Don't Want To Miss A Thing (25 page)

The lights changed and Henry buzzed down his window to warn them. At the same time, the Fiesta’s passenger door burst open and a girl in a red T-shirt and white jeans leapt out. Running in front of the car, she bent and scooped the animal up into her arms. Henry saw the long ears and realised it was a baby rabbit. The girl, aware that he was watching, grinned across at him as she carried the rabbit over to the field opposite and shooed it off to safety.

Warmed by the vignette, Henry smiled and drove on.

‘OK, this
really
hasn’t been my weekend.’ Climbing back into the passenger seat, Molly said, ‘Do an animal a favour and how do they repay you?’

‘Oh no!’ Frankie was trying hard not to laugh.

Molly said sadly, ‘I hate wildlife,’ and gazed down at the stain
on her white jeans where the terrified rabbit had weed down her leg.

The email pinged into Molly’s inbox while she was busy sketching out ideas for Boogie and Boo. Glancing across at her computer screen, she saw that it was from Liz, an old friend from school. The subject line said HAHAHAHAHA which probably meant it was one of those jokey emails people liked to forward to everyone in their address books. Ignoring it, Molly continued working on the strip.

Two hours later, stopping to make herself a mug of coffee, she idly clicked on the email to open it. ‘Hiya! Just saw this online and got the shock of my life – the girl’s the spitting image of you! How spooky to think you’ve got a doppelgänger!!!’

There was a link to click on. Liz just
loved
sending these round robins; at a guess, opening the link would reveal a hilarious photo of a toothless geriatric in a bikini.

Molly took a gulp of coffee and pressed the button.

The photo popped up on the screen and she almost choked.

Oh shit, it
was
her. The link had been to one of the more scurrilous tabloids. For once Liz hadn’t been joking.

Stunned, she read the caption: ‘Layla makes a splash!’ This was above two photographs, one of which she hadn’t even realised had been taken. In the first, Layla Vitti was clutching the empty wine glass, yelling and being half-heartedly held back by Adam. Molly felt sick; she was there in the photo too, but her face was partially hidden behind Adam’s shoulder.

Unlike in the second photograph, which was the one that had been taken outside on the pavement. Full frontal, as it were, with her wine-splattered white dress and face both on show.

Oh God, oh God,
why me
?

The accompanying piece went: ‘Fiery actress Layla Vitti made a surprise appearance at Bellini’s Club last night, catching the latest love of her life, car salesman Adam Burns, in the arms of a mystery blonde. The encounter ended messily with red wine being flung at Layla’s rival, who promptly fled. Pictured here outside the club following the dramatic showdown, the humiliated girl appeared close to tears.

‘We say: Oh dear, Layla, that’s not very classy, is it?

‘We also say: We’d love to know the identity of the mystery blonde with the wrecked dress. Contact us if you know who she is.’

Molly shook her head vigorously. Noooooo, please don’t. Hadn’t she already suffered enough?

Also, what a cheek, she bloody
hadn’t
been close to tears.

Hastily she typed out a reply to Liz’s email: ‘Ha, how funny, it really does look like me, except she was in London and I was at home here in Briarwood, eating Chinese and watching TV. Looks like I had a better time than she did – bet she wishes now she’d stayed in too! Love Molly xxx’

There, send.

Would other people recognise her? How many readers did this newspaper have, anyway? Hopefully only a few who actually knew her.

To be on the safe side, she’d better give Frankie a quick call, to warn her too. And if anyone asked if the girl in the photo was her . . . Molly shuddered at the prospect. Well, they’d just have to insist it wasn’t.

Deny,
deny
.

Chapter 30

If you were a single man in search of attention from the opposite sex, Dex had discovered, you could do a lot worse than pay a visit to the supermarket with a cute baby in tow.

The only drawback was the attention didn’t always come from the kind of female you might have had in mind.

‘Ahhh, innee a bootiful boy? Oh yes you are, oh yes you are!’ A rotund granny in a pink crocheted cardigan leaned across the trolley and beamed at Delphi, who gazed back in astonishment at the massive wart on the end of her nose.

‘Thanks.’ Dex attempted to steer the trolley past her before Delphi reached out to grab the wart, but the woman had blocked him in.

‘Woss ’is name then?’

‘Um . . . actually, she’s a girl. Called Delphi.’

‘Ha, bloody funny name, that is,’ she cackled. ‘Like one of the Seven Dwarves.’

It was a minefield, navigating the aisles, aware that every woman you encountered could choose to swoop on Delphi and strike up a conversation about the length of her eyelashes, the dangers of E numbers, the cost of nappies or the best washing-up powder
to get stains out of clothes. Last week a girl surrounded by small children had invited him back to her house for coffee, flirtily assuring him that he needn’t worry, she was quite safe now, she’d had her tubes tied after falling for the sixth.

Another, when Delphi had got stroppy and hurled her bottle of water on to the floor, had said, ‘Oh no, poor baby, is he trying to make you drink that horrible stuff?’ Turning to Dex she’d pointed helpfully to the contents of her own trolley and said with enthusiasm, ‘You want to give her some Fanta, it’s all my kids’ll drink. They love it!’

And today as he’d been leaving the shop he’d been stopped by the sweetest little old lady who’d cooed besottedly over Delphi and exclaimed how beautiful she was for several minutes before turning to him and saying sorrowfully, ‘You have to make the most of them while you can, love, before they go off and leave you. Five children I’ve got, and seventeen grandchildren, and I haven’t seen any of them for years.’

This was, of course, unbearably sad. Until five minutes later when, as Dex was returning the empty trolley to the front of the shop, he saw her again, being ushered along by a middle-aged woman who was saying patiently, ‘Come on then, Mum, let’s get home now, shall we?’

Which was unbearably sad in quite another way.

Right, they were home now. As he pulled up, Dex saw a car he didn’t recognise outside Molly’s cottage. A gleaming burgundy Mercedes, no less. His heart did a double thud in his chest; had she got herself a new man?

Then he saw two people on the doorstep, ringing Molly’s doorbell. As he lifted Delphi out of her baby seat, they turned and came down the path.

‘Hi there! Wow, cute kid!’ The woman looked faintly familiar
and was wearing a fitted leopard-print dress and towering heels. Eyeing Dex with appreciation, she said, ‘Cute dad too. You married?’

‘Never mind that now.’ The older man with her shook his head. ‘We need to get on.’

‘Right, sorry.’ The woman swung back round to Dex. ‘We’re trying to get hold of Molly Harris. This is her place, right? But there’s no one in.’

Dex checked his watch – ten past eight – and pointed across the village green. ‘She’ll be over there. She does an evening class on Monday nights. And it’s Hayes,’ he added, ‘not Harris.’

‘Whatever,’ said the woman with the blond hair extensions. Dimpling, she said, ‘So anyway, what’s
your
name?’

Her grey-haired companion said impatiently, ‘Will you give it a rest? We’re here for a reason, remember.’ Addressing Dex, he said, ‘Where are these evening classes held, exactly?’

OK, he definitely recognised the woman from somewhere. Was she on TV or something? Intrigued, Dex lied, ‘It can be tricky to find. Why don’t you let me show you?’

The man opened the boot of the Mercedes, lifting out a bouquet of cellophane-wrapped lilies and a vast gift bag. ‘Fine.’ He handed the bag to the woman. ‘Here, you can carry that.’

The woman’s name turned out to be Layla. She had a spot of trouble with her spike heels sinking into the soft earth as they crossed the village green. When they reached the café, she paused to check her reflection in the glass door. ‘Am I OK?’

‘Show me your teeth,’ ordered the grey-haired man. She obediently bared them at him like an orang-utan and he tutted. ‘Lipstick on the top left. Sort it out.’

Dex hadn’t the least idea what was going on but he had no intention of missing out on a moment of it. As soon as Layla had
finished rubbing the fuchsia pink lipstick off her bleached teeth with a tissue, he pushed open the door and said, ‘This way.’

‘Right, here we go.’ Layla braced herself and peered through the doorway. ‘Oh, cool, she’s
running
the class. You ready?’ She turned to check with her companion.

The grey-haired man thrust the flowers into her free hand. ‘Do it.’

And then she was sashaying into the café, making her flamboyant entrance, and Molly’s pupils were turning to see whose heels were clacking their way across the tiled floor. One boy in particular, a slumped teenager in a grey hoody, did a double take and almost fell off his chair.

Finally Molly, who’d been drawing expressions on faces on a flip chart at the front of the class, looked round and dropped her felt pen. Dex, leaning against the door with a quizzical Delphi on his hip, silently marvelled at the fact that she had gone bright red.

If she’d been drawing a caricature of herself, her cheeks would be radiating heat rays like the sun.

‘So sorry, everyone, for the interruption, but I’m here on a mission.’ Layla’s voice carried effortlessly across the room. ‘This is something I just
have
to do. Darling, I can’t believe I’ve found you!’ Spreading her arms wide, she approached Molly who appeared to be frozen in horror. ‘I’ve come to apologise. It was a silly misunderstanding and I was so wrong to do what I did . . . but isn’t that men for you? They rip your heart to shreds . . . I couldn’t believe it was happening to me all over again. So anyway, I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart. These are for you . . .’ She handed the flowers and the bag to Molly. ‘And I just hope and pray you’ll forgive me. Here, do you like lilies? They’re my favourites. And look in the bag – go on!’

The grey-haired older man, Dex realised, was now taking photos. The teenager in the grey hoody was videoing the scene on his phone. The rest of the class was agog.

‘I thought he was single.’ Molly’s face was still scarlet, her tone clipped. ‘He was the one in the wrong. You should have chucked your drink over him, not me.’

‘I know, I
know
,’ Layla exclaimed theatrically. ‘But that jacket he was wearing? I’d bought it for him only the week before, from Prada! It cost a bomb!’

‘So it was easier to throw it at me because my dress was so much cheaper?’

‘Oh look, that’s why I had to track you down! I felt so terrible about it! I’ve come all this way to say sorry and make it up to you. Here . . .’ Since Molly still wasn’t opening the bag, Layla did it herself, pulling out another white dress and a lilac leather handbag with silver trim. ‘These are for you. And I really hope we can be friends. Oh, come here and let me give you a big hug!’

‘There’s no need, I’m fine—’ But it was no good, Layla was grasping and determined; Molly was forced to give in and let her get on with it. When the grey-haired man from the newspaper had taken his photos, Molly said, ‘So how did you find me?’

‘Someone recognised you from the paper and gave us a call.’

‘Name?’

‘Hang on, let me think, I know it.’ Layla screwed up her eyes then opened them again and said brightly, ‘Alfie!’

Molly rolled her eyes and looked over at the teenager in the hoody as he slid lower in his chair. ‘Well done, Alfie. Thanks a lot.’

‘Sorry, Miss. They said they’d pay me twenty quid.’ He turned
to the grey-haired man and said hopefully, ‘Are you from the paper? D’you wanna buy my cartoons?’

Having cast the briefest of glances at the sketches visible on Alfie’s A4 pad, the man said dismissively, ‘No.’

Chapter 31

Public relations exercise done and dusted, Layla and the long-suffering photographer had left the café and headed back to their car. Since it was practically eight thirty, Molly wrapped up the class and despatched her students. Eyeing Dex with suspicion, she said, ‘Why are you still here?’

‘Thought I’d wait for you. We can walk back together.’ Still intrigued by the incident, he said, ‘Sounds like you had quite an eventful weekend.’

‘And I suppose you’re dying to hear all the gory details.’

Of course he was
.

‘Hey, don’t be so defensive. I’m on your side.’ This much was true; he’d genuinely hated the distance that had come between them. Hopefully tonight might be his chance to sympathise and get them back on to the old easy footing.

Molly hesitated and Delphi stepped into the breach with a cheery, ‘BRRRRRRRRAAAHHH!’

It did the trick; babies blowing raspberries was always a crowd-pleaser. Molly smiled and said ruefully, ‘That’s what I should have said to Layla’s boyfriend on Saturday night. Honestly, what a prat.’

‘Here, let me do that.’ Passing Delphi over to her, Dex finished
stacking the chairs and put the flip-chart easel away in the cupboard. ‘And it’s OK,’ he added over his shoulder. ‘I’m not going to pressure you. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’

This, he’d discovered, was a tactic that almost always did the trick. And luckily it wasn’t failing him now.

‘Oh God, it was so embarrassing,’ Molly blurted out. ‘This guy just started chatting me up in the club. I really thought he seemed nice – which just goes to show how stupid I am. We talked for ages, he told me he was an advertising executive, he said it had been years since he’d found someone he really hit it off with. And he kept paying me compliments. I mean, I knew he was just doing it to be flirty but a bit of me thought maybe some of them were true. I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Talk about gullible. You must be laughing your head off.’

‘I’m not. I wouldn’t.’ Dex took the keys, locked up and led her outside. ‘So then what happened?’