Nearly Almost Somebody (17 page)

She nodded.

‘And stay away from Patrick.’

Happily.

* * *

Zoë sipped her tea, watching as Libby walked up the garden path. ‘She’s not going to be happy.’

Patrick didn’t respond. He rubbed Hyssop’s head, showing no emotion.

‘Is it wine o’clock yet?’ Libby called. She stopped and stared when she stepped into the living room but then turned, glaring to Zoë. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I’ve come to take my cat–’

‘He’s not your cat,’ Libby said, her voice a vicious hiss.

Zoë sat back, nursing her mug, intrigued by the drama unfolding in front of her. Patrick had rocked up, casual, confident and utterly persuasive. Not that he needed to persuade her. Hyssop had trotted down the stairs to meet him, hissing at Zoë along the way. The cat hated her and she hated the mangy fleabag right back. She hadn’t said as much to Patrick, but she’d already decided it made sense for Hyssop to move next door.

What she hadn’t appreciated was just how attached to the furry lump Libby was. Hyssop jumped off Patrick’s knee, sidling up to Libby, purring away, and Libby’s eyes filled with tears. She was crying over something that wasn’t ballet. How very interesting. And even more interesting, Patrick had sat forward, frowning, his casual confidence crumbling. But was he concerned over Hyssop’s defection, or Libby’s tears?

Libby scooped Hyssop up, kissing him. ‘Can’t you get another cat?’

‘Look,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘I know you like him, but he means a lot to me–’

‘He does to me too.’ She looked at Patrick, tears pooling again. ‘Hyssop’s my friend.’

Zoë almost choked on her tea. Patrick and Libby both glared at her. ‘What? It’s just a cat.’

Patrick shook his head before turning back to Libby. ‘He’s not just a cat.’

‘No, he’s not.’ Libby shook her hair back, composing herself. ‘But anyway, he’s Zoë’s cat officially and she’ll let me keep him. Won’t you?’

No. I don’t want the bloody cat here.

‘Zo, come on.’ Patrick turned to her, flashing that terrific, flirty smile. ‘We’ve known each other for years. We used to go blackberry picking. Remember when your tutu got stuck in the brambles?’

‘And for mentioning that, Libby gets full custody.’

Patrick swore, taking a few moments to stare at the floorboards, but finally he stood up, towering over Libby, to say goodbye to Hyssop. Libby looked up at him, her eyes apologetic and Zoë again struggled not to laugh. These two were bonding over a stupid cat.

‘Look after him,’ he said, his voice quiet.

‘I promise,’ Libby whispered.

Oh, this was fabulous. Patrick’s jaw twitched away, but he spent more time gazing into Libby’s big blue eyes, now framed by smudged mascara, than he did looking at the cat he so desperately wanted back. He was as smitten with Libby as Libby was with him. Priceless.

He headed for the door, glancing one last time at Libby.

‘But…’ Zoë said, stopping him. ‘You can have visitation rights.’

‘What?’ Patrick and Libby asked.

‘Feel free to visit on weekends and evenings. You know, to make sure he’s okay.’
And let’s see what develops between you two.
Zoë pottered through to the kitchen, leaving them to it, but hovered outside the closed door, listening in.

‘I might take her up on that,’ he said.

‘I hate you. Get out.’

‘You won, princess. I’m not too fond of you either.’

Zoë grinned. A match made in heaven. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Patrick fulfilled every single one of Libby’s Summoning Spell criteria. But she’d let Libby discover that for herself.

* * *

Annoyed, irritated, and coming home to an empty house, Patrick slammed the door, cursing girls who cried. How could he fight back and persuade Zoë when Libby had got all… weepy. Christ, why did girls cry so much?

His phone rang. Robbie. Thank you. It was Saturday night. He could go round there, drown his misery. ‘Hi Rob–’

‘Stay away from Libby.’

‘Fucking hell.
Droit du seigneur
?’

Robbie hung up.

Jesus. He’d broken his parents
rules
by drinking on a work night to win that girl over, and for what? Still no cat. He’d lost Hyssop and now Robbie was pissed off with him. Libby Wilde was quickly ruining his life.

Trundling his bike down the Low Wood Farm drive never failed to cheer Patrick. The place almost felt like home. Shame he’d had to waste a day’s holiday so he could drink on a Sunday – no booze when he was working the next day had been the hardest rule he’d agreed to. It ruined his usual Sunday bike ride with Robbie, but there was no way Patrick could endure a four year-old’s birthday party without a beer or five.

In the yard, Cromwell the fat Lab lay in the sun, the cat spread out next to him. Nothing had changed. Except the place was a damn site tidier. Not that Robbie kept a sloppy yard, but the stable doors gleamed under a coat of fresh stain, the windows sparkled and hanging baskets filled with petunias and nasturtiums hung from the roof beams.

Would Ms Wilde be here? Yes, she was. Patrick paused by the yard gate as she led Harmony, Tallulah’s old gymkhana pony, out of a stable. Jesus, Libby looked more like seventeen year-old trailer trash than she had when they went to the Alfred. Her pale blue eyes, what you could see of them under her fringe, were caked with more black eye shadow than he’d seen most girls wear on a night out in Haverton and what was she wearing? Denim jodhpurs and a purple ACDC t-shirt that hung off one shoulder displaying a turquoise bra strap. He much preferred the girl he’d crashed into. He much preferred angelic.

As he opened the gate, Robbie came out of the house. Patrick approached him, offering an apprehensive handshake, but it quickly evolved into a back-slapping hug. Christ, it really was good to be home.

‘This place looks good,’ Patrick said. ‘Van’s been busy.’

‘She’s still away. Libby’s done all this.’

Robbie smiled in her direction, but she was too busy grooming Harmony to notice, and unless Patrick was mistaken, there was a definite edge to Robbie’s voice. Was he still worried about Vanessa and the bloke from the quartet?

‘How’s Van getting on?’

‘She’s in Yorkshire, at some music festival.’ Robbie led the way to the garden. ‘So how come you buggered off to Spain? You didn’t call, you didn’t write...’

Robbie was clearly passing idle chit-chat, settling the ground after the terse phone call the previous week, but how much should Patrick tell him? As they passed Libby, she didn’t look round but brushed Harmony’s tail, humming to herself.

Robbie smiled. ‘World of her own.’

More like she’s snubbing me. Patrick shook his head. She was still pissed off. He couldn’t see why. She’d got the cat.

‘Spain?’ Robbie asked again.

‘Dad blew up after the Miss Haverton story,’ Patrick explained. ‘Had to keep my head low for a while, let him calm down.’

‘I don’t blame him. Shagging in the park?’ Robbie shook his head, trying not to laugh. ‘You’re lucky you weren’t arrested.’

‘Seemed a good idea at the time.’

‘If you ever fuck anyone in my restaurant again, I’ll have you arrested.’

Patrick swore, his stomach bottoming out. ‘You know about that?’

‘We have cameras.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘Yes. Laurel saw you go in.’

And this is what he got now, why he didn’t need any rules. The days of pulling stunts like that were long gone. That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

Patrick stalled at the garden gate. ‘Jesus.’

If Vanessa had planned Matilda’s party, he might’ve expected bunting hung around the garden, a bouncy castle at one end and pass-the-parcel at the other, but the bouncy fairy palace, vast paddling pool filled with bubbles and a giant rabbit performing magic tricks to one of Matilda’s enthralled friends seemed way beyond the usual Low Wood Farm soiree.

‘Did Libby do all this too?’ Patrick asked, eyeing up a stilt walker dressed as a ballet dancing fairy. ‘Where the hell did you find her?’

Robbie laughed. ‘Fantastic, isn’t she?’

Without question, Patrick knew they were both referring to Libby not the fit as girl on stilts who’d given them a cheeky wink.

‘It’s official, I’m in love with Libby,’ Scott said as they joined him at the picnic table. ‘She used to work for a phone company and the little beauty’s unblocked my phone. Will managed to do Christ knows what with it this morning. Clara’s free to a good home if you’re interested, Rob.’

Robbie laughed, but they all turned as Libby led Harmony into the ménage. What was it with that girl? Patrick didn’t get it.

‘How’s she working out?’ Scott asked, handing them both beers.

‘She’s a godsend,’ Robbie replied. ‘She knows her stuff, works her arse off, does what she’s asked and never complains.’

‘And happens to look like a St Trinian’s Sixth Former.’ Scott grinned.

‘Which doesn’t hurt.’ Robbie laughed. ‘That’s actually demure for her, most days she looks like she’d get kicked out of St Trinian’s.’

‘I don’t get that whole trashy look,’ Patrick said. ‘She looks better in her running kit.’

‘Never seen it.’ Robbie slugged his beer, frowning.

‘You should,’ Patrick said.

‘If you don’t like how she looks, why did you ask her out?’ Robbie asked.

‘To get Maggie’s cat back.’

Libby crouched down, talking to the first of Matilda’s friends clamouring for a pony ride. The little girl laughed and Libby’s face broke into that huge smile. Even the trashy make-up couldn’t hide pretty Libby. Maybe he shouldn’t have walked out of the pub. He shook his head. No, she’d been sensationalised in the paper, outed on the blog, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that meant Michael Wray had a new obsession. Patrick felt for her.

‘Libby seeing anyone?’ Scott asked, looking suspiciously innocent as he raised his eyebrows at Patrick.

Christ, don’t go there. Patrick picked at his beer label as Robbie said no. They’d not discussed Robbie warning him off and Patrick was happy to leave it that way. Libby Wilde had caused enough trouble.

* * *

The last of the party bags had been handed out, Matilda’s munchkin friends waved off and the entertainers paid – a party perfectly managed, even if Libby did say so herself. At five o’clock, she ducked into the house to change from her jodhpurs into a denim mini-skirt and when she returned, only Robbie’s closest friends remained: Scott, Clara, Daisy, Xander, their kids and unfortunately, Patrick. He and Robbie were on the chair swing, laughing and knocking back bottles of beer.

Considering how nervous Robbie had been to have the party in Vanessa’s absence, Libby hadn’t expected to see him so chilled. In t-shirt and shorts, he’d milled amongst the guests, the parents of Matilda’s friends, topping up glasses, laughing, smiling. Of course, that was all part of his Mr Restaurateur persona, but when he joined his friends, his smile relaxed into something entirely more natural.

‘Libby,’ Daisy said, ‘please tell me you’ll do this for Evie’s birthday?’

‘Oooh, and Will’s?’ Clara beamed. ‘Where the hell did you find stilt-walking fairy princesses?’

Libby laughed, trying to ignore Clara’s bare feet, the evidence of corns and bunions almost as obvious as on her own. But where Libby had her toes hidden in ballet flats, Clara had her feet propped up without any sense of shame. If only.

‘Unbelievably, Libby still doesn’t have a hot boyfriend,’ Daisy said.

‘What happened with Jack?’ Clara tipped her head to one side, studying Libby’s feet, as usual in third position, her habitual resting stance. ‘He’s cute. I would.’

‘I can hear you,’ Scott called across the lawn.

Libby reluctantly sat at the table, as uncomfortable with the scrutiny as she was the conversation.

‘How about Jonty?’ Daisy suggested. ‘He’s adorable, good-looking, half-Italian.’

‘Rich too,’ Patrick added.

‘Money doesn’t make you happy,’ Libby replied, tucking her hair behind her ears. What did Robbie think of this? She daren’t look at him.

‘He’s far too nice,’ Clara said. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘Ignore her.’ Daisy swatted her friend’s arm. ‘Xand and I can come too. We’ll do tapas and cocktails in Haverton. It’ll be fun.’

Libby stared at her feet, desperately to get out of saying yes. ‘Look, I don’t want to go out with Jonty, whoever he is.’

‘Why?’ Daisy asked, sitting up. ‘Oh my God, it’s true, isn’t it? You and Xander–’

‘No,’ Libby said, appalled Daisy could even consider it.

‘Fitzgerald.’ Xander shook his head. ‘You’ve had too much wine. Trust me, please?’

‘But you two are...’ Tears tumbled down Daisy’s face.

Libby looked to Robbie and he stared back. She couldn’t let Daisy think this. They had to tell them. They had to. Matilda and Dora were merrily jumping in the bouncy castle and with Tallulah at Chloe’s, there was no one to overhear. Libby opened her mouth.

‘Xander’s not having an affair with Libby,’ Robbie said, standing up.

Libby closed her eyes as he walked over and didn’t open them, even when he put his hands on her shoulders. Oh god, no.

‘I am.’

‘Wow, Rob,’ Clara said. ‘If I knew you were going to shag around, I’d have formed a disorderly queue.’

‘Clara,’ Scott hissed, ‘not the fucking time.’

* * *

What the actual fuck?

Patrick stared at Robbie, still not believing what he’d just heard. Okay, it’d been his suggestion for Robbie to get an au-pair while Vanessa was away, but he hadn’t actually expected Robbie to shag her. Robbie was a romantic. He wasn’t the unfaithful type, not these days. But it certainly explained Robbie warning him off Libby.

Jesus.

So why did Libby go out for a drink with him? He’d assumed she fancied him, but she obviously didn’t. He’d flirted with her. What an idiot. Hang on, she’d flirted right back. Maybe she did fancy him. Was that the kind of girl she was, shagging one guy then going for a drink with his mate? Nice. Thank Christ he’d walked out.

‘What about Van?’ Patrick asked, unable to keep the anger from his voice. ‘Is this why she’s not here for her daughter’s birthday?’

Robbie didn’t answer, but turned to Libby. Whatever their unspoken communication was, she understood it.

‘I’ll bring the horses in,’ she said.

Patrick folded his arms as she walked away, her shoulders sagging. Was this her fault? On first impressions she hadn’t seemed the sort, she seemed a nice girl, but throw Jack then Robbie into the pot, and Miss Wilde was looking far from angelic.

‘Vanessa’s having an affair,’ Robbie explained, kicking Patrick’s world off its hinges for the second time.

‘What? Who with?’ Scott asked, leaning forwards.

‘That French wanker,’ Robbie replied and filled them in on the viola player.

From the subsequent silence, clearly no one knew what to say. The six of them sat staring at hands, picking at beer labels, sighing at the sky.

Robbie forced a smile towards Clara. ‘Will you check on Lib? Make sure she knows you don’t hate her. This isn’t her fault.’

Clara, who’d do anything for Robbie, obediently nodded and led Will off to the yard.

Xander stood up, pulling Daisy with him. ‘I can’t believe… We have to get Evie home. Can we talk tomorrow, Rob?’

It had to be whisky o’clock. Patrick went to the bar, cracked open a bottle of Macallan and poured three hefty shots. Robbie hugged his brother, apologising, but Xander shook his head, holding him in a tight backslapping hug. Patrick sank back into his seat, not knowing what to say. Scott, as ever, was the first to man up.

‘Van’ll come back,’ he said, swirling his drink in its glass.

‘Maybe,’ Robbie replied, watching as Libby, Clara and Will headed off to the fields to bring in the horses.

Patrick couldn’t stop himself. ‘If she does, will the plaything be out on her ear?’

‘Libby’s not a plaything. She’s...’

‘Jesus, you really like her, don’t you?’ Patrick leant on the table, trying to fathom Robbie out, but his friend was staring at his glass, his face unreadable.

‘Look, Libby’s not trying to take Van’s place, she’s just... she’s doing a bloody good job of keeping my head together. We have a lot in common, but if… if Vanessa comes back, then yes, Libby will be out on her ear.’

‘Does she know that?’ Scott asked.

‘Yes. My daughters need their mother. Van has no idea how much they miss her, Dora especially. She’d come back if she did.’

‘Then tell her,’ Scott said.

‘She needs to come back because she wants to, not because she feels she has to.’ Robbie pushed his hair back, watching Libby jog behind the Shetlands. ‘And then there’s the other what if. What if Vanessa doesn’t come back? What if I’ve caught the luckiest break of my life?’

Was Robbie seriously considering ending his marriage? Patrick downed his whisky. ‘Does Libby know you’re thinking about this?’

‘Do you think she’d have gone out with you if she did?’ Robbie asked. ‘She’s an amazing girl. If you can get her to speak to you again, you’d like her, but she’s… Look, I can’t stop her, but she’s
Off Limits
.’

Scott mouthed an exaggerated
Wow
and Patrick let out a slow breath. This was more complicated than he’d thought. Calling
Off Limits
was reserved for special girls, girls you didn’t want your best mate to go out with even after you broke up with them. Only two women had earned
Off Limits
status in recent years: Vanessa and Clara. Why Libby? Patrick didn’t get it. Yes, she was pretty when she wasn’t dressed as trailer trash. Actually, she was quite hot when she wasn’t dressed as trailer trash and he’d admit she was fun – she’d made him laugh on several occasions, but leave your wife material?