Best of Friends (78 page)

“Hi,” said Simon.

“Hello, how are you?” gasped Lizzie in return.

“Oh, fine,” he said, “fine. You never got back to me.”

“Sorry,” said Lizzie penitently. “It’s just …”

“A difficult situation?” he asked. “I got that feeling. I don’t think your daughter was too pleased to find me there.”

“No,” agreed Lizzie. “She wasn’t. She was a bit out of her depth.”

“I hope I didn’t make things difficult for you.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” protested Lizzie. She felt so ashamed of herself because Simon hadn’t made things difficult—Debra had done that. But because Lizzie hadn’t had the courage to confront her daughter, she’d messed up things with this lovely man.

“It was all my fault,” she said abruptly. “Debra couldn’t cope with her father and me getting divorced and she couldn’t cope with me seeing anybody either. Not that I have seen anybody else,” she added hastily, lest Simon think that she had a stream of strange men running through the house all the time.

The glimmer of a smile touched Simon’s mouth—his sexy mouth, Lizzie thought, an unfamiliar tingle starting deep in her belly. “Anyway,” she went on before her courage failed her, “I’m really sorry I didn’t ring. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to—it was just I was so engulfed by family problems. Things are much better now, but I felt embarrassed to phone after so long.”

“I understand,” he said easily. “I didn’t want to phone and hassle you.”

She beamed up at him. “And I thought you’d gone off me,” she said in a teasing voice.

He shook his head and looked right at her. “Not at all.”

“I came out here today to talk to Trevor about a group charity jump,” Lizzie went on, “and I have to confess, I hoped I’d see you here.” There, she’d said it: she had told him the truth.

Simon slouched comfortably against the car. “I was just leaving for the day,” he said. “Do you fancy a return trip to Jimmy’s Seafood Shack for a quick bite to eat?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more,” Lizzie said. “Why don’t we go in my car?”

As they drove to Jimmy’s, Lizzie felt she owed Simon more of an explanation. “Debra’s been through a lot,” she sighed. “She broke up with her husband, Barry, and I suppose I didn’t want to push her too far by introducing a man into the mix. You got caught in the middle, Simon. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologise to me,” he said. “We had our problems with Adam, my son … Families can be tricky things.”

“Yeah,” said Lizzie.

They talked some more, with Lizzie briefly assuring him that things were OK with Debra now. What Lizzie really liked was the fact that Simon just listened and didn’t try to give her unasked-for advice on what she should or shouldn’t have done with Debra, her life, or anything. He had his son, Adam, and could probably have offered some ideas of his own on children and divorce, but he seemed to understand that Lizzie was fed up with other people’s opinions.

“You’re very easy to be with,” she said as they reached Jimmy’s Seafood Shack. “You don’t tell me what to do like everyone else does.”

“Do you like people telling you what to do?” he asked.

“No,” Lizzie said, “actually I don’t. I’ve had a lifetime of it but I can’t stand it.”

“That’s good then,” he replied. “We should get on like a house on fire.”

Jimmy’s was busy even though it was early, but Jimmy himself found a cosy corner for Lizzie and Simon.

“You’re a regular customer?” Lizzie asked idly, wondering if Simon brought lots of women here.

“A big gang of us from the club come here most weekends,” he said, obviously understanding what she was getting at. “If Jimmy’s eyes are out on stalks looking at you, it’s because he’s never seen me here with a woman on my own before.”

“And I thought I’d managed to be subtle,” laughed Lizzie.

“Subtlety is overrated,” he replied, smiling back at her.

At that moment, Lizzie’s mobile rang. “Sorry,” she apologised as she fished it out of her bag. She looked at the display pad: Debra.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hi, Mum, I was just wondering where you are,” said Debra. “I went to the supermarket and got some of that mushroom pasta you like. I thought we could have a nice dinner with me cooking for a change.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be home,” Lizzie said, staring at Simon. “I’m out for dinner with Simon, remember, from the parachute jump centre?”

There was a pause. “Go for it, Mum,” said Debra.

The tension left Lizzie’s face and her eyes sparkled as she looked across at Simon.

“Thanks, love,” she said.

thirty-five

O
n the day of Lizzie’s surprise fiftieth birthday party, Erin began to worry that the whole affair wouldn’t have quite the sparkle that Sally and Steve’s legendary parties used to have.

“Ruby keeps getting all misty-eyed telling me about them,” she said to Abby. “That one where you all did the conga and the po-lice were called sounds great. Some people have the knack of giving parties effortlessly. Me, I keep waking up in the middle of the night worrying about it all—should we have just gone for a dinner party instead of a huge bash here? Not that I’m saying a word against the house, Abby: it’s gorgeous, it’s just … I’m anxious …”

They were taking a quick break in the kitchen at Lyonnais, where all day Saturday the combined talents of Abby, Tom, Erin, Greg, Jess, Steph, Oliver, Ruby and Gwen had transformed the huge downstairs of the house into a balloon- and fairy-light-filled bower with a giant banner (carefully painted by Steph who was the most artistic among them) proclaiming “Happy Birthday Lizzie” in pink letters. The terrace was going to be pressed into service too, but because the late September weather couldn’t be relied upon, Abby had begged patio heaters and a terrace canopy from friends. Tom was in charge of drinks and was treating the utility room like his own personal fiefdom, complete with a borrowed freezer jammed with ice, a keg of beer, boxes of wine, and a whole case of champagne paid for by Lizzie’s son, Joe, who was flying over from London with his girlfriend later that afternoon.

“Nonsense, Erin,” said Abby calmly. “If you’re worried, it’s just pregnancy, I promise you. No wonder you can’t sleep with that bouncing baby wriggling away inside you as soon as you lie down! Everything is going to be fine and this is going to be a party to remember.”

And she meant it. Since the whole trauma of Jess running away, Abby found that her ability to worry had miraculously decreased. It was as if the genuine terror of Jess being missing had shown her what real anxiety was all about.

Tom was the same. Like survivors of some near-catastrophe, they could appreciate every moment of calm for what it was and didn’t obsess any more about what might happen. Of course, the air of tranquillity also owed a lot to her reconciliation with Tom.

Nothing was like it had been before, but then it hadn’t been per-fect before, Abby now realised. Their relationship was deeper, stronger and more honest than it had been for years. They didn’t just go through the motions of discussing how they felt: instead, they really talked.

She and Tom had gone to see her psychologist together and, somehow, the waiting room with its posters about family mediation didn’t seem the dismal, hopeless place she’d thought it was now that she had Tom by her side.

To her utter surprise, Tom had entered into the whole marriage counselling thing with relish. After the first couple of sessions, where he’d sat as stiffly as if he was anticipating a wisdom tooth ex-traction without a shot of novocaine, he’d begun to open up until, suddenly, it was as if he’d suggested counselling.

“You’re turning into Woody Allen,” she teased him one evening after a session when he wanted to continue talking about how his own family set-up—deeply traditional, working father, home-maker mother—had fixed his mental goalposts on what marriage should be.

“I have more hair than Woody Allen,” said Tom smugly.

“Not hard, that,” Abby joked, ruffling his abundant mop.

“What if Simon can’t get Lizzie here on time tonight, or if she works it out and the surprise is ruined?” said Erin to Abby now, hating herself for sounding like a moaning Minnie.

The whole plan to surprise Lizzie was a delicate piece of engineering. It depended on a series of events working out, culminating in Simon and Lizzie dropping in to Lyonnais to see Jess’s new puppy, a baby Jack Russell named Kim, before they went out to dinner with a small group of family and friends. Anything could go wrong, Erin thought.

Honestly, she never used to be like this. She’d been a highly paid human resources executive once, and most of the time she was an organised woman who was planning the Dunmore Life Beats Can-cer centre fund-raising with military precision. For the past few days, she’d been jittery and anxious, and she and Greg had even ar-gued about the grouting in the shower of the main bathroom, which had gone all grey, despite Erin scrubbing at it the night be-fore with an old toothbrush.

“This is a new apartment,” she’d said, hot and bothered from crouching in the bath, scrubbing. “This is an absolute disgrace.”

“Erin, honey, you don’t have to do this,” Greg tried to tell her. “I’ll do it,” he added, although he couldn’t really see much differ-ence between the supposedly dirty grouting and the clean stuff.

“No, I’ll do it,” said Erin fiercely.

“OK,” he said.

He’d read the chapters in their book about the last month of pregnancy but he still felt it didn’t give half enough warning about how pregnancy could affect a woman. He’d talked to Kerry about it because he’d been so worried about this moody new Erin, but she’d told him to relax and that wild irritation was part and parcel of the whole process.

“Wait till she’s had the baby and you’re concentrating on three a.m. feeds,” Kerry had said soothingly.

“You mean it’ll be easier then?” Greg had asked hopefully.

Kerry laughed. “No, you big eejit, it’ll be worse. But the happi ness will rub out the exhaustion, the sleep deprivation and the feeling that nothing you can do is right.”

“Thanks, Kerry,” groaned Greg. “Boy, can you tell it like it is.”

“Sit down and mind Kim,” ordered Abby now, putting the tiny, wriggling Jack Russell puppy into Erin’s arms. “Practise soothing him.”

“Babies don’t wriggle like puppies,” Erin said, as Kim struggled manfully to nibble her earlobes.

“Oh yes they do,” Abby laughed.

“Black bra or pink bra?” asked Steph, swivelling to see herself in Jess’s mirror.

Jess, sitting cross-legged on the bed painting her toenails, looked up and examined her best friend critically.

“Pink is cooler, black looks a bit slutty.”

They both looked at the effect of the pink bra under the skinny pink rib top.

“OK, you can wear the black one and I’ll wear the pink,” sug-gested Steph. “Zach’s used to seeing me in full slut gear but Oliver needs to see the hot and sexy side of you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” retorted Jess, but she still tried on the black bra. Oliver had gone home to change before the party but it would still be nice if she could show him a more grown-up version of her-self. She wasn’t ready for anything else, though, and Oliver knew it.

“What’s the story on this chat show job they want your mum to do?” Steph asked, seeing that Jess didn’t want to talk about her and Oliver in that way.

“Mum says she’ll only do it if Dad and I want her to.”

“Cool,” said Steph. “So, d’ya want her to do it?”

“Yeah, she’d be good at it,” Jess said. “Only she doesn’t want to have to leave me and Dad here for the three days every week she’ll need to be in Dublin.”

“I’d jump at the chance,” said Steph dreamily. “Imagine that sort of TV show. She’d be really, really famous then.”

“There’s more to life than being famous,” pointed out Jess.

“Like what?” demanded Steph.

They heard the doorbell ring.

“That’ll be the first guests arriving,” said Jess, leaping off the bed and racing to the door. She was on door duty until Oliver and Zach turned up. “Some day I’ll tell you all the zillions of things that are more important than fame.”

“I won’t believe you,” Steph called at her as Jess took the stairs two at a time. “Fame is everything,” she sighed.

Opening the door, Jess grinned. She would never forget Steph’s loyalty to her. Before Jess had returned to school, Steph had gone to the headmistress and spilled the beans on Saffron Walsh’s behaviour. Mrs. Doherty had been furious, particularly since the bullying had led to Jess running away and the police being called, and now Saffron’s school career was hanging on the thread of future good behav-iour. The once-untouchable Saffron was deeply shaken by it all and when she’d apologised to Jess, she actually seemed to mean it.

Steph was a great friend, Jess reflected, but she had mad ideas sometimes. If she thought that fame was everything, then Steph had a lot to learn.

Debra noticed the ring on Nina’s left hand when Nina put her arms around Myles in the airport to greet him hello. Three diamonds on a band of white gold, it was delicately beautiful, just perfect for Nina’s equally delicate hand.

“You’re engaged!” exclaimed Debra, who was still having to work on what her Aunt Gwen caustically called her habit of speaking first and thinking afterwards.

“You’re wasted in double glazing, sis,” said Joe wryly, giving his sister a hug. “With your powers of observation, would you not think of joining the police?”

Debra gave him a mock punch on the shoulder. “Hello to you too, big brother. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the surprise,” she added.

She was learning, slowly, not to take herself so seriously and to be more careful of others’ feelings.

“Congratulations!” said Myles in delight, hugging Nina even more tightly. “Show me this ring. Oh, it’s beautiful, just beautiful. You’re a dark horse,” he added proudly to his son.

“We didn’t want to say anything tonight because this is Mum’s night,” Joe pointed out.

“I’m going to take the ring off for the party because it would be awful to steal Lizzie’s thunder on her birthday,” Nina said quickly. She’d meant to take it off on the plane but had forgotten—it amazed her that, after only a week, the ring and all it represented felt like such a part of her.