Katy Carter Wants a Hero (24 page)

Mad’s pales when I recount how the barmaid was interrogated.

‘She didn’t say anything, did she?’

I shake my head.

‘Phew!’ Mads breathes. ‘Jo knows everything. Can’t believe I forgot the mums and toddlers, though. I had to go to Plymouth to pick up more stock.’

‘There’s more?’

Mads grins. ‘Course there’s more! Don’t keep it in the house, though. I keep it in the church minibus. In boxes marked “NIV Bible”. Ingenious, huh?’

‘As long as nobody wants a Bible,’ I say. ‘Babe, you’ve flipped. Why set yourself up for all this stress? Can’t you just get a normal job?’

Maddy crosses the kitchen and starts to rummage through a drawer. She unearths string, old corks, tea towels and a sock before laying hands on a pile of brochures.

She hands them to me. ‘This is why.’

‘ “Sandals,” ’ I read, ‘ “the ultimate in Caribbean romance.” Let me get this straight. You’re selling vibrators so you can go to Sandals?’

‘Just look at it!’ cries Maddy, almost shoving the brochure up my nose. Pictures of tanned couples frolicking in the azure sea blur before my gaze. ‘If I can save up enough for Richard and me to go to St Lucia, I just know that we can put the romance back into our marriage. All we need is a little bit of time together. You went there once with James, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I say reluctantly.

‘And wasn’t it the most romantic place in the world?’ It might have been, I suppose, except that James whinged non-stop about the heat and spent most of his time tapping away on his laptop, frantic to check the Dow or the FTSE while I watched loved-up couples sipping cocktails and my pallid skin fried.

‘Katy! Hello!’ Mads snaps her fingers at me. ‘It must have been amazing. You were miles away.’

‘Very romantic,’ I agree dutifully.

‘When I’ve saved six grand I swear I’ll give Anna Spring up. But for the moment it’s the best-paid work I can get. The wages down here are so unbelievably low. I work two days in Piskies and Pickles for minimum wage and I can earn double that in a night selling Throbbing Theo and his pals.’

I don’t say a word. I’ve known Maddy long enough to not bother attempting to change her mind.

‘It’s great you’re staying. If Richard finds any evidence or takes a phone call we can say it’s your job.’

Professional scapegoat? Excuse me if I don’t jump for joy. The prospect of Richard thinking that I host sex-toy parties is not a pleasant one. He’ll go ballistic and probably throw holy water at me or something.

‘Not that that’s why I asked you to come and stay,’ adds my friend hastily.

Yeah, right. Mads could knock Machiavelli into cotton socks.

‘And you wouldn’t need to do anything. Just pretend it’s all your idea if Richard asks.’

I have a bad feeling about this. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he finds out.’

‘Whatever!’ Mads says airily. As far as she’s concerned, the matter is taken care of. I’ve gone from teacher of English to purveyor of sex aids in less time than it takes to drink a glass of wine. Even Harry Potter would struggle to transform so quickly.

Mads tops up my glass. ‘You’ll soon see what it’s all about. I’m doing a party tonight in Fowey.’

I groan. ‘I’m shattered. Can’t it wait?’

To be honest, I was really looking forward to curling up with Jake and Millandra. There’s another character lurking in the back of my consciousness. He looks a bit like Gabriel and I can’t wait to put him on to paper. A room full of shrieking women trying on nurses’ outfits and basques is the last place I want to be. Can’t I just be left alone to brood?

‘Certainly not,’ says Mads firmly when I propose this idea. ‘This is the start of your new life, Katy. Remember the new you who is going to write bestsellers and bag herself the ultimate romantic hero? The new you who works out and eats healthily? What’s happened to her?’

I have a feeling I’m going to be sick of the new me very, very soon.

‘Besides, there are loads of gorgeous men here, all gagging to meet a single chick like you.’

‘I’m not going to meet them at an Anna Spring party,’ I point out.

‘No,’ Mads agrees. ‘But you can order all the kit you need to pull, starting with sexy new undies, something red and black, maybe.’

‘I’m looking for my Mr Darcy. Not auditioning for the Moulin Rouge.’

‘A cute thong? Peekaboo bra?’ Mads doesn’t give up easily. I bet she’s a brilliant saleswoman. ‘Something to make you feel really feminine? And we need to sort your hair out too.’ She ruffles my curls and shakes her head. ‘And your clothes. You’ll never survive Tregowan in those silly boots. You need a makeover.’

Mads makes Trinny and Susannah look sensitive, but I’m too tired to argue. Besides, maybe she’s right. The old Katy Carter hasn’t had much success with men.

‘You’ll never guess who’s moved to Tregowan!’ Mads starts to brush her hair, one eye firmly on the clock. ‘I thought of you at once because he’s perfect. Only Gabriel Winters Mr Rochester!’

‘I know. He gave me a lift from the station when you abandoned me,’ I say nonchalantly.

‘You kept that quiet, you sneaky cow. He’s gorgeous! And he picked you up? Oh my God! That’s fantastic!’

‘He gave me a lift, Mads,’ I laugh. ‘He didn’t propose.’

‘But he rescued you in your hour of need. That is so romantic. Katy Carter! You’ve only been here a few hours and you’ve pulled Tregowan’s most eligible bachelor. Didn’t I tell you it was crawling with gorgeous men here? Aren’t you glad you came?’ Mads dances across the kitchen in excitement and I can hear her brain ticking. She’s all but married us off already.

‘Calm down,’ I say. ‘It was only a lift and a drink in the pub.’

‘He took you for a drink!’ Mads is beside herself with delight. ‘Gabriel Winters took you for a drink? Do you know what that means?’

‘That he was thirsty?’

‘Jesus, Katy!’ Maddy looks at me in despair. ‘How do you expect to write romantic novels when you haven’t got the first idea about romance? It means he likes you, you muppet!’

It does? Can’t say I got those vibes. Can’t say I got any vibes at all, actually. Gabriel may be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life, but there’s something rather sexless about him. But hey, what do I know?

‘Does it?’

‘Duh! Of course!’ Mad’s eyes have a manic glint to them. ‘Get yourself changed, girlfriend! You are going to come to my party and buy yourself some sexy knickers. I have a good feeling about this.’

As Mads bounds up the stairs, all glossy bouncing curls and endless energy, I drag myself along in her wake. I seem to have left my enthusiasm for life in general somewhere far behind.

If I can’t dredge up the slightest drop of enthusiasm for Gabriel Winters, a man that the majority of the female population of Britain is drooling over at the moment, I must really be in trouble.

I wake the next morning not to the cry of gulls as I’d expected, but to the soft throaty call of a cuckoo. For a moment I lie still, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face as it falls in ribbons through the gap in the curtains.

I’m in bed on a weekday morning and I don’t have to get up or go anywhere if I don’t want to. It’s weird to be without my usual sense of panic (Shit! Forgot to mark Year 8’s books!) or heavy sensation of impending doom (Arse! Year 11 last lesson!). I ought to feel guilty that I’m lying here in bed while my poor ex-colleagues cram themselves on to the tube before embarking on a long day nagging stroppy adolescents about taking off their trainers and doing up their ties. But do you know what? I don’t feel guilty at all.

I feel free!

I push off the duvet, pad across the wooden floor to the window and swish the curtains apart. Instantly the room is drenched with buttery light and outside the sea is a deep glittery blue. Boats rock merrily in the harbour and seagulls bob idly on the waves.

‘Cuckoo! Cuckoo!’ I hear again, and now I’m sufficiently awake, I realise that it’s actually the text alert on my mobile phone. The seagulls are calling outside and one very persistent individual is busy attacking a fish head on the quayside. I rub my eyes and yawn, retrieve my phone and take it back to bed with me.

Maddy’s party in Fowey was actually really good fun. A group of fishermen’s wives, their purses bulging with the fruits of their husbands’ latest catch, were merrily pissed and desperate to spend as much money as possible. Before long, basques, suspenders and leather corsets were doing the rounds and Throbbing Theo and his cronies were buzzing and wiggling like a lively boy band. I won a willy-shaped soap in the rude-word bingo, and I also have a hazy memory of ordering some ridiculously frilly underwear. Mads reckoned she took a record amount of orders.

I hope so. The sooner she pays for this holiday, the sooner I’ll be able to breathe easy. Thinking of Richard driving around in a minibus stuffed full of sex aids that I’ll be blamed for isn’t conducive to a good night’s sleep. At least I managed to write another chapter of
Heart of the Highwayman
during the night, and, if I say so myself, it’s pretty steamy stuff! Perhaps all this Anna Spring business will have an odd effect on me and I’ll end up writing sizzling erotica. My parents would be so proud of such evidence of my sexual liberation!

I ignore the mobile and pull my notebook out from beneath my pillow. No way am I going to risk this copy falling into enemy hands. Besides, if Richard finds it, his opinion of me will be even lower, and since it’s already at earthworm level, this is a risk I do not want to take.

‘Oh Jake,’ Millandra breathed, ‘I can resist you no longer. Please take me now.’

Jake groaned. She was heartbreakingly lovely as she stood there before him in her gossamer-thin nightdress. Through the fabric he could distinguish the curve of her bosom, her concave belly and the dark triangle at the top of her thighs. She was so pure and fragile that surely the nature of a man’s passion would crush her?

Millandra lay back on the four-poster bed, her hair a golden halo around her head. She saw Jake above her, and then he was kissing her neck and gently stroking her breast. Desire rippled through her maiden body. She felt as though she was melting.

Sadly all the product of my fevered imagination, but a girl can dream, can’t she? One day I’m sure my body will melt too, although I can’t imagine any man having to worry that his passion will crush me. Still, I’ll soon show Mads there’s more to romance than those rabbits she’s sold to half of Cornwall.

The message tone sounds again. It’s certainly persistent. I scroll to my inbox and discover I have four messages waiting, one from James, two from Frankie and one missed call from Ollie. At least they haven’t forgotten me.

James’s message is short and to the point.

We need to discuss money.

Whatever happened to I miss you and I want you back?

‘Bastard,’ I say, erasing the message.

What is it with James and money? You’d think he was destitute from the way he carries on. I thought investment bankers earned a fortune? Well, he’s got no hope of squeezing cash from me at the minute, if ever. Jewell may have paid off my credit cards, but I too may be reduced to flogging vibrators if I don’t find a job in the next week or so. I’ll ask Mads to take me to the job centre after breakfast.

The other texts are from Frankie. I open the first message, which was sent yesterday, and laugh aloud because Frankie texts just as he talks, all exclamations and hyperbole.

O my god!!! U won’t believe it! The most exciting thing ever has happened!!! Paramour Records have signed us!!! will b famous!!! Prada and Versace here I come! xxxxx

Fantastic! I’m delighted for Frankie. Even if I think the Screaming Queens sound like they’re being hung, drawn and quartered, somebody somewhere must like them. I open the next message expecting more of the same, but drop the phone as though it is red hot when I read:

Have u pulled? Am jealous!

I stare at the phone. What is going on?

I text back:

What r u talking about?

It’s only a matter of seconds before the phone cuckoos again and Frankie replies.

Suggest u buy a copy of the sun!!!

What?

I stare at the text until the letters blur and start to dance. What is going on? Why should I buy the
Sun
? It might be Frankie’s rag of choice, but I’m an English teacher and honour-bound to pretend to read the
Guardian
.

But I must admit I’m curious.

Hopping out of bed, I pull on a T-shirt and some tatty jogging bottoms that were Ollie’s in the very distant past and patter down the stairs and into the kitchen.

‘I’ve just has the weirdest text,’ I gasp, waving the phone. ‘You’ll never guess, but—’

‘There’s a lobster in the bath?’ says Richard from the kitchen table, where he’s munching dry toast and drinking tea. ‘You’ve come to stay indefinitely?’

Ten bums in a row. Shouldn’t he be at a prayer meeting or something? I’m suddenly conscious that my Little Miss T-shirt is a size too small and the word
Naughty
is stretched across my boobs in a highly inappropriate manner. Richard has a strange effect on me. Whenever I’m around him I’m either compelled by a perverse desire to be as obnoxious and outrageous as I can or to confess all my sins and see what he does about it, which, let’s be honest, could take some time.

I’m sure I was a Catholic in a past life.

‘Hello, Katy.’ Richard rises and kisses me on the cheek, which feels awkward, a bit like being kissed by your headmaster. ‘Mads tells me you’re staying for a while.’

‘If that’s OK with you,’ I say quickly. ‘It was a sudden decision.’

That we’ve been planning for weeks.

‘Indeed?’ Richard raises an eyebrow.

Yes in-bloody-deed.

‘Do you want some tea? The kettle’s just boiled.’

‘Thanks.’ I fish a mug out of the sink and give it a rinse. ‘Where’s Mads?’

‘Exactly what I was wondering yesterday,’ says Richard, fixing me with a penetrating look.

Fuck. He saw me in the pub.

‘If you want to go incognito, I should try dying the ginger hair,’ he suggests, biting viciously into his toast. ‘I suppose she went to collect you? And you popped into the Mermaid for a drink?’