Don't Want To Miss A Thing (3 page)

‘They’re gorgeous. So . . .
cottagey
.’ Alice was lining the details up in a row on the steel countertop. ‘Especially compared with this place.’

Dex took a gulp of coffee.
This place
was a sixth-floor apartment in an ultra-modern development overlooking the Thames and Canary Wharf. He’d bought it a couple of years ago, aware that it was the ultimate single guy’s cliché. The views impressed everyone who came here. The living room had a spectacular
mirrored wall to reflect the light, and opened on to a steel and glass balcony. Every technological gadget was top of the range. He had no idea how the oven worked, but that didn’t matter; he generally ate out. And thanks to his cleaner, every inch of the flat was kept immaculate.

‘I thought I’d go for something different.’ He shrugged.

‘Which one do you like best?’

‘No idea, I haven’t seen them yet.’

‘Moreton-in-Marsh.’ As she read out the names of the locations, Alice’s robe gaped open a bit. ‘Stow-on-the-Wold. Briarwood.’ She mimed a swoon. ‘They sound like something out of a Sundaynight costume drama. Maybe everyone’ll be wearing long skirts and bonnets.’

‘Bonnets don’t suit me,’ said Dex.

‘I could come with you, if you like. Help you choose. I’m not working until this evening.’

Dex hesitated. When he’d told Laura about the viewings, she’d offered to go along with him. Which was a great idea in theory, but not quite so practical now that Delphi was part of the package. For a start, the baby seat wouldn’t fit into the Porsche. When he’d pointed this out, Laura had said easily, ‘Well, that’s not problem, we can go in my car instead!’

But seriously, given the choice, who
would
prefer to drive down to the Cotswolds in a ratty old Ford Escort? Plus, much as he loved Delphi, she didn’t have a handy volume button. Once she took it into her head to start bellowing at the top of her lungs, it wasn’t easy to persuade her to stop.

Worse still, there was the ever-present risk of NNS – Nightmare Nappy Situation – an example of which he’d been subjected to last week when Laura had asked him to look after Delphi for twenty minutes while she had a bath. That had turned out to be
twenty minutes he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Imagine if
that
were to happen while you were trundling down the motorway, trapped in an ancient Ford Escort . . .

OK, that was enough deliberation; he already knew the answer.

‘Great, we’ll set off in an hour.’

‘Yay,’ Alice said happily. Dex quelled a spasm of guilt. It was a sunny day; they’d have fun together. And, unlike Delphi, Alice hopefully wouldn’t wail like a banshee all the way to Gloucestershire.

He’d give Laura a call and let her know. She’d understand.

With London behind them, traffic thinned out and the scenery grew steadily more attractive. By the time they reached Stow-on-the-Wold, Alice was in raptures. They found the estate agency and followed the agent to the cottage they’d arranged to view. The owner greeted them eagerly with tea and a homemade lemon drizzle sponge, and insisted on wrapping up the rest of the cake for them to take away when they left.

The cottage itself was nicely decorated and well cared for. Sadly the agency details had neglected to mention that it was situated next to a lorry depot. The more or less non-stop soundtrack of pantechnicons arriving, loading up then beeping as they reversed back out of the yard made it hard to hold a conversation.

‘What time does this start up in the morning?’ Dexter had to raise his voice to be heard.

‘Oh, not until seven o’clock.’ The agent’s tone was soothing.

‘And it’s all stopped by nine at night,’ the owner chimed in over-brightly.

So this was what estate agents meant when they said a house was ‘close to local amenities’.

Dex felt sorry for the woman who was clearly desperate to
sell, but her cottage was so close you could feel the engine-rumblings in your bones. All the lemon drizzle cake in the world couldn’t make up for that racket.

The next property was in Moreton-in-Marsh. It was perfectly positioned with wonderful views and there wasn’t a depot in sight. There were even baby-pink roses growing up around the front door.

‘Oh my God.’ Alice clasped her hands together at the sight of it. ‘This one is
perfect
.’

It certainly looked that way. Until the moment the estate agent opened the door and they stepped over the threshold.

Dex knew at once he couldn’t live here. The actual atmosphere inside the house was completely at odds with the feel of it from the photos he’d seen in the brochure. It was like meeting a complete stranger and taking an instant dislike to them. The books in the oak bookshelf weren’t real books at all, just plastic covers with the names of the classics written on their fake spines. There was a strong smell of cheap air freshener in the air. The walls were painted in cloying shades of pink and the art on the walls was anodyne.

None of this mattered a jot, of course; he knew that. The whole point of buying somewhere meant not having to put up with other people’s choice of décor; the place was yours and you could do whatever you liked with it. But when the sense of revulsion was this extreme, it was impossible to overcome. Dex knew he just couldn’t bear to live in a property that had previously been chosen by someone whose sense of style was so wrong.

‘Shall we take a look around upstairs?’ The bearded estate agent gestured for them to follow him and said jovially to Alice, ‘The third bedroom’s currently being used for storage but it would make a wonderful nursery.’

Oh good grief . . .

Dex shook his head. ‘Sorry, there’s no point, I don’t like this place.’

‘Why not?’ Alice looked stunned. ‘It’s amazing. I love everything about it!’

Dex couldn’t help himself; the fact that Alice was actually capable of loving this property caused his enthusiasm for her to bump down another couple of notches.

It shouldn’t matter, but it did.

Then again, that was the story of his life, wasn’t it?

Something
always
did.

Chapter 4

It was always awkward, finishing with someone who didn’t want to be finished with. Molly didn’t enjoy being the one causing the upset.

And in his own macho, blustering, rugbyish way, Graham
had
been upset when she’d broken the news to him that their relationship was over. Nor had the broken toes helped; the fact that he was only able to walk on the ball of his right foot and was limping around dramatically only served to increase her guilt. Even if he had been the one to bring the situation upon himself.

So she had finished with him, but he was currently still doing his level best to persuade her to change her mind.

Hence the fish.

‘It’s . . . lovely.’

‘I know.’ Graham was like a Labrador eagerly presenting his owner with a tennis ball covered in saliva.
Although saliva would have been less revolting than this
. ‘It’s for you,’ he added with pride.

‘Me?’ Oh God. ‘Why?’

‘Because I know you like fish. And I caught it myself. Came home with three, but this one’s the biggest. Eight pounds three ounces. That’s a really good size.’

‘Wow.’ Eight pounds three ounces . . . eurgh, that was as much as a baby. How could she turn it down, though, without hurting his feelings? Molly said tentatively, ‘But I don’t know what I’d do with it.’

‘It’s a carp. You cook it!’ He was starting to look offended.

‘Right, OK.’ Gingerly she peeled back the edges of the carrier bag and took another peep. The carp’s single visible eye was gazing balefully back at her. No it wasn’t, the carp was dead. ‘I’ll do that. Thanks.’

‘I remembered how much you like fish,’ Graham repeated.

This was true, she did like fish. Deep fried in batter and eaten with lovely chips. But it would clearly be cruel to explain to him that this one was turning her stomach. He’d driven all the way from Bristol. It was a
gift
.

‘I do.’ Molly nodded.

‘I can gut it for you if you like. Or stay and help you cook it.’ He looked hopeful.

‘No, that’s fine, I’ll do it myself. Let me just put it in the fridge . . .’

‘Molly, I’ve told you I’m sorry. And I’ve
changed
.’ Oh help, he was moving back into begging mode. ‘I haven’t had a drink in over a fortnight. I told you I’d do it and I have! Please let me stay and cook the carp with you . . .’

‘Oh Graham, don’t say it.’ She shook her head and held out the heavy carrier bag. ‘I’m not going to change my mind. Maybe you should take the fish home with you.’

He raised his hands in defeat and limped away from her towards the door. ‘No, I’m not taking it, I caught that carp for you. It’s
yours
.’

‘A what? A
cup
?’ At the other end of the line, Frankie sounded mystified. ‘Why are you trying to give me a cup?’

‘Not a cup, a carp. Graham went fishing this morning, he brought one over for me, but I don’t want it.’

‘God, I’m not surprised. Carp are disgusting! Why would he do that?’

Molly looked at the dead carp with those weird dangly things at either side of its mouth. Frankie was right, it was disgusting. The dangly things made her feel squeamish. ‘It’s his way of being nice. He’s trying to win me back.’

‘Honestly, hasn’t he heard of diamonds? Much nicer. Hang on, I’m just Googling it now.’ She heard the sound of computer keys tapping away in the background. ‘Here we are. Eastern Europeans eat carp on Christmas Day . . . and the way to do it is: nail it to a plank and roast over an open fire . . . carp have a muddy taste . . . some regard them as inedible . . . oh yeurgh, even worse than I thought. Don’t bother trying to cook the thing,’ Frankie said bluntly. ‘Just chuck it away.’

‘So the first place was too noisy,’ Alice announced as they drove into Briarwood. ‘And the second one was too . . .?’

‘Wrong in every conceivable way.’ Dex slowed down as they passed the ivy-clad pub on the left. That was something else he’d have to check out; no point moving into a village with a rubbish pub.

‘So let’s hope this one will be just right!’

Please don’t explain, please don’t explain
. . .

‘Like Goldilocks and the three bears,’ Alice added, and his enthusiasm for her dropped yet another notch. She was a sweet girl, but it was never going to work out.

‘Or if it’s no good,’ Alice went on cheerily, ‘we’ll just have to keep looking, maybe make a weekend of it next time.’

‘Hmm,’ Dex murmured vaguely, because she was waiting for him to say something.

‘You have reached your destination,’ intoned the satnav.

‘In fact, I kind of don’t want you to like this one now.’ Becoming bolder by the second, Alice rested her hand on his knee. ‘Coming down for a weekend sounds like a fantastic plan.’

Oh dear. He’d have to tell her tonight.

The estate agent was blonde, buxom and businesslike. The cottage had been empty for four months, she explained, hence the musty smell, but it didn’t mean there were any problems with damp because there definitely
weren’t
.

Dexter wasn’t bothered with whether there was a damp problem or not. He liked the cottage. It had a good feel, there was just something about it. The rooms might be empty but you could picture them full. The kichen was large with sun streaming in through the south-facing windows. There was an Aga, which was something he’d never seen in real life before but he knew people regarded them as a desirable feature. The living room had French windows opening out on to the overgrown back garden. And upstairs there were three good-sized bedrooms and an old-fashioned bathroom in serious need of a revamp.

Oh yes, he liked it. It felt right. This could definitely be the one.

‘Why’s it been empty for four months?’ Dex decided he quite liked the musty smell.

‘A previous sale fell through. The chain collapsed. It just came back on the market last week.’ The estate agent nodded briskly. ‘And let me tell you, it’s going to be snapped up again in no time at all.’

Of course it would be. Standard estate agent spiel. Dex said, ‘I bet there are other people already interested.’

‘Absolutely. We’ve had a
lot
of interest.’

‘So, what are the neighbours like?’

The woman didn’t miss a beat. ‘I hear they’re
great
.’

‘Well, that’s lucky. They’re the best kind to have.’

Her eyes gleamed. ‘Does this mean you might be making an offer?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ said Dex. ‘I’ll get back to you on that. I need to do some homework first.’

‘Where are we going now?’ said Alice as he pulled the car into the car park of the Saucy Swan. As if the answer might conceivably be, ‘I thought we might climb Kilimanjaro.’

‘To do our homework.’ Dex regretted the ‘our’ as soon as he’d said it, implying as it did that she was included in his plans. ‘Come on, let’s see if the natives are friendly.’

He soon had his answer. Basically, they weren’t. Attempting to strike up a conversation with the locals at the bar met with a crushing lack of success. The trio, of retirement age and grumpy demeanour, were evidently far more interested in their pints; it was like trying to gatecrash a private party filled with A-list celebs. Only the barmaid’s saucy wink reassured him that not everyone was as spectacularly unwelcoming as the three stooges.

Giving up and taking their drinks outside, Dex and Alice sat down at a wooden table in front of the pub.

‘Well, they were charming,’ said Alice.

When the barmaid came out to collect the empties from the surrounding tables, Dex beckoned her over.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course you can, my darling. And the answer is yes, I
am
single. So that’s a bit of good news, isn’t it?’

He grinned. She was in her thirties but wearing the clothes of a teenager and glittery earrings the size of saucers. ‘Excellent news. But the other question is, what have I done to upset that crew in there?’

‘The grumpy old farts? Oh, don’t take it personally, darling. They hate pretty much everyone. But the ones they hate most of all are people like you.’

Alice was shocked. ‘People like us? What’s that supposed to mean?’