock this morning.’

‘Do you know, I almost feel sorry for you.’ Sally gave him a pitying look. ‘You could be in the running for Most Useless Pap on the Planet.’

‘Thank you,’ said Gabe. ‘And to think I was about to make you a bacon sandwich.’

‘The bacon in the fridge? Oh no, you can’t cook that.’ Gabe was both tired and hungry. ‘But that’s why I bought it.’

‘I know, but I promised it to Lola for her dinner party tonight.’ Sally said generously, ‘You can have Weetabix instead.’

Lola had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now it was her mother’s turn.Tonight she was hosting a proper grown-up dinner party in her flat and Blythe and Nick – her actual parents! – were jolly well going to be nice to each other.

In fact if all went well, there would be some serious rekindling going on. Even if Blythe had got the wrong end of the stick and exclaimed, ‘Ooh, lovely. Can I invite Malcolm along too?’

Tactfully Lola had been forced to say, ‘Actually, Mum; he might feel a bit awkward. Would you mind if he wasn’t here?’

God, though, cooking proper grown-up food was hard work. She’d been slaving away for ages and there was still heaps to do, never mind getting herself ready and Crash went the kitchen door as Sally bashed it open with one of her crutches and came clunking through. ‘Crikey, done enough stuff? I thought there was only five of us.’

‘There is. I hate it when I ask for seconds and there aren’t any, so when I’m cooking for other people I always make... well, quite a lot.’

‘Enough for twenty-five, I’d say.’ Hobble-clunking her way over to the plate of chilli-infused king prawns, Sally said, ‘I’d better just check these are all right. Mmm.’ She leaned against the worktop. ‘So, how do I look?’

‘Like someone who hasn’t had anything else to do today except get herself dolled up.’ Pausing with a saucepan of mangetouts in one hand and a tray of roast potatoes in the other, Lola said,

‘You look great. I can’t believe you’re wearing that dress. What if you spill something on it?’

‘It’ll dry-clean.’ Sally patted her favourite pale yellow dress. She had fastened her hair up with silver, crystal-studded combs and her make-up was flawless.

Lola was touched that she’d gone to so much trouble. ‘And you’re not even going to have anyone to flirt with. I should have invited someone nice along for you. Here, at least help yourself to a drink – oh Lord, that can’t be one of them already.’

Sally, already helping herself to wine from the fridge, said cheerfully, ‘You never know, maybe it’s someone gorgeous for me to flirt with.’

She was half right. It was Doug.

Lola’s heart did its usual floppity skip-and-a-jump; he looked even more irresistible when he hadn’t shaved.What she wouldn’t give for a bit of stubble-rash.

‘I called in on Ma earlier and she asked me to drop this off with you.’ He dumped a light blue, leather-trimmed holdall on the table in front of Sally. ‘Apparently you asked her for them. What is it, more clothes?’

‘Better than that.’ Sally clapped her hands and unzipped the holdall. ‘Old photos!’

Lola, busy chopping courgettes, was entranced by the look on Doug’s face. ‘Only you could pick up a bag, wonder what’s in it and not even think to take a sneaky look inside.’ Thinking that this was why she loved him so much – OK, it was one ofthe many reasons along with the stubble –

she went on, ‘If I ever need something smuggled through customs, I’ll know who to ask.’

Dougie shot her a look that suggested he didn’t love her in return, before turning back to Sally.

‘Why did you want them?’

‘Lola’s mum’s bringing loads of photos over tonight to show Lola’s dad. I thought it’d be nice to have some of mine here too, so I could join in. Don’t worry, I won’t pass round any embarrassing ones of you. Well, apart from that one of you naked in a paddling pool with a plastic bucket on your head.’

‘I won’t let her,’ Lola hastily assured him, before Doug could seize the holdall and race off into the night. On an impulse she said, ‘You could stay if you want.’

‘What?’

‘For dinner.’ Adrenaline sloshed through Lola’s body. ‘I’ve made mountains of food.You can see my mum again, and meet my dad ... the more the merrier, honestly. It’d be great if you were here too.’ Then I can sit next to you and accidentally brush my thigh against yours, we can play footsie under the table, I’ll feed you spoonfuls of chocolate pudding and you’ll realise how perfect we are together

‘Thanks,’ Dougie cut into her happy fantasy, ‘but I can’t.’

Oh. Unable to hide her disappointment, Lola blurted out, ‘But I’ve made chocolate pudding with real custard!’

He smiled, just slightly, and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’m seeing Isabel tonight.’

Bring her up here, thought Lola, we can drown her in homemade custard. God knows, we’ve got enough of the stuff.

‘Shall I get that for you?’ Seeing that Lola’s hands were wet, Sally picked up the ringing phone.

‘Hi ... no, this is Sally .. . oh hello, you! Yes thanks, the baby’s fine!’ Beaming, she said,

‘Where are you, still in New York? Oh, right. No, she’s busy cooking, we’re having a dinner party this evening ... hey, why don’t you come over? Don’t be daft, of course you can — Lola’s just invited my brother but he’s busy.’ Covering the receiver Sally whispered, ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

What else could Lola say? ‘Fine by me.’

Sally hung up a couple of minutes later. ‘There, all sorted, EJ’s on his way.’

‘Great.’ Lola forced a smile because she’d have preferred Dougie.

‘And I’m off? Doug took out his car keys and headed for the door. ‘Have a good time.’

‘Damn,’ exclaimed Sally, rummaging through the blue holdall. ‘Did you see him do it?’

Lola was busy frying shallots in butter. ‘Do what?’

‘There was a small dark green photo album in here five minutes ago. And now it’s disappeared.

Bloody hell, my rotten sneaky Artful Dodger of a brother has only gone and sodding well half-inched it.’

By ten o’clock everyone had eaten as much as they physically could and there had been no culinary disasters. On the surface it seemed like a successful dinner party, buzzy and fun, but as far as Lola was concerned it wasn’t going according to plan. Nor could she help wondering what EJ was making of it. Gabe, despite being as charming as ever, was definitely distracted and quieter than usual. He’d been checking his watch all evening, as jumpy as a cat. Sally wasn’t behaving normally either; possibly in an attempt to make up for Gabe’s air of distraction she was talking and laughing with that bit more enthusiasm than usual, gesturing vivaciously with her hands as she chatted away, laughing more loudly than usual and generally behaving like an overexcited teenager in the grip of a girlie crush.

Which was slightly weird, seeing as there wasn’t anyone here for her to have a crush on.

Mystified, Lola reached for the jug and poured herself another glug of custard. Unless Sally secretly fancied EJ ... crikey, could that be it? Was that possible? When he was wearing those trousers?

Damn, why couldn’t Doug be here now? That would help take her mind off the realisation that, across the table, her wonderful plan to get her parents back together wasn’t going according to ...

er, plan.

It was deeply frustrating, trying to keep an eye on them and listen to what they were saying, but doing it subtly so they didn’t notice.

And now they weren’t even chatting to each other; her mother was talking to EJ and Gabe, while Nick and Sally were trading holiday stories. Honestly, it was as if neither of her parents was even trying.

Chapter 33

’Do you know what might be helpful?’ said Blythe when Lola tackled her in the kitchen. ‘If you could just stop watching us all the time.’

‘But I can’t help it! 1 want to watch you!’

‘Well, it makes us feel like two giant pandas in a zoo, with everyone waiting for us to mate.’

‘Mum! Eeuuw!’

Blythe smiled faintly. ‘See? That’s how I feel too.’

‘About Nick? But he’s my father.You were in love with him,’ Lola protested. For heaven’s sake, they’d mated at least once. ‘Twenty-eight years ago,’ Blythe reminded her.

‘And now he’s here again!’ Lola couldn’t understand how her mother could be this uninterested in Nick. For herself, finding Dougie again had brought all the old feelings rushing back stronger than ever.Yet for Blythe it simply wasn’t happening, which was frustrating beyond belief.

‘Look, if your father and I had gone ahead and got married back then, we’d have been divorced by the time you were three. I know that now’ Blythe went on as Lola opened her mouth to protest. ‘I’m old enough to know it for a fact. Look at yourfather and look at me.’ She gestured at herself, at her wild red hair and pink glittery blouse, the crinkled leaf-green skirt that so strongly resembled a lettuce. Then, flipping a hand towards the living room, she said dismissively, ‘And there’s him in his trendy clothes, with his hair cut by Gordon Ramsay.’

Startled, Lola said, ‘What?’

‘Oh, you know who I mean.’ Her mother’s tone was scornful. ‘Some celebrity hairdresser chap off the telly.You see, that’s the difference between us, love. Nick went in one direction, I went in the other. Neither of us are the same people we were back then. And now he’s turned into the kind of person who thinks it’s normal to spend a hundred pounds on a haircut. I mean, can you imagine? Talk about a fool and his money soon being parted!’

For heaven’s sake, would you listen to her? ‘Mum, you can’t say that.’

‘I can say anything I like, love.’

‘About me?’ Nick appeared in the doorway, causing Lola to clatter coffee cups into their saucers.

‘About your hair,’ Blythe said cheerfully.

‘Sorry,’ said Lola. ‘My mother’s turning into a bit of a delinquent.’

Nick shrugged. ‘That’s OK, Blythe’s entitled to her opinion about my hair, just as I’m allowed to have an opinion about her skirt. Would you like me to carry that coffee through?’

‘Thanks.’ Lola passed him the tray.

‘Maybe I wore this skirt because I knew it would annoy you.’ Blythe beamed.

Lola said, ‘And maybe you’re about to get a pot of coffee tipped over your head. Could you please be nice to each other or should I put you at opposite ends of the table?’

‘Hey, we’re fine.’ Nick’s tone was reassuring. ‘Just having fun.’

‘Of course we are.’ Giving Lola a conciliatory hug, Blythe said, ‘Don’t take any notice of us.

Dinner was gorgeous, by the way. And I do like EJ, very much.’

Lola wondered if Sally did too.

‘He’s a good chap.’ Nodding in agreement, Nick said, ‘Is he wearing those trousers for a bet?’

Back in the living room, Lola poured out the coffee. Gabe drained his in one scalding gulp and jumped to his feet. ‘Right, I’m off to work.’ A

‘Now?’ Lola said. ‘But it’s nearly midnight.’

‘Colin wants me to get some shots outside Bouji’s. It’s somebody’s birthday there tonight.’

Sally the Queen of OK! magazine said eagerly, ‘Ooh, whose?’

‘Um ... can’t remember.’ Combing his hair with his fingers and shrugging on his battered suede jacket, Gabe said his goodbyes, gave Lola a thank-you kiss on the cheek and headed for the door.

‘Um ... Gabe?’

He turned, eyebrows registering impatience. ‘Yes?’

Lola cleared her throat. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘What?’ He looked blank.

She pointed to the coffee table behind him. ‘Might help if you took your camera.’

‘OK,’ said Lola an hour later when it was only the two of them left. ‘On a scale of one to ten, and I know he’s an older man so it isn’t easy, but how attractive would you say my father is?’

Ten! No, twelve! No, six hundred and ninety-eight! Whoops, better not say that. Mentally reminding herself that she was several glasses of wine beyond sober, Sally gave the matter serious consideration and said carefully, ‘Well, he does have his own hair and teeth, so I would say ... sevenish. And nice clothes .. . OK, maybe seven and a half.’

‘Exactly.’ Lola thumped the dining table in agreement. ‘That’s what I think too. And for an older man, seven and a half’s perfectly respectable, it’s a good score. But when I asked Mum earlier, she said three! I mean, three.And she wasn’t being horrible, it’s what she really genuinely thought.’

Hooray.

‘He’s not fat, he’s not a skinny rake,’ Sally went on. ‘Maybe even an eight.’

‘OK, now you’re getting carried away.’ Dismissively Lola shook her head. ‘He’s only my father.

But the point is, how can my mum not fancy him? All those feelings she once had — where did they go?’

‘No idea. Maybe they evaporated.’ Sally shrugged and dripped wine down her chin. ‘Just vanished. Like Doug’s feelings for you.’

Lola winced. ‘Don’t say that! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you say that?’

‘But it’s true. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.You can’t force Doug to change the way he feels about you. And you can’t make your mum fall back in love with your father.’ Especially when I want him.

‘You’re being mean. OK, how many marks out of ten would you give EJ?’

There was an odd, intense look in Lola’s eyes as she asked the question. Sally, topping up their glasses, sensed that this was important to her. Lola must be keener on EJ than she was letting on.

And he was good fun ... in a speccy, nerdy, wealthy kind of way.

In a generous mood – and because it was in her best interests to make Lola happy – Sally said,

‘Honestly? Nine.’

‘Nine!’ Lola looked incredulous.

‘Why not? He’s lovely. Oh my God, what is that on your head?’ Having been idly flipping through one of the albums Blythe had brought along to show Nick, Sally was distracted by a photo of Lola, aged about seven, wearing a black leotard and unflattering black skullcap with huge pink and black ears attached.

‘I was a mouse in the school play. Don’t make fun of me – I was the star of the show. Do you like EJ?’

‘I just told you, of course I do.’ Turning to the next page, Sally snorted with laughter at a snap of Lola on a trip to the zoo, leaping back in fright as an elephant investigated the ice cream in her hand with its trunk.

‘No, but do you like-like him?’

Sally looked up; it was on the tip of her tongue to say no, the only man she like-liked was Nick.

She could say it, couldn’t she? Just blurt it out, then Lola would know and she wouldn’t have to hide her feelings any more ... Oh God, but what if it caused an upset? Lola hadn’t yet given up on the idea that she could get her parents back together. Maybe tonight wasn’t the best time .. .

‘Who, EJ?’ Dimly aware that the pause between question and answer was too long and terrified that Lola might somehow be managing to read her mind, Sally took another glug of wine and said over-brightly, ‘Of course I don’t. Oh look, I love this one of you in a wig!’ Hurriedly she pointed to a snap of Lola dressed as John McEnroe during his red headband era. Was that for a fancy dress party?’

‘That’s not fancy dress, those were my best shorts.’ Her mouthtwitching, Lola aimed a pudding fork at Sally’s injured, propped-up leg. ‘And I wasn’t wearing a wig.’

Sally made her wibbly-wobbly way across the landing shortly afterwards, careering off walls and giggling wildly as she exclaimed for the fifteenth time, ‘You cannot be serious!’

Leaving the washing-up for tomorrow, Lola headed for bed and took Sally’s photo albums with her. Doug might have made off with the album containing the most photos of him – spoilsport –

but he still featured in the others often enough to make them interesting. Having had to pretend to be fascinated by the pictures of Sally earlier, she could now concentrate unashamedly on Doug. God, he’d been a beautiful baby ... and an irresistibly angelic toddler ... there he was at a school concert with his hair all neat, his knees all knobbly and one grey sock falling down .. .

here were ones of him as a teenager, aged thirteen or fourteen, with a mischievous look in his eyes and a cheeky grin .. .

Lola wiped her cheek as a lone tear escaped. Dougie riding his bike with no hands, Dougie diving into a swimming pool, Dougie about to tip a bucket of seawater over Sally while she sunbathed on a beach, Dougie – older now, possibly eighteen or nineteen – cavorting in a park with a group of friends she didn’t know.

More tears dripped off Lola’s chin, because these were his university years now, the ones she could have shared with him, should have shared but hadn’t.

Everything would have been so different and you could drive yourself mad wondering how your life might have turned out if only you’d done this or that.

And wondering was irrelevant anyway. At the time she hadn’t had any other choice.

Lola jumped as the phone began to ring, causing the album to slide sideways off the bed. It was gone one o’clock in the morning; who could be calling her now? Unless it was Dougie, who had been looking through the dark green photo album he’d made off with earlier and been overcome with longing and regret .. .

‘Hello?’ Lola said breathlessly, her palms damp with hope. Her imagination conjured up a split screen of the two of them in their own beds flirting over the phone with each other like Rock Hudson and Doris Day in Pillow Talk ... or Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally .. .

‘Elio, eez Carlo zere to spik wiz?’ It was the gruff voice of an elderly Italian woman.

All the hope inside Lola plummeted like a rock dropped into a well. ‘Sorry. You’ve got the wrong number.’

‘Ach.’ The old Italian woman clicked her tongue and heaved a sigh of annoyance before abruptly hanging up.

Lola switched off the phone. Of course it hadn’t been Doug. What did she expect?

’Do you trust me?’

‘I trust you.’

‘Go on then. Take it off,’ said Gabe.

Savannah flushed and double-checked that the bedroom curtains were drawn shut. Not even the most persistent paparazzo could sneak a peek into the cottage. She was safe from prying lenses, safe from discovery. Reaching up, she removed the wig and put it on the dressing table in front of her.

‘Maybe a bit of powder,’ Gabe suggested. ‘Just to take off the shine.’

She did as he said, then took a steadying breath and turned on the seat to face him.

‘Round to the left a bit. I don’t want you full on.’ Keen to avoid the wing-nut effect, he wanted to minimise her ears. A three-quarter shot would be most flattering. ‘And tilt your head slightly ... relax your shoulders, I’m not about to rip your teeth out. Now give me a hint of a smile ... perfect, that’s perfect ...’

Afterwards Savannah hugged him. Together they watched as the series of images emerged from the printer on high-gloss photographic paper. Gabe was pleased with the results; as their session had progressed, the tension in Savannah’s muscles had dissolved. Towards the end of the sitting she had begun to relaxand enjoy herself. Her smile had broadened and lost its I’mposing-for-the-camera-without-my-wig-on anxiety. The final few had achieved what he’d been aiming for; a beautiful woman who happened to have no hair was gazing into the lens without fear. She was wearing natural make-up, silver hooped earrings and a simple white camisole top over jeans.

‘Thank you.’ Savannah couldn’t stop gazing at them. She shook her head in wonder. ‘Thank you so much. You don’t know what this means to me.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘You’re incredible.’ She turned and kissed him.

Gabe grinned. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

‘Maybe if I keep looking at them, I’ll get more used to them.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ He watched her slide the glossy colour photographs into the wall safe, where no one else could get at them.

‘You do the rest,’ said Savannah, and Gabe set about deleting first the images from the memory card, then the files from the laptop itself.

‘All done.’ There was data recovery software on the market capable of retrieving deleted images but he didn’t mention this to her.

‘Thank you.’ If she was aware of this she didn’t mention it either. The point was that she had trusted him to take the photographs, which was good enough for Gabe. Slowly, slowly, Savannah was gaining in confidence.

She was also besotted with him, which was a pretty flattering thing to happen, even if it meant that for the last week or so he’d been getting less sleep than a new mother of twins with colic.

‘You’re doing it again,’ Savannah chided.

‘Doing what?’

‘Looking at your watch. I hate it when you look at your watch like that.’

• Gabe smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I know, I’m sorry, it’s called being a part of the real world. We can’t all be A-list movie stars taking a few months off between films. Some of us have to get back to London, earn a living.’

‘But I don’t want you to go. I’ll be all on my own.’ Pouting, Savannah slid her hands beneath his holey pink T-shirt.

Gabe gently removed them; thanks to her insecurity she was exhaustingly clingy. ‘Just a quick coffee, then I really do have to leave.’

He leaned against the Aga and watched Savannah make the coffee. Her actions were delicate, precise, as neat and organised as the kitchen itself, always wiping away wet mug rings with a J-cloth and cleaning up crumbs on the worktop. She was more than capable of keeping the cottage immaculate without Pauline the housekeeper — and owner of Bunty the yappy terrier.

‘Would you like to stay, if you could?’

Here came the rush of neediness again. To reassure her, Gabe said patiently, ‘Of course I would.’

‘OK. In that case, stay.’ Savannah tilted her head. ‘I’ll pay you what you would have earned.

How about that?’

‘How about that?’ echoed Gabe. ‘How about no?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not a gigolo. Don’t take it personally.’ He held up his hands. ‘It’s just not something I could do. Look, I need to work tonight and tomorrow But I can come down on Sunday.’

‘Or I could come up tomorrow.’ Savannah looked hopeful. ‘Book a suite at the Ritz.’

‘Sunday’s better. I’ll see you here.’ Gabe shook his head; in London there were paparazzi everywhere and being holed up in a hotel wasn’t his idea of fun. At least down here in the depths of the countryside they could go out for walks, although Savannah’s preferred form of exercise was more bedroom-related. Not that he was complaining about that, and it wasn’t as if it would last forever. Next month she was off to the States to make two films back to back and their brief fling would be over.

‘Two whole days. I’m going to miss you.’ She threw her arms around him.

‘I’ll miss you too,’ said Gabe. He must give Sally a call on the way back, see if there was anything she wanted him to pick up. Reaching for his cup, he spilled a couple of drops of coffee on the flagstoned kitchen floor. Before he could reach for the J-cloth, Savannah had grabbed it and wiped up the drips, rinsed the cloth under the tap and squeezed it dry.

Gabe smiled to himself. Sally would never have done that. At best she would have casually scuffed at the drips with the sole of her shoe.

Chapter

Blythe loved to watch Lola at work in the shop, helping customers and making them smile. To the rest of the world Lola might be a capable 27-year-old but as far as Blythe was concerned she’d always be her little girl.

Spotting her, Lola waved and called over, ‘Hey, Mum, what a coincidence. Dad was in here just now! You missed him by five minutes.’

Blythe smiled and nodded, noting that Lola had stopped calling him Nick. She was happy for Lola that the two of them were getting on so well; she just wished Lola would stop trying to

‘Ooh, why don’t you come with us tonight? We’re going along to the opening of a new exhibition at the Simm Gallery, then on to dinner at Medici’s’ Eagerly Lola said, ‘How about the three of us going together? We can pick you up and drop you home afterwards.’

Correction, Lola would always be her persistent, never-give- up, endlessly hopeful little girl.

‘Thanks, love, but I won’t. You and Nick have a nice time. Art galleries aren’t really my thing.’

That was putting it politely; art galleries bored her witless.

Lola looked disappointed. ‘Oh well, what if we give the gallery a miss? We could just go to Medici’s instead, is that a better idea?’

Never-ever-give-up ..

‘Lola, it’s fine, I’m seeing Malcolm tonight. It’s quiz night at the Feathers and we’re going along to that. I don’t dislike your father, it’s just that we have our own lives to lead. Trust me, we’re both happier this way.’ Blythe hadn’t told Lola – had no intention of telling her – what had happened on the night of Lola’s dinner party when she and Nick had left at midnight and shared a taxi home. When it had arrived at her house in Streatham and Nick had invited himself in for a coffee, she’d gone along with the suggestion just to be polite. They’d chatted amicably enough for half an hour before Nick kissed her.

It should have been romantic but Blythe had felt nothing. At all. He’d done his level best but she hadn’t been able to summon so much as a goosebump of excitement. It was like being kissed by a packet of cornflakes.

Poor Nick, it hadn’t been his fault; he was undoubtedly a more than competent kisser, and with all the practice he’d undoubtedly had over the years possibly an Olympic-level one. But had he had any effect on her? No, he hadn’t. Once upon a time he’d meant everything in the world to her, but now she was completely immune to his charms.

Nul points.

It was a mystery how these things happened. But they did. ‘We could go upstairs,’ he’d murmured, all seduction guns blazing. ‘For old time’s sake.’

‘Oh Nick. Thanks for the offer.’ Blythe had smiled and given his arm a regretful pat. ‘But I don’t think so.’

He’d done the eyebrow thing then, that instantly familiar combination of surprise and disbelief.

It was the look she’d seen on Lola’s face when at the age of seven she’d opened a drawer and found, hidden away in a matchbox, all the baby teeth that hadn’t been magically whisked away by the tooth fairy after all.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want to.’

More eyebrow action. Something told Blythe he wasn’t often turned down.

‘Is it because of this other chap of yours? What’s his name ... ?’

‘Malcolm.’

‘Malcolm.’ For a split second Nick’s mouth twitched as if he might be on the verge of saying something disparaging about his rival. Evidently thinking better of it, he reined himself in and said instead, ‘Sweetheart, it’s us.You and me. Malcolm doesn’t have to know’

Blythe gave him a long look. ‘Oh Nick. I wouldn’t do that to Malcolm. And you shouldn’t ask me to.’

He had the grace to look ashamed. This time his expression uncannily echoed Lola’s on the morning of her first-ever hangover when, at fifteen, she had gone along to a friend’s party and ended up falling asleep in her friend’s parents’ bed.

Nick shook his head. ‘Blythe, I didn’t mean to—’

‘I know, I know, it doesn’t matter. And I’m not saying no because of Malcolm,’ Blythe told him.

‘I’m saying it because of me.’

He half smiled, accepting her decision. ‘Fair enough. That’s absolutely your prerogative.’ He paused, then added with a complicit glint in his eye, ‘It might have been fun though.’

Amused, Blythe showed him to the front door. ‘I daresay. I’m just not curious enough to need to find out.’

‘Mum? Hello?’ Lola’s voice snapped Blythe back to the present. ‘What are you daydreaming about now?’

OK, probably best not to say sex with your father. ‘Sorry, love, just wondering whether Malcolm would like a nice book about World War Two for his birthday next week. He likes that sort of thing.’

‘I thought you’d decided to buy him a sweater.’

‘Oh, I already have. A lovely stripy red and yellow one with an eagle on the front.’

In that case, better come with me.’ Lola steered her in the direction of the history section.

‘Sounds like poor old Malcolm’s going to need a book about World War Two to cheer him up.’

The weather had taken a distinct turn for the better in the last week; temperatures rose and the sun shone, drying out the ground and encouraging the first primroses to peek through the tangled undergrowth. Avoiding the public footpaths where they might bump into other walkers, Gabe and Savannah - strolled arm in arm through the woods on the hill below Minchinhampton Common. Savannah was talking about her experiences of working with other actors and the fights that ensued when they discovered their co-stars had negotiated bigger Winnebagos than they had. Even when you were an A-lister, evidently, size mattered.

. he said if he couldn’t have one as big as George’s, he was walking off the set. And the director said from what she’d heard— whoops.’

‘Careful’ Gabe caught Savannah as she tripped over a tree root.

‘All strong and masterful. I love being rescued by you.’

‘Don’t need any more invalids in my life just now. One woman crashing around on crutches is plenty, thanks.’

Savannah gazed up at him then reached up and pulled his head down to meet hers. There was new urgency in her kiss. Finally she let go and leaned back again, her chest heaving and her eyes almost feverishly bright. ‘Gabe, come with me:

‘Come where?’ Gabe hesitated, he couldn’t help himself; did she mean back to the cottage for yet more unbridled sex? He was as heterosexual as the next man but his heart sank slightly at the prospect. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for another bout.

‘To LA.Why not? We want to be together, don’t we?’ Savannah gripped the sleeves of his faded blue sweatshirt. ‘Well, what’s to stop us?’

‘Hang on, you mean Los Angeles? In California?’ It was necessary to ask. Gabe had learned this lesson the hard way years ago when he’d asked a girl if she wanted to go to Grease with him and she’d joyfully assumed he was inviting her on holiday. For all he knew, LA could be the name of some ubertrendy new London restaurant.

Savannah beamed. ‘No, Los Angeles in Iceland. Of course Los Angeles in California!’

This time Gabe’s heart didn’t so much sink slightly as go crashing down like a lift with its cables cut. She was making it sound like a spur of the moment idea but he knew it wasn’t; this was something she’d been waiting to spring on him.

‘Um...’

‘Don’t say um, say yes! And there’s no need to look so worried.’ Savannah shook her head.

‘When you think about it, it’s the obvious answer. My agent’s rented a house for me in Bel Air so that’s all taken care of. And I know you’d feel funny aboutcoming out just to keep me company; but that’s the beauty of your job — you can work as easily over there as you can here!’

‘Savannah, listen—’

‘So basically it’s perfect in every way! The answer to all our prayers: she rattled on. ‘We can be together, we can even go public as a couple because I completely trust you now!’

‘Hang on a—’

‘And it’ll get you away from that messy flatmate of yours .. . I mean, I’m sure she’s a nice enough person and all that but, yeuch, I have to say she sounds a complete nightmare to live with. Plus, she’ll be relieved to see the back of you.’

‘Say, listen—’

‘So, talk about tough decisions, is it going to be picking used tea bags out of the sink in a disgusting bombsite of a flat in Notting Hill, or being waited on hand and foot by the live-in staff at an eight-bedroomed mock-Grecian mansion in Bel Air, complete with home cinema and infinity pool?’

Gabe looked at her and said nothing. He didn’t need to; Savannah read it in his eyes.

Finally, hesitantly, she said, ‘So ... is that a no?’

He nodded. ‘Yes: Hope flared. ‘Does that mean yes it’s a no, or yes it’s not a no, it’s a yes?’

Gabe hastily shook his head. ‘Sorry. It means I can’t come to LA with you.’

‘Can’t? Or won’t?’

Oh hell, he hated it when girls got pedantic.

‘Can’t, I suppose.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be fair on you.

You’re an amazing girl and I think the world of you, but there’s just ... something missing.’

‘Like, my hair?’

Shit. ‘No. God, no.’Vehemently Gabe shook his head. ‘Don’t even think that.’ Fuck, was she really thinking that?

‘It’s all right, I believe you.’ Savannah managed a ghost of a smile.

‘Well, good, because your hair has nothing to do with it. If anything I’m thinking there must be something seriously wrong with me. I mean, you’re Savannah Hudson: said Gabe. ‘And I’m nobody at all. The lowest of the low. Lower than that, even. I’m a street pap.’

She picked at a loose strip of bark on the tree trunk beside her. ‘And now you’re turning me down. Does that mean you’ll sell your story to the papers?’

‘I won’t do that. I’d never do that. You can still trust me.’ Gabe’s voice softened. He felt sorry for her. It couldn’t be easy being Savannah Hudson.

‘You know who I feel like?’ She made a brave stab at levity. ‘Like the Baroness in The Sound of Music when she gets dumped by Captain Von Trapp.’

Was this an embarrassing film to admit to being familiar with? Oh well, never mind.

‘Except I’m not about to run off with an irritating ex-nun and seven caterwauling children.’

When a shocked Lola had discovered last year that Gabe had never seen her all-time favourite film she had sat him down and forced him to watch it. Personally he’d have gone for the Baroness every time; what had Julie Andrews been on when she’d let them cut her hair like that?

Back at the cottage for what they both knew was the last time, Gabe collected together his few belongings. Upstairs, having picked up his toothbrush and aftershave, he looked around the clinical white bathroom and Savannah’s equally immaculatebedroom. He wouldn’t miss this place; for all its traditional exterior, the inside of the cottage was modern and sparsely furnished, minimalist bordering on sterile .. .

Hang on a minute. That couldn’t be right, surely? Taken aback, Gabe looked around again. He liked sterile, didn’t he? Cool, clean lines and no clutter was his thing, had always been his thing.

And this was what he was seeing here; design-wise, he and Savannah couldn’t be more perfectly matched. Yet somehow all these clean lines suddenly seemed a little bit .. . well, empty.

OK, this was too weird, like an alien invading his brain and taking over. An alien with shocking taste at that, and a predilection for gaudy knick-knacks.

Unable to face searching through pristine drawers for the dark grey sweater he knew was in here somewhere, Gabe left it and hurried down the staircase.

Savannah, pale but composed, was waiting in the kitchen with her back to the Aga.

‘So you’re off then.’

‘I should be getting back.’ Thank God she wasn’t crying. ‘Sure you don’t have a chirpy ex-nun and seven caterwauling kids waiting for you at home?’

Gabe smiled briefly. ‘Trust me, all I have is a stroppy invalid waiting to give me an earful because she asked me to pick up a box of tea bags before I left the flat last night and I forgot.’

‘And you really don’t have another girlfriend waiting on the horizon?’

‘I really don’t.’

‘I just wasn’t right for you, is that it?’

‘Hey, you’ll be perfect for someone else. You know that.’ Gabe folded her into his arms and she clung to him.

Against his chest Savannah mumbled, ‘I just have to find someone who likes bald girls. Mr Spock, maybe:

‘Don’t think like that.’ He dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘You’re beautiful with hair or without it. Be proud.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll do my best. And if I ever decide to go public, you can be the one to take the photos.’

Gabe gave her one last kiss. One last hug. ‘Sweetheart, it’d be an honour.’

Chapter

’I don’t believe it,’ cried Sally. ‘Another living breathing human being! After months of being marooned up here all alone, I finally have the chance to speak to someone – that’s if I can remember how to speak ...’

‘You’re doing just fine.’ Nick grinned up at her from the pavement. ‘Want to buzz me in?’

Did she want to buzz him in? Was he kidding? Hastily clonking through to the bathroom and slapping on a bit of powder and lipgloss, Sally clonked her way back through the flat and pressed the buzzer. Somewhat embarrassingly – but at the same time rather excitingly – she’d had a dream about Nick last night in which he’d taken her to the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, flirted with her endlessly and ended up showing her into a room containing a stunning sculpture of two life-sized bodies intertwined. Then, in front of all the other visitors milling about, he had begun to demonstrate exactly how the bodies were intertwined, whispering into her ear as he did so, ‘You bend your left leg like this and put your right arm around my waist like this ...’

Tap tap tap.

Nick was now knocking on the door. All of a fluster, Sally fast-forwarded through the rest of the dream, where he’d started kissing her and running his hands over her body and a stroppy uniformed security guard had stomped up and announced that they couldn’t do that sort of thing here and Nick had said, ‘But, it’s art ...’

‘Sally? Have you fallen over in there?’

‘Sorry.’ She opened the door, let him in. ‘I was just having a quick tidy-up.’

Which was so ragingly obviously untrue, it was a wonder a thunderbolt didn’t strike her dead on the spot. But Nick, ever the gentleman, simply greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and said cheerfully, ‘How are you?’

‘Fed up. I feel like Robinson Crusoe. Gabe buggered off Yesterday, God only knows where because he won’t tell me, and Lola’s gone out for the day with EJ. Gabe was supposed to pick up some tea bags yesterday but he didn’t, so I went all the way to the corner shop on my crutches ...

and when I got there they were shut! So then I had to hobble what felt like fifty miles down the road to the next shop and when I finally got there, they didn’t even sell PG Tips, only horrible cheap tea bags that taste of dust. I tell you, I’m so fed up with this stupid leg of mine I just want to chop it off.

‘Oh dear.’ Nick was doing his best to keep a straight face.

‘And I’ve got blisters on my hands from using the stupid crutches.’ He was wearing his navy cashmere crew-neck sweater over a white shirt and cream chinos. With a jolt Sally realised that he’d been wearing the same sweater last night in her dream ... well, until she’d pulled it off over his head.

‘So, not the best of days.’

‘You could say that.’ She broke into a smile to show she wasn’t a complete grump. ‘Not the best of weeks. See that?’

‘See what?’ Nick followed the direction of her gesturing hand.

‘That empty mantelpiece.’

He frowned. ‘It’s not empty. There’s loads of things on it. Fairy lights, photos, candles ...’

‘But no Valentine’s cards,’ said Sally. ‘That’s where I’d put my Valentine’s cards if I’d been sent any. But I haven’t been, so I couldn’t put them there. Because nobody sent me any. Not even one.’

‘I didn’t get any either.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Hooray for that. Mischievously she said, ‘Not even from Lola’s mum?’

Nick laughed. ‘Especially not from Blythe. It’s OK, I think Lola’s come round at last to the idea that she’s not going to get us back together. Sweet of her to try, but let’s face it, we’re poles apart. That Disney happy ending was never going to happen?

Better and better. Sally began joyfully concocting an alternative happy ending starring ... ta daa! ... herself.

‘Anyway, this is the reason I dropped by.’ Nick took a couple of rolled-up leaflets from his pocket. ‘Lola’s got it into her head that we should be taking up badminton, so I’ve been to look at a couple of sports centres. I can leave these with you or slide them under her door.’

All this way just to drop off a couple of leaflets? Was that true, or was he using it as an excuse to see her when he knew Lola wouldn’t be here?

‘Leave them with me. I’ll give them to her when she gets home. Where are you off to this afternoon? Somewhere nice, I expect. Having fun, meeting friends ...’

‘The truth? There’s an account I should be doing some work on, but to be honest I’m not in the mood.’ Pausing to study her for a moment, Nick said, ‘How about if I invited you out to lunch, would that cheer you up?’

‘Really? Are you sure?’ Sally was barely able to conceal her delight.

‘Why not? Decent food, a few drinks and good company.’ Nick’s grey eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘What could be nicer than that?’

This was everything she’d hoped for and more. Every nerve ending zinging with possibilities, Sally said, ‘I can be ready in ten minutes.’ God, talk about fate bringing together two people who were perfect for each other. What a fantastic day this was turning out to be.

Nick grew better and better looking as lunch progressed. By the time coffee arrived he was irresistible. The food had probably been good too but what with all the excitement and batting back and forth of scintillating one-liners interspersed with more deep and meaningful conversation, Sally hadn’t actually got around to eating much of it. Her stomach had shrunk to the size of a thimble and adrenaline production was in overdrive. It no longer mattered that Nick was Lola’s father because – thank God – he and Blythe had no intention whatsoever of getting back together. The hurdle had been removed as deftly as Paul Daniels might whisk away a card during a magic trick. And along with the hurdle, Sally felt her inhibitions disappearing too, possibly helped along by the bottle of wine she appeared to have played a large part in demolishing. Every time Nick topped up her glass and she half-heartedly protested, he reminded her that he was driving and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Which it most certainly would have been. And now she was bathed in a delicious, warm top-to-toe glow. Semi-accidentallybrushing her hand against his, Sally said, ‘So did you not want any more children or did it just never happen?’

Nick looked momentarily startled at this about-turn. OK, they had been in the middle of a conversation about killing time at airports when your flight’s been delayed, but she was interested. It was always a nice thing to know

‘Well, my ex-wife was never keen. She was a career woman, not really interested in kids. I couldn’t really force her to have them against her will.’ There, that was it, the last box ticked.

Sally’s heart melted at the thought of this wonderful man wanting children and being cruelly denied them by his coldhearted career-driven harridan of an ex.

OK, he was now officially perfect. All her life she’d been getting herself involved with men who ran a mile if you so much as mentioned babies. And everyone knew that older men made better fathers. Look at Michael Douglas, he doted on his gorgeous children and dazzling young wife.

’Whoops, hang on, let me just ...’

Sally gave up the struggle to haul herself out of the passenger seat and allowed Nick to do the honours, providing a shoulder to lean on as she and her crutches navigated their way onto the pavement. By some miracle she didn’t trip over them. Gathering herself, she handed the front door key to Nick and said, ‘Coming in?’

It was a rhetorical question. Of course he was. Nick said cheerfully, ‘I think someone has to make sure you don’t fall down the stairs, don’t you?’

Sally took deep breaths; this was it, she knew it. Gabe was out, they had the place to themselves and the situation couldn’t be more perfect. Well, OK, it would have been a teenier bit more perfect if she didn’t have her gammy leg to contend with, but it certainly wasn’t going to stop them.

Finally they reached the flat. Somewhat unromantically, Sally discovered, all the wine she’d drunk had found its way to her bladder and she was forced to excuse herself in order to visit the bathroom. Returning, she found Nick gazing out of the living-room window. Lit from behind, he had a profile like a Greek god.

He turned, indicating the kitchen. ‘I put the kettle on. Thought you might like a coffee.’

OK, it was time. He wanted her to be the one to make the first move. And he was smiling, waiting for her to make it. Approaching him – clunk – and taking care – clunk – not to bash into the coffee table, Sally smiled back then deliberately took her arms out of the crutches and propped them against the wall. Facing Nick, she said, ‘I don’t want a coffee.’

‘No? Well, that’s all right.You don’t have to have one.’Amused, Nick said, ‘It’s not compulsory’

‘Can you believe this is happening?’ Without the support of the crutches Sally felt herself beginning to sway.

‘Steady.’ He reached for her. ‘You’re not a stork.’

Who wanted to be a stork? ‘It’s the last thing I expected: Sally gazed at him. ‘Is it the last thing you expected?’

He looked bemused, frowned slightly. ‘Well, yes, but ice skaters do injure themselves, so I suppose there’s always a chance ...’

‘Doesn’t matter.’They appeared to be talking at cross purposes but Sally was beyond caring. ‘It won’t make any difference, I promise.’ Curling her arms around his neck, unable to hold back a moment longer, she lunged forward and kissed him passionately, full on the mouth.

Chapter 42

Making his way along Radley Road, Gabe slowed and looked up at the window of the flat.

Puzzled by the sight of what appeared to be two people locked in a passionate embrace, he reached instinctively for the camera around his neck and peered through the long lens, adjusting it until it slid into focus.

What the ... ?

Gabe’s heart began to thud in his chest. Jesus. Sally and Lola’s father. Sally, wrapped around him like a scarf. Lola’s father .. . for crying out loud, how long had this been going on? How long had they been carrying on behind his back? And not only his back, Lola’s too, because she absolutely definitely didn’t know about this.

Unable to watch any more, Gabe put down the camera and turned away. His hands were trembling and he felt as if he’d been punched hard in the stomach. Talk about sly, underhand, deceitful ... How dare they? He swallowed and turned back; yes, they were still there, no longer kissing but only inches apart, holding each other and gazing into each other’s eyes, murmuring sweet nothings ... So this was the kind of man Nick James was, nothing but a sleazy Lothario.

How fucking dare he?

Something truly horrible was happening. When Nick jerked away, Sally said, ‘Sshh, it’s OK, you don’t have to worry about Lola any more. She understands.’

But Nick wasn’t looking relieved. More like horrified. Eyes wide with disbelief, he said, ‘This isn’t to do with Lola.’

‘Wh-what do you mean? I d-don’t understand.’ It came out as a whisper. ‘I thought you liked me.’

‘I do like you.’ Nick shook his head. ‘Of course I do,’ he insisted. ‘You’re Lola’s friend.’

This was a nightmare. Sally felt sick and suddenly, hideously sober. In a lifetime of faux pas, this one took the biscuit. Never before had she made quite such a prize dick of herself as this.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Nick was clearly mortified. ‘I had no idea: That only made it worse.

‘No, I’m sorry. I thought you were flirting with me! At least she could be honest — there was no point in trying to pretend the kiss had been some kind of accident.

Vehemently Nick shook his head. ‘I was just being friendly. I was glad we seemed to be getting on so well. I want my daughter’s friends to like me.’

Humiliation was washing over Sally in waves; she’d liked him so much she was mentally already pregnant with their first child. How could she have got it so utterly, completely wrong?

How was she ever going to erase the memory of that kiss from her brain? She’d never be able to forget the moment she launched herself at his mouth and felt him freeze in disbelief ... oh, oh God...

‘Come on, sit down: Nick skilfully steered her away fromthe window and lowered her into a chair. ‘And don’t be upset. I’m incredibly flattered.’

But not flattered enough to reciprocate her feelings, obviously.

‘You’re a beautiful girl. Any man would be proud to have you as his girlfriend.’

Any man except you, obviously.

‘Look, I have to leave.’ Nick checked his watch, clearly lying but desperate to escape. ‘Why don’t I make you that coffee now, then I’ll be off: Because I don’t want bloody coffee, I want a gallon of weedkiller.

‘And don’t worry, we’ll just pretend this never happened. Lola doesn’t need to know. I won’t tell her,’ Nick said gently. ‘I won’t breathe a word to anyone. That’s a promise.’

It took Gabe half a minute to reach his car. He zapped open the door and sank into the driver’s seat, appalled by what he’d learned about himself in the last thirty seconds. Because he genuinely hadn’t had any idea, not even the remotest inkling, that the sight of Sally with another man could make him feel like this.

Yet ... it had. Despite the fact that she drove him insane on a daily basis, that she lived her life surrounded by clutter and chaos and that domestically they were about as compatible as Tom and Jerry, in the space of just a few seconds Gabe discovered that he was capable of white-hot jealousy where Sally was concerned. Because he didn’t want her to be seeing someone else.

Oh God, now he knew he was going stark staring mad. Sally, of all people. Gabe groaned aloud and rubbed his hands over his face. This couldn’t be happening; he didn’t want to want her. She was the last person on the planet he needed to get involved with.

Except ... well, that wasn’t going to happen anyway, was it? It wasn’t as if it was even an option, because she was already involved with someone else.

Bloody hell, Lola’s dad. How long had that been going on? And they’d been keeping it very quiet, although this was hardly surprising given the circumstances. Lola was currently doing her damnedest to get her mum and dad back together. If Nick and Sally were prepared to take the risk of her discovering that one of her best friends had pinched him instead ... well, it had to be serious.

Gabe felt sick. First Savannah, then a puncture on the M4 on the way back to London, and now this. What a ridiculous situation to be in.

Seeing as he couldn’t go back to the flat for a while, Gabe switched on the ignition. The car radio came to life, belting out an REM classic. Michael Stipe, never the cheeriest of souls, sang mournfully, ‘Eeeeeeeeeverybody huuuuuurrrrrrts ..

Hmm, with Sally’s track record the chances were that she was the one who’d end up getting hurt.

‘Eeeeeeeverybody huuuuuuurrrrts—’

Oh, do shut up. Impatiently Gabe jabbed the off button, cutting Michael Stipe off in mid-warble.

Who was he trying to kid? Right now, he was the one hurting. Jealousy was a new sensation and it was gnawing away in his chest like battery acid.

He didn’t like this feeling one bit.

Sally was in the kitchen when Gabe arrived home at midnight. Hobbling out in her dressing gown clutching a packet of Kettle chips, she watched him shrug off his jacket.

‘Where have you been? You look awful.’

Gabe glanced at her. ‘Not looking so fantastic yourself.’

‘Thanks’ Sally already knew she looked like poo. Feeling sorry for yourself and having a good old two-hour blub in the bath was capable of doing that to you. She’d tried to scrub away the shame of having made an idiot of herself but it hadn’t worked. Basically, as far as men were concerned, she always had been and always would be a walking disaster.

OK, a limping one.

But at least Gabe didn’t know about this afternoon’s debacle with Nick. Attempting normality Sally said, ‘Been working all this time?’

He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

‘Any good shots?’

‘No.’ Gabe was standing stiffly by the window gazing out into the darkness, his streaky blond hair dishevelled and his hands now stuffed into the pockets of his ancient jeans.

Annoyed by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed, Sally said, ‘Spot the difference?’

His jaw was taut. ‘What?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, if this is how observant you are it’s no wonder you miss out on all the best photos! How does this room look to you?’

This time his gaze swept over the floor, the sofa, the coffee table. ‘Have you tidied up a bit?’

‘A bit?’ Incredulous, Sally exclaimed, ‘I tidied up a lot. Even with my bad leg! I cleared stuff away, put a load of magazines out for recycling, polished the table with Mr Sheen ... I took all my lipsticks and hair things off the window sill ...’

‘What brought this on?’

She flushed. A mixture of guilt, shame and displacement therapy had spurred her into action.

Keeping busy meant she didn’t have time to keep going over all the bad stuff buzzing around in her brain.

Aloud Sally said, ‘I just thought I should try and start making a real effort. I know it annoys you when I’m untidy.’

‘And you suddenly decided to do it just for me?’ There was a discernible edge to Gabe’s voice.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘Or is it for the benefit of people in general?’

‘People in general.’ Sally bristled at his tone. ‘Why are you being like this?’

For a split second he opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to retaliate. Then he shook his head instead and said, ‘OK, forget it, I’m just tired. It’s been a hell of a day.’

You could say that again. And Sally knew her ordeal wasn’t over yet. Since it would look suspicious if she suddenly started avoiding Nick, she was going to have to put on a brave face and pretend everything was fine whenever they encountered each other ... oh God, maybe it would be easier to emigrate .. .

‘Look, I’m sorry I snapped.’ Gabe’s voice softened. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll open a bottle of wine?’

More wine, after all the trouble it had got her into at lunchtime? Shuddering at the memory and only too aware that if Gabe were to turn sympathetic she could end up blabbing out everything

— oh yes, and wouldn’t that help matters — Sally shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’m off to bed.’

Chapter 43

Lola had just finished serving a customer when she glanced up and saw a vision entering the shop.

OK, not an actual vision. Doug.

It really was him. In person. Incredible.

What’s more, she hadn’t even realised she’d said his name aloud, but she must have done because Cheryl, next to her, followed the line of her gaze and said,’ That’s Doug?’ She sounded duly impressed. As well she might.

Lola nodded.

‘Great suit.’ Cheryl, a sharp dresser herself, always noticed other people’s clothes. She said approvingly, ‘Made to measure.’

Every last drop of saliva in Lola’s mouth disappeared. Because if he was coming into her store to buy a book, that was a good sign, surely? Choosing to shop at this particular branch of Kingsley’s had to mean he liked her. Gosh, he looked edible in that dark suit, all lean, mean and .. .

‘Hi!’ squeaked Lola as Doug approached the desk, clearly in a hurry. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise! What can I—?’

‘Sally’s been trying to get hold of you.Your mobile’s switched off and there’s something wrong with the phone line here.’

Lola knew this; a brace of telephone engineers were in the back office working on it as they spoke. ‘It’s being fixed. What’s wrong with Sally?’

‘Nothing. She says you have to get to a TV. Now.’ Doug was slightly out of breath. ‘She rang me at work twenty minutes ago. Do you have a TV in this place?’

‘A TV? This is a bookshop! What did Sally say it was about?’

‘She didn’t, just said to make sure you saw it. From the sound of things, it’s important. It had better be,’ Doug went on. ‘Because I had to leave a meeting to come here and tell you about it.’

Her heart racing and her mouth drier than ever, Lola whispered, ‘Is it something bad?’

Cheryl took charge. ‘He’s already told you he doesn’t know. Off you go,’ she said briskly, pushing Lola out from behind the desk. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

Televisions, televisions .. .

Out on the pavement Lola pointed across Regent Street. ‘Dover and May, fourth floor.’

Doug said, ‘I thought we’d look for a bar with a TV in it.’

‘This is closer.’ Dover and May was one of Lola’s favourite department stores and they had dozens of TVs, rows and rows of them, hundreds in fact. ‘Quick, after this bus— oof ...’

Yanked back by Doug in the nick of time, Lola bounced off his chest. The taxi driver shook his head in disgust.

‘After the bus and the taxi,’ Doug said evenly. ‘OK, now we can cross the road.’

Through the doors of Dover and May, they raced past the perfume counters and islands of makeup, dodging sales girls waiting to pounce and spray scent at anyone who couldn’t dodge out of the way fast enough. Together they ran up the escalator. On the first floor they zigzagged past dawdling shoppers in thehomeware department. Up the next flight of escalators and through ladies’ clothes and shoes — Lola spotted a stunning pair with black glittery heels — then more escalators, followed by racing through menswear and almost knocking over a display of mannequins in stripy sweaters ... God, this was like getting in training for the marathon .. .

‘We’d have been better taking the lift,’ panted Lola. ‘Never mind, we’re here now’

Belatedly she realised something. ‘You’re still here. Don’t you need to get back to your meeting?’

They’d reached the fourth floor. Leaping off the escalator, Doug expertly steered her through the electrical department, past hi-fis and kettles and every kind of laptop. ‘Are you serious? After all this, I want to know what it’s about.’

The super-expensive high definition TVs were all showing a recorded wildlife programme. Over at the bank of more affordable models, Channel 4 racing was on, horses galloping towards the finish line on every screen.

Evidently attracted by the sight of a pair of customers looking as if they were keen to buy, a salesman materialised out of nowhere.

‘Good morning, sir, madam. Can I help you in any way?’

‘Oh thank you! You most certainly can!’ Lola clutched his arm with relief. ‘We need the channel changing.’

The flashing pound signs faded in the salesman’s eyes but he put a brave face on it. ‘The channel changer. Certainly, madam, the remote control units are over here, if you’d like to follow me—’

‘No, no, I want you to change this channel.’ Jabbing a finger at the screens filled with horses, Lola said agitatedly, ‘Please!’

The salesman frowned. ‘Um ... which of the TVs are you interested in?’

‘None,’ Doug intervened. ‘Not today, but my friend desperately needs to see something on one of the other channels and we’d be incredibly grateful if you could just—’

‘Please please please.’ Lola’s voice rose as she hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I’m begging you! I’ll just die if I miss it!’

‘OK, keep your hair on: No longer quite so polite now he knew there was no sale in the offing, the salesman disappeared behind the counter where a bank of switches was situated. Glancing over at Lola before addressing Doug under his breath, he said, ‘I saw a film with this kind of thing in it once. Rain Man.’

The channels began to change. Lola held her breath. Then she saw him, on every screen, multiplied a hundred times over. ‘Stop,’ she croaked before the salesman could flick past. ‘This is the one.’

Much as the family of strangers in Rain Man had regarded Dustin Hoffman when he’d pitched up on their doorstep, the salesman regarded Lola warily and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Just don’t ... touch anything, OK?’

Lola didn’t hear him. She was gazing transfixed at the screen where the makeover segment of a popular daytime show was in progress. The female presenter, gesturing cheerfully to a life-sized photograph, said, ‘... so this is how he looked when he arrived at the studio first thing this morning ..

Lola realised she was trembling. Next to her Doug said doubtfully, ‘Is that your father?’

She shook her head.

‘No? So who is it?’

‘Shh.’

.. and this is how Blythe looked ...’

Lola let out a bat squeak as a. photograph flashed up on screen of her mother, looking typically frazzled and flyaway and wearing ... yikes ... her favourite pink sparkly waistcoat over a turquoise paisley blouse and well-worn tartan trousers.

‘My God, that’s your mum.’ Doug shook his head in wonder.

‘Well, that was the two of them a couple of hours ago,’ the jolly, voluptuous presenter exclaimed. ‘So let’s see how they’re looking now!’

‘I remember those tartan trousers.’ Incredulously Doug pointed at the screen.

The shimmering curtains parted and Blythe and Malcolm made their entrance.

Chapter 44

’Oh my GOD!’ shouted Lola, startling several browsing shoppers.

‘Shh.’ Doug gave her a nudge. ‘Stay calm or we’ll get chucked out.’

Stay calm?

Lola whispered, ‘Oh my God,’ and clapped her hands over her mouth. On the TV screen her mother, self-consciously attempting to pose for the camera, looked like a Stepfordised version of herself and the effect was positively eerie. Her delinquent hair had been cut, blow-dried and ruthlessly straightened, her lipstick was deep red and glossy and her complexion had an airbrushed, plastic quality to it. She was also wearing eyeliner for the first time in her life. To complete the transformation, the batty-mother clothes had been replaced by a chic, leaf-green shift dress with matching fitted jacket and darker green high-heeled shoes.

‘Oh my word,’ gushed the presenter, ‘don’t you look fabulous!’

And in one way she did; Lola could see that other people might look at the made-over version of Blythe and feel that itwas a huge improvement. It was. just that the made-over version no longer looked anything like her mother. In a daze she watched the makeover experts step forward and explain how they had achieved the miracle of Stepfordisation. Blythe continued to look embarrassed. Then it was Malcolm’s turn.

With a jolt Lola noticed him properly for the first time. OK, now this really was a transformation. Gone was the hideous bushy beard for a start. Malcolm was now clean-shaven, his hair had been cut and slicked back from his face and, in place of the awful bobbly sweater and baggy corduroys, he was wearing – good grief? – a really well-cut dark suit.

In fact, wow. Malcolm was looking years younger, like a completely different person. Now that you could actually see his face it was revealed as not so bad after all. Why on earth had he ever grown such a horrible beard in the first place?

Next to her Doug said, ‘I can’t believe your mum’s doing this. Whose idea was it?’

Lola frowned, because in the shock of the moment it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder the same thing. And now that she was wondering, it did seem a bit odd. Blythe wasn’t the type to write into programmes like this and she’d never had a hankering to appear on TV.

.. so Malcolm, coming here today was all your idea,’ the presenter said cosily, ‘because you felt you needed to smarten up your image.’

A crackle of alarm snaked its way up the back of Lola’s neck; was the presenter reading her mind?

‘Well, yes.’ Malcolm looked bashful. ‘I suppose I wanted to make a better impression on people ... or rather I was keen for them to have a better opinion of me ...’

‘He’s too polite to say so,’ Blythe chimed in, ‘but he’s actually referring to my daughter.’

‘Oh!’ gasped Lola.

‘Who, I gather, has strong opinions when it comes to clothes.’ The presenter gave Blythe a sympathetic look.

‘That’s one way of putting it. Trinny and Susannah rolled together, that’s what she is,’ said Blythe. ‘With a touch of Simon Cowell. Always telling me I look like a dog’s dinner.’

‘I am not,’ cried Lola. ‘Not always!’

‘I mean, it’s water off a duck’s back as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I’ll take her advice,’

Blythe went on, ‘and sometimes I won’t. But that’s because I’m her mother. I’m used to her.’

‘Whereas it hasn’t been so easy for you, Malcolm, has it?’ The presenter’s voice softened.

‘Criticism like that can be quite hurtful, can’t it?’

Stunned, Lola said, ‘But I didn’t criticise him! I didn’t!’

‘Oh no, no, Blythe’s daughter has never criticised me. At least not to my face,’ Malcolm said hastily. ‘She’s a lovely girl, very polite. I just felt a bit lacking in the, um, sartorial department, I suppose. Getting dressed up and making the most of myself has never been my forte. And I want Lola to think well of me because ... well, because I think a great deal of her mother.’

Lola’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow.

The twinkly-eyed presenter, addressing the camera, said, ‘So, Lola, I know you aren’t watching at this moment because you’re at work and Malcolm and Blythe didn’t tell you they were going to be doing this today, but if you do happen to see a recording of this programme I’m sure you’ll agree that Malcolm and your mum have scrubbed up a treat! They both look wonderful. If you ask me, your mum’s a lucky lady to have found herself such a very caring and thoughtful man.’

‘Here,’ murmured Doug. Lola took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

‘And after the break,’ the presenter continued cheerfully, ‘we’ll be talking to a husband and wife who have both undergone sex changes, and who’ll be joining us here in the studio with their daughter who until two years ago was their son!’

‘There you go.’ Doug half smiled. ‘Things could be worse.’

‘I’m so ashamed.’ Lola sniffed hard, because being lent a hankie and dabbing away tears was one thing but blowing your nose in it was altogether less dainty.

‘So that’s your mum’s boyfriend, the one you don’t like.’

‘I don’t dislike him. I just thought Mum could do better.’ Sniff. ‘I thought she was settling for Malcolm because he was easy.

She didn’t mean easy in that sense — yeuch, perish the thought. ‘He seems like a nice chap.’

‘He is. I just couldn’t s-stand the beard.’ Lola gave up and blew her nose noisily into the hanky.

‘And now everyone knows how shallow I am.They’re all going to think I’m a really horrible p-person.’

For a moment she thought Dougie might put his arms around her, reassure her that she really wasn’t horrible, maybe even drop a consoling kiss on her forehead. Instead the annoying salesman reappeared and said to Doug, ‘Is she finished here? Can I change the channel back now?’

‘Sorry, yes, thanks very much.’ Realising that most of the customers in the vicinity were watching them, Doug gathered himself and checked his watch. ‘Come on.’ He gave Lola’s shoulder a tap and said lightly, ‘Let’s get you back to the hospital before the nurses find out you’ve escaped.’

Blythe had washed her hair and changed out of the grown-up leaf-green suit. In her purple flowery top and pinstriped skirt and with the glossy, poker-straight blow-dry a thing of the past, she looked like herself again.

‘Wasn’t it awful? I felt like a clone!’ Hugging Lola, she said, ‘And the eyeliner! Never again!’

Malcolm, following Blythe into Lola’s flat, said, ‘She’s been going on about that blessed eyeliner all day.’

‘It’s all right for you,’ Blythe retorted, ‘you didn’t have to wear it.’

‘Maybe not, but I still had to go into make-up, didn’t I? Base, they put on my face.’ Malcolm shook his head in bafflement. ‘And powder! That was a first, I can tell you. Felt like Danny La Rue!’

‘Malcolm, I’m so sorry.’ Lola moved past her mother to greet him with a hug and a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. ‘I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself ... I’m so ashamed ...’

‘Oh, there there, no need to apologise.’ Embarrassed, Malcolm said bashfully, ‘The thing is, you were right. I even knew it myself, just didn’t have the nerve to try and change things on my own.

When you’ve had a beard for twenty years you kind of get used to it. If anything,’ he told Lola,

‘I’m grateful to you for telling your mother I looked a fright.’

Ouch.

‘You look fantastic now.’ She stepped back and gazed at him, meaning every word.

‘He does, doesn’t he?’ Blythe nodded in agreement.

‘I’ve got rid of all my old jumpers,’ Malcolm said proudly. ‘The fashion woman told me to throw out anything with a pattern on it, and I have.’

‘She said that to me too,’ Blythe chimed in. ‘And I told her to take a running jump.’

‘We went to Marks and Spencer’s this afternoon and bought loads of new clothes. The fashion woman wrote me out a list. She said I shouldn’t wear sandals any more either.’

Lola decided she loved the fashion woman with all her heart. ‘Well, anyway, thank you for being so nice about it. And why are we still standing out here in the hallway? Come on in.’

‘Sorry, love, we can’t stop.’ Blythe beamed. ‘We only dropped by to show ourselves off to you.

Well,’ she amended, ‘so that Malcolm could show himself off to you and I could let you see that I’m back to normal. We’ve got to get to the pub — it’s quiz night and everyone’s dying to hear about our time at the TV studios.’

It was on the tip of Lola’s tongue to ask her mother if she preferred Malcolm the way he looked now. But she already knew the answer. Malcolm might be pleased with his makeover but it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to the way Blythe felt about him, because external appearances were simply, irrelevant as far as she was concerned. What counted was the person within.

Worse, Lola knew she was right. Maybe it would help to get Dougie out of her system if she could try a bit harder to fancy EJ instead.

Chapter 45

’That’s thirteen-three,’ Nick called out. ‘Ready? Or do you want to stop for a couple of minutes to catch your breath?’

Catch her breath? What breath? There was none left in her lungs, that was for sure. Lola shook her head, determined not to give in. This was badminton, for crying out loud. If it had been tennis or squash she could have understood being this exhausted, but badminton wasn’t anywhere near in that league, everyone knew it was one of those namby-pamby games played by children and old people where you flicked a silly little shuttlecock back and forth over a net. As a child she’d played badminton in the back garden and it hadn’t been remotely like this.

‘Oof,’ Lola gasped, lunging after the shuttlecock as it whistled past her ear. Stupid, stupid racquet .. .

‘Fourteen-three.’ Grinning, Nick prepared to serve again. ‘Oof Fuck.

‘Game. Well done.’ He came round to her side of the net, patted her on the back.

‘You can’t say well done when it wasn’t.’ Clutching her sides where two stitches were competing to see which of them could hurt most, Lola panted, ‘I was rubbish.’

‘No you weren’t, you were actually pretty good. But I was better.’

‘That’s so unfair. I’m your daughter. Aren’t you supposed to let me win?’

He looked amused. ‘Not when you’re twenty-seven.’

Lola leaned forward, hands on knees, then realised people watching outside the badminton court would see her knickers and hurriedly straightened up. To add insult to injury it had all been her idea to come here tonight because she’d found out that Merton’s Sports and Fitness Club in Kensington was where Dougie was a member and last Thursday Sally had mentioned in passing that he was playing squash that night. Working on the assumption that Thursdays at Merton’s might be a regular thing, Lola had called up the club and asked if she and her father could come along and try out the facilities before deciding whether or not to join.

And yes, Merton’s did indeed seem like a great place to socialise and expend a few calories if you were so inclined, but there was one small drawback.

No Doug. Anywhere at all.They’d been given the full guided tour of the club and there was no sign of him. Plus, having been generously given a free, hour-long slot on this badminton court, they were now morally obliged to carry on using it.

Still panting like a pervert, Lola glanced up at the clock on the wall. Nine minutes down, fifty-one to go.

She looked at her father, who wasn’t even remotely out of breath. ‘OK, we’ll have another game.

But this time pretend I’m six and let me win.’

Never had an hour passed so slowly. By the end of it, Lola was puce in the face, wheezing like a steam engine and staggering around on legs like overcooked spaghetti. Badminton wasn’t namby-pamby after all. Battle-hardened members of the SAS could hone their fitness levels playing this game. Thank goodness Dougie hadn’t been here to witness her humiliation.

‘Ready for a drink?’ said Nick as she shakily wiped her face and neck with a towel.

‘Ready for loads of drinks.’ How could she ever have thought that coming to this place tonight would be a good idea? As soon as they’d showered and dressed they were out of here.

‘You’ve dropped your hairband,’ said Nick as Lola just about managed to haul the strap of her sports bag onto her shoulder.

‘I can’t pick it up, it hurts too much.’

She waited as Nick went back to retrieve the pink hairband, then turned and wearily pushed through the glass swing doors.

Dougie was standing on the other side, watching her.

‘Oh!’ So much for thanking her lucky stars he wasn’t here. If there was a god, he really did have it in for her. A trickle of sweat slid down her forehead for that extra-glamorous finishing touch.

‘Lola, what’s going on?’ Doug shook his head. ‘Are you stalking me?’

Lola swallowed, suddenly realising that this was exactly what she was doing. Instantly on the defensive she said, ‘What are you talking about? Of course I’m not stalking you! Who says you’re not stalking me?’

‘I’ve been a member of this club for the last three years. I thought maybe my sister happened to mention it.’

‘Well, she didn’t.’ Technically this was true; Elly who worked for him had been the one who’d mentioned it. But shame crept up and Lola felt her pulse quicken. Oh God, he was right, she was turning into one of those deranged females incapable of accepting rejection, madwomen who end up shouting in the street and getting arrested for harassment.

‘Here’s your hairband.’ Catching up with them, Nick eyed Dougie coolly and said, ‘What’s this about stalking? I was the one who suggested we try this club. It wasn’t Lola’s idea to come here.’

And now she had her father covering for her, lying to protect his deranged-stalker daughter.

Mortified, Lola gazed down at her feet and felt the trickle of sweat drip down to her chin.

‘Sorry, I was just surprised to bump into her. Didn’t have Lola down as the badminton-playing type.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Defiantly Lola said, ‘We had a fantastic game.’

‘Really?’ Dougie’s mouth was twitching. ‘When I looked through the window half an hour ago you didn’t appear to be having much fun.’ He turned to Nick. ‘Hi, I’m Doug Tennant. You must be Lola’s father.’ Shaking Nick’s hand, he said, ‘You were wiping the floor with her.’

Nick relented. ‘I was rather, wasn’t I?’

Oh terrific.

‘I’m going to get showered and changed,’ said Lola.

‘Me too. See you in the bar afterwards.’ Nick nodded cheerfully at Doug. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Ten minutes later Lola screeched to a halt at the entrance to the bar. Doug\was standing with his back to her, talking to a couple of women with toned brown thighs. There was no sign of Nick.

She retraced her steps and waited for him to emerge from the men’s changing room.

He looked surprised when he did. ‘What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting in the bar.’

‘I don’t want to stay for a drink. Doug’s in the bar. He’ll only think I’m stalking him again.’

‘Hey, that’s OK, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes it does matter.’ Lola wearily shook her head. ‘Because he’s right, I have been stalking him.

And it’s time to stop.’

They went to Café Rouge in Lancer Square. Over red wine she’d ordered but no longer had the heart to drink, Lola told Nick the whole story from beginning to end.

‘So that’s it, I’ve basically made the world’s biggest fool of myself but it’s all over now. Doug’s not interested in me and I’ve finally accepted it. I gave it my best shot and I failed. Time to give up and move on. As everyone always loves to say, there are plenty more fish in the sea.’ Lola curled her lip. ‘Although whenever they say that, it really makes me want to get hold of a big fish and smack them round the face with it.’

‘I won’t say that then. Oh, sweetheart, I do feel for you.’ Reaching across the table, Nick gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t told me any of this before.’

‘I didn’t want you thinking you’d got yourself a scary daughter. You might have run for the hills.’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘OK, but you might have thought I was pathetic.’ Lola shrugged. ‘I wanted to impress you, make you think you had a daughter to be proud of.’

‘Sweetheart, I am proud of you.’

Lola blinked back tears; he was being so nice to her and it felt lovely being called sweetheart.

‘Yes, but I have behaved pretty stupidly. I mean, throwing myself at a man who kept telling me he didn’t want me, it’s hardly the brightest thing to do. Anyway,’ hastily she drew a line with her free hand, ‘I won’t be doing that any more.’

‘I wish there was something I could do to help.’ Nick thought about it for a couple of seconds.

‘Do you want me to have a word with him?’

Lola smiled, because that brought back memories. Once, when she’d been ten, a boy in her class had been teased about his ginger-ness and frecklediness. The teasing had carried on for a few days and the novelty had been about to wear off, until one morning the boy’s mother had turned up at the school, gathered together the group of culprits and given them a good talking-to.The entire school had listened, enthralled. Sadly, she’d been even gingerier and freckledier than her son, so from that day on he’d had to endure months of merciless mickey-taking directed at both himself and his mother.

‘Thanks, but there’s no need: She imagined Nick giving Doug a good old ticking-off, telling him not to be so mean and ordering him to be nice and give his daughter another chance. ‘It’s over.

He’s with Isabel now’

‘And you’ve got EJ.’ Nick’s tone was encouraging. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

Lola shrugged. Of course she liked EJ, but only as a friend. They kissed — which was fine —

but hadn’t slept together. He was great company and a nice person but the magic wasn’t there. It wasn’t fair on EJ and she was going to have to tell him. It was time to finish that relationship too

— if you could call it a relationship when you weren’t even having sex.

As they were leaving Café Rouge Nick said, ‘So, what happened to the money Blythe mustn’t know about? What did you spend it on?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

He laughed. ‘Tell me!’

Lola spotted an approaching taxi. ‘Really, I can’t.’ She stuck out her arm and flagged down the cab. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I can’t tell anyone. Ever.’

Chapter 46

Sally had done something to annoy Gabe and she had a pretty shrewd idea what it might be.

The tidiness issue – or rather the lack of it – had over the last couple of weeks become a real bone of contention.

OK, even more of a bone of contention than it had always been. She could tell because the difference in Gabe was pronounced. He had withdrawn mentally, almost as if he couldn’t be bothered to argue with her any more. He was also distancing himself physically, working all hours and spending less and less time at home. At first she’d been thrilled that he’d stopped nagging her to clear up after herself but after a while she’d kind of begun to miss it. As her torn calf muscle gradually repaired itself and she grew less reliant on crutches, Sally had even found herself once or twice doing the washing-up while there were still clean plates in the cupboard.

Not that Gabe had noticed or shown signs of being remotely grateful when she’d pointed it out to him; he’d been so distant and off-hand recently that she’d almost given up trying to please him.

Almost, but not quite. Because Gabe was being a grumpysod but Sally still wanted to cheer him up, get the old relaxed smiley Gabe back.

And today was her last day of being an invalid. At midnight, Cinderella-style, her sick note expired. Tomorrow she was going back to work at the surgery and she was looking forward to it.

Inactivity had bred boredom. She’d watched too much TV, read too many magazines, eaten far too many biscuits. In fact, she could do with expending a bit of energy now. Gazing around the flat, Sally decided to spend the day tidying up and .. . oh God, could she do it? ... de-cluttering the flat she’d devoted so much time to cluttering up.

Yes, she could do it and she was going to. Feeling energised already, Sally pushed up her sleeves and limped over to the ornate stained-glass mirror over by the window. She knew her passion for coloured fairy lights drove Gabe to distraction. OK, fine, she could live without fairy lights.

Reaching up, she unwound the ones draped around the mirror and threw them onto the sofa.

Then, because the mirror was now looking naked, like a Christmas tree brutally stripped of decorations, she took it down too.

Breathe in, breathe out, no need to panic. And that pink lampshade with the glittery fringing was another culprit; Gabe had always hated it. SaAy unplugged the lamp and added it to the mirror and the fairy lights on the sofa. She was on the verge of hyperventilating now but that was OK, no need to panic, it was only stuff. It didn’t make a difference to her life.

Cushions next. She’d keep her silver sequinned star-shaped cushion – in her bedroom – but the rest could go. And all the tea-light holders, which she knew Gabe found unbelievably pointless.

And the vase of peacock feathers on the floor next to the TV. And any magazines more than two months old. Right, start with the cushions, then move on to- Sally stopped in mid-fling at the sound of the letterbox clattering downstairs. The post had arrived an hour ago, so what was this?

Hobbling over to the window, expecting to see a spotty teenager delivering flyers, she peered down and saw instead the rear view of a slender blonde disappearing into the back of a black cab. The door slammed shut and the taxi pulled away.

Curious enough to go and investigate, Sally wrestled the armful of cushions into a black bin bag then made her way downstairs. Reaching the front door, she bent down and retrieved the envelope from the mat.

It was a plain, pale blue envelope with Gabe’s name on the front. Just that, Gabe, no surname, written in black ink with enough of a curly flourish about it to indicate that it had been penned by a girl.

Was this why he’d been so distant lately? Was Gabe embroiled in a tempestuous relationship that for some reason he hadn’t mentioned to her or Lola? As she slowly made her way back up the stairs, Sally itched to know what the envelope contained. Could she do that holding-it-over-the-kettle thing and steam it open? OK, maybe not; she’d tried that once during her miserable time with Toby the Tosser. Not only had the letter not been incriminating — it had been a dental appointment — the steam had turned the envelope all crinkly, making it glaringly obvious what had happened to it.And hadn’t Tosser Toby enjoyed getting his money’s worth out of that little slip-up? He hadn’t let her forget it for weeks.

Back in the flat Sally heroically put the letter down on the table. No snooping; instead she’d get on with the job in hand. Rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers she located an advertising card she’d kept — how spooky was that? — froma small local charity asking for items to sell in their shop. Can’t Deliver? We’ll Collect! promised the card, which was jolly helpful of them. She called the charity’s number and booked them in for four o’clock. There, now she couldn’t chicken out. Once everything was gone, it was gone for good.

Clean, clear lines might actually be nice. De-clutter your surroundings, de-clutter your life. As she energetically dragged magazines out from under the armchair, Sally began to feel better already. She could become a style icon, a champion of minimalism and space creation.

Blimey, and she’d always thought style icons were boring! She’d be turning into Anouska Hempel next.

Gabe stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene. Finally he said, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Ta-daaa! Just call me Anouska Hempel.’ To match the cool, clean lines of the flat, Sally had even changed into a floaty white dress.

‘Who?’ As he studied the living room, devoid of ... well, pretty much everything, Gabe said flatly, ‘So that’s it, you’re off.’

‘What?’ It was Sally’s turn to be confused.

‘Leaving, taking all your stuff with you. Moving out, moving on...’

‘No!’ She shook her head, dismayed by the realisation that this was probably what he’d been praying for. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I just tidied up. I thought you’d be pleased! I started doing a little bit then I got carried away. And guess what? I think I like it!’

Gabe exhaled audibly — with relief or disappointment, she couldn’t tell. He put down his camera and said evenly ‘So where is everything?’

‘Gone.’ Sally’s spirits plummeted; she’d been so proud of herself. Why couldn’t Gabe be proud of her too?

‘Gone where?’

‘Charity shop.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m turning over a new leaf!’ If her leg hadn’t still been hurting she’d have stamped her foot. ‘Gabe, why are you being like this?’

He shrugged. ‘Probably because I’m wondering why you’re being like this. It isn’t you.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Sally’s voice rose in frustration. ‘All my life people have complained about how untidy I am, and now I’m doing something about it you’re being all weird.’

‘I’m not being weird,’ said Gabe, who definitely still was. ‘I’m just wondering who you’re trying so hard to impress.’ He eyed her white dress and make-up and said with an edge to his voice,

‘Off out somewhere tonight?’

Like she was some kind of prostitute or something. ‘Yes’ Sally stared back at him. ‘Is that allowed?’

‘Who are you seeing?’

Honestly, damn cheek. In actual fact she’d been invited over to dinner by her lovely boss Dr Willis and his wife Emily to celebrate her return to work. Annoyed by Gabe’s attitude, Sally said,’What are you, my mother?’ and flounced into her bedroom. If he was going to be this stroppy and horrible, so was she.

When she returned ten minutes later with a black and white checked holdall, Gabe raised an eyebrow.

‘So you won’t be home.’

Having earlier turned down the Willis’s kind offer of a bed for the night in order to save her the tube journey into work the next day, Sally had now changed her mind. Maybe by thetime she returned tomorrow evening, Gabe would have snapped out of his mood. ‘Well done.You should be a detective. Oh, by the way, you’ve got a lett—’

‘What?’ Gabe looked up from his laptop when she abruptly stopped in mid-sentence.

Sally’s brain shot into overdrive, replaying the last eight hours at warp speed. The letter ... where had the letter gone? She’d left it on the coffee table before launching into her tidying frenzy and now it was no longer there. Somewhere along the way it had got swept up in the whirlwind and deposited goodness knows where.

‘Come on.’ Gabe sounded like Jeremy Paxman only more impatient. ‘I’ve got what?’

OK, she definitely didn’t need him shouting at her, which was what he’d do if she told him the truth.

‘A lettings agent after the flat. He called earlier, wondered if you were still interested in renting it out.’ As she spoke, Sally limped over to the magazine rack and began feverishly flicking through the few magazines she hadn’t despatched to the charity shop.

‘A lettings agent? What are you doing now?’

‘Just looking for the ... um, piece of paper. I wrote down their name and number in case you wanted to call them back.’

‘Why would I call them back? I don’t want to rent the flat out.’

No? Well, you know, I thought I’d take their number anyway, I’m sure it’s here somewhere.’

Bloody buggering hell, this was the last time she ever tidied anything up. ‘Let me just check in the kitchen bin.’

‘Leave it.’ Gabe waved her away from the kitchen door. ‘Don’t bother. If I want to speak to a lettings agent I’ll look in the Yellow Pages.’

‘OK’ She’d definitely thrown the letter out. And now she’d lied to him too, but he’d been so arsey he deserved it. Feeling guilty – but not guilty enough to confess – Sally picked up her holdall and headed for the door. ‘Bye.’

Gabe was bent over his laptop, scrolling through the day’s photographs. He muttered ‘Bye,’

without looking up.

Bastard. He hadn’t even wished her luck for her first day back at work tomorrow.

Reaching for her stick and limping more heavily than she needed to, Sally clumped out.

Gabe let out a groan and sat back on the sofa. He hadn’t even wished her good luck for tomorrow. The last ten days had been a journey to hell and back. All he could ever think about was Sally and, clearly, all Sally could think about was Nick James. Equally clearly, Nick must have passed some comment about the mess she surrounded herself with, prompting this afternoon’s out-of-the-blue blitz on the flat.

Gabe rubbed his face then ran his hands over his messed-up hair in defeat. And what had that business with the phone call from the lettings agent been about? Was that Sally’s way of dropping a hint, subliminally indicating that before long she’d be gone? Shit, and to think that for the first few weeks of her being here he’d wanted her out.

The phone rang.

‘Hi, it’s me.’ Lola, finishing up at Kingsley’s, sounded in a flap. ‘Just to let you know I’m going over to EJ’s so I won’t be home till late. But if anyone feels like cooking anything and saving some for me, they could leave it in my fridge for when I get back.’

‘Sorry. I’m working and Sally’s already gone out,’ Gabe said evenly. ‘She didn’t say where.’

There was a moment’s silence, then Lola said, ‘Oh, that’s right, her boss invited her over for dinner. She mentioned it yesterday’

Hmm, lying to her friend, covering her tracks. Gabe wondered how Lola would react if she knew who Sally was really with.

‘She took an overnight bag.’ Jealousy welled up; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her.

‘Really? Well, it’s probably easier for work. No need to sound so disapproving.’ Lola sounded amused. ‘I’m sure Sal’s not having an affair with him. He’s a bit old for her.’

Gabe took a deep breath. Should he say it?

‘Anyway, wish me luck,’ Lola babbled on. ‘My stomach’s churning like an ice-cream maker.

I’m finishing with EJ tonight. God, I hope he takes it well, I don’t want him to be upset.’

That was it, Gabe realised he couldn’t do it. If he told Lola now, she was the one who’d be upset.

She had enough on her plate for one evening; let her get the EJ thing dealt with and out of the way first.

Chapter 47

It was like being on a really strict diet and having someone present you with a year’s supply of Thornton’s truffles. Lola had never actually been on a really strict diet owing to her inability to give up ... well, Thornton’s truffles, but she just knew this was how it would feel.Toby Rowe was a multimillionaire music mogul and an old friend of EJ’s. It had been thrilling enough being invited along to his fortieth birthday party, held at the kind of private members club Lola had only ever dreamed of visiting, but now Toby was offering something more.

Life just wasn’t fair.

‘Come on.’ Toby’s tone was cajoling. ‘It’s only for a week. You can take a week off work, can’t you? EJ, work your magic on this girl, make her say yes.’

There were people in this room so famous they’d make your head spin, and rumours swirling around that Bono was going to be dropping in later. If that happened, Lola knew her head would swivel right off.

‘Say yes,’ EJ joined in. ‘It’ll be fantastic. If I can take a week off, surely you can too.’

Toby already had a party of ten friends flying out in the firstweek of April to stay at his villa on St Kitts. Evidently it was large enough to accommodate two more. From the sound of things it could hold another twenty. And the people joining Toby and his girlfriend were all major players in the music business. Lola would be practically the only civilian. Just the thought of sunbathing around the pool in the company of singers with triple platinum albums to their names was almost too exciting to bear.

‘Go on,’ Toby added with a persuasive wink, ‘you know you want to.’

Lola bit her lip; of course she wanted to, more than anything. Imagine Robbie Williams asking if she’d mind rubbing suncream into his shoulders .. .

Oh God, this was torture. ‘I have to check the staff rota. I’m not sure if I can take the time off.’

‘Couldn’t you just phone in at the last minute,’ said Toby, ‘and tell the boss you’ve got flu?’

Wouldn’t that be nice?

‘Except I am the boss.’ Lola pulled a face. ‘And I wouldn’t believe me. I’m always suspicious when people phone in with a croaky voice and tell me they have flu.’

Toby said, ‘Or when they ring in with a croaky voice to tell you they’ve sprained an ankle.’

‘What I really hate,’ said EJ, ‘is when we’re recording an album and they phone up with a croaky voice to tell me they’ve got a croaky voice.’

Lola’s heart sank as he grinned his quirky, lopsided grin. He was such good company, the kind of person anyone would love to have as a friend. And he had buckets of money ... why, why couldn’t she look at him and feel a frisson of lust?

But there you go, she couldn’t and that was that. She wasn’t being fair to him. Checking her watch, Lola saw that it was midnight and she had to be at work by eight tomorrow morning. It was time to do what she had to do. She touched EJ’s arm and said, ‘I need to get home. If you want to stay on, I can get a cab.’

But EJ was far too much of a gentleman to do that. He shook his head and put down his orange juice. ‘It’s OK. I’m pretty shattered too.’

They said their goodbyes to Toby and his friends. As EJ drove back to Notting Hill, he told her more about Toby’s villa on St Kitts, about the view over Half Moon Bay, the golf course, the scuba diving, the spectacular Black Rocks

‘I’m sorry,’ Lola blurted out, ‘I can’t go.’

‘Don’t say that. You haven’t checked with work yet.’

Her fingernails dug into her palms as she squeezed her fists tight. ‘It’s not work.’

‘No?’ EJ pulled up at traffic lights, glanced sideways at her. ‘Is it the plane tickets? Because that’s not a problem. I’ll pay for those.’

The lights from the Burger King opposite were reflecting off his glasses. He was such a thoughtful person. Mental images of Half Moon Bay floated tantalisingly in front of Lola —

tropical palms, a glittering turquoise ocean, herself tanned and magically thinner than usual in a pink bikini .. .

‘OK, here’s the thing.’ Gearing herself up, Lola wished he could be driving the battered old Fiesta tonight; she didn’t want to be responsible for him pranging his beloved Lamborghini. ‘EJ, I really like you but we’re going to have to stop seeing each other.’ The lights changed and they moved forward; flinching and praying he wouldn’t go careering into the bus ahead of them, she said hastily, ‘But you’re a fantastic person.’

EJ remained in control of the Lamborghini. Drily he said, ‘But not quite fantastic enough.’

‘Oh, don’t say that! I’m sorry! It’s not you, it’s me, I just — mind that cyclist!’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit the cyclist.’

‘But I don’t want you to be upset.’

‘Lola, it’s OK. It’s not your fault.’ He steered skilfully around a couple of drunks staggering across the road, then indicated left and pulled into a side street. ‘Would it help at all if I said I’d kind of guessed this might be coming?’

The streetlights illuminated the angles of his face. Behind the spectacles Lola glimpsed sadness mixed with stoicism. They’d never even slept together.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘You’re so nice ...’

‘I know I am. I also know I’m not the world’s best looking guy, but I was kind of hoping to win you over with my brilliant personality.’ He shot her a lopsided smile, seemingly able to read her mind. ‘That’s why I never tried to get you into bed, in case you were wondering. Because I knew you hadn’t reached the stage yet where you really wanted to. I thought if I was patient ... well, that the right time would come along and everything would be perfect. But there was always the risk that you’d bale out before it had a chance to happen.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘And guess what? I was right, you’re baling out. Maybe I’m psychic.’

‘But you’ve slept with so many incredible girls,’ Lola protested. ‘Famous ones! Loads more glamorous than me!’

‘Maybe I have.’ He shrugged, half smiled. ‘Maybe they don’t mean so much.’

‘Oh God, don’t say that.’ Lola felt terrible now

‘Sorry, I don’t want you to feel guilty. Hey, it’s OK. Really.

Can’t make chemistry happen if it isn’t there. It’s a shame, but I’ll survive.’

‘You deserve someone fantastic.’ Lola really meant it. ‘Thanks.’ EJ started the Lamborghini up again and drove her home.

Before she climbed out of the car, Lola hugged him hard and said, ‘Have a great time in St Kitts.’

He smiled, sad for a moment, then gave her waist a squeeze. ‘I have to say, all credit to you for telling me tonight. A lot of girls would have waited until after the five-star, all-expensespaid holiday.’

• ‘I know’ Lola wondered if she’d live to regret it. ‘I think I’m probably mad.’

As he planted a goodbye kiss on her cheek, EJ said with affection, ‘That’s probably why I liked you so much in the first place.’

Chapter 48

What a shame you couldn’t fall in love with a man as easily as you could fall in love with a coat.

‘This is it.’ Lola hugged herself and did a happy twirl in front of the antique, rust-spotted mirror propped against the side of the stall. ‘This is the one. It’s perfect!’

‘Fabulous.’ Sally nodded in agreement.

Blythe, ever practical, said, ‘How much?’

But Lola didn’t care. It was love at first sight. The moment she’d clapped eyes on the coat, fuchsia-pink velvet, long and swirly, she’d known it was the one for her. And they’d be happy together; the coat wouldn’t reject her. It wouldn’t haughtily announce that it didn’t want to be her coat. It would never let her down, stand her up or make her cry.

Plus it had an iridescent parma violet satin lining; how many men could boast that?

Oh yes, when everything else around you was going pear-shaped, there was always Portobello Market, with its bustle and colour and endless treasure trove of shops and stalls, to cheer you up.

Just as there was always someone to nag you about money.

‘Lola. Tag: Blythe prompted, pointing to the sleeve.

This was the downside of having a mother who went for quantity rather than quality every time.

Blythe lived for the sales. Her idea of heaven was rummaging through the bargain rails in charity shops where you could buy a whole new outfit for six pounds fifty.

‘Um ... forty-five.’ Lola attempted to hide the tag up the coat’s sleeve as her mother approached.

Too late. Blythe peered at the tag then dropped it as if it had barked at her. ‘Two hundred and forty-five!’ She gazed at Lola and Sally in disbelief. ‘Pounds!’ Just in case they’d thought she meant Turkish lira.

‘But Mum, it’s a coat.’

‘It’s a second-hand coat.’ Blythe was indignant.

‘Vintage,’ said the stallholder.

‘If this was in a charity shop you’d be able to buy it for twenty pounds!’

‘But this coat isn’t in a charity shop,’ the stallholder patiently explained.

‘Not any more it isn’t. I bet that’s where you found it, though. You probably bought it for a tenner and now you’re selling it for silly money! Lola, offer her fifty pounds and not a penny more. Barter with the girl.’

‘Mum, sshh, look at the label. If this coat was on sale in Harvey Nichols it would cost thousands.’

‘But see how thin it is. You can hardly call it a coat — it won’t even keep you warm!’

Lola briefly considered pretending to give up, carrying on along the road and secretly scuttling back this afternoon. But how could she risk leaving such a beautiful thing for even a few minutes? What if someone else came along and snappedit up? It would be like leaving George Clooney on a street corner and expecting him to still be there waiting for you hours later.

Besides, she was twenty-seven years old, not seven. She looked the stallholder squarely in the eye and said, ‘Two hundred.’

The stallholder, who knew a pushover when she saw one, shrugged and said, ‘Sorry, I can’t go below two thirty.’ The subtext being: because I know how badly you want this.

Lola took out her purse and began counting out twenties.

‘Lola, you can’t buy it.’

‘Mum, I love this coat. It’ll make me happy. And it’s my money, I can spend it how I like.’

‘I don’t know where she gets it from,’ Blythe tut-tutted as Lola rolled her eyes at the stallholder.

‘Two hundred and thirty pounds for somebody else’s old cast-off. That’s shocking.’

At last the transaction was complete and they moved on. Sally, after a week back at work, was relishing her day off and getting along quite niftily now with the help of her walking stick.

Blythe stopped at a stall selling patchwork waistcoats and said, ‘Now these are fun, and they’re only fifteen pounds!’

‘They’re horrible,’ said Sally.

‘Oh. Are you sure?’ Blythe looked to Lola for a second opinion.

‘Really horrible,’ Lola confirmed.

‘At least they’re new. Ooh, how about this?’ Excitedly Blythe waved a peacock-blue scarf adorned with silver squiggles. ‘Seven pounds!’

Lola nodded. What harm could a scarf do? The sooner her mother bought something, the sooner she’d stop going on about the coat. ‘Yes, buy it.’

‘No, don’t buy it!’ Sally let out a snort of laughter and waggled her hands in a bid to draw Lola’s attention to something on the scarf.

‘Honestly, you two,’ Blythe grumbled. ‘It’s like going shopping with Trinny and Susannah.

What’s wrong with—’

‘My God! Lola!’

Everyone turned in unison at the sound of the girl’s voice. Next moment Lola found herself having the breath hugged out of her lungs as market-goers swirled around them on the pavement.

At last Jeannie put her down and Lola said, ‘I don’t believe it. Look at you! You’re so brown.’

‘That’s because I’m living in Marbella now! We’re just back for a few days visiting my mum.’

Jeannie’s hair was sunbleached, her skin was the colour of a hazelnut and she was wearing faded, hippyish clothes and flip-flops. ‘And you aren’t brown: she said cheerfully, ‘so that must mean you live in unsunny Britain.’

‘I do. I live right here in Notting Hill. And this is my mum.’ Lola indicated Blythe. ‘And my friend Sally. Mum, this is Jeannie from school.’

‘Oh, the Jeannie you went off with to Majorca! How lovely to meet you at last,’ Blythe exclaimed. ‘And what a coincidence – fancy bumping into you like this!’

As things had turned out, Lola hadn’t ended up spending more than a few days with Jeannie.

Shortly after her arrival in Alcudia, Jeannie had hooked up with a boy called Brad who was moving on to work in a restaurant on a surfer’s beach in Lanzarote. Jeannie had gone with him the following week and that had been the last she and Lola had seen of each other. Lola, aware that her mother and Alex would have been worried sick if they’d known she was out there on her own, had discreetly glossed over that snippet in her postcards home.

‘Such a coincidence!’ echoed Jeannie. ‘I was just looking atSarah’s jacket, admiring it from a distance, then I saw who she was talking to and I was just, like, ohmigod!’ She ran her fingers over the sleeve of Sally’s caramel leather jacket and said appreciatively, ‘It’s even better close up.’

‘Sally,’ said Sally.

‘Huh? My name’s Jeannie.’

‘I know You just called me Sarah. I’m Sally, Sally Tennant.’

‘Oops, sorry! Brain like a sieve, me!’ Jeannie tapped the side of her head, then stopped and began wagging her index finger in a thoughtful way. ‘Although not always. Hang on a minute, wasn’t Tennant the name of that boyfriend of yours?’

The index finger was now pointing questioningly at Lola.

‘Doug Tennant.’ Sally gave a yelp of excitement. ‘That’s right, he’s my brother!’

Lola experienced a sensation of impending doom, like an express train roaring out of a tunnel towards

‘You’re kidding!’ Her eyes and mouth widening in delight, Jeannie looked from Sally to Lola.

‘So you and Doug got back together? My God, I don’t believe it! That’s so romantic! What happened about the money? Did his witch of a mother make you pay it all back?’

Lola’s first instinct was to clap her hands over her ears and sing loudly, ‘Lalala.’ Her second was to clap her hands over her mother’s ears and go, ‘Lalala’ But it was too late; Blythe was frowning, looking as bemused as if everyone had suddenly started babbling away in Dutch.

‘Oops, sorry!’ Jeannie smacked her forehead and turned back to Sally. ‘I just called your mother a witch!’

‘What money?’ said Blythe.

Dougie and I didn’t get back together,’ Lola blurted out. ‘Sally’s my next door neighbour.’

‘Oh crikey, I’m getting everything wrong here, aren’t I?’ Jeannie shook her head dizzily and burst out laughing. ‘Well, except for the bit about your mum being a witch.You have to admit, that was a pretty beastly thing she did. I mean, that’s messing with people’s lives, isn’t it?’

‘Excuse me.’ The bored stallholder nodded at the scarf being twisted in Blythe’s hands. ‘Are you going to be buying that or what?’

‘So did Doug ever find out about the money?’ Jeannie said avidly.

Blythe carried on twisting the scarf. ‘What money?’

Lola closed her eyes and breathed deeply; when she’d gone out to Alcudia she’d made a point of explaining to Jeannie that her mother didn’t know about the money thing. How, how could Jeannie forget something as important as that, yet remember a detail as small and irrelevant as Dougie’s surname?

‘Yes, Doug found out.’ Sally, attempting to ride to the rescue, said hastily, ‘But that’s all in the past, everyone’s moved on, it’s—’

‘Oh, don’t try and change the subject, I’ve always wanted to know what you spent all that money on. God, I wish someone would’ve given me ten grand to dump any of the loser boyfriends I’ve hooked up with over the years.’ Apologetically, Jeannie touched Sally’s arm. ‘Not that your brother was a loser. I met him a couple of times before they broke up and he was totally fit.’

He still is. Desperate to get away — although it was too late now, the cat was out of the bag —

Lola grabbed the blue and silver squiggly scarf from Blythe. ‘Mum, are you going to buy this?’

‘No she isn’t,’ Sally repeated, earning herself a glare from the stallholder.

‘Why not?’ Lola gave the scarf a flap to try and get the creases out. ‘It’s pretty!’

Useful too. She could strangle blabbermouth Jeannie with it.

It’s obscene.’ Jeannie pointed to the silver squiggles, which Lola hadn’t realised were scrawled words. ‘Rude Spanish word. Rude Spanish word.’

Sally helpfully pointed out another squiggle. ‘Very, very rude Spanish word.’

God, it was too. Lola hurriedly put down the scarf.

‘That’s disgusting.’ Rounding on the hapless stallholder, Blythe said, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, selling something like that.’

‘I don’t speak Spanish.’ The man shook his head in protest. ‘I didn’t know’

Nobody was listening to him, nobody cared. Blythe had already swung round and pointed an accusing finger at Lola. Her expression intent and her voice scarily controlled, she said, ‘But he shouldn’t be as ashamed of himself as you.’

‘I can’t believe this.’ Blythe’s cup of coffee sat in front of her untouched. She shook her head and gazed across the tiny café table at Lola. ‘I can’t believe you did something like that. In God’s name, why?’

Lola felt sick with shame. She’d never imagined her mother would find out about the money.

She wished she still had Sally here to be on her side.

‘Well?’ Blythe demanded.

‘I’ve told you. Because Dougie’s mother hated me and Dougie was moving up to Scotland. We were so young, what were the chances of us staying together? I mean, realistically?’ Lola’s coffee cup rattled as she tried to lift it from the saucer.

Her whole life, she’d loved earning praise from her mother, making her happy and proud of everything she did. Blythe’s approval was all that mattered and until today she’d known she’d always had it, unconditionally.

Until an hour ago. The coffee tasted bitter and she’d tipped in too much sugar. What were the chances of bumping into Jeannie and the whole sorry story spilling out like that?

‘And the money,’ said Blythe. ‘The ten thousand pounds. What happened to it?’

Lola shifted in her seat. She wasn’t completely stupid, she did have a plausible lie put by in case of absolute emergencies. And now appeared to be the time to drag it out.

‘OK, it wasn’t ten thousand pounds. It was twelve and a half.’ May as well get as many of the facts correct as possible. ‘And I used most of it to buy a Jeep so I could get around the island.’

‘A Jeep? Dear God! But you hadn’t even passed your test!’

‘I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s also why I couldn’t get it taxed and insured.’ Her palms growing damp, Lola forced herself to carry on with the lie she’d concocted years ago and hoarded for so long. ‘Which is why, when it was stolen a week later, I couldn’t do anything about it. I’d spent the money on a Jeep then, boom, it was all gone. I was back to square one.’

‘No you weren’t.’ Blythe was shaking her head again. ‘At square one you had Dougie. Oh Lola, what were you thinking of? I thought we’d brought you up better than that. Relationships are more important than money! Look at Alex and me, we were happy whether we had it or not. If you love someone, money’s irrelevant. You sold your chance of happiness with Dougie for a ... a Jeep! That’s a terrible thing to do.’

‘I know. I know that now.’ Lola was perilously close to tears, but she wasn’t going to cry. She forced herself to gaze aroundthe crowded, steamy café, listen to Dexy’s Midnight Runners playing on the radio, concentrate on the jaunty music.

‘It’s like that coat today. It cost far too much but you just didn’t care, you had to have it.’

‘OK, Mum, can we stop now, please?’

But Blythe hadn’t finished yet.

‘And you know what? If you were capable of doing that to Dougie, you don’t deserve him. How could you be so stupid? I feel like phoning that boy up and apologising to him myself, I really do.’

Oh God. Her mother’s disappointment in her was too much to bear. Telling herself not to cry hadn’t worked. Tears rolled down Lola’s cheeks as she clenched her fingers and blurted out, ‘I was seventeen, I was stupid and I did a terrible, terrible thing. I don’t blame you for hating me,’

she shook her head in despair, ‘because I know it was wrong. And I’ll regret it f-for the r-rest of my 1-1-life.’

Blinded and sniffing helplessly, she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. None there. The next moment she felt her mother’s arms go around her and a paper napkin being pushed into her hand.

‘Oh sweetheart, of course I don’t hate you.You’re impetuous and you don’t always think things through, but you’re my daughter and I love you more than anything in the world. There, shh, don’t cry’ Blythe rocked her, just as she’d always done as a child. ‘You made a mistake and you’ve learned your lesson. And you’ll never do anything like it again, that’s the important thing.’ Pulling away, she smiled and tenderly wiped rivulets of mascara from Lola’s wet face with her finger. ‘My God, the antics you’ve got up to over the years. Just you wait, one of these days you’ll have children of your own and then you’ll know how it feels when they do things that shock you.’

Chapter 49

Sally, who still didn’t have the faintest idea what she’d done to upset Gabe, was getting more and more frustrated.

‘The omelette pan’s missing.You were using it yesterday. What have you done with it?’ He was crashing around the kitchen, banging cupboard doors open and shut, as exasperated as if she’d deliberately tipped the contents of the bin all over the floor.

Which Sally was quite tempted to do, what with all the fuss he was making.

‘I washed it up, dried it and put it away.’ Biting her tongue, she opened the final cupboard door and took out the omelette pan. ‘There, panic over.’

Gabe looked irritated. ‘It’s never been kept in that cupboard.’

Every time she felt bad at having lost the letter that had arrived for him — and not mentioning it

— Gabe said something to make her feel less guilty. Like now. Evenly Sally said, ‘Gabe, up until a couple of weeks ago, I’d have left the omelette pan on the stove or dumped in the sink and I wouldn’t have got this much grief about it. Why are you being like this?’

Didn’t he realise that she might sound in control but inside she was finding his attitude deeply upsetting?

‘Sorry.’ Gabe didn’t sound remotely sorry. ‘Will you be coming straight home from work?’

‘No, I won’t. So don’t worry, I won’t be here to put the wrong cup on the wrong saucer.’

He switched on the gas ring, ignoring the jibe. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Having dinner with Roger and Emily.’

‘Who?’

‘Dr Willis and his wife.’

Gabe said sarkily, ‘Again?’

He never used to be sarky.

‘Yes, again,’ Sally mimicked him.

‘Why?’

Why indeed? She hadn’t the foggiest. But Roger had said they had something they wanted to tell her so she’d agreed. ‘I don’t know.’ Pointedly Sally said, ‘Maybe they enjoy my company.’

Gabe exhaled heavily and began breaking eggs into a bowl. Sally picked up her keys and limped out of the kitchen.

They’d always got on so well together. How had it come to this?

’Ten o’clock, love, with Dr Burton.’

Sally dragged her attention back to the elderly woman on the other side of the counter, checked the lists on the computer screen and said, ‘That’s fine, Betty, take a seat.’

‘You all right this morning, love? Looking a bit peaky.’ Sally forced a smile; it was always a joy to know you looked as rubbish as you felt.

‘I’m OK, Betty. Just a bit ... tired.’ Tired of being criticised, tired of hearing she looked peaky, tired of being nagged at because she’d put the omelette pan away in the wrong sodding cupboard.

‘Oh hello, Maureen, didn’t see you there.’ Betty beamed at Maureen, sitting over by the magazines with her knitting.

‘How’re you doing, Betty? I’m not so bad myself. Feet still playing up but I’m trying some new tablets, so fingers crossed. And our Lauren’s expecting again, that’s cheered us all up.’

‘Ooh, lovely. What d’you think of Sally over there, then? Reckon she’s looking a bit peaky, do you?’

Oh, for crying out loud.

‘Probably too many late nights,’ said Maureen, peering over the top of her glasses at Sally perched on a stool on the other side of the reception desk. She winked saucily. ‘Got yourself a new boyfriend, love? Burning the candle at both ends? Too much canoodling and what-have-you, that’s my guess. Am I right, hmm?’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Betty. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of morning sickness.’

Oh, for crying out loud .. .

Across the waiting room the old regulars, Maureen and Betty, were chuckling away. Half a dozen other patients were all watching expectantly too, waiting for her to come out with some chirpy reply.

To her absolute horror Sally realised that she was actually physically about to start crying out loud. Her vision blurred with tears and her throat tightened from the inside. Attempting to duck down out of sight behind the computer screen, she almost toppled off her stool. Her walking stick was out of reach, propped up against the filing cabinet. If it hadn’t been for her leg she would’ve made a dash for the bathroom but she was too clumsy and too slow. Even Maureen with her gammy feet and Bettywith her lumbago were faster, peering over the counter and clucking with concern.

Since they’d already seen the tears, Sally let them slide down her face. ‘S-sorry, I’m not pregnant. Just having a b-bit of an off day.’

‘Oh, love, go on, let it all out. Here, have a tissue, don’t go dripping mascara on that lovely shirt of yours. There there, don’t worry. So, boyfriend trouble, is it? Is he giving you the runaround?’

Everyone in the waiting room was agog and staring. All the magazines had been put down.

Mortified but unable to help herself, Sally sobbed noisily for a couple of minutes before blowing her nose and shaking her head. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Good,’ a middle-aged man said crisply. ‘Now you know how we feel, having to sit here knowing that you know all our shameful secrets.’

‘Like piles,’ mused the older man next to him.

‘Speak for yourself,’ a girl in a purple sweater retorted. ‘I don’t have piles.’ As several people smiled she said, ‘I have an irritable bowel.’

‘And my boyfriend isn’t giving me the runaround.’ Sally took yet another tissue from Betty and wiped her eyes. ‘Because I don’t have a boyfriend. And my flatmate’s being really mean .. . I don’t think he w-wants me there any more but I d-don’t know why and I just feel like such a f-f-failure ...’

‘Men are nothing but trouble.You’re better off without them.’ The girl in the purple sweater said,

‘My last boyfriend broke my nose. He hit me across the bedroom then told me it was my fault for brushing my hair in an annoying way.’

Sally shook her head. ‘I’m useless with men. I bought my last boyfriend a course of tooth-whitening treatment and he ended up running off with the dental nurse.’

‘My husband’s a drinker,’ Betty chimed in. ‘Drinking’s all he ever does. Forty years we’ve been married and he’s never managed to hold down a job for more than a week.’

Competitiveness stirring inside her, Sally wiped her nose and said, ‘One of my exes drank too.

And another one jilted me practically at the altar!’

The girl in the purple sweater, not to be outdone, blurted out, ‘I came home from work once and my ex was in the garden pegging out the washing.’

Everyone in the waiting room looked at her. Maureen said, ‘Isn’t that a good thing?’

‘He was doing it wearing my best bra and knickers.’

God, that was something she’d never even considered. Sally said mournfully, ‘I’m better off on my own.’

‘Come on, not all men are awful.’ Maureen rose spiritedly to their defence. ‘My son’s a lovely lad. He’d make any girl happy. In fact, you two would make a wonderful couple. I could introduce you to him if you like.’ She was nodding eagerly at • Sally.

Next to her, leaning back, Betty was mouthing, ‘Gay.’ Sally stammered, ‘Um ... thanks . .

‘The thing is, even when you think people are happy together, chances are they aren’t. Everyone just likes to pretend.’ Holding up the copy of Hello! she’d been reading, the girl in purple declared, ‘This magazine’s six months old. Look at these two on the cover, wrapped round each other like a couple of eels. But are they still together now? No they’re not. And it’s the same all the way through the magazine! Everyone’s split up since then, split up and sold their stories about how hellish their lives together really were, and you’ve wasted all that time envying them ... I mean, what is the point?’

‘By ‘eck, love, steady on.’ An elderly man in a flat cap spoke for the first time. He shook his head and said good-naturedly, ‘There’s plenty of happy marriages out there, trust me.’

The girl in purple cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Could have fooled me.’

‘You’ve just got off to a bad start, pet.’ The man’s eyes crinkled at the corners; he sounded like the voice-over in the Hovis ads. ‘Everyone has someone who’s right for them. It’s just a question of keeping going till you find them.’

‘I’d have better luck finding the Loch Ness monster,’ said the girl in purple.

‘You’ll get there in the end.’ His smile was genial. ‘And let me tell you, it’s worth it.You might not think it to look at me now, but I were a bit of a jack-the-lad in my day. I had my share of girlfriends. Never saw the point in settling down, I were having too much fun. Then I met Jessie.

She worked in a bakery in Bradford and the moment I walked into that shop and saw her behind the counter I knew she were the one for me. Eyes like stars, she had. Before I even heard her speak I fell for her, hook, line and sinker. We started courting and after a month I asked her to marry me. Nobody could believe it, not the family, not me mates down the pit, not the lasses I’d been out with before Jessie came along. But I knew it were the right thing to do, you see. I’d found the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.’

The whole of the waiting room was on the edge of their seats, listening to him tell the story in his simple heartfelt way. ‘And?’ prompted the girl in purple.

‘We’ve been married forty-nine years, pet. And happier together than I ever thought possible.

My Jessie means all the world to me.’

It all sounded too perfect. Sally frowned. ‘Don’t you ever argue?’

‘Argue?’ The man chuckled. ‘Of course we argue! Hasn’t been a single day when we haven’t had a fight about summat. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

BRRRRR went the buzzer, making everyone jump.

‘Mr Allerdyce, please, to room four,’ Dr Willis’s voice came over the intercom.

‘That’s me.’ Having leaned heavily on his walking sticks in order to haul himself to his feet, Mr Allerdyce tipped his cap to everyone in the waiting room.

When he’d made his way out and the door had closed behind him, the middle-aged man said,

‘His wife probably can’t stand the sight of him.’

Everyone in the waiting room turned and gave the man a stony look.

‘Sorry.’ He flinched under the glare of their disapproval. ‘Just a joke.’

‘Are you divorced?’ said the girl in purple.

He looked surprised. ‘Yes, I am.’

The girl nodded. ‘I thought so.’

Chapter 50

’You’re leaving the practice?’ Sally couldn’t believe it; she loved working for Dr Willis. Her whole world was crumbling around her. What had she done to deserve this?

‘Isn’t it exciting? We can’t wait.’ Emily beamed across the dinner table at her. ‘Skipton’s where I grew up, all my family are there, it’s just such a wonderful place to live. Everyone’s so friendly, not like down here. Do you know the Dales?’

‘Not really.’ Sally was still struggling to take in the news. The other doctors were OK, pleasant enough, but Roger Willis was her favourite. The practice wouldn’t be the same without him.

‘It was Emily’s idea.’ Roger refilled their wine glasses. ‘She spotted the ad in Pulse, organised a trip up to Skipton, even dragged me round the estate agents before I knew I’d got the job. We’d always planned to retire up there,’ he went on. ‘But this way we’ve got a few years of me working in the area first, becoming a real part of the community.’

‘That’s why we asked you over here this evening. We wanted you to be the first to know. Here, take a look at the place we’re buying.’ Bursting with excitement, Emily produced a glossy brochure. ‘All my life I’ve dreamed of living in a house like this.’

They were moving to Yorkshire and they expected her to be pleased about it. Sally’s heart was in her boots but she forced herself to take the brochure and look interested.

The place was spectacular, a sprawling converted farmhouse on a hillside with lovingly tended gardens and stunning views across the valley. There were five bedrooms, three of them ensuite, and a kitchen the size of a tennis court. There was even a granny annexe, a snooker room and —

crikey — an actual tennis court.

Sally said, ‘It’s fantastic. Can I come with you?’

Emily paused, a forkful of fish pie halfway to her mouth. ‘Really?’

Oh no, it was like the middle-aged divorced chap attempting humour in the waiting room this morning. ‘I was joking,’ said Sally.

‘Oh’ Emily’s face fell. ‘Shame.’

‘Sorry?’

‘No, my fault, you got our hopes up there for a minute.’ Emily waggled her free hand. ‘It’s just that the current receptionist is the wife of the chap Roger’s replacing. They’re moving down to Cornwall. So the practice needs a replacement ... but of course you wouldn’t want to leave London, silly of me to even think it! Although you’re welcome to come up and stay with us whenever you like. In fact you must! You’ll fall in love with the place, I know you will. The people are so warm and sociable, it’s like a different world up there.’

Sally gazed again at the photographs in the glossy brochure. Was this a sign?

Was Yorkshire a different world?

Was it fate that had brought Mr Allerdyce into the surgery this morning with his heart-warming tale of true love? She hadlooked through his medical notes after- his visit and discovered that the wife he adored was crippled with osteoporosis and confined to a wheelchair, but that with the help of the family Mr Allerdyce was able to care for her devotedly. Reading this and picturing the two of them together had sent Sally into the loo for another little weep. Honestly, it was a wonder she was able to see out of these eyes, they’d squeezed out so many tears today.

‘When we wake up in the morning we’ll look out of our bedroom window and see all that.’

Roger Willis proudly tapped the photograph of rolling green hills dotted with sheep.

Sally drank it in. Sheep. How many people could look out of their window in London and see sheep?

All Creatures Great and Small. That had been one of her favourite TV programmes. And she’d always had a secret weakness for Postman Pat. There were hills and sheep galore in Greendale.

Was this all simply a coincidence or could it be a sign that she was meant to live somewhere hilly and popular with sheep? Where men were men and true love still existed? Where people called you lass and made you welcome?

Heartbeat. Was that set in Yorkshire? Yes it was.

Where the Heart Is? Tick, ditto.

The Royal. Ha, yes, so was that. And there was a reason why so many feel-good cosy Sunday evening dramas were set in Yorkshire. It was because Yorkshire was a cosy feel-good place to live.

And there was a Harvey Nichols in Leeds .. .

‘Hello? Sally?’ Roger was holding the dish of fish pie, waving the ladle to attract her attention.

Having caught it, he said jovially, ‘What are you thinking? You’re miles away!’

‘I’m not.’ Sally moved her fork to one side, allowing him to spoon another helping of delicious fish pie onto her plate. ‘But you never know. I could be.’

’I’ve got some good news for you,’ said Sally.

‘Oh?’ Gabe halted in the doorway, clearly surprised to see her still up at one o’clock in the morning.

‘Great news. Happy news.You’re going to be thrilled. It might even make you crack a smile.’

Sally was drinking Pernod and water, which was unbelievably disgusting but she’d been in need of Dutch courage and there hadn’t been anything else alcoholic in the flat. Talking things through with Lola would have helped but Lola was away for the night, being wined and dined at a publisher’s dinner being held in a hotel in Berkshire.

She had to do this on her own. Well, with the aid of Pernod.

‘Go on then,’ said Gabe. ‘Thrill me.’

Having psyched herself up to tell him, Sally abruptly lost her temper.

‘See? See? You’re still doing it!’ Her eyes narrowed and her voice rose as Gabe chucked his jacket over the back of the chair. ‘Even now! I’m trying to tell you something that you’ll want to hear and you’re being all distant and sarcastic.’

‘I’m sorry. Right, I’m listening. See?’ Gabe made his face, deliberately blank. ‘Not being sarcastic at all.’

And now he was treating her like a child. Her stomach in knots, Sally blurted out, ‘Well, don’t worry, soon you can be as sarky as you like because I won’t be here to see it. I’m moving out.’

A muscle was going in Gabe’s jaw For a couple of seconds he just stood there looking at her.

Then he turned away. ‘Right. Good for you.’

‘Is that it?’ Adrenaline was sloshing through her body. ‘Is that all you’re going to say?’

‘What else do you want me to say? OK, I’ve got something. Have you told Lola yet?’

‘What?’ Sally took a step back. ‘No, because she’s not here. I’ll tell her tomorrow when she gets back.’

Gabe raised an eyebrow. ‘And how do you think she’ll react?’

‘Oh, come on, it’s not that big a deal!’

‘Sure about that?’

‘We’re all adults!’

‘But you haven’t mentioned it before now, have you?’

‘Because I only decided tonight! My God, why are you being like this? I’m leaving.’ Pernod flew out of Sally’s glass as she flung her arms wide. ‘Isn’t that enough? I thought you’d be delighted to have me out of here. And what’s this about?’ Agitatedly jabbing a finger at his discarded jacket, she cried, ‘You spend your life nagging me but it’s OK for you to act like a slob. Would it kill you to hang that up?’

Slowly and deliberately, Gabe picked up the jacket. As he made his way past her he murmured,

‘Poor sod, does he know what he’s letting himself in for?’

Will you shut up? I’ve worked for him for the last two years, haven’t I? So I can’t be that unbearable!’

Gabe stopped dead. ‘Worked for who?’

‘Dr Willis!’

He gazed at her in utter disbelief. ‘You’re having an affair with Dr Willis?’

‘What?’ Sally let out a shriek. ‘For crying out loud, what are you on? How could you think I’m having an affair with Dr Willis?’

‘But ... but ..

‘He’s old.’ Sally wailed. ‘And he’s married.’

‘So who are you moving in with?’

‘Dr Willis. And his wife. But I won’t be living with them, not in the same house. It’s a self-contained annexe.’ Sally mimed self-containment with her hands. ‘When I wake up in the morning I’ll see sheep.’

Gabe was gazing at the almost empty glass of Pernod. ‘How many of those have you had?’

‘One. It’s vile. And can we please stop arguing now, because I’m not moving out tonight. I’m going to be here for another four weeks yet.’

He shook his head in confusion. ‘I don’t understand the bit about the sheep. At all.’

‘There’s loads of them, all over the hills.’

Gabe said evenly, ‘Where are these sheep? Where is this house?’

‘Near Skipton. In Yorkshire. That’s where I’m going to be living.’ As she said the words, Sally wondered if she really wanted to go. ‘Living and working. It’s a fresh start.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because I’m hoping it’s going to be nicer than living in London. My boss is moving to Yorkshire and he offered me a job in his new practice.You don’t want me here in this flat, you’ve made that perfectly obvious. Of course I’ll miss Lola, but it’s not going to stop me ...

Skipton’s a really friendly place, I’ll meet loads of new people, the views are—’

‘So what happened?You and Nick broke up? Or is he moving up there too?’

For a split second she couldn’t work out who he meant. ‘Nick who?’

Gabe gave her a look. ‘Come on. I know.’

Sally didn’t know what he knew, but she- felt herself flushing anyway. Great waves of heat and shame swept over her. If Gabe knew, that meant Nick must have told him. Except ... oh God ... it was far more likely that Nick would have told Lola who in turn had told Gabe, so basically they’d all been laughing at her behind her back.

‘OK, I get it.’ As her flush deepened Gabe said dismissively, ‘You’re moving up there together.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Sally stared at him; how could he even think this? ‘I’m not having an affair with Lola’s dad!’

‘You mean it’s over?’

‘I mean it never happened!’

‘No? Take a look in the mirror.’ Gabe’s tone was triumphant. ‘If it’s not true, tell me why you’ve gone redder than a traffic light.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, are we in court?’ That was it; Sally lost the last vestige of control. ‘Are you the lawyer for the prosecution? Not that it’s any business of yours, but just to shut you up and get you off my back, the reason I’ve gone red is because, OK, I did have a bit of a crush on Lola’s dad a while back and I did make a complete idiot of myself one afternoon telling him I liked him. But he was very nice about it and turned me down really gently, and I don’t know what makes you think it ever went any further than that, but it definitely didn’t. And if you don’t mind, I’d really prefer it if Lola never found out.’ Unable to meet his gaze, she said, ‘Can we stop talking about this now? It’s humiliating.’

No reply. Sally carried on staring at the floor. Finally she heard Gabe say, ‘There’s nothing going on between you?’

Her hands clenched in frustration. ‘For God’s sake! Isn’t that what I just said?’

‘Sorry. Just checking. The afternoon you made a bit of an idiot of yourself ...’

‘An awful lot of an idiot of myself’ In fact, actually admitting it out loud felt quite cathartic.

‘OK, but was it a Sunday afternoon?’

Sally nodded and gritted her teeth, cringing at the memory. The ridiculous thing was, she no longer even thought about Lola’s dad. The crush had died as quickly as it had sprung up, almost as if subconsciously she’d always known it would never turn into anything more. ‘Yes, it was a Sunday. Lola was working. You were off out somewhere.’

‘And you and Nick were standing over there, by the window’ As he pointed, a glimmer of a smile appeared at the corners of Gabe’s mouth for the first time in what felt like months.

‘I suppose so. Yes.’ Admittedly she’d been slightly the worse for drink at the time but not so far gone that she couldn’t remember the way the winter sunlight had streamed through the window, lighting up the glints in Nick’s dark hair ... oh! The penny dropped. ‘You were outside the flat!’

Her mouth fell open. ‘You were watching me make a prat of myself!’

‘I didn’t know you were making a prat of yourself. He had his arms around you.’

‘He was keeping me upright. And I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but I’ve had a bit of a bad leg.’ Sally couldn’t believe what she was witnessing; before her very eyes Gabe was metamorphosing from the tetchy grump of the past few weeks back into the old sparkly-eyed human Gabe she’d missed so desperately since the evil twin had taken his place.Chapter Chapter 51

’I thought you were shagging him.’ Gabe’s whole face had changed, cleared. He was smiling now with what appeared to be relief.

Glad the misunderstanding had been cleared up but mystified by the relief, Sally said, ‘Is that why you’ve been so stroppy and weird?’

He hesitated, then nodded. ‘You could say that.’

‘All because you thought I was having a thing with Nick? Would Lola really have hated it that much?’

There was that old familiar smile again, as if he knew something she didn’t. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Gabe said, ‘No idea.’

‘But that’s why you were so iffy.’

A longer pause this time. Much longer. Finally he raked his hair back with his fingers.

‘Actually, that wasn’t why I was ... iffy. I just didn’t think you should be seeing him.’

‘You didn’t approve? Because of the age difference?’ Sally hazarded. Blimey, who’d have thought it? ‘But he’s only twelve years older than me.’

Gabe grinned, shook his head and looked ... well, to be honest she wasn’t absolutely sure how he looked. If it had been anyone else she might have said embarrassed.

Finally he took a deep breath. ‘OK, I can’t quite believe I’m standing here saying this, but the reason I wasn’t happy about it—’

‘Not happy about it? Ha, that’s an understatement!’

‘Don’t interrupt,’ Gabe ordered. ‘Let me get this out before I lose my nerve. The reason I was bloody furious about it was because I was . I was ...’

Encouragingly Sally said, ‘Spit it out.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud, it was because I was jealous.’ He threw both hands up in the air. ‘There.

Said it. Now you know.’ Sally stopped dead in her tracks. Surely not, surely not .. . Gabe shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

‘Oh my God. Gabe! That explains so much,’ Sally blurted out. ‘I even guessed! I asked Lola and she said I was wrong, but I knew, right from the word go!’

‘You did?’ It was Gabe’s turn to look stunned.

‘I knew before I even met you.’

‘What?’

‘The whole tidiness thing.’ She was triumphant. ‘Dead giveaway. Keeping everything neat and always nagging me to clear up my stuff. All that hassle about not leaving my plates on the carpet. Forever complaining when I forget to hang up the towels in the bathroom. It’s so obvious.’

‘You really think I’m gay?’

Flummoxed, Sally said, ‘Isn’t that what you’re telling me?’

‘No’ Gabe clutched his head, looking as if he was on the brink of tearing his hair out. His eyes, wide with disbelief, fixed on hers. The next moment he reached out and grabbed her.

Before Sally knew what was happening, she was being kissed. His warm mouth covered hers, her whole body was pressed against Gabe’s, her skin was zinging like sherbet and ... cut.

Just as abruptly as it had begun, the kiss ended. Gabe let her go and she was left standing there like a cartoon character, dazed and panting and with confusion in the form of giant question marks exploding out of her head.

‘I can’t believe you thought I was gay.’ Gabe was breathing, heavily too.

‘But ...’

‘Oh shit, this is all going wrong. I thought I could do it but I can’t.’

Before she could react, he was gone. The door of the flat slammed shut behind him and Sally heard his footsteps clattering down the staircase. She sank down onto the sofa and clutched her hands tightly together to stop them trembling. Her palms were damp too; desperate though she was for a glug of Pernod she knew the glass would slip through her fingers and crash to the floor.

OK, concentrate. Gabe had jumped to the wrong conclusion. And so had she. He wasn’t gay, she was certainly convinced of that now And if he wasn’t jealous at the thought of Nick being involved with someone else, then it stood to reason that he had to be jealous at the thought of her seeing another man...

Shaking now, Sally replayed the incredible thought in her mind. But how could this be happening, exploding like a bomb in front of her with no warning at all?

And why was she feeling, amongst all the confusion and disbelief, as if it was something she’d been longing to happen for months?

But so secretly that she’d barely even acknowledged it, because it was simply the most unlikely scenario on the planet.

Sally wrapped her arms around her waist, rocking back and forth in order to think more clearly.

Had she, deep down, been seriously attracted to Gabe since the first time she’d clapped eyes on him?

Yes.

Had she ever considered doing anything about it? No.

Never.

Because it was like fancying George Clooney from afar. Millions of women did, it was an absolutely harmless pastime. But they also knew that if they happened to bump into George Clooney, the chances were that he probably wouldn’t fancy the pants off them in return and pester them for a date.

And that was pretty much how it felt, inwardly acknowledging that Gabe was gorgeous and funny and pretty damn fanciable – if a bit over-zealous in the tidiness department.

However – and it was a big however – you didn’t expect for a millisecond that anything would ever come of it because you knew so categorically you weren’t Gabe’s type.

Stumbling awkwardly to her feet, Sally headed for the chair over which he’d flung his leather jacket. Her heart flip-flopping like a landed fish, she felt in the inside pocket and pulled out his keys. His wallet and phone were in there too. He wasn’t going to get far without them.

But she couldn’t bear to sit here waiting for Gabe to come back. She had to find him before he had time to change his mind about her. Limping across to the window and flinging it open, Sally leaned out and searched the street below.

It was one thirty in the morning and there was no one inRadley Road. How much of a start had he got on her? Lifting her head, she called out, ‘Gabe,’ as loud as she dared. Then, louder still,

‘Ga-aaaaaabe,’ like a lone wolf howling in the forest.

After a few seconds she heard a window being thrown open somewhere close by and a male voice bellow, ‘Shut the fuck up.’

But it was OK, it didn’t matter, because the voice didn’t belong to Gabe. (That would have spoiled the moment.) Sally reached for her walking stick and hurried out of the flat. Where was Gabe? It was a cold night and all he was wearing was jeans and an old polo shirt. Clunk-step, clunk-step went the stick against the stairs, interspersed with the sound of her rapid breathing.

Then halfway down the staircase she saw the outline of a figure in the shadows, a scruffily dressed figure with messy hair leaning against the far wall of the darkened hallway.

Sally abruptly stopped. Now that she’d found him she didn’t know what to say. ‘I heard the front door. I thought you’d left.’ Gabe shook his head. ‘I was going to. Then I realised I didn’t have my keys.’

‘Or your jacket. You’d have been cold.’

‘That too.’ The whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness. ‘You could have stayed upstairs,’

said Sally.

‘I couldn’t. Too scared. I told you, I never expected to feel like this.’

‘Me neither.’

She saw him nod. ‘Bit of a shock?’

‘Quite a lot of a shock.’ Gathering her courage, Sally said, ‘But a nice one.’

He was watching her carefully. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I thought I drove you mad. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to be tidier.’

This time she caught a flash of white teeth. ‘I thought you were doing it to impress Lola’s dad.’

Sally shook her head, wondering if he could hear the frantic thud-thud-thud of her heart from down there. ‘No, not him. You.’

‘I’m impressed.’

‘Well, don’t be. It’s not going to last.’ Sally felt it was only fair to warn him. ‘I gave it my best shot but the novelty’s wearing off.’ She paused. ‘Is that going to make a difference?’

‘I don’t know. Not if you’re moving up to Yorkshire.’

How could everything change so drastically in a matter of minutes?

‘I suppose I don’t have to move up to Yorkshire. Seeing as the main reason I was planning on doing it was to get away from the miserable old git I was sharing a flat with.’

Gabe stepped out of the shadows, came to stand at the foot of the staircase. He touched his chest.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’ Feeling braver, Sally said, ‘Come here.’

He climbed the stairs separating them. This time she knew he was going to kiss her. What she hadn’t expected was for her trembling knees to give way, mid-kiss. Smiling broadly, Gabe gently lowered her onto the stairs and carried on kissing her. God, he was so good at it and his neck smelled so gorgeous, he was ... whoops .. .

The walking stick she’d left propped against the banister toppled over and went clattering down the staircase. Sally squeaked, ‘Oh no!’ and attempted to muffle her laughter against Gabe’s shoulder.

Gabe whispered, ‘Don’t worry, he’s asleep.’

He wasn’t. The door to the ground floor flat was wrenched open and Mr Kowalski, his white hair standing up like acockatiel, bent down and picked up the walking stick. He turned, in his green and white striped flannel pyjamas, and eyed Sally and Gabe balefully.

‘You two! Vot arr you doing, huh? Making sex on ze stairs in ze mittle of ze night?’

‘Sorry, Mr Kowalski. Didn’t mean to wake you.’ Gabe grinned apologetically. ‘We weren’t ...

um, making sex on the stairs.’

‘Ha. Pretty close, if you ask me.’ Shaking his head, the old man skilfully threw the stick up to them, Gene Kelly style. Equally skilfully Gabe caught it. ‘Thanks.’

‘Off, off you go! You make sex in your own beds and leave me to sleep in mine.’ Having gestured extravagantly at the ceiling he shuffled back into his flat muttering, ‘Too much noise, too much sex, tuh.’

Sally buried her face in Gabe’s chest.

‘Sounds good to me,’ Gabe murmured, standing and helping her to her feet.

By the time they reached the flat, Sally was light-headed with lust, dizzy with joy and minus her shoes. As Gabe lifted her into his arms to carry her through to the bedroom, his mobile burst into life.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, just leave it.’

Fretfully, Sally said, ‘I hate not answering a phone.’

‘It’s not your phone.’

As well as ringing, the mobile was switched to vibrate. When Sally had taken it from his jacket pocket she’d left it, along with his keys, on the glass coffee table. Now it was buzzing and jiggling ever closer to the edge.

‘It’s going to fall, it’s going to fall off, I hate it when that happens.’ Sally flapped her free hand agitatedly and Gabe, still carrying her, veered back across the living room.

She scooped up the phone and answered it. ‘Yes?’

‘Oh hi, it’s Maurice, is Gabe there?’

‘Hi, Maurice.’ Sally knew this was one of Gabe’s fellow paps. ‘I’m afraid Gabe has his hands full at the moment. Can I give him a message?’

‘Right, sure.The thing is, I’m down in Brighton at the moment but I’ve just heard from a reliable source that George Clooney was spotted twenty minutes ago sneaking into a house in Notting Hill with a classy-looking redhead. Nobody else knows about it and I owe Gabe a favour so I thought he might like a chance at an exclusive. The address is 15 Carmel Villas.’

‘OK, got that.’ Sally’s heart sank; what rotten timing. ‘Thanks, Maurice, I’ll tell him. Bye.’

‘George Clooney?’ said Gabe, who had been listening in. ‘Mystery redhead? Notting Hill?’

‘Fifteen Carmel Villas.’ It was the perfect tip-off; Carmel Villas was less than a minute away on foot. When she’d been leaning out of the living room window just now yelling Gabe’s name, George might actually have heard her. He might even have been the one who’d yelled at her to shut the fuck up. No, surely not, George would never be that rude.

Put me down,’ said Sally. ‘You have to go.’

But Gabe was shaking his head, grinning that devil-may-care, easy-going grin she hadn’t seen for so long. ‘No I don’t.’

‘Gabe. You can’t miss a chance like this.’

‘Switch the phone off. Stop thinking about George Clooney.’ Kicking open the door to his immaculate bedroom, Gabe said, ‘Just this once, why don’t we let the man have his fun without being interrupted?’

He was about to lower her onto the crisp, spotless, geometrically aligned white duvet. Sally, her arms entwined around hisneck, whispered, ‘I’m warning you, I’m going to make your bed awfully untidy’

Gabe’s eyes softened as they sank down together.’I’m counting on it.’

Chapter 52.

Sometimes you went away for a couple of days and it felt like a couple of days. Other times you went away for a couple of days and when you got back everything was different.

Lola felt as if she’d been away for a year.

‘What’s going on?’ She walked into Gabe’s flat and saw the look on Sally’s face. Total, total giveaway.

‘What?’ Sally half laughed in that way people do when they’re trying so hard to appear innocent.

‘Hey, you’re back!’ Gabe, emerging from the kitchen with a tea towel slung over one shoulder and a cold beer in his hand, said with delight, ‘Come here,’ and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

Ha, confirmation if any was needed. He’d been like a bear with a sore brain for weeks. And now he was kissing her. What’s more, the atmosphere in the room was positively zingy.

‘We’ve missed you,’ Gabe went on cheerfully — and he definitely hadn’t been cheerful for weeks. ‘How did the book thing go?’

‘Great’ Lola indicated the bag she was carrying, emblazoned with the name of the publishing company that had hosted theevent. ‘They gave me lots of books. I was just asking Sal what’s going on.’

‘Hmm? In what way?’ Now it was Gabe’s turn to look innocent, like a six-year-old being asked what had happened to the last Jaffa cake.

‘You and Sally,’ said Lola. She narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. ‘Shagging’

‘Oh my God!’ Sally let out a shriek of disbelief. ‘How did you know? How can you tell?’

‘OK, three reasons. One,’ Lola counted on her fingers, ‘Gabe’s stopped being a miserable old git. Two, you look so sparkly there’s only one thing that can have caused that.’

‘Sparkly? Do I really?’ Sally rushed over to the mirror.

‘And three, I just bumped into Mr Kowalski on his way out to the paper shop. He happened to mention you’d been making sex on ze stairs.’

‘Oh bum!’ wailed Sally. ‘We wanted to tell you ourselves.’

‘If you hadn’t woken up poor Mr Kowalski, you could have.’

‘OK, but we weren’t actually doing it, not out there on the stairs. I just accidentally dropped my stick.’

Ha, not to mention her knickers! Lola was still struggling to take in the news, but in all honesty not as stunned as she could have been. It was one of those scenarios that was so bizarre it made sense, so wrong it was almost right. Hadn’t she wondered from the word go whether Sally and Gabe would be drawn to each other, if they found each other physically attractive but were so at loggerheads that they simply couldn’t bring themselves to admit it?

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Gabe. ‘But I’m crazy about her.’

‘She’ll drive you mad,’ said Lola.

‘Probably. OK, definitely.’ He slid an arm around Sally’s waist. ‘But she’s been doing that since the day she moved in. I’m used to it now.’