Just Between Us (23 page)

‘You’re a panic,’ Holly said warmly to him, ‘I bet all your friends love you coming out with them and making them laugh.’

He looked sad. ‘That’s the problem, Holly. I have lots of
friends
, but nothing more, no special someone.’

‘How did you get on?’ Joan asked her when it was all over.

‘It was different,’ said Holly diplomatically. After all, Joan had thought it was a great way for a shy woman to meet men.

‘But you didn’t meet anyone?’

‘No. I did get told that I had a great pair of tits, though.’

‘Says who?’ Joan looked shocked.

‘Carl.’ Holly pointed him out. ‘I was tempted to throw my drink over him.’

‘Oh, plastered student boy.’ Joan dismissed him. ‘Just as well you didn’t. It would have been a waste of drink,’ she added sagely. ‘Listen, I might stay and have a drink with one of the guys I met.’

Holly grinned at her friend. ‘Don’t tell me, the leather jacket guy. He was nice.’

‘Becks. That’s not his real name, but he’s an ace footballer,’ Joan said, looking positively dreamy.

‘Go, girl!’ said Holly.

‘You don’t mind walking home on your own, do you?’

‘Don’t worry about me, I’m a big girl. Literally,’ Holly said ruefully. ‘No mugger in his right mind would try and steal my handbag.’

When Holly walked up the path to the house half an hour later, their new neighbour, Tom, was dragging a bin liner out the front door ready for the next morning’s refuse collection. Even though it was late, he’d obviously just got home from work because he was wearing a shirt and tie, which he’d tugged loose from its knot. He looked different in work clothes; up to now Holly had seen him loping round in jeans
and sweatshirts. He looked older and more serious in a collar and tie.

‘Hi,’ said Holly.

‘Hi yourself,’ he said, looking pleased to see her. ‘How are you?’

Holly thought about it. ‘Great. I should be terrible because I’ve had an awful evening, but I’m not.’ She’d made a breakthrough of sorts, after all. She’d made herself face her shyness in the scariest way and she’d managed it.

‘That’s good,’ said Tom.

They walked companionably into the house and up the stairs.

‘Do you fancy a cup of coffee?’ said Tom suddenly.

‘Lovely,’ said Holly.

‘You can tell me about your awful evening,’ he added.

Holly smiled at him. It was funny, really, because she didn’t know Tom at all well but she felt comfortable with him. She wasn’t shy or tongue-tied in his presence. He was just Tom, the friendly giant who lived upstairs. He didn’t know many people and needed new friends. Kenny had brought Tom out for a drink and came back with the news that Tom wasn’t gay but was a decent bloke, with a girlfriend back in Cork.

‘All the best ones are straight,’ Kenny had said mournfully.

Since then, Kenny, Joan and Holly had included Tom in some of their nights out and Holly had found their laid-back new neighbour surprisingly easy to talk to. She didn’t need to make an effort to sparkle with Tom.

He pushed open the door to his flat and stood back to let Holly in first. His flat was like Joan and Kenny’s: bigger than hers with two bedrooms and a tiny balcony.

‘It’s nice,’ she said, looking around.

Tom had decent furniture, including chairs and a squashy brown leather couch that looked as if it came from Habitat. Everything was very neat and spotlessly clean but it wasn’t exactly homey. Holly itched to give it more life.

‘Did you have to do much with it?’ she said.

‘Just a bit of paint. The landlord got very upset when I said I wanted to change a few things. He thought I expected him to pay for it.’

Holly grinned. ‘He likes the idea of an investment which doesn’t involve any actual investing. The banisters are death traps but he won’t replace them. Still, the rent’s not too bad.’

Tom went into the kitchenette to make the coffee.

‘I own a flat in Cork and I’m renting it out for six months, then I’ll make a decision about buying in Dublin.’

Holly wandered happily, admiring a few photos in wooden frames. The biggest one was a shot of a pretty blonde girl with a swathe of blue velvet wrapped artfully around creamy shoulders. Gauzy filters and perfect make-up on the baby-blue eyes made Holly think it was one of those studio shots where women got glamorous make-overs in order to have a set of fabulous photos of themselves for their husbands or boyfriends.

‘That’s my girlfriend, Caroline,’ said Tom, carrying two mugs and a pot of coffee into the room. ‘She lives in Cork. She’s going to see how I get on here and if everything works out here, she’ll move to Dublin too. Caroline’s a management consultant and she says she wouldn’t have any trouble getting a job here.’

‘She looks lovely,’ said Holly. ‘Next time she’s here, you must introduce us to her. We’ll all have to go out and she’ll be happy knowing that you’ve got friends here.’

Tom grinned his sweet, even-tempered grin. ‘That’s great of you. I don’t know many people here, for sure. Caroline’s very different. She’s very independent and if she was in my place, she’d know everyone in the entire area by now and she’d never be home.’

‘Opposites attract,’ said Holly.

‘True.’

They drank their coffee in companionable silence. Holly didn’t feel anxious about the lack of conversation. Somehow, there was no need to worry about saying something with Tom, which was comforting.

‘Tell me about this awful evening you had.’

He laughed when she told him about the drunken Carl (she left out the comment about her boobs) and about Miss Mindy, who out-dragged the drag queens.

‘I’d have liked to stay and watch Miss Drag De Luxe but it wasn’t going to start for ages.’

‘Were there any guys there you’re going to meet again?’ Tom looked down into his mug.

‘No.’ Holly was blithe about it. ‘Joan and Kenny have this plan to set me up with a man and this was the first part of the plan. Well, Joan’s part. Kenny said it would be a disaster. He’s plotting some sort of blind date for me.’

‘Do you think blind dates work?’ asked Tom.

‘Not in my experience,’ Holly replied. ‘But then my experience is limited to a blind date set up for my debs dance when my friend Donna’s brother volunteered a college friend of his.’

In her mind, Holly could still see herself in her cream dress, looking like a meringue on legs because those were her chubby days, with her date for the evening beside her, a short, wiry young man named Liam who could have doubled for a cocktail stick. Together, they looked like the odd couple. Her original date had been Richie, her first love, who’d dumped her just before her debs, leaving her utterly heartbroken.

Somehow, she didn’t want to tell Tom about that.

‘It wasn’t a success,’ was all she said.

‘Caroline would love somewhere like the Purple Mosquito,’ Tom said, adroitly changing the subject. ‘She loves nightlife and clubs, I’m a bit of a boring git and like to stay at home more,’ he added apologetically.

‘That’s it. Joan, Kenny and I will bring you both out when Caroline comes to stay,’ Holly said firmly. ‘We’ll paint the town red. Well, pale pink anyway.’

She finished her coffee and got purposefully to her feet. ‘I’m off to bed, Tom,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

‘No, thank
you
,’ he replied. He opened the front door for her. ‘I needed a bit of company.’

‘Any time,’ she said cheerily, dancing downstairs to her floor. ‘Any time.’

He was nice, Holly sighed, as she locked her own flat door. A decent man who clearly loved his girlfriend. Lucky Caroline.

‘I told you it wouldn’t work out.’ Kenny pointed out as he, Holly and Joan trooped out of Windmill Terrace for a Sunday morning brunch in their favourite café down the road. ‘You can’t expect people to bond in five minutes.’

‘I met a nice guy,’ argued Joan.

‘We’re not trying to find a nice guy for you,’ Kenny said in exasperation. ‘We’re trying to keep you away from men. You’re supposed to be working on your final year collection, not trolloping around like a ho.’

At the gate, the three of them waited for Tom. It was an unusually warm day and the sense of summer shimmered in the air. Holly stuck her sunglasses on, glad that she’d worn a skimpy T-shirt under her denim jacket. Perhaps they could sit at one of the outside tables for their brunch.

‘Well, what’s your plan, Smarty Pants?’ asked Joan, not even bothering to react to being called a ho.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Tom, slamming the front door behind him. ‘Overslept.’

‘Hi,’ said Holly, smiling sweetly up at him. Tom’s spiky hair stood up at odd angles where he’d slept on it and he’d obviously thrown himself into his clothes at high speed because he was wearing a sweatshirt that was inside out.

They walked slowly down the road with Kenny and Joan arguing over blind dates versus speed dating.

‘They’re still trying to set you up, huh?’ Tom asked Holly as they meandered along behind the other two.

‘Yes, they’ve run through all their friends and acquaintances and have come up with nothing so far. Coco the Clown is about the only person they
haven’t
thought of.’

Tom laughed. ‘They should leave you alone. You can’t force love.’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ she murmured, ‘but they’ve got their hearts set on this.’

‘You’re gorgeous anyhow, you don’t need anyone helping you out.’

Holly blushed a deep crimson and said nothing. She wished she knew how to accept compliments. Tom was being kind, that was all. And the nice thing was, he clearly thought Kenny and Joan’s attempts to fix Holly up with someone was a bit of fun. He didn’t see her as a hopeless case who’d never get a man on her own. This gave her confidence.

At the café, there was one table left outside and Joan and Kenny instantly claimed it, dark glasses and fashionably bored expressions at the ready.

‘I’ll go in and order,’ Holly volunteered. ‘What’s everyone having?’

When she got back, Kenny was trying to establish how Tom had met Caroline.

‘Well, we knew each other for years because we had some of the same friends,’ Tom explained, ‘I’d noticed her but she didn’t really seem to notice me until a gang of us went to the Kilkenny comedy festival and we hit it off. We stayed an extra night in Kilkenny and…’ He grinned. ‘Do you want me to draw you a diagram?’

‘Yes,’ said Kenny gravely.

‘Do you know anyone who met on a blind date?’ Joan interrupted.

‘No,’ admitted Tom.

‘My cousin met a man on a blind date and they went out for six years,’ Kenny said.

‘You mean they’re not still going out?’ Joan asked.

‘No, but that’s not the point,’ Kenny insisted. ‘They’d never have met if someone hadn’t set them up.’

‘Please, no more blind dating stories,’ begged Holly as the coffee arrived.

‘OK, truce,’ said Kenny. ‘I’ve got two double tickets to a nightclub launch next week. We’re going. Would you like to come too, Tom?’

‘Sure,’ said Tom easily.

‘And we can discuss if you have any delectable friends who’d kill to go out with a fabulous girl like Holly,’ Kenny continued.

‘Kenny!’ groaned Holly.

‘You’re just not meeting the right guys, Holls,’ Kenny protested. ‘You need to broaden your circle of men friends and you’ll meet Mr Right.’

‘Yeah, Mr Always Right if he’s anything like you,’ put in Joan cheekily.

Hazel had never seen Stella consumed with such excitement. For her weekend in Paris with Nick at the end of March, Stella had first made an enormous list of possible outfits, covering every eventuality from museum-going to Left-Bankmeandering. Secondly, Stella had actually got her nails manicured, an unheard-of development from a woman who’d never had either the time or the spare cash for trips to beauty salons.

Finally, Stella had drawn up a fail-safe plan regarding Amelia, listing what action Hazel should take if there was any hitch regarding picking up Amelia from school and delivering her into her Aunt Tara’s capable hands. The plan ran to two typed pages, a paean to maternal guilt.

‘Is there a hair shirt on that holiday clothes list?’ Hazel inquired wickedly.

Stella, engrossed in her Taking Care of Amelia plan and nibbling a bit of just-manicured finger, didn’t hear her. ‘Now, I think that’s everything,’ she said seriously. ‘Will you look and see if I’ve left anything out?’

It was the evening before Stella and Nick were to leave for Paris. Hazel and Stella were in Hazel’s kitchen with a pot of tea brewing, while Amelia, Becky and Shona were sitting in the conservatory beyond the kitchen, pretending to do their homework. They were supposed to be reading, but Hazel could see that they were, in fact, whispering and giggling, casting furtive glances at their mothers occasionally to see if they were in trouble, and scribbling little notes to
each other in coloured metallic pens. Metallic pens were big that year and Hazel was fed up trying to scrub the ink out of clothing.

‘You don’t mind Tara phoning you if she’s worried about something, do you?’ Stella asked.

‘Tara is not going to have anything to worry about,’ interrupted Hazel. ‘She’s perfectly capable of looking after Amelia. In fact, I’ve a good mind to drop Shona and Becky off with her, and let her take care of them too. They’ve been moaning all week that their father and I never go away and let them have any fun.’

Stella nodded absently and ran a finger over her list again. She’d included the French hotel phone and fax number, along with Nick’s mobile number in case there was any problem. Amelia’s doctor’s number was there too and the surgery opening times, just in case. Allergies! She’d better write that Amelia wasn’t allergic to anything but had had chickenpox.

Hazel watched, shaking her head. The way she was going, Stella would be too entangled in guilt to enjoy the weekend. It was time to be firm.

‘Stell, giving birth does not mean you sign a contract stating you will never have fun ever again. Motherhood and weekends away are not mutually exclusive. You’re going to Paris for three days, you’re not abandoning Amelia by the side of a motorway with a note around her neck saying “Can somebody please look after this seven-year-old.”’

‘I know, but…’

‘No buts!’ Hazel said loudly. ‘Paris in the springtime with a nice man, you have to enjoy yourself.’

Stella allowed herself to smile.

‘Besides, Amelia can’t wait to spend a weekend with Tara and Finn. She’s been talking about it all week.’

‘Has she?’ said Stella.

‘Yes, she’ll have a lovely time. It’ll be good for her to have a weekend away from you. Children need a break from their parents occasionally.’ Hazel cast a quick glance at the
threesome in the conservatory where all pretence of homework had stopped. ‘And parents need a break too.’

‘You sound like my mother,’ Stella pointed out. ‘She phoned me yesterday to remind me to pack a nice nightie. “Not one of those oversized T-shirts,” she said. You know you’re a grown-up when your mother refers to your sex life so blithely,’ she added ruefully.

‘Your mother is right.’ Hazel took Stella’s notepad. ‘Where’s the clothes list? I hope there’s sexy undies there too.’

Stella grinned but said nothing. Her mother and Hazel both clearly thought that she was nervous as a kitten at the idea of sharing a bed with Nick Cavaletto. Quite how they’d come to this conclusion, she didn’t know, but they were wrong. Once Stella made up her mind to do something, she did it with all her heart. She wasn’t planning to leap on top of Nick like a sex-starved maniac as soon as they arrived in their hotel bedroom, but she didn’t plan to act the ingénue either. Kissing Nick had reawakened long-forgotten passion in Stella. The week before in Stella’s house, when his fingers had moved seductively over the silk of her shirt, to linger on the curve of her breasts, Stella hadn’t wanted to stop. But Nick had pulled away gently.

‘We should do this properly,’ he said, his breath heavy, ‘not fumbling on the couch like a couple of kids.’

Stella nodded. When he’d gone, she went through her underwear drawers and found them wanting. The trip to Paris would necessitate a trip to the shops for knickers, and not serviceable plain ones, either.

She knew that if Hazel and Rose could see her newly purchased lingerie, they’d be very surprised indeed.

Amelia was so excited over spending the weekend with her Aunty Tara and Uncle Finn, that Stella was ashamed to admit to feeling slightly jealous. At no point during the packing of her bag had Amelia seemed the slightest bit sad.

‘I hope you won’t miss Mummy too much,’ Stella said anxiously.

‘I won’t,’ said Amelia happily. ‘Nick said you and me and him could go somewhere away soon. Not Disneyland. But somewhere with a swimming pool and slides and stuff.’ Amelia stuffed her pencil case into the already jammed rucksack.

Stella had to laugh. Her mother had been so right: children were resilient. Stella had agonised over introducing Amelia to Nick and when she had, they’d taken to each other like old friends.

The week after Hugh’s birthday lunch in Kinvarra, Stella had gently told Amelia that Mummy had a new friend and she’d like Amelia to meet him.

‘He’s a special friend and his name is Nick and I hope you’re going to like him,’ Stella said. ‘I like him an awful lot but because you’re my special girl, I want you to like him too…’

‘OK,’ said Amelia cheerily.

‘He’s coming to dinner on Wednesday.’

A thoughtful look came into Amelia’s little face and she screwed her nose up questioningly.

This is it, thought Stella tensely, waiting for some poignant question about how could she have anyone else special in her life when she had Amelia? Children were so sensitive, this could be a huge mistake. Should she have introduced the idea of Nick more gently?

‘Can I stay up late then?’ asked Amelia.

A huge peal of laughter escaped from her mother. Stella scooped Amelia up in a hug. ‘Of course you can, just this once.’

On the day that Nick was coming to dinner, Stella and Hazel discussed how Amelia was coping with the introduction of this new figure into her life.

Stella was anxious in case Amelia didn’t like the idea of Nick and wasn’t saying so.

‘Stella, relax,’ said Hazel. ‘Yes, I know you’re fed up with people telling you to relax but honestly, stop worrying. I
asked Amelia today about what was happening tonight and she said that a friend of Mummy’s was coming, there was going to be cake and she was staying up late. She’s harbouring a plan to wear her ballet outfit, by the way, and there’s a possibility you might be treated to her version of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.’

Stella exhaled. ‘I know I’m probably worrying too much, but this is so important. I want Amelia to adore Nick and vice versa.’

‘Adore might take longer,’ Hazel advised, ‘so just stick to hoping they get on well tonight. Anyhow, when am I going to meet this marvellous man?’

‘If tonight goes well, I’m thinking of having Sunday lunch in a week or so and inviting Mum, Dad, Tara, Finn and Holly to meet Nick. Would you and Ivan come with the girls?’

‘Try and keep us away. I’ll warn Ivan not to come the heavy-handed male friend who warns Nick not to hurt a hair on your head, etc, etc.’

The two women grinned companionably. ‘Poor Nick,’ said Stella. ‘He’s going to have a line of people queuing up to tell him not to hurt me.’

‘No, he won’t,’ soothed Hazel. ‘You’ve chosen him and you’re a good judge of character.’

By seven, the chicken salad was crisping in the fridge, the table was ready and Amelia was still in her bedroom beautifying herself. Stella’s own beautification had been speedy and consisted of swapping her work clothes for black jeans and a fluffy angora sweater. She didn’t want to overdramatise the evening, which was why she’d dressed down and made a simple meal. For Amelia’s sake, the cake was her favourite sticky toffee slice, and three indentations in one side were evidence that little fingers had already scraped a bit of toffee icing off.

The door bell rang.

‘I’m not ready, Mummy!’ yelled Amelia.

‘Take your time, darling,’ said Stella in amusement.

Nick arrived with flowers, wine and a small silver carrier bag. His arms full, he leaned over and kissed Stella hungrily on the mouth.

‘You look wonderful,’ he said.

‘Right back at you,’ she grinned. ‘What’s in the bag?’

‘A present for Amelia.’ Nick looked apprehensive. ‘I hope you don’t think this is bribery and corruption…’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Stella, ‘and I love you for it.’

Amelia bounced into the room from her bedroom, her dark eyes wide with interest. She was wearing her white ballet tutu, the plastic tiara Holly had given her for Christmas, and a badly-applied slash of her mother’s pink lipstick. She had accessorised the ballet dress with a pair of red and black spotty tights which no longer fitted properly and the battered wand from her beloved purple fairy costume. ‘Hello,’ she said, looking Nick up and down.

‘I’m Nick,’ he said, bending down to shake her hand formally. ‘I like your outfit.’

Amelia beamed. ‘Mummy doesn’t like me wearing it all the time,’ she confided.’ But it goes in the washing machine and everything, so I don’t see why.’

Nick nodded as if he was on Amelia’s side in all of this. ‘Grown-ups have strange ideas about things. Look, I’ve brought you a present,’ he said, holding out the silver carrier bag.

Stella’s legs felt wobbly and she had to sit down on the couch. She watched Amelia reach out for the bag, then look briefly at her mother for instructions.

Stella mouthed the word ‘yes’.

‘What is it?’ said Amelia.

Nick grinned. ‘A special surprise for a special girl.’

Amelia dropped her wand instantly and plonked herself down on the floor. Nick sat down opposite her and stretched his legs out. ‘I can’t kneel, I’m too old,’ he said.

‘Mummy does yoga to keep her young,’ Amelia said, intent on dragging her present from the depths of the carrier
bag. ‘She could teach you.’ She pulled out a tissue-wrapped parcel and expertly wrenched the paper away to reveal a small wooden box about eight inches square. Painted peachy pink, the box was like a miniature chest of drawers with a tiny gold key at the top and delicate golden handles on each drawer. ‘Ooh,’ breathed Amelia in awe.

‘It’s for secrets,’ said Nick. ‘You can lock special things away and nobody can open it. The key even has a ribbon on it.’

‘It’s like a secret treasure box like Barbie would have,’ Amelia said. She opened the drawers carefully. Inside, they were lined with satin, ready for her treasures.

‘Say thank you,’ urged Stella.

‘Thank you,’ said Amelia, with a rapt expression on her face. ‘It’s lovely, thank you.’

‘What are you going to put in it?’ asked Nick.

‘Secrets!’ said Amelia, clapping her hands delightedly. ‘I’ll show you my room and where I’m going to put it. Come on.’ She got to her feet and led the way.

After that, Amelia treated Nick like her best friend. She wanted to sit beside him at the table, she gave him a running commentary on what they were eating: ‘Toffee cake, it’s my favourite. Mummy tried to make it but she can’t so she has to buy it,’ and after dinner, she insisted on sitting between him and Stella on the couch.

‘You’re very good with her,’ Stella said, when she’d finally persuaded Amelia to tidy up her toys before going to bed.

‘I’ve two of my own,’ Nick said. ‘After two little girls, you get the general idea. She’s a lovely child, a credit to you.’

‘She is lovely, isn’t she?’ said Stella proudly.

Stella, smelling of vanilla body lotion and wearing her wildly expensive new underwear under a sedate khaki shirt dress, finished hanging up Amelia’s clothes in Tara’s spare room. It was Friday afternoon and in a few minutes Nick would be arriving to drive her to the airport for their flight to Paris.

Tara, who’d taken a half-day in order to take care of her niece, was in the kitchen showing Amelia all the goodies she’d bought for the weekend.

Stella could hear her listing all sorts of things that Amelia normally only got for a treat, like Kinder eggs and chocolatecoated cereal.

‘No wonder she likes coming here,’ joked Stella loudly.

‘It’s not about food, it’s about fun,’ retorted Tara, coming into the spare room. ‘I could have hung her clothes up.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Stella. ‘This is my worried mother nobody-does-it-like-me act.’

‘Aunty Tara, can I turn the television on?’ said Amelia.

‘Yes, Amelia,’ said Tara. ‘You know how, don’t you?’

‘Know how? She could probably programme your video,’ Stella pointed out. ‘When the electricity went the other day and the kitchen radio ended up with all the stations de-tuned, Amelia re-tuned them in five minutes.’

‘Clever girl,’ said Tara approvingly. ‘Now, don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine with us and if there’s any emergency, I have all your numbers and I can always phone Mum. Holly’s coming over tomorrow after work and we’re going to see a film.’

‘You
will
phone me if anything happens…’ Stella began.

‘Yes, of course. Just enjoy yourself. And if you get carried away with passion and want to stay in Paris for the week, just phone.’ Tara was joking but when she glanced over at her sister, a tiny flush was making its way up Stella’s face.

‘Stella,’ she teased, ‘what is it? What are you not telling me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing my backside. Is Nick a fantastic lover, is that it?’

‘Tara!’ hissed Stella. ‘Amelia might hear you. And no. Yes. I don’t know,’ she added in exasperation. ‘I didn’t want to rush into anything.’