A Walk in the Park (16 page)

Six days had passed and Lara had left two more messages with James Agnew's cleaning lady. She had also called the house an embarrassing number of times and failed to get any reply. Wherever he'd gone on vacation, he wasn't back yet. It didn't help either that Gigi had brightly suggested the woman at the other end of the phone might be James's current ladyfriend, fobbing off potential rivals by pretending to be his foreign I-know-nussing cleaner.

Anyway, she had her new job to keep her occupied. Don Temple was great company in the shop. Fond of gossip and as camp as Christmas, he was capable of keeping up the most scurrilous running commentaries on the people walking past the window, which would get him sued for slander if they ever heard him. He sang too, and encouraged Lara to join in. His regular customers loved him and he was hugely popular with the ladies, in that flirtatious way only truly nonthreatening men could get away with.

In fact it was happening right now. The customer, a well-kept woman in her late sixties, had come in ostensibly to have the claws checked on her diamond bracelet. In reality she was doing her level best to convince Don to join her for a few days at her timeshare in the Algarve. “Darling, you'd love it, you know you would! And we'd have such
fun
together. Oh, please say you'll come… I do so hate going on my own.”

By the time the woman eventually left, she'd persuaded him to at least consider the offer, before sweeping out of the shop in a cloud of Dior No. 19.

“Bless her heart, it's hard to say no.” Don raised his neat eyebrows and shook his head as the door clanged shut behind her. “She's lonely since her husband died. I'm still not going, mind.”

“Why not?” said Lara. “You might have a brilliant time. I can look after the shop for you.”

“That's not what I'm worried about. She invited me to a dinner party at her house last year. Wanted me to…
stay
behind
, if you know what I mean, after all the other guests had left.” He shuddered fastidiously. “Poor darling, completely desperate.”

“Oops.” Lara grinned, envisaging his horror. “Thought she could turn you, did she?”

For a fraction of a second there was silence. Then Don frowned and said, “Turn me into what?”

Help, backpedal,
backpedal
. “Um, I mean she was trying to win you over, make you change your mind about her.”

But Don was giving her an odd look. “No, you don't mean that. You said
turn
. Like you assumed I was gay. And now you're blushing. Is that what you really think?”

Well, this was awkward. “No, not at all!” Lara felt her traitorous face turn the color of ketchup. “OK, maybe I did. Just… you know, the tiniest bit.”

“How strange. Why would you imagine I was gay?” He seemed genuinely surprised. Did that mean he didn't know? Was he actually oblivious to the impression he created with his fussy, gossipy persona, his great passion for show tunes, and his pointy little patent-leather shoes?

“Sorry, I'm so sorry… it must have been when you said you'd never married or had children… I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Mortified, Lara said, “Because I'm an idiot.”

“Oh, darling, don't worry about it, I'm not offended. To be honest, it's happened once or twice before. I just never expect people to think it, so it takes me by surprise every time.” Don tilted his head to one side like a quizzical blackbird. “D'you know, I sometimes think I must come across as a bit camp.”

A
bit
camp? This from the man who kept a buffer about his person at all times so he could polish his fingernails to a mirror-bright shine?

Aloud she said, “It doesn't matter to me either way.”

“I know, darling. But I'm not gay, never have been. I like the ladies,” Don confided happily. “Maybe it does surprise people sometimes. Just because I dress nicely and take care of my appearance.” His eyes twinkled as he smoothed his immaculately pressed trousers. “But we can't all be hulking great burping, beer-swilling rugby players, can we?”

Lara said with feeling, “I'm extra glad you're not one of those.”

***

“…so he's completely hetero.” Lara chopped up the tomatoes and threw them into the salad bowl. “I couldn't believe it. And the next thing I know, he's booking tickets for us to go and see
Les
Mis
at the Bristol Hippodrome. He's the gayest straight man on the planet.”

“Good for him.” Flynn had called in on the way back from work to let her know that Gigi had gone to the gym but would be home in an hour. “Maybe it's his way of getting women to relax in his company and trust him.” He paused. “Maybe I should give it a go.”

“You could definitely try that.” Lara added sliced spring onions and reached for the olive oil and balsamic vinegar mixture she'd whizzed up earlier. Pouring it into the bowl, she began tossing the salad with her fingers, lifting the leaves high into the air as she'd seen Jamie Oliver doing on TV the other day because it helped to distribute the dressing more evenly, apparently, plus it was more cheffy and artistic and made you look like a pro in the kitchen.

“So you think acting gay might help me?” Flynn leaned against the countertop and pinched a crouton from the blue dish next to her.

“When you're as shy and retiring with the girls as you are, you need all the help you can get.”

“I do have a couple of pink shirts.” He thought for a moment. “And I was dragged along to the ballet once.”

“Did you like it?”

Flynn gave her a look. “No.”

“You need to get more in touch with your feminine side,” said Lara. “Talk about your emotions and how you're feeling.”

“Right now I'm feeling hungry.” He was reaching for the croutons again. She nudged him away with her non-oily forearm and Flynn gave her a playful nudge back.

“Hey, leave them alone.” Lara whisked the blue dish out of reach, sadly misjudging the oiliness of her hands. The dish slipped from her grasp and went skidding across the countertop. Launching herself after it, she collided with Flynn and her elbow sent the salad bowl flying across the kitchen—

“Noooo,” yelped Lara.

“Oh dear.” Flynn pulled a face as they surveyed the mess; by some miracle the bowl hadn't broken but the floor was now strewn with glistening salad. “That was careless of you.”

“Careless of
me
?” Lara gasped at the slur. “It was your fault!”

He shook his head. “Oh no, it was definitely your elbow.”

Lara picked a crouton out of the blue dish and threw it at him. Flynn deftly caught it in his left hand and placed it between his teeth. “Thanks.”

“You made me knock the salad on the floor.” She threw more croutons at him; he caught and ate each one in turn.

“Only because you physically assaulted me. In fact,” Flynn rolled up his shirtsleeve, “I think you might have broken my arm.”

Then he rolled up the other sleeve and together they began collecting up the oily lettuce leaves, the skittery cherry tomatoes, the chunks of avocado, and the fiddly little slivers of spring onions.

“What's really annoying,” said Lara, “is I used my very best balsamic instead of the cheap one.”

“I'll buy you another bottle for your birthday.” Their heads were close together as they began wiping up the oil with a paper towel. Flynn paused to glance across at her. “You still have those long eyelashes.”

“It'd be pretty weird if I didn't.”

He was smiling slightly. “True. You also have salad dressing on your cheek.”

“That would be your fault.” Lara was bare-legged, her skirt hitched up as she knelt—glamorously—on a square of paper towel. Inches away, crouching rather than kneeling in order to spare his black trousers, Flynn adjusted his balance and reached up to smooth the shininess away with the back of his index finger. The next moment he wiped it slowly and deliberately on the other cheek instead.

His
eyes, oh those beautiful eyes
. Lara picked up a dressing-coated leaf of lollo rosso and carefully stuck it to the side of his face.

Here they were, surrounded by bits of salad, and now it felt as though they were gazing into each other's souls. Lara was abruptly ambushed by lust. Flynn reached across and smudged the dressing across the bridge of her nose. It was like being sixteen again. He truly did have the most incredible mouth. She found herself extending a hand without meaning to and experimentally brushing her fingertips across his lips, so soft compared with the golden stubble on his jaw. There hadn't been as much of
that
when he was sixteen, but otherwise every line and angle was achingly familiar…

And now he was cradling the back of her head, drawing her toward him, and she was peeling the lettuce leaf off the side of his face. His breath was warm, her heart was cantering away, and their mouths were meeting and all those years of trying to remember exactly how that had felt were melting away, because it was all coming back to her…this was the mouth, this was the kiss… it was both the same and better, and she just wanted it to go on and on and never st—

“Dad? Dad!” The front door opened and slammed shut, sending them ricocheting apart like violently opposing magnets. “You'll never guess what, there was a power cut at the gym and they sent us all home! I ran all the way! Eurrgh, what happened in
here
?”

What
indeed?

“Your mum knocked the salad onto the floor.” Flynn recovered first. “I was helping her clear up the mess.”

“It was his fault, not mine. He made me do it.” Lara grabbed a handful of kitchen roll and began spraying the floor wildly with the bottle of cleaner she'd managed to kick over while they'd been otherwise occupied.

“Mum's always been accident-prone. Well, you probably know that. Anyway, guess who I just had a text from?”

Lara looked up, because Gigi was addressing her and sounding excited. “Who?”

“Harry!”

“Don't be daft, Harry doesn't know how to text.” Harry did in fact own a cheap mobile, but he used it as gingerly as if it were an unexploded grenade and spoke into it like someone from the nineteen fifties.

Gigi shrugged. “Well, he does now. And he wanted to know if we're in tonight, because if we are he'll pop round.”

“How can he pop round?” Lara frowned; was Harry drunk? “Has he bought a Tardis? Are you sure it wasn't a joke text from one of your friends?”

“It came from his number. By the way, you've got a bit of lettuce in your hair.” Gigi helpfully picked it out. “How did you manage that?”

Er…

“Who's Harry?” said Flynn.

“Oh, you remember, the one with the shirt factory and the rapper friend. You
do
remember,” Gigi insisted when he continued to look blank. “I told you about him. The one that married Mum.”

Flynn may have spent the last couple of weeks being bombarded with information, relevant or otherwise, by his newfound daughter, but his face was a picture now. This bit of information evidently took the cake. Her emotions in a fizz as it was, Lara spluttered with laughter and said, “I'm not married to him
now
.”

Between them they cleaned up the mess, then Lara set about making another salad.

“So were you going to mention this husband at any stage,” Flynn said finally, “or was it just not interesting enough to bother me with?”

Well, he was bound to ask.

“It didn't occur to me to tell you.” Lara was busy chopping up yet more tomatoes. “It honestly wasn't that important. I suppose I thought Gigi might have mentioned it.”

“And I thought Mum had probably already said something,” Gigi chimed in. “So in the end neither of us did. But it doesn't matter anyway. It's hardly relevant.”

“Not relevant that you had a stepfather?” Flynn raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he swung his gaze back to Lara. “Not relevant that you married another man? When you told me you'd brought Gigi up as a single mother, that there hadn't been anyone else, that it had been such a terrible struggle,
just
the
two
of
you
on
your
own
…?”

“OK, let me explain.” Lara put down the knife. “It was just one of those stupid mistakes. It didn't even last a year. All I wanted was to be a good mother and make Gigi happy. When she was four, she started preschool. One day she came home and asked me where her daddy was. She said other children had daddies and she wanted one too.”

“I can't remember any of this, by the way,” Gigi put in helpfully. “I don't remember saying it at all.”

“Well, you did.” Aware that Flynn might feel she should have used this as an opportunity to contact him and keen to avoid
that
argument again, Lara said, “Anyway, I was twenty years old and there weren't many boys in the area interested in hooking up with someone in my situation. But Harry was there, and he was different from the rest of them. He was twenty-three and he liked me. We were good friends.”

“He felt sorry for you,” said Gigi. “Harry always wants to do the right thing,” she explained to Flynn. “He likes to be helpful, it's just the way he is. He's lovely.”

“So you told him you wanted to get married,” Flynn turned back to Lara, “and he went along with it?”

Did this paint her in a really bad light? Well, there was nothing she could do about that. “Yes, he did. But I didn't force him,” said Lara. “He offered. He'd known Gigi since she was born. He already loved her. And she adored him. At the time it just seemed perfect, the answer to everything.”

“Except you didn't love him. Or did you?”

She prevaricated. No, of course she hadn't loved Harry, not in that way. But as a friend you couldn't have asked for more. He was thoughtful and unselfish, and had done her the biggest favor just when she most needed it.

“I wanted us to be a happy family. We tried to make it work. Harry's a good man.” Lara did her best to explain. “I hoped we could, you know, grow into a couple. I thought the whole falling-in-love thing was probably massively overrated and we could get by as we were.”

“But you said it lasted less than a year.” Flynn was leaning against the fridge, watching her intently. “What happened?”

“It just didn't work out.” Lara had no intention of telling him the real reason; it was none of his business. “We were like two kids playing house, pretending to be a couple. It was wrong. We kept waiting for everything to click into place and start feeling normal…
real
… but it just didn't happen. We realized we'd made a mistake and cut our losses. Me and Gigi moved back in with Nettie. But there weren't any hard feelings. We've stayed friends ever since.”

“And how about you?” Flynn turned to Gigi. “Did you like having him as a stepfather?”

“I don't remember any of it. I was a flower girl at the wedding”—Gigi spread her arms—“and I can't even remember being there. But there are photos, so I definitely was!”

“We did it because she wanted a daddy. Ironically,” said Lara, “she never did call him that. It was always Harry. Except she couldn't pronounce her
r
's back then.”

“I used to call him Hawwy.” Gigi beamed at Flynn. “So don't worry, no need to get jealous. After all these years you're the first one I've ever called Dad.”

“And I'm the last one you're going to call Dad.”

“Anyway,” Lara hastily chimed in. “Like I said, no harm done. Harry's been like an uncle to her.”

Gigi said fondly, “The kind of uncle you can tease because he doesn't know who Ashton Kutcher is or he's never heard of N-Dubz. But if you're stuck on some really stinky history homework, he'll spend ages helping you out.”

“I'd have helped you too,” said Flynn.

“I know you would.” Gigi gave his arm a squeeze. “It's OK, you don't have to get competitive. I'm just saying.”

Lara's phone rang and Harry's name flashed up. “Speak of the devil. We were just talking about you.”

“Hi, yes, it's me.” Harry never failed to be amazed by caller ID. “Um, you're at home, right?”

“Yes! Where are you? What's going on?”

“I'm in Bath. Is it all right if I come round?”

“Of course it's all right, but I still don't know what you're doing down here!”

“I'll tell you in a minute.” Music was playing in the background; Harry sounded weirdly as if he were in a nightclub. “Look, you can say no if you want, that's perfectly fine.” He sounded tentative. “But is it OK if I bring a friend?”

***

Gigi peered out of the window, saw the enormous car draw up outside, and realized she was right. Oh wow, oh seriously wow.

“Mum, they're here. And it isn't a girlfriend. Oh my God, this is the maddest thing ever!” She flung open the front door, about to race across the gravel, then abruptly braked because racing would make her look like a groupie.

So Gigi sauntered instead, although it was hard to saunter with insouciance when you were walking barefoot over gravel. Too late she made the discovery that shoes might have been an idea.

Then people began jumping out of the huge car and there was Harry, dwarfed by the size of his companions and looking very conservative in comparison.

“Harry! My feet hurt!” Gigi waved both her arms and he hurried over to her, enveloping her in a hug.

“Hello, Pud. Look, sorry about this, I've got Enjay and the boys with me, are you sure Lara won't mind?”

Harry had called her Pudding for as long as she could remember. Gigi hugged him back. “Of course she won't mind. It's brilliant to see you again.”

“There's going to be a bit of filming too, I'm afraid. It's for his TV show. If it gets too much, just say and I'll make them stop.” Lara had joined them and Harry included her in the apologetic explanation while behind him the video camera was already whirring away.

“We saw the stuff on YouTube,” Gigi told him. “You're so funny together.”

“I know, even though I don't mean to be.” Harry gave her a bemused look. “Everyone's calling us the Odd Couple. It's been the most surreal couple of weeks you can imagine.”

Lara said, “Why are you doing it then?”

“Because they're paying me a ludicrous amount of money.” He shrugged then said good-naturedly, “And it's also quite good fun. We're staying in all the best hotels. I have my own
suite
, can you believe it? Right, let me introduce you now. He's as mad as a box of frogs but just pretend you haven't noticed. The trick is not to put up with any silly nonsense.”

Enjay approached them and the introductions were made. Gigi found it hard not to stare at him, simply because she'd never been this close to a properly famous person before. Until now her biggest claim to fame was once colliding with Keith Chegwin on a pavement because she'd been fiddling with her iPod.

And this was EnjaySeven. He smelled wonderful and his T-shirt was eye-blindingly white to match his pointy teeth. His skin was sheeny and poreless, the exact same color as her favorite River Island handbag. He had cheekbones to die for and short curly eyelashes framing intelligent, almond-shaped eyes. As for the way he was looking at her… well, that was bordering on intimate. Gigi felt her heart do a bit of a skip. Crikey, she was in the presence of some serious charisma.

“Gigi. That's a beautiful name.” His gaze lingered on her face as he said it. If he added “for a beautiful girl” it would be nauseating and such a letdown; Gigi held her breath and waited for him to spoil everything.

But he didn't. He shook her hand and flashed her a charming smile before moving on to Lara.

Wow again, EnjaySeven just said she had a beautiful name. Talk about cool. He had a pretty fit body too; with pecs like that he must spend hours in the gym.

Shame he was so old.

***

Only Harry, Enjay, and Maz the cameraman came into the house. The others, reassured that their boss was in safe hands, headed back to the hotel for dinner. Gigi proudly introduced Flynn to Harry and experienced a rush of sheer joy when Harry said, “She's a lovely girl,” and Flynn replied, “Couldn't ask for more.” It was one of those moments. And then they had to update Harry on the whole James Agnew story. There was so much to catch up on. Back in Keswick, Harry had needed to employ more machinists to keep up with the demand for shirts.

“It's bizarre,” said Harry. “People keep wanting to interview me for magazines. I've told them there's no point, I'm too boring to be interviewed, but they won't give up.”

“So he's refusing to speak to them,” Enjay added with amusement. “It's driving them wild. PR genius, man. The more he says no, the more desperate they are to get hold of him. But for the moment Harry's all ours.”

Lara said, “How long are you here for?”

“A week, maybe more. Who knows? The tour starts next month, so we're doing this for the TV series… Enjay in the UK, being shown around by Harry, introduced to different people and places. And Bath's a picturesque city, right? Lots of tourists visit here. We're gonna do some filming at the thermal spa tomorrow, gonna get our man Harry into some cool swimming trunks.”

“You most certainly are not,” Harry retorted.

Gigi said, “Oh, Harry, you should. Those spa pools are amazing.”

“Maybe you could come with me instead.” Enjay eyed her with a lazy smile. “Harry's too chicken. I guess he's just afraid of the water or something.”

“I'm not afraid of the water, I just don't want to appear on TV in a bathing suit.” Harry shook his head with an air of finality. “It's not dignified and it's not going to happen.”

“He means he's scared people will laugh at his little white legs. Whereas you”—Enjay returned his attention to Gigi—“wouldn't have to worry about that. Nobody would laugh at your legs. So how about it? Would you like to come for a swim in the spa with me, Gigi?”

He was saying it softly, like lyrics, as if it were a line in a song. Gigi said, “Yes, if you want. I don't mind!” Oh dear, did that sound too eager? “But I've got work tomorrow, so it'll have to be after that. Unless…?” She glanced across at Flynn, who had been keeping out of the way.

He shook his head fractionally. “You're working tomorrow.”

“OK.” Tuh, he didn't want her to go. Gigi brightened and said, “But we could do it tomorrow evening. There's a twilight package, you can go up and swim in the pools on the roof while the sun's setting and all the lights start going on in the city. That'll be even better!”

“Cool.” Enjay nodded to Maz, behind the camera, and said, “Fix that up, man. Give them a call.”

Excitement bubbled up. Gigi said, “I'll have to find my swimsuit!”

“What d'you mean, a swimsuit? Like an all-in-one thing?” Enjay looked taken aback.

“It's a nice one. Navy blue.”

“Can't you wear a bikini?”

“I haven't got a bikini. I had one last year but the chlorine made the material go all weird.”

“No problem.” Reaching into his back pocket, Enjay took out a wallet and peeled off several fifties. “Get yourself one tomorrow.”

Oh good grief, three hundred pounds? For
a
bikini
?

“That won't be necessary.” Flynn was shaking his head again. “You don't have to pay for a bikini.”

Was he cross? Gigi chimed in hurriedly, “It's fine, I can buy my own anyway, they're only a fiver in New Look.”

“Hey, let me do this. I don't want you appearing on my show in something that cost a fiver.”

Gigi looked across at the camera, then down at her short yellow-and-white-striped tank-style dress. “Well, I'm sorry, but I think it's far too late to say
that
.”