Can't Live Without (20 page)

‘Rubbish. You’re just so used to bad boys you don’t recognise a good thing when you see it.’

‘“Bad boys”?’ I repeat incredulously. ‘Who are you, my grandmother?’

‘All I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong with a nice man who takes a pride in his house and likes to cook. Unless…’ she lowers her voice. ‘He’s not
gay
, is he?’

‘I’ve no idea. We went out on a couple of dates but then it just sort of fizzled out.’ I didn’t tell her that the reason it fizzled out was because I realised I was in love with my boss. Bonnie would have a field day with that information in her current mood. ‘He clearly wasn’t interested in me in
that
way but I don’t think that makes him gay. Lots of men aren’t interested in me in that way,’ I add sadly.

‘Rubbish,’ Bonnie says again. ‘You’re beautiful. And intelligent and kind and loving. Any man would be lucky to have you.’

‘Thanks, Bonnie.’ I’m genuinely touched.

‘But you do have a tendency to miss what’s right under your nose, especially where men are concerned.’ If only you knew, I say to myself, thinking about Paul. ‘So?’ Bonnie says. ‘What’s the story with old flash-pants up there?’

She’s never used this expression before but I instantly know who she’s talking about, and the image fits John Dean so perfectly I collapse into laughter, sitting on the floor while Bonnie squats conspiratorially by my side.

‘There’s no story,’ I say when I can speak again. ‘Well, there is a story but it’s an old one and you already know it.’

‘You can’t fool me, Stella. I know sparks when I see them and I see sparks between you two. And they’re not old sparks, either.’

Is she right? Are there sparks flying between John Dean and me, even after all this time? I know he still has a weird effect on me but I just put that down to old feelings which have never been properly dealt with. And hatred. All that stuff I said to Paul about being confused (boy, do I regret that now!) was just drunken rubbish, verbal diarrhoea. I wouldn’t consider going back to John Dean in a million years. I’d have to be mad to step back into that muddy pond.

‘You’d be mad to go back to him, of course,’ Bonnie says, spookily echoing my thoughts. ‘But then again, people do mad things when they’re in love.’

‘I am not mad,’ I say, a little shakily. ‘And I’m not in love.’

Not with him anyway.

‘No, you’re not. But there are still some strong feelings around, aren’t there? For both of you. Look at how he’s round here all the time. He wants something, Stella. The John Dean you’ve told me about wouldn’t be doing all of this out of the goodness of his heart. Sooner or later he’ll want the favour returned. And you’re going to need to think about it seriously. Sooner rather than later.’

‘Think about what?’ I’m not dense – I just want to hear her say it.

She stands up and looks down at me. ‘About whether or not having a child together is a good enough reason to give it another go. Only you know the answer to that.’

As Bonnie walks away I catch sight of Paul, opening another tub of paint, lit from behind by the sun and smiling up at Lipsy. I think about how unfair life is, how often fate gets it so very wrong. Lipsy should be Paul’s daughter, and the three of us could have had – could be having – the most wonderful lives together.

And then I remember that Paul already has a daughter, and Bonnie’s words roll around my head. Was having a child together a good enough reason to give it another go for Paul and Sharon? Was that why he rejected me? And if so, why did he lie?

Paul looks across and smiles at me, his blue eyes crinkling with laughter. I raise my hand in a mock salute and turn away before he can see the tears blurring my eyes.

***

Paul drove into Crownhill and double parked outside Stella’s house, beeping his horn lightly to get her attention. The place was looking great now, with a new front door and freshly painted windows. The decorating party had been a brilliant idea – and a great opportunity to make himself indispensable to Stella again, Paul had thought. What he hadn’t banked on was John Dean turning up, looking like an extra from DIY SOS and tackling every job that required any skills that were remotely masculine.

Which had pretty much left only the unmasculine ones, like painting and cleaning. And who had the cleaning all sown up? Joshua, of course. Not that Paul felt threatened from that quarter anymore. Not really. It was just that for such a long time
he
had been Stella’s only male friend, and it was hard to see her laughing and joking with another guy, no matter how innocent or platonic it was.

No, it was definitely John Dean who was the problem. Anyone could see that he was desperate to get Stella back. Everyone except Stella, that was. She had blithely flitted about the place all day, totally ignorant of the underhand efforts which were being employed to get in her good books.

Efforts which Paul had been a big part of, he had to admit. Not that she’d noticed. Oh no, she was too busy being impressed by her ex’s handiwork. ‘Oh, John, you’ve made such a good job of the kitchen.’ ‘Oh, John, how can I ever thank you for replastering the ceiling.’ OK, maybe he was exaggerating a little. Stella wasn’t the type to simper. But she had seemed just a little too responsive to her ex’s efforts, and not responsive enough to Paul’s.

At least he’d managed to get her on her own long enough to ask her about today. Her face had lit up when he told her what he had planned – he couldn’t deny that she had seemed genuinely excited about the prospect of meeting Hannah. But then, just as her voice had lowered and she’d been about to say something warm and intimate – he was sure of it – bloody John Dean had walked in and ruined it all. Typical!

At least he had her to himself all day today. He smiled and sat back, waiting for Stella to burst from her house, late and panicky as usual.

The sound of a high-pressure hose caught Paul’s attention and he turned to see Stella’s neighbour washing his stupid sports car. So over the top, thought Paul. Showy. But that was Joshua all over: all show and no substance. Joshua waved, and Paul smiled through gritted teeth.

Only ten minutes late, Stella burst from her door as predicted, looking even more gorgeous than expected. She waved to Paul, a big grin on her face, and then shouted hello to Joshua. Paul gave her a lingering hug when she finally got into the car.

‘What did I do to deserve that?’ she said, pulling her seatbelt across her stomach and slotting it into the holder with a satisfying click.

‘You’re just you,’ was the best Paul could come up with, feeling a bit guilty that the main motivation had been to make Joshua jealous, and trying not to focus on how the strap of the seatbelt pressed into the fabric of Stella’s top and separated her breasts into two perfectly round globes.

Get a grip, Smart, he told himself.

‘So,’ Stella was saying, fiddling with the car radio. ‘Am I allowed to ask – have you sorted everything out with Hannah’s mum now? Like, does the kid actually know that you’re her dad yet?’

‘She does, yes. But I don’t think I should be getting her to call me “Dad” just yet. It might confuse her.’

Stella gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I guess not. What is wrong with this radio? I can’t find anything except voices. Where’s all the music?’

‘It’s Radio Four. I don’t think it’s your cup of tea.’ Paul laughed and reached into the glove compartment. ‘Here, try this.’ He handed her his latest purchase.

‘“The Kaiser Chiefs”,’ she read. ‘Hmm, I suppose this is trendy music, is it? What the happening guys are listening to?’

‘Well, yes and no. But really, Stella, the minute you use the words “trendy” and “happening” you move yourself out of that department straight away.’

‘Oh I do, do I?’

Paul risked a glance across the car and saw she was smiling. He returned her smile and experienced one of those rare moments where everything seems to click into place perfectly, where all seems to be right with the world. Stella held his eyes for a moment. Then she looked down at her hands, the smile lingering around her mouth and creating dimples in her cheeks.

He drove with one hand on the gear stick, imagining her reaching out and laying her hand on his. He thought about how this day out with Hannah was a fantastic idea; show Stella what a great family guy he was and impress the hell out of his daughter at the same time. He just knew Hannah would love Stella. She had that way with kids; he’d watched her bring up Lipsy and do a great job of it so he knew what he was talking about. Until Lipsy turned fourteen, of course, but that was teenagers for you. The thought of Hannah as a teenager, stroppy and difficult, rude and sulky, filled Paul with a feeling of excited anticipation he wanted to bottle and keep.

When they arrived at Hannah’s house, Paul pulled onto the drive and waited, not risking a beep of the horn this time.

After a minute or two Hannah emerged, as angelic as ever in a pink knee-length dress over white tights. What a princess, he thought, and then looked around to check he hadn’t actually said this out loud.

‘Hello, Hannah,’ Paul said solemnly when his daughter reached the car, noticing her hands were wrapped tightly around a sparkly handbag. ‘This is Stella – she’s coming bowling with us, remember? I told you on the phone.’

Stella had got out of the car and was crouching down next to Hannah, making all the right noises, complimenting her outfit and her headband and the little bag. ‘What have you got in there?’ she asked, bending her head so Hannah could whisper her answer directly into her ear. ‘Ah,’ Stella said, standing tall again and nodding seriously. ‘I always carry one of those too.’ While Paul strapped Hannah into her seat, Stella caught his eye and gave him a secret wink that made his heart beat just a little bit faster.

On the way to the Xscape complex, Paul tried to join in the conversation that was flowing just out of his reach on the back seat, where Stella had insisted on sitting with Hannah. As predicted, the two of them got on like a house on fire – bad choice of metaphor, Paul thought, must not use that in front of Stella – and soon Paul was feeling royally left out. Not that he minded one bit. It was great to see the two of them so happy. There would be plenty of time for bonding later. Today was just about having fun. Bowling and pizza, maybe watch the skiing, to everyone else’s eyes just another happy family enjoying a Saturday afternoon out. No need to make it any more complicated than that.

Chapter 18

Sunday 22
nd
July

There’s a baby inside me. An actual baby. It’s the weirdest thing, the weirdest feeling. According to the book my grandma got me from the library it’s about the size of a grape now, but on the internet when I looked it up it said it was the size of a baked bean. So I guess even the experts don’t know everything. In the pictures it looks like a seahorse, a tiny little baked-bean-seahorse growing in my tummy.

Fuck. What have I done?

Rob is getting on my nerves. I haven’t told my mum this – she’s only just starting to talk about him without hissing. I told Rosie but she’s no use; she’s been all weird since I got pregnant and I think it’s because she hasn’t had sex yet (although she said she had before, it was her who told me it was “awesome”, which it certainly is not).

Anyway, Rob is starting to act weird too, like an old man, talking about “our responsibilities” and “being sensible”. I’m not allowed to drink, apparently. No one told me about that one. My mum said I’m not allowed to drink anyway because I’m only sixteen. No sympathy there.

I’m not allowed to eat Brie (which I don’t like anyway but that’s not the point) or pate (ditto) or rare steak (ditto with knobs on). Everyone keeps telling me to be careful, not to lift this, not to do that, don’t stretch, don’t run, don’t breathe! Mind you, I’m so knackered I don’t feel like doing much anyway, but that’s not the point. It’s like I’ve stopped existing and all I’m here for is to provide a safe body for the seahorse.

I think my mum has guessed how I’m feeling. Maybe she felt like this herself when she had me – which is weird to think about. She keeps trying to think of non-baby stuff to do and to talk about and I’m so grateful I just want to hug her all the time. She’s been quiet tonight though, and I think she’s got something on her mind. I hope it’s nothing too bad; she deserves a break after everything that’s happened to her recently. I think I’ll get up early tomorrow and make her breakfast in bed before she goes to work. At least she won’t say, ‘Oh, be careful you don’t fall over with that tray.’ At least my mum treats me like a normal person, not an idiot.

Lipsy paused and scratched her head. It was true that her mum seemed to be the only person she could really be herself with at the moment. But her mum clearly had problems of her own, problems that Lipsy would love to help with if only she knew what they were. She wondered if it could be something to do with Granddad again – her mum hadn’t mentioned how the visit went but she had seemed quite upbeat afterwards. Lipsy had overheard her telling Bonnie yesterday that she might even go back and see him again on Thursday. This sounded like good news. Lipsy wanted nothing more than for her whole family to be one big happy unit – in fact she felt pretty sure she couldn’t cope with the whole baby thing if they weren’t.

She tapped her teeth with her pen. If her mum didn’t want to tell her what was wrong there was nothing she could do about it. Maybe it was man trouble. God, she thought, what if she does decide to get back together with my dad? That, as far as Lipsy could see, would be a Very Big Mistake. Not that she didn’t like him – love would be too strong a word after only knowing him a few years. But she’d picked up enough of the story of what had happened between them to know that there was a lot of history there – and not the good kind.

Besides, they just don’t look right together somehow. And he clearly winds her up – on purpose sometimes. Like at the decorating party, after that dippy Joshua had trashed the shower screen, her dad had followed her mum around all afternoon making digs about it.