It's Raining Men (15 page)

‘Same for me, but onion instead of ham,’ said May.

‘Quiche, please,’ said Clare, avoiding the waitress’s intense stare. ‘And chips too – why not? I’m on holiday. And three filter coffees?’ She looked to
the others for approval, and they nodded.

‘Holiday? Here? Where are you staying?’ The waitress’s pen stilled on the paper.

‘Well Cottage. It’s—’ began Lara.

‘I know where it is. The Hathersage place.’ The lady in the striped apron sniffed before turning her back. It’s very likely that she has the same opinion of the wild man of
Borneo as I do, thought Lara. She was rather glad that she wasn’t the only one who found him boorish.

‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ said May. ‘Here we are at last. All together.’

Lara stifled a giggle then apologized. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, May. It isn’t nice at all. Have I totally bollocksed up everything beyond repair?’

‘No,’ said Clare. ‘I’m looking forward to going in that sea and Well Cottage is very sweet. I had a lovely sleep – I don’t know about you two. I haven’t
slept through till nearly lunchtime in yonks. I was convinced I’d wake up at five as usual.’

‘I bet you wished you’d known me better when you entrusted me with booking this holiday,’ sighed Lara.

‘Ah shush,’ admonished Clare. ‘I’ve got the sea to swim in and a cottage to clean. I’m more than happy.’ She nudged Lara affectionately. ‘You would be
really sickening if you were perfect all the time.’

God, if they only knew, thought Lara.

‘Well, you can add me to the happy list,’ said May, combing her hair forwards with her fingers in an attempt to cover the scar on her cheek, a habit she’d had since childhood.
Poor May, thought Lara. She was so self-conscious over that scar yet she guessed that others – such as herself – barely noticed it. May had told them that the neighbours’ dog had
jumped up at her when she was a little girl and sank its teeth into her cheek. Neither she nor Clare had been surprised to learn that May had been distraught to hear that the dog had been put down.
Despite being so much taller and imposing than either Lara or Clare, May carried the most vulnerable air of them all. Lara, especially, felt very protective over her delicate soft-hearted
friend.

May continued: ‘I don’t care where I am, I just want to be away from London.’
Away from Michael, away from my house that is full of memories of him.

‘Really?’ Lara’s eyes looked distinctly watery. She really did want them to convince her she hadn’t made a total mess of things.

‘YES. So let’s forget about chasing up the Hathersages and just enjoy ourselves. Things sometimes happen for a reason,’ Clare insisted. ‘
Que sera sera
. .
.’

‘Okay. I believe you,’ smiled Lara.

‘At flaming last.’ Clare punched the air in a gesture of victory.

‘Your funny eyes seem to have bought us a way in with the café owner or the waitress or whoever she is,’ said Lara.

‘Well, it was about time they came in useful.’ Clare smiled.

Her eyes had brought Lud into her life. The two odd-bods who had bonded. He had accepted her and loved her for her differences, whereas her mother had once taken her to hospital to see if she
could have one of the colours changed.

The café door opened with a pronounced bang. When they turned round it was to see a young woman in a wheelchair impatiently ramming her way in before the tall man behind her could hold
the door open. May’s heart rate doubled. It was the man from earlier, the one in the checked shirt, the one who was zapping out sexy chemicals in her direction.

The woman in the wheelchair stopped rolling for a moment to take in the three strangers. She noticed that the one with the brown eyes and the long brown hair was looking at something higher than
her eye level. She tracked the stranger’s gaze to somewhere behind her, and when she turned and found the man she’d come in with was returning the attention she rolled backwards into
his legs to break the contact. She had a scowl on her face which looked like the wind had changed and left it permanently etched there. She then started whispering something to him; it seemed very
aggressive, if the strange staccato dance which her head was doing was anything to go by. May, Lara and Clare all exchanged raised eyebrows.

‘Well, that was interesting,’ said Clare. ‘Did you see the way that man was looking at you, May?’

‘No,’ lied May, who was willing her cheeks to stop going red. She could feel them burning up.

‘Frank, Daisy, what can I get you?’ said the woman in the apron, approaching the newly arrived couple.

Frank offered Daisy a menu, which she snatched from his hand. She gave the menu a look-over, while casting overtly hostile glances at May.

‘Jesus, if looks could kill,’ said Lara watching the one-sided eyeball attack. ‘Have you met her before or something? In a past life, when you were a witch-finder
general?’

‘Nope,’ said May, pressing down on her chest where her heart was leaping about like a small child on Christmas morning. It had no right to dance about like that – especially
not for someone she now assumed was in a relationship with this Daisy. She’d done that once before and the key words were ‘never again’.

‘I don’t think I ever saw anyone less likely to have the name Daisy,’ whispered Clare, fighting a giggle in her voice. ‘Wheelchair or no wheelchair, that is one grumpy
cow.’

If first impressions were anything to go by, thought Lara, removing her glasses and taking a crafty stare, Daisy was as far from being a sweet little flower as she was from being Darcey Bussell.
In fact the woman looked more triffid than daisy. Her brown hair, scraped back into a harsh ponytail, did nothing to soften features that really did need softening: eyes like chips of grey ice, a
long thin nose and a mouth like a cat’s arse at the prospect of a rectal examination. Frank, however, had a kind face, with large brown eyes and a generous mouth that looked capable of
delivering smiles, which Daisy’s did not. He had black wavy hair with flecks of grey just above the ears, and suntanned skin as if he worked outdoors a lot. Lara aged him at late thirties.
The hands holding the menu were large and square, no ring on the third finger of the left hand. If this was his woman, there was still time to escape. He reminded Lara of someone, though she
couldn’t quite place the memory.

Their order was taken, but Daisy must have changed her mind about something because Frank rose from his seat to go to the counter.

‘Francis,’ she called. ‘Just leave it. Tell Jenny that ham will be fine.’

Francis.

Immediately Lara knew who the man reminded her of: that idiot with the long hair and beard, albeit this was a less hostile, much gentler version. More Jesus than Charles Manson. Lara bent her
head low to share her theory. ‘I think that may be Francis Hathersage – another one of them with an androgynous name. He looks easier to deal with – shall I ask him for a
refund?’

‘What’s the point, Lars?’ said May. ‘We’re here now. Let’s just stay instead of hunting around. It’s high season – everywhere will be booked
solid.’

Lara noticed that as Frank came back to his seat he glanced over at May again. And she noticed that May kept stealing the odd sneaky peek at him.

The coffees arrived. The café owner – Jenny – brought them over on a tray, giving a friendly smile, a smile that was directed more at Clare than at the other two, it had to be
said.

‘Ah, this is nice,’ said Clare, stirring in a sugar. She felt her shoulders loosening – albeit by a minute degree. Her muscles were so full of knots these days, it was as if
someone had been coming into her bedroom at night and doing macramé with them. Even Lud’s strong thumbs couldn’t circle them into submission. She’d miss his massages
– he was always willing to try to help her de-stress. She sipped at the coffee and tried to dismiss thoughts of him.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to have a word?’ Lara cocked her head towards the next table.

‘No, Lara,’ said Clare. ‘Leave it. Let’s just forget the weird start and enjoy it. I want to get into that sea.’

The food arrived: thick toasties with golden chips and a cress-sprinkled salad on the side, and a more than generous portion of home-made quiche for Clare with red cheese bubbling away on top.
May’s stomach howled such a welcome to the food that the others couldn’t fail to comment upon it.

‘Someone let a wolf in?’ said Lara, which made them all giggle and heads twisted in their direction again.

It was quite obvious from the body language that as Jenny visited each table she was imparting some knowledge about the three women in the corner. And whatever that information was, it was
raising the temperature throughout the café rather than pulling it down, apart from at the table next to theirs, where hostile vibes continued to be missiled from Daisy’s direction.
Lara wondered if Daisy would be able to unpucker her mouth enough to get in the ham sandwich which had just arrived for her.

‘So, come on, then . . . let’s begin. What’s happened since we last sat down and talked properly? Clare – you first,’ said Lara, picking up a chip, trying it
between her teeth and putting it back down again before it burned a hole through her lip.

‘Well, I just made partner, as I told you. I’ll hit the ground running when I get back. As I speak, all my stuff is being moved into the grand corner office I’ve had my eye on
since day one. Yeah – life’s good. Oh, and I treated myself to a new kitchen. I stole some space from the spare bedroom that I never use.’

‘And Lud?’ pressed May. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s good too,’ Clare said, nodding.

‘Smashing,’ replied May and Lara in unison, both silently wishing they had a Lud in their lives, instead of a dud.

‘Bet your mum and dad are happy about your partnership,’ put in May, trying not to sound snidey.

‘My parents are delighted,’ said Clare with a genuinely puffed-up smile.

They would be, thought May and Lara simultaneously. Neither of them had met Clare’s family but from what she had said about them they had gathered that they were rather a snooty lot.
Clare’s elder brother, Toby, apparently walked about as if he had a permanent eggy fart smell under his nose and as for her sister, Alice, well, she came across as someone who would make old
Daisy on the next table look like Bonnie Langford. It was obvious that Clare never quite cut the mustard for her parents.

May had felt sad when Clare dropped that into a conversation one day because her own mum and dad had always been so loving and supportive. May missed her lovely warm parents so much. They were
gentle, kind people who’d had her – their only child – in their mid-forties. Her mum had worked in a care home; her dad had been a car mechanic. He’d got May tinkering on
engines as soon as she was old enough to hold a spanner.

She had lost her father to a cardiac arrest six years ago, her mother to a brain haemorrhage eight months later and the pain of them leaving her had hardly dulled.

‘Come on, then, Lara – how’s life with the kids? Are you being a nice or a wicked stepmother to them?’

‘Oh, it all takes a bit of getting used to,’ trilled Lara, ripping at her toastie. Really she wanted to say that if Cinderella had been anything like Keely Galsworthy then maybe the
old stepmother had a point.

‘We want more detail than that,’ pressed May.

For a split second, Lara wanted to open her mouth and let it all out: how disappointing moving in with James had been, how his kids hated her, how he seemed to want another au pair rather than a
lover . . . and the carnage she’d witnessed the night before. These women were her friends – they’d be there for her. She opened her mouth, but what came out was:

‘Oh, we’re just all finding our feet. The children are friendly, the house is gorgeous. James is . . .’

a lying, using, two-faced bastard.

‘. . . top dog at work. Sexy as ever.’

‘Isn’t he just,’ cooed Clare, imagining how very different to Lud James Galsworthy would be in bed: masterful and dominant.

‘Your job okay?’ This from May, biting down on her toastie and finding it very tasty.

‘Yeah, it’s good,’ said Lara, thinking that if she were Pinocchio at this moment, she would have been able to hang a whole line of washing on her nose. But dumping the details
of her crap life on them was hardly fair when they’d all come on holiday to have a laugh.

‘Okay, May – you now,’ said Clare, and Lara breathed a sigh of grateful relief that the spotlight was off her.

May shrugged. ‘Ah, not much to tell.’
There is, May – spill every bean to your friends and lance the boil that is Michael Hammerton
, said a voice inside. But May knew
she wouldn’t. She was too ashamed of falling for a married man – who wasn’t married in the end. The other two were happy and all was going so well for them and she had no
intention of dragging their spirits down on their holiday. ‘Everything good in my world. Job great.’

At least the last part wasn’t a lie. She loved what she did, helping enthusiastic people make their business dreams come true – she just didn’t like where she did it. She hated
commuting, and hated the Tube and the overcrowded train that she had to stand up in every morning. ‘Boss is a bit of a prat,’ she added, putting it mildly, ‘but apart from that
it’s okay.’

‘How’s your lovely house?’ asked Clare. May’s house was very ‘May’: warm and cosy and the right side of chintzy.

‘Great,’ May replied. She needed a cat – a big black lazy cat to make the house feel less empty when she came in from work in the evenings, but the road outside was too busy.
She dreaded to think what it would be like going back to that house with all its tainted memories of being with Michael in it.

‘How’s your chap?’ asked Lara, through a mouthful of sandwich.

‘Oh, he’s good. Working hard, lots of driving hours.’

‘Happy?’ asked Clare.

‘Absolutely.’ May nodded, her eyes on her toastie. Happy? She wasn’t sure she would ever be happy again. Then again, she didn’t deserve to be.

‘Well, all this time we’ve been waiting for a major catch-up and we’ve done it in five minutes,’ Lara said with a laugh. ‘We could have saved ourselves a bomb and
done this over coffee in the canteen.’