Don't Want To Miss A Thing (32 page)

What a muppet. God, what must she have been thinking while he was floundering around, making a fool of himself like the dorkiest teenager? His hands gripping the steering wheel, Henry tortured himself with the memory of all the stupid things he’d said and done, and how tactfully and sweetly Frankie had handled his unwanted advances.

And it was all his own fault.

So much for taking the advice of so-called experts on the radio.

He wouldn’t be making
that
mistake again in a hurry.

Silence. Silence. And yet more silence.

Frankie, draped across the sofa, switched on the TV and flicked through a few channels. Turning it off again, she looked at her cup of tea. It had gone cold and scummy.

How was it that some evenings whizzed by, while others crawled along like a constipated snail? And had
any
evening ever passed as slowly as this one? Frankie exhaled with frustration; she was here in an empty house, feeling more lonely than she could remember feeling before. Amber was away. Molly was off out somewhere with Vince. Joe was in Tetbury with Christina. On a boredom scale of one to ten, this was a twenty. God, and the hours were stretching endlessly ahead . . . she wished now that she’d taken Henry up on his offer.

As usual, she’d managed to say no when she should have said yes.

And it was too late now to change her mind.

Wasn’t it?

OK, don’t even think it. Of course it’s too late
. Frankie rose from the sofa, went into the kitchen and took a bottle of wine from the fridge.

Twenty minutes later, the thought was still buzzing around inside her brain.

What if it wasn’t too late?

What if it wasn’t?

Next to her on the sofa, her mobile rang and she jumped a mile. Was it Henry calling to see if she’d changed her mind?

OK, pretty unlikely, seeing as he didn’t have her number.

‘It’s me,’ said Joe. ‘Have you spoken to Amber?’

Oh brilliant, this was all she needed.

‘Amber’s fine. She hadn’t taken any drugs, just pretended she had, because she knew you’d find out.’ It was only fair to tell him. Frankie added, ‘She’s also doing tons of work for her exams.’

‘And you believe that?’

She bristled. ‘Yes I do. I’m her mum and I know when she’s telling the truth.’

‘Hmm. And who was the guy wearing your dressing gown?’

Ah, so that was the other reason Joe was calling.

‘I told you. He’s a friend.’ Her glass was empty. She made her way back through to the kitchen for a refill.

‘Look, just go steady, OK?’

‘What does that mean?’

‘You know what it means. Everyone’s watching you, waiting to see what you do next. There’s no need to make a complete fool of yourself.’

Bristling didn’t
begin
to describe what she was experiencing now. Frankie surveyed the icy bottle of wine in her hand; if Joe had been
here, she’d have happily hit him over the head with it. ‘You mean there’s no need to make any
more
of a fool of myself, seeing as how my husband’s had another family tucked away for the last twenty years and I’m already the laughing stock of the whole village?’

‘I’m talking about dignity now. I’m trying to help you out here and you’re getting defensive,’ said Joe. ‘Which just goes to show, you know I’m right.’

God, how she hated it when he used his ultra-reasonable voice. ‘You’re a lot of things,’ said Frankie, ‘but I’ve run out of money to put in the swear box.’

She hung up
hard
and poured more wine, the neck of the bottle t-t-tinging against the rim of the glass as her hand trembled with rage.

Have some dignity. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Sit at home on your own, don’t rock the boat and definitely don’t have any fun, was that what Joe expected her to do?

Well, sod him. And sod that. Frankie glugged back more wine and listened to her heart flailing against her ribs. Then she crossed the kitchen and picked up the business card Henry had left on the dresser.

She punched out the number and listened to it ring at the other end. This wasn’t the kind of thing she did.

Well, maybe it was time for a change.

Then the ringing stopped, the answering service asked her to leave a message and Frankie realised she hadn’t thought this through.

‘Hi, it’s me . . . um, Frankie . . . sorry, I was just wondering if you’d like to come over after all, but if you aren’t picking up your phone it probably means you’re driving . . . so you’re on your way back to London . . . OK, don’t worry, I left it too late. Never mind, bye!’

All the out-of-the-blue bravery had poured out of her. Hanging up, Frankie let out a wail of despair and howled, ‘
Oh fuck
.’ Then her heart did a double thud as she glanced back at the phone and saw that she
hadn’t
hung up; it was still recording her message. Yelping, ‘Sorry!’ she jabbed the button again, made sure it was properly off this time, and buried her head in her hands.

Pulling in at the motorway services, Henry listened to the message on his phone. Was this how it felt to get a call telling you you’d won the Lotto?

He called back and heard Frankie say cautiously, ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me. Am I still OK to come over?’

‘Really?’ Her voice rose. ‘Of course! I didn’t realise you were still here, I thought you must be on the M4 by now.’

How far away was he from Briarwood? If he turned round at the next junction and raced back, how long would it take? He definitely couldn’t tell her where he was.

‘Just wait there.’ A ridiculous smile spread across Henry’s face as he put the car back into gear. ‘I’m on my way.’

It was nine thirty when the doorbell went.

Her heart hammering, Frankie opened the door and said, ‘You were on the M4.’

‘I’m here now,’ said Henry.

‘This is mad.’

‘I know.’ He smiled slightly and nodded in agreement.

‘Sorry about saying fuck earlier. I thought I’d turned the phone off.’

‘I like it that you said fuck. Made it easier to phone you back.’ He paused. ‘And drive back.’

Frankie exhaled. The weirdest thing was happening. Somehow
their individually messed-up approaches had succeeded in balancing each other out. First Henry had made a clumsy advance, then she’d matched it. The playing field was level now, the initial layers of pretence stripped away.

‘Where’s your car? I didn’t hear it.’

‘I didn’t know if you’d want it outside your house. I parked it in the lane behind the church.’ He hesitated then added, ‘I didn’t know if it was too late to go out. But we still can if you want.’

‘Well, it is a bit late.’ She could feel herself nodding in agreement, a weird kind of nod like one of those toys with springs in their necks. ‘Probably easier to stay here. I have wine. Or, you know, coffee.’ Was offering wine implying that she expected him to
stay
stay? Oh Lord, this was a minefield.

But a thrilling one.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Henry. ‘Either. You decide.’

His eyes were mesmerising. Frankie took another wine glass down from the glass-fronted cupboard, then switched the coffee machine on. ‘I tell you what, I’ll do both. Then it’s up to you.’

As she made the coffee and filled the glass with wine, she’d never been so aware of someone standing behind her. What was he thinking? Did her bum look big? Could he tell how she was feeling right now?

‘So Amber’s out for the night?’ Henry broke the silence.

‘Yes.’
He already knew that
.

‘And you’re not expecting any other visitors this evening? Oh
God
.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘That’s the kind of thing a murderer would say. Sorry, sorry. I’m not a murderer.’

‘Good.’ Frankie smiled. ‘And no, no other visitors. Are you nervous?’

Henry nodded. ‘Very. You?’

‘Oh yes. Here, take these.’ She passed him his drinks and led the way through to the living room. ‘Actually, put them down. Is it OK if I just do something?’

Because the sooner it happened, the sooner they could get the awkwardness out of the way. Frankie, her heart going into overdrive, waited until he’d placed the glass and the cup on the coffee table. Then she went straight over to him, wrapped her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.

Wow, wow, look at me, look what I’m doing
.

Also, even more wow, this is fantastic
.

The doorbell rang and they froze. Oh, for crying out loud.

So much for no other visitors.

‘I don’t know who it is,’ Frankie whispered. ‘But I can’t not answer it.’

‘What shall I do?’

‘Stay here. It’s fine, I’ll get rid of them.’

She closed the living-room door behind her and crossed the hallway. Who on earth could be ringing the doorbell at this time in the evening?’

‘Hi,’ said Lois. ‘Sorry, did I startle you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’

Chapter 40

Lois, of all people
. Henry’s biggest and most ardent fan.

‘I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Gave me a fright.’ Frankie patted her palpitating chest; at least that much was true. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s Addy’s bracelet, she left it here this afternoon. Turquoise and silver beads on elastic, only worth a couple of quid but you know what girls are like. She begged me to come over and get it back.’

‘I haven’t seen it anywhere.’ Frankie shook her head; Addy was adorable but she certainly picked her moments.

‘It’s OK, she told me where it is. She was worried Young Bert might make a grab for it so she took it off and brought it into the house. It’s in the little silver dish on top of your mantelpiece.’

‘Oh right. Well, wait here and I’ll go and fetch it!’ Frankie held out her hands like a traffic cop to indicate that Lois shouldn’t move, and backed towards the living room. ‘I’ll just get it for you now!’

But Lois, apparently oblivious to body language, was following her. Oh no, she wasn’t going to be happy when she saw—

No one. No one at all. The room was empty. Just the one cup
of coffee on the table and no sign of Henry anywhere. Jesus, where had he gone? Was he secretly Derren Brown?

‘Here it is.’ Frankie scooped up the bracelet and practically threw it at Lois. ‘Safe and sound. There you go!’

‘Thanks.’ Lois paused and surveyed her thoughtfully.
Why?

‘Right! Busy at the pub tonight? Well, it’s Saturday so of course you’re busy!’ She was attempting to herd Lois out of the room but Lois wasn’t moving.

‘OK, I don’t want to make you feel in any way awkward, but there’s just something I need to say while I’m here. Dad isn’t really interested in . . . you know.’

Baffled, Frankie said, ‘He isn’t interested in what?’

A deep breath, then Lois said sympathetically, ‘Well,
you
.’

Frankie spluttered and covered her mouth. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Look, it’s all right, no need to be embarrassed. After you’d asked me all those questions about Dad, I figured out why you were wanting to know. So I’m just telling you now, it’s not a situation that would ever . . . happen. But don’t worry, this is just between us. I won’t breathe a word to another living soul.’

When she’d shown Lois out of the house, Frankie closed and double-locked the front door after her.

Back in the living room she said, ‘Lois has gone. Where are you?’

‘Well, I’m not hiding up the chimney,’ Henry replied. ‘I’m not Santa.’

Her stomach jittering, Frankie drew back the French window’s full-length curtains. There he was, standing behind them with a full wine glass in each hand.

She’d known he was there, obviously. There hadn’t been anywhere else to hide.

Henry solemnly raised his right hand and downed the contents of the glass in one.

Frankie took the other and did the same.

‘So this business about her father . . .’ she began. ‘I don’t have a crush on Lois’s dad.’

He nodded. ‘And you’re telling the truth, because if you weren’t you’d be all “Um . . . er . . . look, um . . .” and getting in a flap about it.’

She grinned because he was so right. ‘How can you know that?’

‘It’s how I’d be.’ Henry shrugged his massive shoulders and said simply, ‘We’re the same.’

And he was right; beneath their wildly differing exteriors, they were. This time Frankie experienced the electrifying
swoooosh
of attraction without physical contact . . . which had the effect of making her yearn for that contact all the more.

But at the same time she knew she had to be honest.

‘OK, I need to say something. What I told you before still stands; my husband humiliated me and I’m only just starting to get used to being single again. There’s no way I’m ready for any kind of relationship. God, listen to me,’ she half-laughed at her own presumption. ‘As if that’s going to bother you. But anyway, I’m just saying, there wouldn’t be any . . . involvement.’ Her cheeks were on fire now. ‘I can’t believe I’m even saying this. Sorry.’ He lived in London, for heaven’s sake. They’d met for the first time this afternoon. Whatever had possessed her to think he’d be even remotely interested in an actual relationship?

Henry was shaking his head, doubtless finding it hilarious that she should be ordering him not to get any romantic ideas about a frumpy older woman whose husband had cheated on her for years.

Finally, somehow managing to keep a straight face, he said, ‘It’s fine. Come here.’

And Frankie did.

OK, this was embarrassing. Molly, whose body was apparently playing some kind of childish trick on her, was trying so hard not to yawn she was in danger of actually dislocating her jaw.

‘How are the carrots?’ Vince indicated the vegetables on her plate.
Was that so she knew which ones he meant?

‘Great. Brilliant.’ Oh no, she’d managed to suppress the last yawn and now another one was building up. This was awful, she’d already done it twice; they just kept happening, completely beyond her control.

‘Everything OK?’ He looked concerned as she tried to subtly cover her mouth.

Poor Vince, what must he be thinking? Molly nodded brightly and said, ‘Fine!’

But it was no good, the yawns were still
in
her, waiting to come out. Hurriedly finishing her meal while Vince talked about the meeting he’d had yesterday with a new client, Molly then pushed back her chair and said cheerily, ‘Back in a bit!’