Authors: Jane Lovering
Slightly Foxed (26 page)
I lay in the darkness trying to sleep. It wasn't quite the
romantic postproposal night of passion I had envisaged, but
that hadn't been Leo's fault. He'd sweetly and
uncomplainingly gone back to Devon, leaving me with my
worries and uncertainties and a sapphire the size of a small
dog.
In the living room, the telephone rang. Who'd ring at four
a.m.? Maybe the hospital? Or—no, he wouldn't, would he?
"Hey, Alys."
"Why don't you just fuck
off
?"
A sharp intake of breath. "Oooh. Hissy fit!" But Piers
sounded as though he was laughing. "So, when shall I pick
you up?"
"Look, I told you, I'm going to the hospital on my own. On
the bus. No picking up. No lifts."
"So, I'll come by about nine, then?"
"Read my lips.
No
." There was a pause. "Piers?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry. But everything's got very complicated. Leo
thought you and I—and so he's a bit sensitive about me
talking to you. Do you see?"
"How complicated?"
"He thought we were—oh it's stupid. I'm not even going to
bother to explain. Look, thanks for offering and everything,
but I'm fine."
"Okay. If you say so."
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My breath caught and a tiny soblike gasp escaped. "Yes.
Yes, I'm fine."
"
Ally
." The sympathy in Piers's voice was almost touchable.
The receiver was suddenly slippery between my fingers.
"I'll—I can't do this right now. I'll talk to you later." I hung
up very carefully and wiped my eyes and nose on my dressing
gown. What the hell was
wrong
with me? Losing it over the
phone to Piers? I mean—
Piers
—what the hell was I thinking?
Was I thinking
at all?
Next morning I set out for the hospital bright and early
with my ring stuffed in a pocket. It looked too valuable to be
left kicking around an empty flat, and I couldn't bring myself
to put it on, so I'd wrapped it in my handkerchief and shoved
it in the recesses of my jeans. Diamonds and sapphires. Leo
thought I was
worth
diamonds and sapphires.
I walked down Monkbar and turned up Gillygate, against
the flow of tourists. It was another bright morning, and
despite my errand, I felt my heart rise. I
was
worth diamonds
and sapphires. I nearly stopped to put the ring on, wanting
everyone to see. Hey, everyone. Diamonds! Sapphires!
The throaty roar of a restrained sports engine began
trickling along beside me. At a break in the queue, the car
speeded up, then bumped up onto the pavement at an angle
which blocked my path.
I recognised the car after a second of panic. Particularly
when the driver sprang the passenger door open. "C'mon. I'll
get a fucking ticket."
It was the inevitability which did for me. I
should
have
kept walking, of course I should. Ignored him and marched
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off, leaving the Porsche skewed across the pavement,
impotently kerb crawling. But somehow the fact that he'd
second-guessed me was some kind of admission. I slid into
the seat and closed the door, sitting bolt upright and not
looking at him. "I'm doing this
under protest
. I thought I
made it clear," I said between clenched teeth, "I was going
on
my own
."
Piers was wearing glasses tinted so dark I hadn't a hope of
reading his true expression. "This morning, on the phone. I
heard
you crying, Alys. You need someone to talk to."
"Where the
hell
do you get off, using these bully-boy
tactics on me? You just can't—" To my shame my voice
cracked. I was tired and my nerves were stretched so tight
that you could have played the opening bars of "Layla" on
them. I squeezed my eyes shut to prevent the betrayal of
tears.
"Actually, I kinda think I
can
."
I squinted out between my eyelashes. Piers was staring
out of his window, tapping his rings against the wheel, his
hair scragged back from his unshaven face. It was like being
abducted by a hitman from Models 1.
"At least you're not wearing any of your truly scary
wardrobe," I muttered. "That would be too much to cope
with."
"Be glad that you can't see my underwear."
"Oh, I am, Piers. Trust me, I am."
He smiled. I felt my heart give a catch in my chest and bit
the inside of my cheek to stop it. Shit. I must be feeling more
vulnerable than I thought, to start getting all knee-trembly
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over Piers. Although it had to be admitted that he did look
alarmingly sexy. Oh God, please, make me stop this, now.
It's
Piers
. He can't
help
being eye-poppingly gorgeous, can
he? I'm just having an attack of unhealthy lust, that's all.
But—Jesus Christ—
"So, Ally. Anything you want to tell me?"
"I think I've told you quite enough already."
"Yeah, and have I used it against you? Have I repeated
even so much as
one fucking word
to anyone else? What is it
going to take to make you trust me, Alys?"
I opened my mouth to ask him why it was so important
that I trust him, but what actually came out was "Do you
think I've wasted my life, Piers?"
"What brought that on? Did that...did Leo say something?"
He powered down the Porsche, pulled it to a standstill at the
side of the road. A couple of passing cars tooted but he
flicked a finger at them without even looking. "Ally?"
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "Sorry, Piers.
Sorry. I didn't mean to. You wouldn't understand."
"Why? Cos I'm young? Maybe, but maybe things are
clearer to me, not cluttered up with all that life crap. Maybe I
see what's really
there
cos I'm not looking through some
cloud of duty." He whipped the trendily dark glasses away
from his face and glanced at me, sharp brown eyes seeming
to steal some of my doubt. "Don't be scared."
I took a deep breath. Ready to be reasonable, to ask him
to leave my private affairs to me.
"Look." But it was no good. It was as though the
magnetism which undoubtedly surrounded Piers was pulling
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everything to the surface. "Leo's asked me to marry him. But
he seems to think that I'm going to be this little woman,
working a few hours a week in a bookshop and looking after
the house and him and—"
"Holy fucking
shit
." Piers wrapped his long fingers around
my hands clenched in my lap. His hands were trembling. "Tell
me."
"I searched Alasdair out." My voice shook. "I knew he
fancied me. I'd seen him watching. When Flick said he wanted
nothing to do with me and the baby I—oh, I made it look like
an accident, but I already knew who Alasdair was, his family,
everything. I knew he'd be able to support us. The baby and
me. I wasn't going to be able to finish my degree and my
parents were dead and his father owns an island, you know
that?" I sniffed. "Not a very nice one, admittedly. It's full of
midgies and people shooting deer and stuff."
Piers moved one hand to my shoulder blades and rubbed
my back gently. He smelled of coffee, of something lemony
and rich, like scents in the night air. "Hey, Ally. It's okay." His
voice sounded a bit shaky too. "You didn't go looking for Leo
though, did you? Or did you?"
"No, but I knew who he was and pretended I didn't. It's all
repeating itself."
"And he's asked you to marry him." Piers's voice dropped.
"Are you going to?"
I gave a cracked laugh. "I have absolutely no idea. And
how stupid is
that
? He's got everything I ever thought I
wanted. All these years of struggling and not enough money
and second-hand clothes and stuff and—
I don't know
."
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"Oh, Ally. You're so fucked up about this, aren't you?"
"Look, I'd better get to the hospital." I opened the car
door. "Thanks for the lift and everything, but I—"
"Uh-uh, you're not running out on me now." Piers leaped
out of the driver's seat and grabbed me as I tried to head off
up the pavement. "You need someone. I'm here. Talk to me,
Alys, for Chrissake."
"There's nothing more to say. I'm going to see Mrs.
Treadgold now. You'd better move the car, you'll get a ticket."
"Fuck
that
. I'm coming with."
He swore a trail of Spanish as we entered the hospital
along a corridor where the smell of bandages and the ghosts
of long-dead cabbages filtered into my lungs. The buckles on
the boots he wore jingled and the hems of his overlong
combats trailed on the floor. He was still all legs and hair, but
at least that weird longing feeling had gone, and I could look
at him properly again.
I found Mrs. Treadgold propped on pillows in the geriatric
ward. She looked pale and old and pleased to see me. "Alys.
You came! And brought your young man." She lowered her
voice. "You saucepot."
I decided not even to attempt to explain. "They said you
were asking for me?"
"Yes. Tom and Vivienne will be on their way. They've been
expecting this for a while. I'm ill, Alys, I expect you knew
that?" I gave a kind of half-nod. "And I've come to think of
you as a surrogate daughter, I suppose."
A sudden outburst of coughing doubled her forward across
the blankets and I looked on helplessly, ineffectually patting
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her blue-veined hands. Piers piled pillows behind the old
woman's head and winked at her when she finally got her
breath back. To my slightly appalled surprise, she winked
back at him.
"I'll go get you a drink of water." He loped off with her
empty drinking jug. No doubt he'd spotted a good-looking
young nurse somewhere and wanted an excuse to chat.
"An American," Mrs. Treadgold croaked at last. "Ah—I had
an American sweetheart after the war. He was a good-looking
boy too. Had an enormous willy, as I recall."
"Mrs. Treadgold!"
"Not much point in being coy when you're dying, is there?
It's all right. I've come to terms with the whole thing.
Arrangements have been made and suchlike. Which brings
me to why I asked for you." Mrs. Treadgold scrabbled about
in the confines of the bed. "Before Vivienne gets here. I've
got a present for you." A cold, bony hand pushed something
into my palm. "It was mine from before Mr. Treadgold.
Vivienne and Tom don't know about it, but I'd like you to
have it. To remember me by. You and your young man.
Please wear it when you agree to marry him. For me."
I opened my mouth to prevaricate. This had all gone far
enough. I really couldn't accept something like this under
false pretences, but Mrs. T went on. "That little chat we had
the other day? Don't worry, Alys, it's obvious that you're in
love."
The coughing came again. Harder and harder she choked
until a couple of nurses came over and elbowed me aside,
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pushing the bed to who knew where, the fragile hand being
snatched from mine.
I collapsed into a chair. Piers had returned, thrust his
hands into his pockets and was staring at the floor,
occasionally shaking his head, muttering to himself under his
breath. Finally he looked up. "Mortality. What a
fuck
."
I opened my hand a crack, looked at the object Mrs.
Treadgold had been so desperate for me to have and had to
bite my lip to prevent a hysterical giggle escaping. She'd
given me an engagement ring. Oh, not diamonds and
sapphires. A much more understated little item in white gold
with a ruby cut into a heart shape set in the centre. A giggle
escaped over my tongue clamped between my teeth. The ring
was beautiful.
"Let's get outta here."
I was hardly aware of the tears rolling down my chin until
we got outside. The ring was clenched so tightly in my fist
that the ruby was making little heart shapes on my palm, but
I didn't kid myself it was just for Mrs. Treadgold that I was
crying.
Piers didn't ask. Instead he stood, back braced against the
Porsche, smoking what I hoped was an ordinary cigarette.
Then he looked at me, said, "Oh,
Ally
," in a heartfelt way, and
closed his arms around me.
I could really do with more friends like him.
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Jace took another Jaffa cake. "So, you are telling me that
you are having Mr. Small Horses Man asking you to be
marrying with him?" She looked at me over the top of the
