Staying at Daisy's (19 page)

‘Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much these boots cost? They’re Ferragamos,’ Paula patiently explained. ‘You aren’t meant to walk in them.’

‘OK.’ He shrugged good-naturedly; two rejections in one day was enough for any man. ‘I give up.’

Paula, realizing she didn’t want him to give up, put down her coffee cup.

‘I’m really more of a pavement person.’ Her smile flirtatious, she went on, ‘I was planning to do some shopping in Bath tomorrow. If you’re free, I’d enjoy the company.’

‘Shopping?’ It was Hector’s turn to look less than enthusiastic.

‘Not too much, I promise. And we could have lunch,’ Paula said lightly, by way of an additional bribe. All of a sudden she badly wanted to spend the next day with this man. He’d been absolutely right, of course; discovering who he was had made him infinitely more attractive. Well, that was life. And it worked both ways. If she worked in a launderette, he wouldn’t be nearly so interested in her.

And he was, oh yes, he definitely was. She could tell.

‘Great,’ said Hector. ‘Little spot of shopping, nice long lunch. I think I can handle that. And who knows,’ he added with a teasing smile, ‘I may even have to buy you a pair of walking boots.’

Thanks to her clothes-washing marathon, there was no hot water left in the tank. Having been forced to wash her hair in water that was barely lukewarm, Maggie was still cursing under her breath and vigorously rubbing her hair dry when she realized the phone was shrilling downstairs. With the towel over her head, she hadn’t heard it begin to ring.

In her rush to reach it in time she missed her footing on the staircase, crashed down the last couple of stairs, and banged her elbow painfully against the wall. Red-hot pins and needles zinged up and down her arm in protest. Gritting her teeth, Maggie raced across the living room and—

The phone fell silent.

Air hissed out from between her clenched teeth. It was five o’clock and Tara would be home any minute now, but there was still a chance it could have been Hector.

Dialing 1471, predictably, was no help at all. Number withheld. Which could still mean Hector, but then again might not.

As Maggie dithered, with ice-cold water dribbling down her neck, the front door rattled and Tara catapulted into the living room.

Great, that was that, no chance of phoning Hector now.

Eyeing Maggie in her dressing gown, Tara said brightly, ‘Ooh, you look cozy, have you just had a lovely hot bath?’

This was really rubbing salt into the wound.

‘No.’ Maggie had to force herself not to snap; it wasn’t Tara’s fault her day had been a disaster. ‘The washing machine man couldn’t fix the washing machine. I had to do everything by hand, which used up all the hot water. I’ve just washed my hair in stone-cold water, the phone started ringing while I was upstairs, I tripped and banged my elbow—’

‘The phone? Who was it?’ Tara’s eyes lit up. ‘Someone for me?’

Young people today, Maggie thought sourly. They were just so selfish.

‘It was no one for anyone.’

‘But did you try—’

‘
Yes
, I did, and the number was withheld. But my elbow’s fine, thank you very much for asking, and before you start wondering if there’s anything for tea, there isn’t, so if you’re hungry you’ll just have to knock up an omelet or—
ummph
.’

Overcome with remorse, Tara flung her arms round her aunt. Maggie might be doing her best to hide it, but she was upset. Probably her hormones, Tara decided. Maybe this was the menopause kicking in. Poor Maggie, forty-five and all alone, no wonder she was so miserable… oh God, and it was her birthday on Friday. That hardly helped.

‘Do you have any idea how much I love you?’ As Tara hugged her, Maggie’s cold wet hair plastered itself to her cheek. ‘Come on now, sit down in front of the fire and relax. I’m going to make you a cup of tea and cook dinner tonight. I’m going to spoil you rotten!’

‘Sweetheart, you don’t have to.’ Touched, Maggie shot her a wan smile. ‘I’m fine, really I am.’

‘Don’t argue. I’m the boss. We’ll have pasta and red wine,’ Tara went on happily, ‘and I’ll catch you up on all the latest gossip. You won’t believe what’s been going on up at the hotel—in fact, after we’ve eaten, we could head over there.’ Actually, that was a great idea, she could blow-dry Maggie’s fine blonde hair and smarten her up, maybe even introduce her to the wonders of makeup. Teasingly she added, ‘If you’re very good, I may even introduce you to Daisy’s new live-in lover.’

Ashamed of her earlier outburst, Maggie good-naturedly agreed to give mascara and lipstick a whirl. Having blow-dried her own hair and changed into navy velvet trousers and a loose-fitting lilac shirt—smart for
her—
she was drawn back downstairs by the smell of pasta puttanesca and the even more beguiling sound of a bottle of red wine being uncorked.

Translated from the Italian, puttanesca meant whore’s pasta. Which was unfortunate, Maggie thought dryly, but couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t as if Tara had done it on purpose.

She smiled at the sight of the table, laid with a cloth and lit with candles. Bless her heart, Tara was making a real effort; she’d even tidied the living room.

‘You look great,’ Tara announced as she brought in the bowls of steaming pasta.

‘What’s going on?’ Realizing suddenly why the living room was looking so much tidier, Maggie indicated the naked radiators. ‘Where are all the wet clothes?’

‘Sit down. Have some wine. They’re in bin bags in the boot of your car, and we’re taking them to the hotel.’ Tara had made an executive decision. ‘It’s just mad you slogging your guts out doing all this washing. I told you before, Daisy said you could use her machine, she doesn’t mind a bit. Tonight, while we’re downstairs in the bar, our stuff’s going to be happily tumble-drying up in Daisy’s flat.’

Maggie did as she was told and sat. A brimming glass was thrust into her hand. Tara was right, she’d been cutting off her nose to spite her face. And an evening up at the hotel would be fun.

‘Go on then, tell me what’s been happening today. I can’t believe Daisy’s found herself a boyfriend at last.’

The pasta—hooray for Loyd Grossman’s bottled sauces—was delicious. As Tara joyfully recounted the details of this morning’s foray into Daisy’s bedroom, Maggie relaxed further still. Next, she heard about Barney and the sandwich-spitting incident. In lieu of pudding, Maggie brought out the half-empty box of Thornton’s truffles Tara had given her for Christmas.

‘I don’t know how you can keep a box of chocolates for two whole months,’ Tara marveled. ‘I’m such a pig I’d finish the lot in one go.’ In fact, if she’d known they were hidden up there on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard, she would have guzzled them weeks ago.

‘Ah, but sometimes it’s nicer to save things. It means you’ve still got them to look forward to.’ As Maggie said it, she realized it wasn’t only true of chocolate truffles. Take the fact that she couldn’t see Hector whenever she wanted to; OK, it was frustrating, but didn’t it mean she looked forward to their eventual meetings all the more? Like tonight, for example. If he were there in the bar—and the chances were he would be—just the thought of exchanging a glance loaded with hidden meaning would be enough to keep her going until tomorrow afternoon.

Maggie inwardly shivered with pleasure at the prospect. Oh yes, she was definitely going to see Hector tomorrow, she’d made up her mind on that score. If the Australian tourists hadn’t turned up here by two o’clock she was jolly well going to leave their cushions on the front doorstep.

‘I’d rather eat them,’ said Tara piggily, and for a moment Maggie thought she was talking about the cushions. ‘I’d just keep going until they were all gone.’

She was eyeing the Thornton’s box with longing. Instant gratification versus delicious anticipation, thought Maggie, feeling superior and grown-up.

‘Help yourself, I’ll save mine for another day. Oh, I’m
so
pleased about Daisy,’ she said truthfully. ‘It’s high time she started having some fun again.’

‘She isn’t the only MacLean having some fun.’ Greedily, Tara bit into a cappuccino truffle and rolled her eyes to convey its gorgeousness. ‘You haven’t heard the rest of it yet. I told you about Paula Penhaligon turning up today. Well, she and Hector have hit it off big time.’

Something shriveled in the pit of Maggie’s stomach. Hiding her true feelings whenever Hector’s name was mentioned was a skill at which she had become adept, yet she lived in constant fear of giving herself away.

‘Really? Hector’s smitten, is he?’ Her tone light, Maggie leaned across and dabbed a fingertip in the pool of wax around the flame of the nearest candle. The melted wax caused a moment of pain before cooling and setting on her finger.

‘If you ask me, they’re smitten with each other. They spent
hours
together in the bar this afternoon. Daisy says she’s never seen him like this before. And she’s not exaggerating,’ Tara confided with glee. ‘I stuck my head round the door a couple of times and they couldn’t take their eyes off each other. Well, you’ll be able to judge for yourself, they’re bound to be there tonight. He might even start serenading her,’ she went on, wriggling with delight. ‘Can’t you just picture it?’

Maggie didn’t want to picture it; she was doing her level best to block it out. Why couldn’t pain always be as fleeting and bearable as dabbing a finger in hot candle wax?

But this was the deal; this was the kind of hideous experience she had to put up with. Plastering on a bright smile, Maggie said cheerfully, ‘Poor woman, imagine being serenaded in public. For her sake, I just hope he doesn’t get his bagpipes out.’

‘Hell,’ mumbled Maggie five minutes later. Surreptitiously, but loudly enough for Tara to hear.

‘What?’

‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’ Maggie bravely shook her head, then winced and pressed her hand to her left temple. ‘Darling, do we have any aspirins left?’

Tara looked concerned. ‘Headache?’

Uncanny! Give that girl a gold star!

‘Migraine. Damn, this hasn’t happened for years. Must be the red wine and chocolate.’ Maggie gingerly massaged her forehead. ‘If I can take painkillers quickly enough it might not develop into a full-blown attack. Otherwise I’ll be in agony for days.’

‘You poor thing!’ Belting upstairs, Tara was back in a flash with the painkillers. ‘I didn’t even know you got migraines. Hang on, you’ll need a glass of water.’

‘I’ll have to lie down,’ Maggie apologized, still clutching her head as she rose cautiously to her feet. ‘Just go to bed, stay quiet, and keep the lights off… it’s the only way… Darling, I’m so sorry, I’ve completely spoiled your evening.’

‘Don’t be silly, you can’t help being ill. Now up you go,’ Tara said solicitously, ‘and give me a shout if there’s anything you need.’

‘Oh darling, you don’t have to do that, I’ll be fine. There’s no reason why you can’t still go out.’

‘You’re sick. Migraine’s a horrible thing to have.’ Tara was adamant. ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you here on your own.’ With a beaming smile aimed at cheering Maggie up, she said, ‘I’ll be your chief nurse.’

Maggie felt terrible, of course she did. Tucked up in bed with Tara checking on her every ten minutes, she felt both guilty and ashamed.

Slightly irritated too, because the silence and no-lights rule meant she wasn’t able to watch TV, listen to the radio, or even read a magazine.

But being honest here, what else could she have done?

Maintaining a cheery front in the privacy of her own living room was one thing, but being forced to watch Hector up at the hotel getting all touchy-feely with Paula Penhaligon—having to witness him flirt with another woman and actually mean it—was something else altogether.

Maggie knew she couldn’t do that.

The horrible scrunched-up feeling of dread was still there in the pit of Maggie’s stomach the next morning, exactly matching the horribly scrunched-up clothes Tara had retrieved from the boot of the car the night before and jammed back over the radiators. Now they were all crispy-dried and would be murder to iron.

Hector phoned at eleven o’clock.

‘Poor you,’ he sympathized. ‘Tara’s just been telling me about your migraine attack last night. Are you feeling better yet?’

Maggie closed her eyes briefly. He really didn’t have the faintest idea. Well, why would he?

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘Good, good. Still, you’ll need to take things easy, to be on the safe side.’

He was sounding extremely jovial. Wonder why, Maggie thought sourly.

Aloud she said, ‘Really, I’m fine.’

‘Well, the thing is, I’m going to have to take a rain check for this afternoon.’

A rain check. She knew what he was telling her, obviously. But what exactly
was
a rain check? You could hear these expressions for years, Maggie discovered, and not have a clue what they actually meant.

Then she took a deep breath. ‘No problem, these things happen. Those customers of mine probably won’t turn up until five anyway. Some other time, eh?’

‘Some other time,’ Hector agreed, sounding grateful. Then he hesitated. ‘Look, I was wondering. If you’re a bit short of money I could easily—’

‘I’m not short of money!’ Horrified, Maggie realized he was assuming this was why she’d phoned him yesterday. Strapped for cash? Hey, no problem, just get Hector round to the house and have sex with him! With a shiver of mortification she repeated, ‘I’m not.’

‘OK, if you’re sure,’ said Hector.

‘Absolutely sure. Better go now.’ Maggie lowered her voice. ‘Someone’s coming to the front door. Bye.’

Another lie, to add to all the rest.

Typically the Australians arrived to pick up their cushions at twelve o’clock on the dot.

***

‘I like him.’ Tara nodded, watching Josh from Daisy’s office window. ‘I think he’s really nice.’

‘Well, thank you so much, I’m glad you approve.’ Daisy looked up and grinned. ‘I like him too.’

‘A lot?’

‘Of course a lot! I wouldn’t be sleeping with him otherwise. I’m not a trollop!’

‘I didn’t mean that. He just doesn’t seem like the kind of bloke I thought you’d go for.’ All dressed up for her trip into Bristol, Tara smoothed her red leather jacket over her waist and checked her boots for mud splashes.

‘Josh is fun, he’s kind, he’s great company, and he makes me laugh,’ Daisy explained. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

She knew perfectly well what Tara was getting at. Being fun and kind was all very well, but didn’t Daisy secretly wish he could be better looking? And the honest answer to that, Daisy had already decided, was no. Because in her experience, if Josh was knock ’em dead gorgeous, the chances were he wouldn’t be the genuinely nice person he was. And she was mature enough to appreciate this.

‘What’s he doing?’ Mystified, Tara peered out of the window. ‘He’s got a load of string.’

‘Hmm?’ Daisy glanced up from her computer. ‘Oh, he’s going to give you a driving lesson.’

‘With a piece of string? What’s he planning to do, tow me along like Noddy?’ Belatedly, Tara did a double take. ‘God, are you serious? He’s going to teach me to drive?’ As she said it, she realized Josh was using the string to fasten learner’s plates to his car. ‘But we’re supposed to be going into Bristol,’ she wailed. ‘I’ve got to buy Maggie a birthday present.’

‘You can do both,’ said Daisy.

‘I’m not insured! What if I smash up his car?’

‘I gave him all your details this morning. He’s sorted it out with his insurance company.’

‘Really?’ Tara couldn’t believe it. She swung round in delight. ‘
Really?
God, that’s fantastic!’

Daisy grinned. ‘Told you he was nice.’

***

‘Hi. Tara told me you’d be here. She said you were doing the place up.’ Maggie held out a five-liter can of pale yellow matt emulsion. ‘I thought you might be on the scrounge for paint.’ When in a state of abject misery, do something nice for someone else—there was always an outside chance it might cheer you up.

‘Are you sure?’ Barney Usher, looking messier and dustier than she’d ever seen him look before, wiped his grubby hands on his jeans and beamed at her. ‘Don’t you need it for yourself?’

‘I bought too much. This was left over after we’d finished the landing. It’s only cluttering up the place.’ Hefting it into his arms like an unwanted baby, Maggie said, ‘Anyway, how are you getting on?’

‘Doing pretty well. Come and have a look,’ said Barney with pride. There was a lot of dust in his hair and he smelt of disinfectant as he stepped aside and ushered her past him into the tiny cottage. Maggie had only met him a few times, and briefly at that, but she had been instantly charmed by his friendly, open manner and dazzling smile.

Amazing to think that one of his kidneys had originally been owned by Steven Standish.

‘Gosh, you’ve been busy.’ Truly impressed, Maggie gazed around the empty, scrubbed-clean living room.

‘I’ve had help. Bert Connelly’s brother brought his lorry round last night and cleared the place in three hours flat. And Donny’s giving me a hand today.’

Maggie nodded and smiled. Donny Connelly, Bert’s youngest son, was a cheerful, ox-like hulk of a lad with not too many brain cells but an endless capacity for hard work.

‘Which is the equivalent of twenty normal people’s hands,’ Barney marveled. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got so much done. It’s going to look so great here when it’s finished.’

Such youthful enthusiasm. Maggie wavered for a moment, wondering whether she should offer to pitch in as well. The ancient wallpaper had already been stripped from the walls and dust sheets efficiently laid down. They were ready to start painting and she could help with that.

But she wasn’t feeling saintly enough. There were limits. Anyway, she’d already made up her mind, she was driving into Bath to stock up on cushion pads, zips, embroidery silks, and other such riveting paraphernalia.

‘This color will be perfect for Freddie’s bedroom.’ Barney was exclaiming over the paint with genuine pleasure. Shyly he explained, ‘Freddie’s my girlfriend’s son—he’s still only a baby really and I know it should be blue for a boy, but his room’s north facing, so blue might be a bit cold. Yellow’s more cheerful, isn’t it?’

‘Much.’ Maggie wondered if painting herself yellow would make her feel more cheerful. ‘Well, I’d better be off, let you get back to work.’

‘This is really kind of you,’ Barney told her. ‘As soon as we’ve moved in, we’re going to have a house-warming party.’ How he loved saying
we
, Maggie noted with a smile. ‘You must come.’

‘Definitely. I can’t wait to see Freddie.’

‘Oh, he’s brilliant, you’ll love him.’ His brown eyes shining, Barney added happily, ‘And Mel.’

***

‘Now ease your left foot off the clutch and press down smoothly with the right… well done… OK, now shift into second gear and start indicating left… that’s it, you’re doing brilliantly.’

Tara was feeling ridiculously pleased with herself; all the half-remembered maneuvers had come flooding back to her and Josh’s calm manner and encouraging words were having a wondrous effect. Passing the written part of her driving test had been a doddle, but actually putting what she’d learned into practice had proved a terrifying experience. Her last lesson, over a year ago now, had been punctuated by shrieks and groans from Maggie, the world’s most wildly unsuitable driving instructor. Getting flustered and panicky as a result was what had caused Tara to lose control and veer into that fateful ditch.

But Josh hadn’t yelled at her once, not even when she’d stalled twice, like a prat, on Colworth Hill. And now she was getting her confidence back. This was actually turning out to be fun.

‘Who taught you to drive?’ Tara was intrigued. Now that they were on a straight bit of road she felt able to speak.

‘Ah well, I was seventeen, I was an impressionable youth bursting with hormones. I’d also just seen a film that had a profound effect on me.’ Josh heaved a nostalgic sigh. ‘You might know it, that great classic of our time—
Confessions Of A Driving Instructor
.’

‘Oh yes, marvelous film.’ Tara nodded reverently. ‘Won a lot of Oscars.’

‘That’s the one. Into fourth gear now. Anyway, when I rang up the driving school I specifically asked for a female instructor, blonde preferably, under thirty-five, and seriously attractive. And the bloke on the other end of the phone said, “Don’t you worry, my lad, I’ve got just the lady for you. A dozen lessons with her and you’ll pass
any
test with flying colors.”’

‘Blimey.’ Tara whistled through her teeth and swerved to avoid a squashed hedgehog—OK, so it was already dead, but being run over twice would be adding insult to injury. ‘Who did you get, Melinda Messenger?’

‘I got Eunice.’ Josh’s tone was mournful. ‘She was sixty and a spinster, with grey hair in a bun and teeth like a shark. She was the scariest woman I’d ever met, but she knew her job. Within six weeks she got me through my test.’ Sounding amused, he added, ‘So you see, looks aren’t always everything.’

Tara kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, but she could feel herself reddening. Was he making fun of her? God, had Daisy told him what she’d said?

Her lesson lasted an hour, by the end of which Tara had graduated to the dizzy heights of three-point turns. Bad three-point turns, but she was as proud of them as a mother with an ugly newborn baby.

And she hadn’t driven into a ditch once.

‘You’re going to be fine,’ Josh declared when she had reversed somewhat wonkily into a gateway. ‘We’ll get you through this test. Eight weeks max.’

Jumping out of the car, he unfastened the learner’s plates, chucked them onto the back seat, and took Tara’s place behind the wheel. Tara, having shuffled in an ungainly fashion over the central well and gearstick—oh yes, very elegant, very Nigella Lawson—adjusted her jeans and said, ‘Will you still be here then?’

‘No problem. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.’ He winked, ticking the months off on his fingers. ‘March, April, May—I don’t start the new job until June.’

June. Tara frowned.

‘But what happens after that?’

‘What happens? Are you mad? You’ll be free to go wherever you want! Get yourself a little runabout and there’ll be no stopping you.’

‘I meant with you and Daisy. This new job of yours is in—where, Miami? Isn’t that going to make things a bit tricky?’

Josh grinned as they sped along the narrow lane. ‘I only got here a few days ago. It’s a bit soon to start worrying about that kind of stuff.’

This was men for you. They never worried about anything.

‘OK, maybe, but I’m just saying. And it’s not as if you only just
met
Daisy. You liked each other years ago. A
lot
,’ Tara emphasized. ‘And Daisy isn’t the bed-hopping type. Now that you’re back together, the chances are it’s going to last. Which of course I’m really glad about,’ she added hastily, ‘but I can’t help worrying about this zipping back to America thing. I don’t want Daisy to get hurt again.’

Gosh, she felt terribly grown-up all of a sudden! Warning Daisy’s new boyfriend that if he didn’t treat her well, he’d have her to answer to.

‘What’s this?’ Josh’s eyes crinkled with laughter. ‘An interrogation? Are you asking me if my intentions towards Daisy are honorable?’

‘Don’t make fun of me.’ Tara ignored the look of mock horror on his face. ‘I just can’t see it working out, long-term, if she’s here and you’re over there in the States.’

‘OK, now listen to me. I do like Daisy. A
lot
,’ Josh mimicked good-naturedly, ‘as you so delicately put it. And I wouldn’t dream of hurting her, you should already know that. Making girls cry isn’t my style.’

‘Next left,’ Tara instructed as the sign pointing to the motorway loomed ahead.

‘I hope it works out for us,’ Josh went on. ‘I really do. And if it’s meant to, it will. My job in America isn’t a major problem.’

God, he really was nice. Tara admired the way the muscles on his forearms moved beneath the skin as he indicated left, turned the steering wheel, and simultaneously changed gear. Imagine being able to do all that complicated stuff without even thinking about it.

‘You mean you’d find something here instead?’

Josh shrugged as they sped down the slip road and overtook a juggernaut.

‘Possibly, but the weather’s better in Florida. I actually meant that Daisy could always jack in her job and find something over there.’