Love-40 (10 page)

She turned into West Street and headed for Pride Square and the Bear and Bottle. Out of season, Pridehaven was fairly quiet, but this was Saturday night and the fish restaurant was full. Next door, the pub frequented by Pridehaven's youth contingent was pulsating with some of the mindless rap Suzi hated, and next door to that was The Bargain Basement. Suzi speeded up, passed Secrets In The Attic, did a double-take, spun back on her heels.

‘Good grief!' Not only was the front door wide open … Burglars, she thought, all our valuable stock gone walkabout and we're bound to be under-insured. But … the lights were on and in the next millisecond she registered the sunflower-yellow walls, the windchimes singing in the breeze. What had she done? ‘Estelle?'

She stepped inside. Nothing. No one. All the furniture was stacked in the middle of the shop, everything cocooned in dust sheets, the dust sheets splattered with sunflower-yellow paint. So was most of the window display. And was that a yellow footprint on the Chesterfield…?

Suzi blinked and her voice rose. ‘Estelle!' she shouted.

Chapter 7

Michael was singing The Animals' ‘House of the Rising Sun' when Suzi entered the pub. It was crowded and smoky, and she stood at the back for a moment, staying out of sight, watching him give it some. He'd been working himself hard. She could see the faint film of sweat on his brow, the dampness of his fair hair. The sleeves of his denim shirt were rolled up and his eyes were closed in concentration. But not for long – they snapped open as someone got too close to one of his precious speakers. And stayed open as he reached the instrumental interlude, the part of the song where he started grinding his hips, raising suggestively the neck of the guitar.

She smiled. Living that beat, Michael called it.

It was hard to equate the Michael who had become her lover, who sat beside her on her tatty sofa in the riverbank cottage and held her hand, with this … performer. To watch him now you'd think he had an ego the size of a house. Suzi leaned against the pillar beside her. And she'd thought exactly that, hadn't she, when she'd first met him – during that weekend away with Liam and Estelle.

She tapped her feet, watching Michael's expression, the way he responded – so apparently sure of his audience. He'd been performing that night too in a crowded pub in the New Forest and Liam – being Liam – had got chatting to him afterwards. Suzi had kept out of the way, feeling only mildly irritated when Liam invited him back to their small hotel for a drink. She found Michael Ashby too full of himself, too crazy by half.

Then she was left alone with him for a few minutes and he'd leaned towards her, looked into her eyes and said, ‘Why do you look so sad?'

‘Do I?' Suzi had blinked at him, seeing him again, or perhaps for the first time.

‘Yeah, you do.' He had touched her hand, his fingers stretching out towards hers, and she'd allowed her fingers to curl under his palm, just for a moment. That was the start. A small start, but Michael was a persistent man.

He invited her to Fareham, himself to Pridehaven, he phoned her, wooed her, charmed himself into her life, and until tonight, she had almost forgotten how they had begun. He had never, she realised now, been as sure of himself as he appeared. And equally, it had never even been her decision for them to become … well, whatever they'd become.

Suzi looked around the pub. The beams were decorated with dried flowers, the walls with brasses and gilt mirrors. The furniture was solid and the feel of the place rustic, traditional, comforting. And the clientele were loving Michael. He had all the charm of a little kid performing for the first time – the shy smile, the knees almost knocking together as he bent over his guitar in concentration. He had captured his audience. They were tapping their feet, rocking on their heels, keeping time, even singing along – some of them. Michael had done OK.

Last orders were called and Suzi pushed her way through to the bar to get a beer. Had she been sad when she'd met Michael? No more than now. She'd always thought of herself as contented. She enjoyed her life with her animals in the cottage, she enjoyed Secrets In The Attic, and she liked the change from routine that Michael brought when he came down on Friday nights. The feel of a man in her arms, someone kind to talk to, who was more responsive than Samson, even on a bad day. And if there was more … well, Suzi hadn't found it, and that was probably some failing in her.

Secrets In The Attic … She pulled a fiver out of the pocket of her jeans. What a night. A committee meeting from hell and then discovering that her partner had decided to get drunk and paint their shop and half its contents bright yellow. Secrets in the attic? It looked more like sunny afternoons in Provence.

*   *   *

Michael was still trying to extricate himself from the blonde – he knew he shouldn't have given in and done ‘Lay Lady Lay', it was against all his better instincts – when he saw Suzi.

She waved. She was wearing figure-hugging jeans and a black T-shirt, no make-up, all short spiky hair and a big grin.

Michael's heart leaped, before he remembered how angry he was with her. And she made no effort to come close enough to see off the blonde, damn it. Was she so sure of him?

‘Got to have a word with my girlfriend,' he told Blondie, who pouted the sort of dark red lips that might suck a man dry and murmured, ‘See you again soon then, Michael. That's the best version I ever heard – apart from Dylan's, of course.'

Of course.

Michael squeezed his way through, touched the nape of Suzi's neck. ‘Where were you?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘You won't believe it when I tell you. First, the committee meeting went on for ever, then –'

‘Couldn't you have left?'

‘Left?' She blinked up at him, still smiling, not yet realising that this was going to be a row.

Michael didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself. ‘Walked out. You know, told them, sorry, but there's somewhere you have to be. Someone you have to be with.'

‘Oh, I see.' Suzi's eyes narrowed. She seemed to be re-appraising the situation. ‘I had to stay there,' she said at last. ‘Erica's doing her best to take over the youth club and turn CG's into something terribly exclusive and awful. We have to stop her. It's important.'

‘And I'm not.' He knew it was childish, but the adrenalin had left him, his after-performance high ruined. He felt disappointed and yes, he felt childish.

‘Of course you're important.' Suzi touched his arm. ‘But I knew you'd do fine without me. And you have.'

Michael just gave her a long look and went off to get his leather jacket. That was hardly the point.

*   *   *

‘I suppose Liam was there?' he said, when they pulled up in the yard by the riverside, which was as near as they could get to her place. What was wrong with him? Could he be jealous of her brother?

‘Yep.' Suzi had gone all tight-lipped. Their journey back to the riverbank cottage in the battered Granada had been a silent one.

‘Arguing with anyone who'd listen to him, no doubt.' Michael was aware of the sneer in his own voice. What was up with him? He didn't want this.

Suzi got out of the car, led the way down the path and into the cottage and petted the dogs who had come to greet them. ‘At least Liam cares,' she said hotly. Briefly, she buried her face in Samson's fur. ‘He believes in the future of CG's. He wants ordinary people to benefit. Our local kids, for example.'

Michael felt the exclusion of her words. The local kids were nothing to do with him. He didn't even live here. ‘Up the workers,' he scoffed.

For a moment, he thought she was going to ask him to leave. For a moment he felt the drop of panic in his groin. He had gone too far. Then she turned away. ‘I don't want to argue. I'm going to bed.'

Michael followed her up the narrow staircase. It curled its way like a comma into an equally narrow landing which led to Suzi's bedroom. He ducked to enter. This wasn't how he'd meant it to be. It was supposed to be flushed and warm between them now – post-performance heat sparking them off into a session of sex to remember, Suzi looking up to him, wanting to please him, with, OK, just a hint of groupie adoration in her dark eyes. But it wasn't like that, not at all. Yeah – and whose fault was that?

She got undressed slowly – he tried not to watch, but his eyes were drawn back to her small, slim figure as she stripped off her jeans and T-shirt, as she pulled back the patchwork quilt, switched on the bedside light, shrouded within its fringed navy linen shade. He knew it didn't matter to her that they might go to bed and not make love, that he might not hold her close, that he'd be lying beside her, staring up at her night-time ceiling, while she slept soundly on. Suzi was ace at pretending indifference.

Michael took off his shirt. Or
was
she indifferent?

‘The landlord reckoned I could have the spot once a month,' he told her as she returned from the bathroom.

‘Great.' Suzi climbed into the high bed. She plumped up her pillows and settled down.

Great. Meant nothing, did great. ‘Fact is, I'm learning some new material, really getting into it again.' Michael stepped out of his jeans.

Suzi's eyes were closed. ‘Great,' she said, more sleepily this time.

‘The job's pissing me off,' he continued conversationally, going through to clean his teeth. The bathroom of the two-bedroomed cottage was tiny and Michael had to stoop to enter. He fixed his gaze on the multi-coloured copper unicorn Suzi had hung from a ceiling flocked with silver stars.

‘So I've given in my notice,' he said, when he returned to the bedroom. He ducked under the eaves to deposit his watch on the pine dressing-table. That would shake her. And he wanted to shake her, wake her, make her look at him, for God's sake.

‘You've done what?' She opened one eye.

Half a look was better than none, Michael told himself. ‘I'm leaving work,' he said. ‘Leaving the factory. Leaving Fareham.'

The other eye opened.

‘In fact I was wondering – what do you reckon about me moving in here?'

*   *   *

It was two weeks later that Suzi got home from Secrets to find the narrow hallway of the cottage crammed with amplifiers, guitars and speakers.

‘Are we opening up a music shop?' she said mildly. The last two weeks had been equally crammed – with guilt and bafflement mostly.

She had been baffled that Michael had given up his job in Fareham, even more baffled that he was expecting to move in with her.

In a way, she supposed, picking a route over one of the speakers, she had liked the fact that Michael lived in Fareham, and not Pridehaven, that he wouldn't encroach on her space or her weekdays, suddenly turn up and expect her to drop everything in order to do what he wanted her to do. It was selfish of her perhaps, but she was used to living alone.

And then there was the guilt. Guilt that she was too selfish to want him living here, guilt that she hadn't wanted their relationship to change, that permanence seemed a threat not a comfort. And guilt that she had inadvertently made him feel so unwanted, because when he'd dropped the bombshell and assessed her unguarded initial reaction, he'd looked so sad, she'd promptly taken him in her arms, hugged and hugged as if she could snatch that first horrified reaction away again. Oh, yes, Suzi was good at guilt. Weren't all women?

‘Of course I want you,' she had said, wondering if she said it often enough, whether it would happen, whether she would feel it. ‘Stay here for as long as you like.' Knowing she'd made it sound temporary, knowing that was the only way.

She was fond of Michael – of course she was. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed going to bed with him, was happy to help him out if she could. And she would even … she climbed over an amplifier, give his musical equipment a home. Though it was telling, wasn't it, that of all his possessions, there were more guitars, amps and speakers than all the rest put together.

But how the heck, she couldn't help wondering, had Michael ever come to the conclusion that she'd want to share her home with him? It was hardly a spur of the moment decision for any couple. In fact right now, to Suzi, it felt life-threatening more than anything else. How would she cope? What had she let herself in for? And more to the point – for how long was Michael thinking of staying?

Chapter 8

Michael wandered into the garden of the riverbank cottage and surveyed the lawn dispiritedly. In theory this was now his home, a home shared with Suzi. Only it didn't seem that way somehow. And how come goats were so stupid? Hester always walked to the full length of her leash before she started eating, sidestepped and ate, sidestepped and ate, oblivious of the greener grass close to her tethering post. The result? A crop circle.

But then … He moved closer and stroked Hester's white head. Who could blame the poor creature – never taken out like the dogs, not free to explore her territory like the cats. Even Suzi's flock of chickens had more freedom.

Hester stopped munching for a second to look up at him soulfully.

‘I understand,' Michael told her, glancing rapidly behind him to make sure Suzi wasn't watching him out of the kitchen window. ‘And just to prove it – I'll take you out.'

He went back inside, called to Suzi, ‘OK if I take Hester out?'

‘Out?' Suzi looked up from the novel she was reading and raised an eyebrow.

‘For a walk,' he clarified, aware it sounded daft.

‘Why?'

‘Why not?'

Suzi shrugged. ‘Don't lose her, then.'

‘I won't.'

Michael returned to the garden, untied Hester, held on to the leash and attempted to open the back gate, usually a simple task that was hampered in this instance by the two dogs chasing each other between his legs and a surprisingly strong, lunging goat. Eventually he managed it.