Forty Things to Do Before You're Forty (18 page)

His sentiments summed up in two brief lines – sentiments a squillion miles away from where Annie had imagined them. She discovered the note on the arm of the sofa the morning after their kiss. Reading it, she felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. The recriminations had swiftly followed. How had she got it so spectacularly wrong – again? After those two strange intimate moments where – for her at least – the rest of the world had blurred, she'd honestly believed they'd had a special connection. An assumption reinforced by Jake pouring out his heart to her, and then, of course, The Kiss. But she'd been fantasising. Back on planet Earth, Jake evidently hadn't thought any of those moments special. And his hasty departure demonstrated just how much he regretted kissing her. He hadn't been able to get away quick enough – which didn't do much for a girl's already fragile confidence. But Annie had no one to blame but herself. For the first time in five years she'd allowed her feelings to tentatively peep over the parapet, only to have them cruelly shot down by an AK57. Was making a fool of yourself on the list of things to do before you're forty? Unlikely. Because at her age, she should have known better.

During the two weeks following Jake's impromptu departure, Annie operated on automatic pilot. She consigned the recipe for chocolate and coconut cookies to the bin, and carried on as normal at work. She stuck to her plan for the spectacular wedding cake. She continued with her running, adapting her route to bypass the spot a certain someone had sprained his ankle. And when anyone – including Jasper – enquired about Jake's whereabouts, she cheerfully reported that he'd had to dash back to Scotland on urgent business. A reply willingly accepted by all – except Mrs Mackenzie when she came to babysit on Monday evening.

‘What sort of urgent business?' the old lady pressed.

Not wishing to meet the probing blue gaze, Annie made a great show of hunting for her handbag. ‘I have no idea,' she replied breezily. ‘He didn't say.'

‘Did he say goodbye?'

Desperately hoping her interrogator wouldn't notice the flush creeping up her neck, Annie scuttled around to the fridge and yanked open the door – an unlikely place for a handbag but, given her recent state of mind, not an impossible one. ‘He, er, left a note.' Out the corner of her eye, she watched Mrs Mackenzie rub her chin. Her wistful manner made Annie uneasy.

‘So you didn't see him then?'

Heavens. Where was her handbag? She needed to get out of the house and away from Mrs Mackenzie before she blurted out exactly what had happened – which was not a pretty tale.

‘Not on the morning he left, no.' Annie swung the fridge door shut. She stood for a moment wondering where to look next, aware of Mrs Mackenzie's eyes on her the whole time.

‘And the night before?'

Despite her best efforts, Annie's flush spread to her entire face. ‘We, um, had a bit of a chat.'

A smile touched Mrs Mackenzie's lips. ‘I see,' she muttered, far too shrewdly for Annie's liking.

‘Oh. I've just remembered I left my bag in the car,' declared Annie, before shooting out of the house.

Mrs Mackenzie's interrogation or, more precisely, her perspicacity, had set Annie's nerves on edge. Normally she enjoyed the old lady's company but, following that conversation, she had the worrying feeling that Mrs M. had some kind of sixth sense where she and Jake were concerned. A hunch she had no wish to explore.

The conversation at the quiz had not helped her mood either. To both Annie and Jenny's amazement, Harriet – a sworn man-hater for the last fifteen years, ever since her husband had run out on her and her children – confessed to having been out three times recently with Henry Falstaff, the local solicitor. Annie had almost fallen off her chair and Jenny's subsequent choking on her G&T had required some serious slapping of the back. Despite Harriet insisting they were ‘just good friends', Annie couldn't help but notice a change in her. Her eyes twinkled, her skin glowed, and she was much more animated than usual. She seemed … happy. And while Annie was delighted for her, Harriet's happiness seemed only to highlight her own miserable plight.

Jake was lying prostrate in an old rowing boat in the middle of the loch when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. Tanya's name flashed at him. He briefly considered tossing the phone overboard, then decided against it. Since her performance at Buttersley Manor, there had been a marked deferential shift in her attitude, making her much less overbearing. He had no idea what had happened once he'd left the party, nor did he wish to have. But Tanya didn't know that. And whilst neither of them had broached the subject, the striking change in her demeanour implied she was ever so slightly mortified by her behaviour.

He brought himself to a sitting position before answering. ‘Hi, Tanya.'

‘Hello, Jake. How are you? Still bashing away?'

‘Absolutely,' he lied.

‘Well, I'm sorry to disturb you but I just wanted to let you know that the film company have set a two week deadline for the acceptance of their offer and they've upped payment by another hundred thousand. I know it won't make any difference, but thought you'd better know.'

‘Right. Thanks. Appreciate it.' Jake ended the call and was about to switch off the phone and resume his prone position when a beep informed him he had one new email. It was from Nina's mother – with several photographs attached. As he flicked through the images, large drops of rain began to splat about him. Jake scarcely noticed.

Four weeks had now passed since Annie had last seen Jake, and only now was she beginning to feel anywhere near normal. Twice, in the last few days, she'd even managed a whole three hours without thinking about him. But, on the whole, the way he skated effortlessly into her thoughts, without the slightest encouragement from her, was quite unnerving. Take now, for instance. She and Sophie were in the kitchen carving shapes into potatoes, dipping them in paint, and stamping them onto cards. Annie had started to carve the Loch Ness Monster, which had triggered thoughts of Scottish lochs, Loch Tay and … Jake. She'd pictured him far too clearly, sitting across the table from her, Pip on his lap, colouring in the picture of a donkey in a straw hat. An abrupt end had been brought to the slideshow by a couple of deft knife strokes, transforming the monster into Dino from The Flintstones. And to abolish any lingering unwanted thoughts, she had then silently recalled all the characters' names in the cartoon.

With Dino complete, Annie had just handed over the stamp to Sophie, who was in charge of the paint-dipping part of the operation, when someone rapped on the front door.

Two sets of eyebrows lifted in unison.

‘Who is it?' demanded Sophie.

Annie tore off a piece of kitchen roll and dried off her hands. Her heart was hammering. She only hoped it wasn't who she thought it might be.

It was.

As she yanked open the door, her welcoming smile slid off her face and she had the sensation of a large medicine ball landing in the middle of her chest with an almighty thud.

‘Lance. What are you doing here?'

‘Surprise!' he announced, looking decidedly smug in designer jeans and an orange polo shirt.

‘More annoyed actually,' she said. ‘Why are you here?'

‘I told you I was coming,' he said, running a hand through his dark wedge of hair - a style Annie had never seen him wear before, which was ever so slightly reminiscent of the 1980s.

‘No you didn't. You said you were
thinking
of coming. And I told you to let me know when you had a good reason.'

‘I have got a good reason. I want to see my daughter – and you.'

Something in his tone caused Annie's toes to curl – and not in a nice way. ‘You never come to see us,' she pointed out matter-of-factly. ‘I'm surprised you knew where to find us.'

‘Well, I've decided to make more of an effort. Spend some quality time with you both.' He beamed at her, his teeth a shade too white.

‘Why?'

He looked affronted.

‘Well, because … because you're both very special to me.'

Annie gave a snort of disdainful laughter. ‘So special you've seen us ten times in the last five years?'

Lance's awkward shuffling of feet was followed by a dramatic sigh. ‘Look, Annie, don't be like that. I know I've screwed up but I'm here to make amends.'

Annie's brows disappeared in her hairline. ‘Amends?'

He raked his hand through his wedge again. If fell beautifully back into place. Despite the naff style, it was obviously a very expensive cut. ‘Do we really have to talk about this on the doorstep? Can't I come in?'

Annie chewed her bottom lip. She didn't want him to come in, didn't want him intruding on the special space that was hers and Sophie's. She'd already made that mistake with Jake. Apart from picturing him at the kitchen table every time she was in the room, it was only last week she'd been able to bring herself to sit on the sofa again. The sofa on which he had lain – albeit briefly – during his last night in Buttersley. She ignored the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, reminding herself that Lance was not Jake, and the reasons for not wanting him in the cottage were completely different. Namely, that he might contaminate the place. But she was being silly. A poncey haircut wasn't contagious, and she suspected his yellow pallor was more sunbed than jaundice. Clearly he had something to say and wasn't about to leave until he'd done so.

‘You can come in for a few minutes,' she said, stepping aside.

‘Thanks.'

As he squeezed past her in the hall, his bare arm brushed against hers. Whether by design or accident, Annie couldn't tell. Either way, it made her nauseous.

‘Watch what you say in front of Sophie,' she warned. ‘I don't want her upset.'

‘I'm not here to upset her.'

‘Why are you here?'

‘I've told you. To see you both.'

Annie slanted him a disbelieving glance before spinning on her heel and marching into the kitchen.

‘Look who's here,' she announced, in a tone which implied Father Christmas had arrived early.

With the potato stamp dripping with paint in her hand, Sophie snapped up her head. As recognition hit her, Annie watched her expectant expression evaporate, replaced by one of confusion. Damn. She should have given the child prior notice, told Lance to come back later. It wasn't fair of them to spring this on her.

‘Oh,' she muttered, creases appearing in her little brow. ‘Hello.'

Evidently this was not the rapturous reception Lance had been expecting.

‘Aren't you going to give Daddy a hug?' He crouched down and held out his arms to her. A move that failed to impress Pip. From his basket in the corner, he eyed Lance through narrowed slits while emitting a low throaty growl.

Lance sprung to his feet. ‘I didn't know you had a dog,' he gasped, perspiration forming on his upper lip. ‘It doesn't bite does it?'

‘It depends,' said Annie.

‘On what?'

‘On whether or not he likes the colour of your shirt.'

Lance gawped at her. ‘On whether he likes – Are you having me on?'

‘As if,' replied Annie, assuming a beatific expression.

Lance shot her a withering look, before resuming his crouched position, this time one eye firmly on Pip.

‘Now,' he addressed himself to Sophie again. ‘Where's my hug?'

Sophie cast a questioning look at Annie before wriggling out of her chair and tentatively walking towards her father.

‘Be careful, darling,' he said, ‘hugging' her at arm's length. ‘Daddy doesn't want paint on his clothes.'

Pip growled again and Annie rolled her eyes. Her shorts and T-shirt were covered in paint – a frequent and unavoidable occurrence with a five year old in the house. Not that Lance would have a clue about that – or indeed anything else involving his own child.

‘How are you?' he asked Sophie, keeping her at arm's length.

‘Fine, thank you,' she muttered – to the floor.

‘I've brought you a present. Would you like to see it?'

Sophie's gaze shifted to her mother.

‘That's nice of Daddy, isn't it?' said Annie, trying not to think how much Lance reminded her of a frog in that position.

Lance gave a satisfied sigh, released his hold on Sophie and stood up. ‘It's in the car. I'll go and get it.'

In a flash of orange, he disappeared through the back door and Sophie turned to Annie. ‘Why is Daddy here?'

Her worried expression caused Annie's gut to twist. But, for Sophie's sake, she had to act positively. ‘He wanted to pay you a surprise visit. Wasn't that nice of him?'

Sophie didn't look convinced. Before she could reply, Lance flounced back into the room brandishing a rectangular box wrapped in shiny pink paper.

‘Here it is,' he announced proudly. ‘I hope you like it.'

‘Thank you.' Sophie accepted the gift from him and stared at her mother.

‘Aren't you going to open it?' asked Annie, with an encouraging smile.

Sophie nodded and carefully removed the paper. Inside was a box containing a scooter.

‘Wow,' exclaimed Annie, desperately trying to convey some enthusiasm. ‘How lovely. We saw someone with one of those in the park the other day, didn't we?'

Sophie nodded. ‘Thank you,' she said to Lance. ‘It's very nice.'

Lance broke into another of his Hollywood smiles and clapped his yellow hands together. ‘I knew you'd like it. Now, why don't you run along and play with it outside while mummy and I have a chat.'

Sophie's emerald-green eyes grew wide with concern as she gazed at Annie.

‘It's okay, sweetheart. We'll be here all the time,' Annie assured her.

Sophie cast a dubious glance at Lance before taking her scooter and slowly making her way out to the garden. Annie resisted the urge to follow her. Instead, she pulled out a kitchen chair, sank down on it and tilted up her chin to Lance. ‘Right. Do you want to tell me what all this is about?'