Conditional Love (21 page)

I looked at the necklace. On it was a locket in the shape of a house. I prised it open to find a tiny gold heart suspended inside it. It was the most exquisite thing I had ever seen.

‘It’s beautiful,’ I breathed. Emma’s eyes looked suspiciously moist. I threw my arms around her and kissed her. She helped me fasten the clasp.

‘What did you do that for?’ Jess pouted. ‘Joint presents, we agreed. Now you’ve given her more than I have.’

‘I love all my presents. You’ve both been so generous!’ I patted both of their hands, praying they wouldn’t start bickering.

‘Hey, it didn’t cost me anything. I just thought she’d like it.’

‘It’s not fair, you're a silversmith, you can make her something. It’s not as if I can give her a lesson, is it?’

‘Whaddyamean? You give us free lessons in how to be an alluring, smug cow with a perfect life every day!’

And they were off.

The waiter crept up and slipped our plates in front of us without them even registering the food. I picked up my knife and fork and concentrated on de-boning my fish.

It was no good. I couldn’t enjoy my dinner with the two of them firing insults across the table at each other. I crashed my cutlery down onto my plate and caused a temporary ceasefire. And then I dropped my own bombshell.

‘I’ve got a brother.’

That shut them up. They couldn’t have looked more shocked if Pudsey the dancing dog had leapt onto the table and performed his James Bond routine.

I took advantage of their silence to fill them in on the bones of my encounter with Terry Stone.

‘Did he explain why he’s never been in touch?’ Emma asked.

‘Was he nice? Does he look like you?’ Jess shovelled a large slice of garlic bread into her mouth, evidently not bothered about its effect on Spike anymore.

‘Does he regret his behaviour, did he weep with guilt?’

I picked at my sole before answering. ‘I don’t think he regrets a thing.’ I shrugged and smiled ruefully. ‘I think he was fulfilling his end of the bargain. Same as me. I won’t be seeing him again.’

Emma nearly choked on her pizza. ‘But your brother? You’ve got to meet him.’

‘No point.’ I looked down at my plate. I’d hardly touched my food, but I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Jess took hold of her sister’s hand. ‘But babes, having a sibling is the most special bond in the world.’

Emma nodded sincerely. ‘It’s true. We share the same blood. No friendship can ever compare to the ties you have to your own family.’

That coming from a woman who had just tipped a bowl of parmesan cheese down her sister’s front. If I wasn’t so het up, I’d find their U-turn hilarious.

‘I don’t get it,’ declared Emma. ‘Why is it you’re prepared to give Mr Muscle the benefit of the doubt, but your father, your own flesh and blood, who’s flown thousands of miles to see you, gets the cold shoulder?’

‘You don’t understand,’ I replied. Jess reached out and wiped my cheek. I hadn’t realised I was crying. ‘My father isn’t interested in me. He wasn’t even convinced I was his daughter at first! We have absolutely nothing in common. Let’s face it, if he’d wanted to get to know me, he could have easily tracked me down before now. After all, we’ve still got the same surname. I think it’s for the best. Honestly.’

They squeezed my hands, dried my tears and ordered another bottle. Emma topped up my glass and Jess took the Slendertone box off the table.

‘I’ve come to another major decision too. I’m going to tell Mum the truth about meeting him. I’ll feel better if I come clean.’ I took a deep breath and smiled. I wasn’t going to let my father ruin my birthday night out.

Emma peered at me anxiously. I smiled and took a sip of Prosecco. ‘Anyway, changing the subject –’

‘Whoah!’ cried Jess as her upper body started to jiggle like a blancmange. ‘Oh my God! Get it off me! Help!’

‘What the hell’s the matter with you,’ hissed Emma as, not for the first time, Jess’s boobs took centre stage.

She gesticulated wildly towards her lower half. ‘The Slendertone. It’s on max.’

The whole restaurant joined us in uproarious laughter as Emma wrestled with her sister’s midriff.

I raised my glass again. ‘To being thirty-three, the happiest year of my life!’

twenty-four

Marc ended the call on his mobile, winked at me and went back to his whisking. I quivered with excitement. It was official: Marc and I were back together. I knew this because I’d just heard him on the phone, telling one of his friends that he was staying over at his girlfriend’s tonight. And he was here, in my kitchen, with me!

The grin on my face was as wide as it could be without cracking the skin. I was happy, happy, happy.

It was going to be different this time.
I
was different. I knew he was the one for me, all I had to do was maintain my new all-action action plan and he would soon cotton on to the fact that I was the one for him.

The old action plan had stalled a bit this last week as I was struggling to move on from my first and only meeting with my father. I was so grateful that Marc was here tonight; I really needed company at the moment. As soon as I was left on my own for more than five minutes, anger would return and I would start to rant and shout about the nerve of the man, the injustice of his two-faced family attitude.

Then frustration would rear its ugly head, yelling at me that I should have said more, demanded answers from him, told him exactly what I thought of his irresponsible behaviour. Revenge would follow, roaring at me that I should have told Terry Stone how glad I was that he’d done a runner, that he’d done us a favour. And while I realised that this behaviour wasn’t helpful and my face looked pretty ugly as these thoughts were speeding through my mind, I appeared to be powerless to get over it.

Tonight, however, I was Marc’s girlfriend and all that other teeth-grinding stuff could wait. I managed to restrain myself from leaping into his arms and wrapping my legs round his waist. Despite his wink, he was hungry and when he was hungry he was irritable and wouldn’t appreciate the distraction.

He had only arrived ten minutes ago and had headed straight for the fridge. He was now cooking up a storm for himself with seven eggs and a bag of spinach. Luckily, I’d already eaten earlier with Jess and Emma. A perfectly balanced meal of cheesy beans on toast and a mint Aero. Goodness knows what all that egg would have done to my digestion. Actually that was a lie. I knew exactly what the result would be and I didn’t want to have to sleep with the window open, especially as it looked as if he might be staying over.

Jess had departed for her date with Spike, and Emma was in the bath, nose out of joint at being the only singleton in the flat. The smell from her eucalyptus oil burner wafted out from under the bathroom door and I was pretty sure she’d taken a bottle of brandy in there with her, muttering something about warding off the onset of flu.

I hovered at the door, watching him. Or more precisely, drooling over him. When Marc was in there he filled the tiny room completely. Yet despite his bulky frame, he was extremely dexterous in the kitchen. He claimed he had learned to cook as a matter of necessity due to having a mother who didn’t bother. On that basis I should have been a cordon bleu chef.

‘Perfection on a plate.’ He tipped his masterpiece out, abandoned the frying pan and sauntered into the living room, with me close behind.

His tracksuit bottoms clung dangerously low on his pert bum, accentuating his narrow hips. A tight-fitting vest curved between his shoulder blades and showed off the muscles in his chest and arms to devastating effect. My body hummed with contentment just having him in view.

Looking good was so effortless to him, I thought, running a hand over my own hips and dismissing his hours of gym training and strict nutritional intake. I snaked my hand towards an open bag of Doritos, before snatching it back again.

Perhaps I should go and do a few abdominal crunches while I was waiting?

Marc finished off the last of his omelette, pounded his fist on his chest and produced a belch loud enough to wake the dead. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and planted a kiss on my cheek.

I smiled indulgently at him, relishing the feel of his stubble on my face. I took the plate from his lap and slid it onto the carpet.

‘This is nice, isn’t it?’ I snuggled up against him on the sofa and he pulled me into his arms. ‘Just the two of us.’

‘Mmm,’ he mumbled into my hair.

I took a deep breath and then nonchalantly added, ‘We’ll be able to do this more often, once the new house has been built.’

I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, imagining that he would be moving in with me. Not at first anyway. Although it would probably take a year before the house was built; anything could happen in that time.

Marc cleared his throat and I felt his body tense. ‘I was talking to a bloke at the gym the other day. His brother-in-law is a property developer in Manchester with a small office in Nottingham. Mostly pubs and clubs, but they’re looking to expand into residential. He reckons you could get three houses on that plot of yours.’

I laughed and traced a finger across his chest. I didn’t want three houses, I only needed one. Besides that idea wasn’t even a remote possibility on my budget. I was just about to cover my finger tracks with kisses when Marc wriggled away from my grasp and cupped my face in his hands.

‘Don’t laugh! I mean it.’ He frowned and shifted away.

Damn, I’d upset him and ruined the atmosphere. I wasn’t scared of him in the physical sense; I knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on me, but his moods were bad enough. Once he descended into a sulk, he could wallow there for hours.

I apologised instantly and tried to make light of my comments.

‘Building one house is waaay out of my comfort zone, and I can barely afford that. Besides, we only need one little house don’t we?’ I batted my eyelashes at him and hoped he’d pick up on the ‘we’.

Marc sat up straight and gripped my shoulders. The determined glint in his eye concerned me. Gone was the cosy night in I’d been hoping for.

‘Three houses! Just think of the money! Divide the plot up, get planning permission for three houses and sell two. You’d make a killing!’

A vision of Lilac Lane with two extra houses on it flashed into my mind. I didn’t think the neighbours would be too happy. Anyway the plot wasn’t that big; dividing it into thirds would mean no privacy and no gardens.

Marc mistook my hesitation as a good sign.

‘Good idea of mine, yeah?’ He grinned and pinched my cheek. ‘And don’t worry about the business side of things, all the negotiating with the developers and what have you. I’ll do all that.’

Oh bless him!

‘For a fee of course,’ he chuckled.

Only fair, I suppose. Hold on a minute! I gave myself a shake. I was halfway to going along with his plan. I needed to nip this one in the bud, sharpish.

I looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. There was a metallic hint of egg on his breath and I tried not to recoil.

‘It’s a great idea,’ I said diplomatically. I glanced up at him long enough to see his eyes light up. ‘But it’s not only about money. I wouldn’t want to live there squashed next to two other houses. It would –’

‘You don’t have to!’ He grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight. ‘Sell them all! Who cares if they’re squashed? We’ll have enough money to buy somewhere bigger, somewhere in town. You don’t really want to be stuck out there in the sticks, do you?’

We. He said, ‘
We’ll
have enough money’. I wasn’t especially materialistic, but we seemed to have gone from Marc earning a fee to outright sharing.

This is the man you love. If you married him, what’s yours would be his. What’s the difference?

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Marc. It would be wrong to build three houses on that plot. It would ruin the lane. And you’re wrong. I really do want to live there.’

It was true. Building my own house was my number one priority. I had something to prove now. My father would never see it, but I would know. I might not have had the money to go to university like his other child, I might not have been able to pursue my chosen career, but I would fulfil my ultimate design dream to create the perfect home for myself. Myself.

The look on Marc’s face was one of pure disgust. He got up from the sofa. I felt my bottom lip wobble. This was like a replay of when he asked to borrow money in February. Look what had happened then! I should have agreed with him. I still could. My mouth opened and closed again.

‘Same old Sophie, no sense of adventure.’

I’d let him down again. I fought back the tears and gazed up at him. That was so unfair, I wasn’t the same at all. My life had been bonkers for these last few months. I mentally added up all the life-changing decisions I had made this year: Facing up to the father who’d abandoned me. Embarking on a new dynamic attitude to my job at
The
Herald
. Designing the layout of a new house. I mean, how many single women did you see on
Grand Designs
? I’d got it all going on!

Marc shook his head and strode over to the window. He was looking for an escape route, I could tell. Perhaps I would never be exciting enough for him? He was probably regretting telling that mate of his he was staying over at his girlfriend’s. I bet that girl in the MX5 with the red sleeve was exciting. She was probably a Formula One racing driver by day and pole dancer by night. I could possibly buy a sports car. I drew the line at the pole though.

I stroked the empty seat on the sofa next to me and adjusted the cushion, my eyes pricking with tears.

Why can’t he just love me unconditionally, love me for who I am?

He turned from the window to face me and I couldn’t believe it; he was grinning from ear to ear! My heart did a quick highland fling; he wasn’t doing a runner after all.

‘My silly little mouse. What am I going to do with you?’

Kiss me please, preferably, or a hug would do, just don’t dump me again.

He reached a hand down to me and with one effortless tug pulled me up in front of him. He rubbed his thumbs gently under my eyes and wiped away my tears.