As Weekends Go (Choc Lit) (24 page)

Don’t be, she thought, closing her eyes. I’m as guilty as you are, mentioning parks when I knew damn well it could spark something off.

‘Rebecca?’

‘Yes, I’m still here.’ She sank down into the armchair. ‘Are you far from Battersea Park then?’

‘Kenny’s flat overlooks it. I’m standing on his balcony. Why? How far away from it are you?’

She placed one hand on her chest, hoping to still the whirlpool of excitement swirling within. ‘Twenty-five minutes by train, give or take. I’d probably catch the bus to East Croydon station and go from there. More choice, I would imagine, not that I’m an expert or anything, far from it …’ Her breath stole any remaining words from her.

‘I would have told you,’ he said, ‘about coming down, but …’

‘Alex, please don’t feel you have to explain anything. I shouldn’t have contacted you. It was unfair of me,’ she said, her heart aching for the man.

‘Are you okay, Rebecca?’

‘No. Not really,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

‘Can I see you? Can we talk somewhere? Today, I mean. I would suggest here at Kenny’s flat as he won’t be around at all, but I don’t want you to feel uneasy.’

‘I’d never feel uneasy with you,’ she said, wary of sounding desperate, yet knowing that even contemplating going to see him was madness.

‘Well, I’ll be here until around three o’clock, if not later. You could call me when you get to Battersea Park station and I’ll give you directions to Kenny’s flat. It’s a straightforward five to ten-minute walk. I’ll come down and meet you if you want me to.’

‘No, no. You’d be spotted.’

The brain fog descended, distorting Rebecca’s thoughts, her judgement.

‘
Rebecca?
’

‘Yes,’ she said, already on her feet and in the hallway. ‘Yes, I’ll come and see you.’

East Croydon station was packed when she arrived, with the school kids having broken up for the holidays, but armed with her recently topped-up pay-as-you-go Oyster card, Rebecca didn’t need to queue and made straight for the ticket barrier.

‘I must be bonkers,’ she muttered to herself, checking the information screen on the platform. Train to London Victoria – via Battersea Park – due in three minutes.

She hadn’t had time to pick and choose what to wear and had plumped for her freshly-ironed pink floral sundress that flared just below the knee, and her short-sleeved white cardigan and matching white pumps. She’d splashed a bit of colour on her cheeks and lips, grabbed her handbag, keys and sunglasses, and had rushed out of the door, re-tying her ponytail en route.

The train journey presented no problems. Two little boys, London Zoo bound with their grandmother, even offered Rebecca a Jaffa cake, excitedly informing her between mouthfuls, that they were going to see the pygmy hippa-poppa-musses.

She felt like an ogre waving them goodbye at Battersea Park station, two forlorn little faces, hands pressed against the glass, waving back at her, but it certainly helped settle her butterflies.

She turned right out of the station, almost colliding with an elderly man walking an Alsatian, and was about to take her phone out of her bag to call Alex, when it rang.

Greg.

Shit!
Why was he calling her? He’d said he wouldn’t ring her until tonight.

‘Where are you? I can barely hear you,’ he cried, after establishing his safe arrival in Manchester.

Aware of the traffic noise, including a pair of approaching fire engines, sirens wailing, Rebecca panicked. ‘In Croydon,’ she fibbed, crossing her fingers.

‘Well, note this down,’ he barked. ‘We have two more guests for Saturday’s barbecue. One of the guys I travelled up here with, and his wife. She’s vegetarian, so bear that in mind. We don’t want any embarrassing slip-ups. She’s big on mushrooms, if that helps? Thought I’d let you know as soon as possible in case you were going food shopping today.’

Rebecca had already told him she was ordering most of the food online. ‘I’ll add it to the list,’ she said, irked yet again by his tone and attitude.

‘Yeah, upstairs on the right.’

‘Greg, are you listening to me?’

‘Sorry, Bex. Nina wanted to know where the Ladies’ loos were. She and her colleagues only arrived ten minutes ago. We’re all due in a meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Rebecca stared at the phone after he’d rung off. Yes, she felt two-faced, given her whereabouts, but even so, she’d bet Alex wouldn’t speak to her like that.

You don’t know him well enough to say that, Rebecca.

Oh, yes I do,
said another little voice in her head, disputing it.

Alex had avoided hooking up with Tyra again in La Manga, intent on pouring every drop of sweat into his punishing pre-season training regime. He’d hoped to flush Rebecca out of his system, but if anything, his hunger for her had intensified.

Yet it wasn’t lust that drove him to ask her up to Kenny’s flat, but the false bravado he’d detected in her voice when they’d spoken on the phone, deepened by the knowledge of what really lay behind her reason for contacting him.

This mutual attraction of theirs was fighting its corner, but ultimately he’d have to back off, wouldn’t he? Imagine the strain he’d inflict upon her if he didn’t?

On them both, in fact.

She stood before him now in Kenny’s doorway, trying to look normal, breezy, blasé even, only making herself look more vulnerable to him. He’d buzzed her in from upstairs via the intercom, leaving Kenny’s door ajar, save her knocking. Luckily Millsy had a regular cleaner. The place would have resembled a dump otherwise.

‘Hello, you,’ she whispered, staring up at him, eyes searching, her flushed face breaking into a sheepish grin as the magic between them re-ignited.

He smiled down at her, clasping her upper arm as he bent to kiss her on the cheek, the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips, the scent of her, arousing him. ‘It’s really good to see you,’ he said, stifling the urge to hug her to him.

He gently kicked the door shut behind them with a trainer-clad foot, and led her into Kenny’s contemporary open plan lounge. ‘Coffee?’

‘That would be lovely,’ she said, confirming her preference for milk, no sugar.

Alex walked into the kitchen area, willing himself to keep a clear head, knowing the risks posed by the insanity of them being alone together.

He glanced round at her, afraid that if he kept his back to her for too long, she might change her mind and run away. She was standing beside the chunky expanse of glass and steel that was Kenny’s dining table, the sunlight highlighting the few blonde strands that had worked their way free of her ponytail.

Captivated, Alex watched her run her hand over the top of one of Kenny’s equally chunky high-backed chairs.

‘Different, aren’t they?’ he said, making her jump.

She pulled an apologetic face. ‘Characterless is the word I’d use.’

‘Bit like the rest of the flat.’ He brought two mugs of coffee into the sparsely furnished living room. ‘Not that I follow home interior trends but they’d have to pay me to have
that
on display.’ He nodded towards a framed picture of three red squiggles hanging on Kenny’s whitewashed wall.

Rebecca laughed. ‘Me, too!’

Alex motioned towards the balcony. ‘We could drink these outside if you like. View’s pretty good.’

‘Won’t people see us?’

‘Only if I dangle you over the railings,’ he said, grinning at her as he walked through the open French doors. He placed the mugs down on the glass-topped rattan table outside, then drew out a chair for her to sit beside him.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m probably making it sound as though every other passer-by will start waving and pointing at us like we’re on display. Well, at
you
, anyway. As down to earth as you are, though, you’re still Alex Heath.’

‘I was the last time I checked, yeah,’ he said, looking down at his khaki T-shirt and jeans, all serious-faced for a few seconds, then grinning at her.

She lowered her head, her cheeks flooding with colour. ‘You do make me smile.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, relieved to see her relax back into her chair a bit. ‘You saying about being on display – how did your shop window turn out, or haven’t you done it yet?’

She looked shocked that he’d remembered, then gave him the sunniest grin, the effect of it smacking him in the centre of his chest, making him yearn for her.

‘Here, I’ll show you.’ She flicked her ponytail back over her shoulder and delved into her handbag for her phone, swiping the screen and scrolling up and down it several times, her eagerness to reveal the pictures to him similarly endearing.

Was her husband supportive of her creative ability? Alex wondered.

She passed her phone to him. ‘What do you think? We had a right old laugh dressing those mannequins.’

Alex peered at the image, impressed. ‘Looks great! Any chance of you doing our club shop window for us? You’re very clever.’

She blushed again.

He handed her back her phone. ‘What you said earlier about people pointing at us, and all that, outside of the whole footballing media fame and money bubble, I’m just
me
.’

She smiled at him. ‘I can see that. I can’t believe how nervous I was when we first met. I still am in some ways. Not uncomfortably nervous, more “it’s all a bit surreal” nervous.’

He saw the mug wobbling as she placed it back on the table. She’d spilled a couple of drops down her white cardigan, one on the neckline of her dress.

Alex tried not to stare.

‘Don’t be nervous of me, Rebecca.’

She turned side-on, admiring the view over the park like she’d sat there admiring the gardens at Hawksley Manor, the silence between them calming rather than unpleasant.

Alex found himself trying and failing to look everywhere but at her. Such natural beauty. What he’d give to see that face, those eyes, looking back at him every morning.

What he’d renounce for her to be single.

He wondered if Abi had told her about the chat she’d had with him by the pool on the day they’d all left the manor? Probably not, he suspected. Alex liked Abi and hoped, for her sake, that her meeting with Kenny had been a one-off. Kenny had mentioned she’d split up with her bloke. With a bit of luck she’d made up with him again. Kenny needed to concentrate on sorting out his own affairs.

As if I can claim the moral high ground, he thought, staring across the table at another man’s wife.

‘So, talk to me,’ he asked, conscious of the ticking clock eating up their precious time together.

She took a sip of her coffee, her hands no steadier. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’m supposed to be tracking down veggie burgers. We’re having a barbecue this Saturday and one of the guests is vegetarian.’ She tutted and laughed. ‘State the obvious, Rebecca.’ She started twiddling her rings.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

‘I can’t. I think the nerves have got to me again. I thought coming here was the right thing to do, now I’m not sure of anything.’ She pressed her hands on her thighs, looking around her, her breathing becoming more of a pant. ‘I mean, I wanted to see you. I love being in your company. It’s all got a bit confusing though. So much going on … I’m not even making sense, am I?’

Alex reached for her hand to stop it shaking. ‘Yes, you are.’

She swallowed a couple of times, as if trying to tell him something else but not quite having the courage.

Alex held on to her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

Bollocks!
Now his agent was ringing him on his mobile.

‘Ignore it,’ he said, seeing her eyes widen. ‘It’ll click into voicemail.’

She nodded, meeting his gaze at last. ‘I’d better go. You have all your pre-season stuff going on.’

He should have released her hand, but instead he gently pulled her towards him until their lips were centimetres apart. Sensing no resistance, he kissed her, once, twice, moving to her cheek, her forehead, then back to her lips again, wanting to part them with his tongue and explore the warmth within, but somehow holding back, not daring to touch her.

She drew back from him, freeing her hand to brush a small tear away.

‘I’m sorry for making things more awkward,’ he said. ‘It was selfish. I just wanted to see you again. One thing I do
not
want to do is hurt you.’

‘Same here,’ she said, her eyes filling again, ‘which is why I think all we can do is relish the memories. We both know we can never just be friends. I have a husband, responsibilities.’ She touched his face, the pain in her eyes extreme. ‘You’re a very special person. I’ll cherish that weekend in York forever.’

‘Me, too.’

She reached down the side of her chair for her handbag. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ She stood up, hesitating in the balcony doorway. ‘Bye, Alex,’ she said. ‘Thanks for caring.’

He sat there, leaden with sorrow, watching her walk away from him through Kenny’s lounge and out of the front door, knowing he had no choice but to respect her wishes and let her go.

Rebecca ran and ran, each laboured breath driving her closer to Battersea Park station. The trickle of mid-afternoon commuters in situ briefly raised their eyes from their smartphones as she burst onto the platform alongside them, not caring who saw her tears.

The passion she’d seen burning in Alex’s eyes for her when she’d walked into Kenny’s flat had surpassed anything she’d witnessed in York, making the haunted look in them as she’d left him sitting alone, doubly painful.

He’d tried so hard to protect her, but during those last few seconds together, it was shockingly clear how much they cared about each other and, as Rebecca boarded the train back to Croydon, she felt numb with sadness at the hideous injustice of it all.

By way of a reward to themselves for surviving the emotional drama of the past fortnight, Abi and Nick had booked Friday off and were sitting on Abi’s mini balcony enjoying brunch in the hazy sunshine, when Nick piped up that he’d seen Rebecca the previous afternoon.

‘Whereabouts?’ Abi asked, deadheading a couple of browning geraniums in the tub next to her chair.

‘East Croydon station. On my way back from pricing up a job. I think she was running for a bus, or something. I did bib her, but she never saw me,’ said Nick, mopping up his baked bean juice. ‘Looked
well
stressed, she did.’

‘No doubt busting a gut for something on Greg’s behalf,’ said Abi, her voice loaded with sarcasm. ‘They’re having a barbecue tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting.’

‘We’re not invited, are we?’

‘No, don’t worry, it’s for Greg’s corporate lot.’

‘Good. I’d end up whacking him if he was anything like he was at that party they had for his mum the other week.’ Nick stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘Bex is so wasted on him.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Abi had managed to shove her little tryst with Kenny to the back of her mind, for now, especially since re-engaging with Nick and her diamond sparkler, but Rebecca’s situation had really affected her. She and Alex were so well matched. ‘I’m seeing Bex on Monday night,’ she said. ‘Surprise her with the good news about us getting back together, rather than telling her over the phone.’

‘On the subject of surprises …’ Nick slipped his hand inside Abi’s impossibly short silk dressing gown. ‘Fancy going back to bed for a while?’

Rebecca’s Saturday was rapidly going from bad to worse.

She crept upstairs, one ear cocked as she sneaked into the box room, wary that anyone following her up to use the bathroom might discover her temporary refuge from the mother of all calamity barbecues.

Oh, the weather was pleasant enough; it was her inability to concentrate on anything properly since her meeting with Alex that was the problem. How she’d managed to remember to get the veggie burgers and a shedload of shiitake mushrooms, she’d never know.

Greg rarely swore at her, well, properly swore, but events so far this afternoon had left him seething with her.

Unsurprising. She’d set light to a tea towel, swishing a fly away from the spare ribs, christened Greg’s boss’s wife’s cream culottes with coleslaw, and stupidly left a whole tub of butterscotch ice cream melting in full sun on the kitchen worktop.

If Greg hadn’t adopted the role of head chef, lord knows what they’d be eating.

She held her head in her hands, massaging her aching temples, breathing as slowly and deeply as she could. Oh, to be able to stay up here for five more minutes without anyone noticing her absence.

Once back in the garden, she did redeem herself by engaging four of the beyond-bored-looking under-tens present in a mini talent contest, one of the faithful old tricks she’d learned from her numerous stints at helping out with kids’ parties over the years. Their parents certainly seemed grateful. Shirley next door thought it was wonderful, too, and kept clapping, seal-like, over the fence every two minutes.

Greg still hadn’t forgiven Rebecca though.

All he kept saying to her on Sunday morning was that she’d need to seriously buck up her ideas for next weekend’s charity bash. After which he stomped off into the garden, clutching his laptop.

Greg’s colleague, Steve Wolfe, rang on the doorbell mid-afternoon. His young son had left his iPod behind at yesterday’s barbecue. Rebecca found it nestling amongst the fuchsias in one of her hanging baskets.

‘Kids, eh?’ remarked Steve, undoubtedly detecting the chilly atmosphere at chez Stafford.

Rebecca left Greg to see him out and was making her way down the hallway when she overheard Steve mention Nina O’Donnell. Greg had left the porch door wide open. Both men were standing, facing each other on the driveway, side-on to Rebecca, who’d stepped back out of view, removed her flip-flops and was now pressed against the wall, inching her way further towards the front door, private investigator style.

‘I can’t believe she’s nearly forty,’ Rebecca heard Steve say to Greg, whistling under his breath. ‘Are those tits of hers real?’

Nina’s, presumably?

Greg laughed, albeit it exaggerated, cracking his face for the first time that day. ‘That, I can’t be sure of,’ he said, shuffling from one foot to the other on the gravel.

Rebecca stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move.

‘So, what exactly is the story between you two?’ Steve asked Greg, dropping his voice. ‘I know you go back a long way but there’s clearly unfinished business there.’

Greg took so long to answer, Rebecca felt like sticking her head round the door and shouting: ‘
Well?
’

‘Let’s just say I’ve enjoyed plotting my revenge these past few months,’ he suddenly said, ‘but with recent developments at work, I can’t cut my nose off to spite my face. Life’s sometimes about making compromises.’