Take a Chance on Me (20 page)

Three minutes later Cleo heard the front door open and close, then footsteps on the stairs. Peering over the edge of the hatch, she said, ‘Where’s the paint?’

‘I left it in the hall. What are you doing up there?’

‘Looking at old stuff.’ Cleo let go of the photo in her hand and watched it twirl down towards him like a leaf. Catching it, Johnny studied the snap of himself in front of the coconut shy and shook his head.

‘I was fourteen. God, look at the state of me.’ He grinned and climbed onto the chair beneath the hatch, then expertly—impressively—hauled himself up into the loft and gazed around. ‘You’ve got a lot of stuff to look at.’

‘I’ve been here for ages.’

‘I can see why. It’s nice up here. Cozy.’

‘I think I have abandonment issues. I can’t bring myself to throw anything away.’ Bending her head to avoid the slanted beams and the forty-watt light bulb, Cleo made her way back to where she’d been sitting before. She patted the rolled-up blanket next to her. ‘Come and have a look at the photos. I daren’t take this lot downstairs; they’ll never get back up here again.’

‘Bloody hell, I don’t believe it. Welsh Mac with hair!’

Cleo loved it that he was as entertained by the photographs as she was. The last thirty minutes had flown by. She and Johnny may not have been friends during their teenage years, but they’d known all the same people. He exclaimed with delight as he recognized places and events from their shared-but-separate pasts. There were assorted Christmases, bonfire night parties, school sports days, Badminton Horse Trials…

‘There’s your Auntie Jean.’ Next to her, Johnny picked up a photo that had slipped out of its pocket. Older than the ones they’d been looking at, it showed a young Jean, in her mid-twenties and still healthy, glowing with joie de vivre. In this picture she was wearing a pink and green dress and flowers in her long dark hair. She was sitting on a gate, holding a small lop-eared mongrel and laughing into the camera. Cleo felt her stomach contract with longing for the happy auntie she’d lost.

‘Look at her,’ Johnny marveled. ‘Pretty stunning, wasn’t she? In her day.’

Cleo nodded.

‘Those eyes.’ He held the photo at arm’s length, then turned to survey her. ‘She looks just like you.’

‘I know.’

‘Hey, stop it, don’t cry.’ Johnny’s hand covered hers. ‘What’s wrong?’

All the old memories had been stirred up like mud in a bucket. Cleo recalled the hideous afternoon when Auntie Jean, off her head and barely able to stand, had said, ‘Hey baby, look at us, don’t we look the same, eh? You an’ me?’ She’d flung an arm around Cleo before she had a chance to escape, and had planted a wet kiss on her face. ‘You’re goin’ to be just like me when you grow up!’

Which, when you were twelve, wasn’t the cheeriest of thoughts. And stupidly, Cleo hadn’t been able to dismiss it from her mind. Maybe it was ridiculous, but for years after that, she’d been haunted by the fear that she would one day turn into Auntie Jean.

‘Here.’ Johnny wiped her wet cheeks with his thumb. ‘Don’t cry. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK, I’m fine.’ She must be hormonal. Cleo exhaled, steadied herself. He must think she was a complete wuss.

‘I don’t suppose it was easy, growing up with Jean as your aunt.’ As he said it, he gave her a reassuring pat on the back. He wasn’t wearing aftershave today, but the clean, natural smell of him was, if anything, even more hypnotic.

‘There was no need to feel ashamed of her, you know.’

Cleo nodded. ‘She was embarrassing though. You never knew what she’d do next.’ Her shoulders began to unbunch as he rubbed the flat of his hand in soothing circles over her back. ‘I was ashamed of being ashamed. Does that make sense? She was showing us all up and I wished she’d go away.’

And she scared the living daylights out of me, because if it could happen to Auntie Jean, who was to say it couldn’t happen to me too?

‘Nobody would blame you for feeling like that.’ Johnny’s voice was consoling; it was still weird, him being this nice to her.

‘Anyway.’ Reaching for another packet of photographs, Cleo said, ‘I ended up getting my wish, didn’t I? She went away for good.’

He nodded. There was no need to say any more. Auntie Jean’s liver had held out, heroically, for a few more years. She’d stumbled from crisis to drink-fueled, chaotic crisis before finally succumbing to hepatic cirrhosis. She was forty when she died, and Cleo had been eighteen.

‘Now that’s what I call style,’ said Johnny, changing the subject.

Cleo looked at the photograph of herself on her thirteenth birthday, proudly cutting a star-shaped, Smartie-studded cake and evidently delighted by her choice of puff-sleeved purple blouse and green-and-purple checked waistcoat.

‘I dread to think what I had on the bottom half.’ In the photo she was standing behind a table, but Cleo had a distinct memory of orangey-brown cotton trousers from C & A. Oh well, he didn’t need to know that.

‘Ha!’ Johnny spluttered with laughter as the damn things were revealed in the next photo.

‘Fine, you weren’t always so sartorial yourself.’ Retaliating, she flipped through an earlier batch until she found the one of him leading the fancy dress parade at the summer fête. Aged ten or eleven, he was wearing dark brown tights, a brown turtleneck sweater, and a hat decorated with huge branches and swathes of greenery.

Pointing to them, Cleo said, ‘Tights.’

‘I was a
tree
.’

‘With transvestite tendencies.’

‘I try to keep those under control these days.’

‘You looked ridiculous.’

‘But I came third. I won a book token.’ Pause. ‘And I got to keep the tights.’

She groaned aloud at the next photo of herself eating candyfloss, with pink gunk around her mouth and bits of it attractively stuck in her hair. ‘Look at the state of me there.’

‘Ah, but you’ve improved with age.’ Johnny was half-smiling. ‘In fact, you’ve scrubbed up pretty well.’

‘Shut up.’ Cleo squirmed; for some reason he still had his hand on her back.

‘You don’t take compliments very easily, do you? But it’s true.’

And she’d been doing so well up until now. Hopefully he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was beating. Casually she said, ‘Maybe it depends on who’s giving them.’

‘You’re a beautiful girl. That’s a fact. Trust me.’ His green eyes glittered with amusement. ‘I’m an artist.’

Ha, a smarty-pants con artist, more like. But even as she was thinking this, her body was reacting to his voice, his physical proximity, the warm hand on her back. And she wasn’t moving away.

She wasn’t moving
at all
.

‘Listen to me.’ Johnny’s voice softened. ‘I mean it. I don’t think you have any idea how attractive you are.’

For the life of her she couldn’t speak.

‘Seriously.’ He was nodding now. ‘And I’ve only just realized this, but I think I know why too.’

‘Why?’ It came out as a croaky whisper.

‘OK, let me ask you something. What do you see when you look in the mirror?’

An infinitesimal shrug. ‘Me.’

‘I don’t think you do though. I think you see your Auntie Jean.’

It felt like being punched in the stomach. Cleo’s eyes grew hot. He had caught her completely off guard. She’d kept those feelings bottled up inside herself for so long, and no one else had ever guessed. Yet just from her reaction earlier, Johnny had intuitively worked it out. He knew that every time she studied her reflection, she wished with all her heart that she didn’t have Auntie Jean’s eyebrows, Auntie Jean’s chin, Auntie Jean’s freckles…

The only thing she had that Auntie Jean hadn’t was the Pierrot beauty spot beneath her right eye.

And the ability—thank God—to say no to the offer of just-one-more drink.

‘You don’t have to worry.’ Johnny shook his head. ‘You’re nothing like she was.’

He was right. It was time to put the fear behind her. Cleo relaxed and said, ‘I know.’

He paused, then frowned and said slowly, ‘You know, I have this horrible feeling… oh God, did I
tease
you about her when we were kids?’

So he’d remembered. After all these years. Cleo smiled slightly. ‘Maybe.’

‘Oh God.’

‘It was just stupid stuff at school. Everyone gets teased about something. If it’s any consolation,’ she said dryly, ‘ you weren’t the only one.’

Johnny exhaled. He looked mortified. ‘No wonder you hated me. I’m sorry.’

She nodded. ‘I know.’

‘
Really
sorry.’

‘OK.’ Cleo smiled. ‘No need to grovel.’

‘I feel as if I should.’

‘Fine, then. Go ahead.’

‘I’m sorry. I was a complete idiot. I’m sorry, I’m
sorry
.’

‘That’s enough. You can stop now.’ Was it her imagination or was he moving fractionally closer?

‘Stop what?’

‘Apologizing.’

‘Oh right. Sorry.’

Now he was definitely teasing her. And if he were to reach out and kiss her at this moment in time, Cleo knew she would kiss him back. Last time, in the car, it hadn’t happened. But now they were teetering on the brink of the next stage. Every centimeter of her skin was prickling with adrenaline; she wanted it to happen and there was only so much anticipation a girl could take. Up here in this shadowy, dusty, cobwebby attic, it seemed as if he was about to make his move at last. And she wasn’t going to stop him. OK, maybe it wasn’t the most romantic of locations but—

Dee-de-deee, da da da deeee dah!

Cleo froze. Sometimes, just sometimes, didn’t you just wish mobile phones had never been invented?

In her ear, Johnny murmured, ‘You could always not answer it.’

Which was a tempting thought, but today of all days she couldn’t do that.

‘I have to. One of the other drivers wasn’t well this morning, so I’m on standby.’ Cleo winced when she saw Grumpy Graham’s name pop up on the screen. She pressed reply, crossed her fingers and said, ‘Hi, what’s happening?’

‘Don’s gone down with food poisoning, big time. He can’t do the Edinburgh trip. And they need picking up in forty minutes so you’ll have to get your skates on.’ Graham’s tone was brusque.

Her heart sank. There was no point arguing or trying to wriggle out of it. She had a job to do and that was that. ‘Fine, no problem.’

Next to her, Johnny mouthed, ‘Job?’

Cleo nodded.

‘Shame,’ he said under his breath.

Which was just about the understatement of the year. Cleo said, ‘Where are the clients now?’

‘The Marriott Hotel. Don’t be late whatever you do, they’re fussy buggers.’

The Marriott was the five-star hotel downtown, which, at this time of day, meant she had roughly five minutes in which to shower off the dust and change into her uniform. Scrambling to her feet, not even daring to signal regret with her eyes, Cleo glanced at Johnny and said into the phone, ‘I’m on my way.’

It wasn’t the Colston Hall, but at short notice, it was all he’d been able to manage. Sometimes you just had to make the best of what you could get.

‘I’ve been given a couple more tickets,’ said Ash, ‘for
Madame Butterfly
next Tuesday at the Pargeter Theatre in Clifton.’

‘Are you serious?’ Fia’s face lit up. ‘Oh my God, that’s my favorite opera!’

He’d had an inkling it might be. Weeks ago, Frank had announced with relish that Fia didn’t listen to his radio show; she was all into that warbly
Madame Butterfly
stuff.

‘It’s a touring production. They’re supposed to be pretty good.’

‘That’s
fantastic
. Ash, thanks so much, this is really kind of you!’

Oh no, he wasn’t falling for that one again. Do-gooder Aaron was on his own from now on. Bracing himself, Ash said, ‘The thing is, I have to review the show for the radio station, that’s why they’ve given us the tickets.’

‘Oh.’ Fia’s change of expression was like a knife between his ribs. ‘Oh right. I see.’

‘But it’s still
Madame Butterfly
.’ His mouth was dry; he couldn’t fall to his knees and beg her to go with him. But it was so obviously not what she wanted to do.

She hesitated and he could see her wrestling with her conscience. Thankfully good manners won out and Fia didn’t blurt out, ‘But I’d rather cut off my own
feet
than go to the theatre with a fat lower like you!’ Instead, mustering a brave smile, she said, ‘Well, that’s fine; it’ll be great. Thanks for inviting me.’

‘Yes.’ Ash mentally kicked himself; once he got tongue-tied, he couldn’t get even the simplest response right. Belatedly he said, ‘No problem.’ Jesus, what was
wrong
with him? This was his big chance; he’d actually managed to trick Fia into going out on a date with him. Even if it wasn’t a real date and she was only agreeing to do it because otherwise he might never supply her with free tickets again.

Despite everything, Ash couldn’t help experiencing a squiggle of excitement and hope.

It might not be much. OK, it
wasn’t
much.

But it was a start
.

***

There was a jolly feature on dance-aerobics on the TV and Abbie joined in as she vacuumed the carpet. Turning up the volume so she could hear the music above the roar of the Hoover, she danced and sang along with the instructor and knocked the Hoover against the metal legs of the ironing board that had now taken up more or less permanent residence in the living room.

And if she was being noisy… well, so what? When Georgia had first moved in, she’d been conscious of her presence and had made every effort not to disturb her in the mornings. But carpets still needed to be cleaned, she
liked
singing along to her favorite songs, and you couldn’t tiptoe around forever.

Besides, it was almost lunchtime. Georgia should be up by now.

‘And stretch and
bend
and stretch and
bend
,’ yelled the fitness instructor on TV. ‘And
reach
and twist and
reach
and twist those hips, that’s it! Now
stretch
and
reach
and
bend
and—’

‘WAAAH!’ Abbie let out a shriek as a hand touched her shoulder.

‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ Georgia pulled an apologetic face as Abbie pressed the mute button on the TV.

‘I thought you were still in bed.’ Abbie flushed; had she looked completely ridiculous? Did her bum look big? Had Georgia been laughing at her?

‘I’ve got loads to do. I was up ironing till three o’clock this morning.’

Hadn’t they all known it; the irregular clunk-clunk of the iron and the burble of the TV had driven Abbie demented when she’d been trying to get to sleep.

‘Anyway, just to let you know I’m off now. I’ve got deliveries, pick-ups, and a trip to the printers for more business cards, so I won’t be back before tea-time.’

‘OK, fine.’ Was it wrong to feel this delighted at the prospect of having the house to herself on her day off?

‘Oh, and we’re out of milk, so you might want to get some more. Bye, then. See you later!’

Abbie bit her tongue until Georgia had packed the completed ironing into the van and driven off.
This
was what drove her insane, the lack of concern and utter thoughtlessness. In the kitchen, she found the empty two-liter milk carton on the counter and a drained glass sitting in the sink. This was teenagers for you. And she knew she should probably be grateful that Georgia had bothered to tell her, because otherwise she wouldn’t have discovered the lack of milk until she’d come through to make herself a cup of tea.

Oh well, she’d finish the cleaning first, then change out of her tracksuit bottoms before heading on over to the shop. Reaching for the remote control, Abbie de-muted the TV and switched the Hoover back on. The dance-aerobics section had finished, but vacuuming still used up plenty of calories, didn’t it? Seeing as it now promised to be an extra-nice, home-alone day, she might treat herself and see if Glynis had any toffee doughnuts.

Conditions were getting crowded beneath the sofa. Abbie found three empty crisp packets, several magazines, a glittery eyeliner, seven coat hangers, and an unopened peach yogurt. Straightening up after clearing them out and Hoovering under there, she glimpsed a flash of dark red through the front window as a car pulled up outside.

Her stomach did a little flip because it was Des’s car and the faint awkwardness between them was still there, even if no one else was aware of it. She switched off the vacuum cleaner and watched him climb out of the driver’s seat. OK, there was absolutely no need to be nervous. He’d dropped by to ask her to swap shifts with someone, that was all. They saw each other at work every day and it had been weeks since he’d even mentioned the… the
thing
that had happened.

Forcing herself to sound and behave in a completely normal fashion—and God knows, she should be used to doing it by now—Abbie opened the door and said cheerfully, ‘Hi Des! Let me guess, Magda wants me to do Sunday for her so she can have loads to drink at her neighbor’s party on Saturday night.’

‘No.’ Following her into the house, Des ran his fingers through his reddish-fair hair and shook his head. ‘I just needed to see you. We have to talk.’

The fading anxiety did an abrupt about-turn. ‘What about?’

A muscle was twitching in his forehead. ‘I love you.’

The vacuum cleaner nozzle dropped from her hand. ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about our night together.’ He moved towards her. ‘I’ve tried, but I just can’t. I’ve never felt like this before, about
anyone
…’

‘Des, I’m married!’

‘I know, I know, but he doesn’t love you as much as I do. He
can’t
. Abbie, I dream about you all the time. I just want us to be together. Just give me a chance and let me prove it to you.’

‘No, no, I’ve told you before, that was just one night.’ The fear had her by the throat now, but it was mixed with annoyance. ‘You know why it happened, and it’s never going to happen again,
ever
.’

‘Look, you’re not even giving me a chance.’ Desperation made him reckless. ‘I can make you happy, we could live—’

‘
Shhh
!’ Abbie froze and held out a hand, her skin prickling with terror. Something had just creaked upstairs. But how could there be anyone up there? Until Des had arrived she’d been alone in the house. It must just be one of those random noises, like when the water pipes start clanking in the night…

Oh shit, shit, there it was again. And this time Des had heard it too. Nausea rose in her chest and perspiration broke out as she turned and went out into the hall.

There was no one on the stairs. Nor on as much of the landing as she could see from this angle.

But the shadow on the landing wall was human-shaped.

Never before had Abbie prayed so hard for a burglar. Oh God, please let the figure on the landing be a criminal, a complete stranger who’d climbed up the drainpipe and broken into the house… he could take her jewelry, her camera, as many electrical items as he could carry. If he needed a hand she’d even help him. Her voice tight with fear, she said, ‘Who’s that up there?’

The shadow moved and a voice said, ‘Me.’