I Should Be So Lucky (26 page)

Viola pushed the heavily loaded trolley along the pet-food aisle and wondered again about a cat. Whether to get a kitten or a rescued adult? The stripy one on the Whiskas packaging was very cute, but it must have been the woman pushing the trolley ahead of her who made her think a big lazy ginger one would be a good choice. It was the woman’s hair, wild and red and curly … and not unlike Mickey Fabian’s. Viola hung back, reluctant to go nearer in case Mickey (and one glance at that pointy profile told her it
was
her) recognized her and gave her a verbal going-over for causing Greg to get arrested. What did he mean by all that ‘Auntie Mickey’ stuff? She still didn’t know. Even the other night he’d been pretty slippery about explaining the set-up. ‘Family connection’ could cover just about anything, but then his vagueness fitted in with the ‘blank pages’ that he seemed to prefer.

She liked him a lot, so far. But she really didn’t feel she could say she knew him, because he wasn’t letting her
in
, exactly. For now, she slid her trolley a discreet few yards behind Mickey, having a sneaky look to see what
she
was buying. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, maybe a cosy selection of ready meals for two? She was startled when her phone rang, and she turned the trolley as sharply as a London taxi driver and whizzed off towards the laundry products, fumbling in her bag for the phone as she went.

‘I’m
so
sorry, sweetie. Polly fell off a swing and the nanny texted me in a panic. I
had
to go. Did you get home all right?’

Viola didn’t bother to wonder why it had taken Charlotte so long to call, to come up with an apology and an explanation for abandoning her at a wedding she’d never wanted, or been invited, to go to in the first place. Charlotte was a to-do list sort of woman; she’d have only just worked her way down as far as ‘Call Viola’, well below buying Polly’s next-term uniform and having her roots done. That was fine, really. With Charlotte you knew what you were getting, so you knew what not to expect.

‘So was Polly OK? Any damage?’ Viola remembered the child squealing in a wake-the-dead kind of way once at Charlotte’s, just over a tiny nettle sting.

‘Cut her head open, screamed the place down, but she was all glued back together in A & E. Heads do
bleed
, don’t they? And her dress was ruined – Nadja put it to soak in hot water instead of cold, silly girl. So tell me – did that lovely man ask you out? Are you going? Have you already, actually?’

‘He was rather lovely, wasn’t he? While I was still waiting for you – without a clue you’d buggered right off out of there – we got busted for gatecrashing and then he drove me home. But no, I’m not seeing him again. And, Charlotte …’

‘Sweetie, I know what you’re going to say, and no – I
absolutely
didn’t know him, had never met him before that day. Honestly. Well … all right, I’d met him just the once, briefly, at another of Abigail’s … er … engagements. But it was
not
a set-up. I truly promise. Shame you’re not seeing him again, though. Was it the age thing? I mean, older men, you know, they’re well worth considering. So long as they still have teeth and a functioning bank account.’

‘Hmm. Actually, Charlotte, that isn’t what I was going to ask.’ Viola had her, bang to rights. She couldn’t mind, not really – Daniel had been quite a find and she’d have liked to see him again on a friends-only level. Just as every other man would be in her life from now on. That way there could be no more disasters.

‘You know, you could do worse than Internet dating, Vee.’ Charlotte clearly wasn’t going to let Viola escape into permanent singledom without a fight.

‘You do love a project, don’t you?’ Viola laughed. ‘I’m not looking for anyone! I’m going to concentrate on living in my own house again, being a good, supportive mum to Rachel and see if I can persuade Med and Gib
to
give me more hours’ work per week. I shall also get myself a cat.’

‘A
cat
? Oh but,
darling
.’

‘Yes, a cat. It’s all right, it’ll be just the one, not a mad-woman houseful of them, Charlotte. Also, what I was going to say was, how about next week for the book group at mine? Not to talk about a book; I know we agreed to take a break until September. I just thought more of a moving-back-in gathering? I’m a bit out of catering practice but I’ll see if I can remember how to make a cake.’

‘Ah, book club. Now,
Lisa
has been Internet dating,’ Charlotte persisted, blithely ignoring Viola’s invitation. ‘She’s got one of them taking her to Paris later this week, so, yes, if we meet up the week after, she can tell us
all
about it. It would suit you, the Internet thing. You can be anyone you want, keep yourself as private as you need to. In fact, I’m going to call her
right now
, get her to give you the website details …’

Viola had lost sight of Mickey, so never did find out whether she was cramming her trolley with ready meals for two. She finished her shopping, paid at the checkout and idly skimmed the newspaper headlines on the rack on her way out. The front page of one tabloid had a photo of teenagers partying with bottles and cans on a Cornwall beach, with a disapproving headline about Ya Ya Yobs who were apparently pretty much nightly trashing the small seaside village they’d taken over, and
upsetting
the residents and the young-family holidaymakers. It was the kind of story that turned up in the press every other year, whenever more than five teenagers with beers gathered after dark on a beach. And there among the revellers was Benedict Peabody’s cheery face. He was wearing a dinner jacket over a wetsuit, had his arm draped round a curvy bikini-clad girl with the usual teen mane of tumbling golden hair, and was grinning and waving a champagne bottle at the camera. Viola wasn’t remotely surprised to see him in the shot but decided that, no, she wouldn’t turn to page five for the Full Story. It was all too predictable.

At last, outside in the humid sunshine, Viola found her car and started unpacking bags into the Polo’s boot. Reaching back to grab a twelve-pack of loo rolls, she felt her pulse rate rocket as she recognized a Fabian Nursery van parked about forty metres away. Mickey’s, she told herself. Greg was probably miles away, delivering huge painted polystyrene toadstools to a hyper-expensive children’s party venue, or a hundred yellow standard roses to a fashion shoot. That he hadn’t called her didn’t matter
at all
. It had only been a casual snog, not a lifetime commitment. So, no, it really didn’t matter. Much.

She lingered a bit after the shopping was all loaded. Mickey appeared, and she saw her approach the van, but it was the boot of the blue Peugeot next to it that she unlocked. Then the van door opened and Viola half
hid
behind her own car as Greg climbed out, carefully carrying a small baby, holding it safe and close against his chest. She watched as with his free hand he helped Mickey load her shopping, then he kissed the top of the child’s head and placed it tenderly in a car seat in the back of the Peugeot, hugged Mickey, kissed her briefly and climbed back into the van. Mickey then watched him drive away, waving and smiling, still looking decidedly fond.

Well, he’d been right in one way: you couldn’t get more of a ‘family connection’ than being a co-parent with someone. How much she’d believed, or
wanted
to believe, that Mickey really wasn’t a partner after all. He’d said she wasn’t, and Viola had been wary. Maybe at last she was learning not to be so gullible. After Rhys, how else
could
she be other than wary? But this tender little scene was quite an ouch. It shouldn’t have been one, because she had no claim on him other than that he had been very sweet to her. Like a friend. A sexy, tempting one who kissed like a dream. She didn’t want it to be an ouch at all, but it just was. It meant she couldn’t see him again now – even if he
did
call – because if she did, well, the kind of all-round trouble and pain it could lead to would be unbearable. Her phone rang as she was stuffing the last of the bags into the Polo’s boot.

‘Help!’ It wasn’t really a surprise that it was book-group Lisa. ‘I’ve done a
stupid
thing!’

‘Haven’t we all,’ Viola said, feeling horribly low, slamming the car boot hard. For a terrible second she thought she’d locked the car keys inside with the shopping, because that was exactly the sort of thing that
would
happen, but in a rare piece of good fortune they were safe in her bag. ‘So tell me yours.’ She had no intention of telling hers – there were just too damn many of them.

‘I have this Internet date, for Thursday, it’s Paris. Right? I know you know because Charlotte’s just called and told me she told you. And I was
so
excited. But it’s a weird thing, this dating site. All in the interests of safety, which is mad as we’re all grown-ups, aren’t we, it’s supposed to be a foursome. And I’m supposed to provide the other girl! I don’t suppose … I know you’ve said … and I know Charlotte’s also said …’

‘I’ll come,’ Viola told her immediately.

‘You
will
? I promise I won’t let you fall off the top of the Eiffel Tower or anything. It’ll all be really safe.’

‘Yep. I’ve said I’ll go to everything I’m invited to and I’m … well, I’m free on Thursday. Rachel is away on holiday with her dad. Just text me some times and stuff.’

‘Great! Eurostar, St Pancras. 7.30 a.m. Oh, fabioso! It’s only a day trip, just for lunch, not an overnight, but it’ll be
mega
fun.’

Well, it might or it might not, Viola thought. But it
had
to be better than letting herself brood about a completely impossible someone she absolutely shouldn’t have grown to like rather a lot.

TWENTY-TWO

‘EH, YOU’VE GOT
it looking nice in here. It were always a pretty house, this.’ Naomi roamed the downstairs areas of Bell Cottage, sniffing the fresh-paint air which mingled with the scent of Viola’s lasagne that bubbled away in the oven. She tweaked at the sunflowers in their vase on the front window ledge.

‘You’ll want to move these flowers when it gets dark,’ Naomi said, giving Viola a look. Viola let it go. She didn’t need to be told to close the shutters once the sun went down. During the day, she liked to leave them folded right back so she could enjoy the sight of the roses around the windows, but when darkness came she didn’t plan to be alone in the house wondering if the sender of the cards had got together with the crazy people who’d left all the memorial flowers, so they could lurk by the gate and stare in through her lighted windows, putting curses on her.

‘Here, have a shot of fizz, Mum,’ she said, handing Naomi a glass of celebratory champagne. ‘I’ll see if I can weasel Rachel out of her room. Or … why don’t you go up and find her? She’ll want to show you her new colour scheme – try not to point out that it looks a bit grey though, she loves it like that. I’ll go and get on with the salad before Kate takes over and starts cutting tomatoes into fancy shapes.’

‘You mean I should get a look at the room while she’s still got it tidy.’ Naomi laughed. ‘You were just the same at her age.’

‘But we’ve been back here for a few days now, so there’s no way it’ll be tidy. Also, she’s been packing for Ireland so she’ll have scattered stuff everywhere. Marco and James are joining us for supper and taking her straight off with them after, so they can leave early tomorrow.’ She had a moment of worry about Rachel. They were travelling to Ireland by ferry. She didn’t want to come over all fussy-mother but she wanted to make sure Rachel knew to stay away from the boat’s rails, not to lean over too far. Not to … oh … not to do
anything
on this trip which would lead to death, damage, disaster, anything even remotely unlucky, just in case it was all in the genes.

‘It’s good she gets on with her dad so well,’ Naomi said.

‘Well, of course she does. Marco’s a top dad and James loves her too. And people generally do, don’t they? Get on with their dads?’

‘Generally.’ Naomi looked a bit awkward, put her drink down on the window ledge and headed upstairs to check out Rachel’s territory.

James and Marco arrived in a flurry of more flowers and more champagne. ‘Happy new old house,’ James said, hugging Viola.

‘Absolutely,’ Marco added. ‘Blessings on the place.’ He put the bottles in the fridge and then asked, ‘And did you find out who sent that moving-in card, by the way?’

Viola felt cold, thinking of the card with the kittens on it that now lurked in the drawer with the other one. She could have confided in Marco about them both, but he’d be away for a week from tomorrow and she didn’t want to send him on his way with her problems on his mind. There wasn’t much he could do apart from worry, and that never solved anything.

‘No – not yet. It was probably a neighbour, like we said. Someone a bit forgetful.’

‘Ah – that good old standby, lasagne,’ Miles said later. He was opening a bottle of red wine as Viola, fully armed with oven gloves, carefully lifted the steaming dish out of the oven. She felt conscious of him watching her, sure he was expecting there to be a horrific hot-food and broken-dish incident.

‘Don’t watch me, Miles. I won’t drop it, you know.’

‘Glad to hear it. And I wasn’t actually looking at you. I was wrestling with this cork. Is everyone having red? Rachel?’

‘Ugh, no, thanks – got a Coke.’

‘I’m driving so I’m on Coke too, thanks,’ Marco said, clinking glasses with his daughter.

‘Lasagne’s a standby?’ Naomi spluttered. ‘In my young day it would have counted as fancy foreign food.’

‘British cooking at its best can’t be beaten,’ Miles said, sounding rather disapproving.

‘Here we go,’ Kate chimed in. ‘If it hasn’t got potatoes and gravy it’s Not Proper Food. You want to get out there and live a bit, Miles, before it’s too late.’

‘Nobody said it’s not proper food, Kate.’ Rob was sitting at the table, already a long way down his third glass of champagne. Maybe, Viola thought, he’d decided tonight was the ideal opportunity to announce his departure from the family. Talk about a conversation-stopper. On the other hand, it would at least distract everyone from so carefully Not Mentioning Rhys. His non-presence was lingering in the room like the vanilla scent that her tenant had so loved. She could swear there were still traces of that too, struggling to make itself known over the clean smell of new paint. She would invest in some of the richest scented candles from Santa Maria Novella when she got her next pay cheque, and make sure she always blew them out before leaving the room.