The Love Shack (33 page)

I am consumed by one thing – one person. Alex. And how he made me feel tonight. How he still makes me feel every time I think about him: alive with desire, still tingling from his touch.

The next morning, Dan gets up at 6 a.m., showers, dresses and leaves the house. We have still not spoken to each other since last night. It’s clear that something big has changed between us. And right now, I can’t see any hope of it ever changing back.

I sniff tears back from my eyes yet again as Sebastian walks in, sits down and slams his folder on the table.

‘No Sadie?’

‘She’s on her way,’ I tell him, pulling myself together. ‘Her meeting with British Upholsterers ran over.’

‘Something the matter?’ he asks.

‘Oh, nothing. Just having a bit of a nightmare with the MOT on my car,’ I lie, then wish I’d chosen a different subject to lie about.

‘Don’t talk to me about cars.’ Thunderclouds gather on his forehead. ‘I’ve just had to renew my insurance. You wouldn’t believe the cost now I’ve lost my No Claims.’

I swallow. ‘Oh.’

‘I’ve had to cancel our family holiday to Disney World,’ he continues.

‘Oh my God. Really?’

‘Somebody here is playing me for a fool. If I ever get hold of them . . . It’s not just beyond the bounds of human decency, it’s a disciplinary matter.’

‘But accidents happen, don’t they?’ I mutter.

‘It’s not the accident that bothers me.’ At that point, the door opens and Sadie walks in with a cheery smile. ‘It’s the
subterfuge
.’

There’s something about the way he says it which, as I glance at my friend, makes me blush to the colour of Noddy’s car. I look back at Sebastian, mid-rant, then focus on my pencil. Sebastian stops. He leans in and peers at me.

Sadie pours herself a coffee and sits down. ‘Everything all right?’

I’m suddenly unable to answer.

Sebastian looks between the two of us and comprehension sweeps across his face. He sits back contemplatively as suspicion rises up in him.

‘I think I’m right in saying that the culprit is right here in this room, aren’t I?’

Sadie spits out her coffee, right across the table like a pump action water-pistol.

I look at her. She returns my stare, as if silently pleading, ‘What the
hell
did you say?’

‘Well? Are you going to cough to it?’ Sebastian continues. ‘Because the disciplinary hearing will look upon this even more dimly if you don’t.’

I gaze fixedly at Sadie, willing her to say something, but she’s not even being defiant. She’s just lost, hopeless, unable to think of what to do.

‘Okay,’ says Sadie, crumpling in a heap. ‘I . . .’

‘Sadie, you don’t need to do this,’ Sebastian interrupts. ‘I’d like Gemma to confess all by herself.’

I rear up. ‘It wasn’t me!’ I bluster.

He shakes his head. ‘Gemma, you’re making this
so
much worse for yourself. Just come clean. Your face says it all. It’s completely obvious.’

‘Sebastian,’ I beg. ‘I’m serious, it wasn’t me.’

He walks to the phone and picks it up.

‘What are you doing?’ asks Sadie.

‘Calling security – to come and remove your pass, Gemma, and escort you from the building. You’re suspended with immediate effect.’

My mouth drops and I look at Sadie. All I have to do is tell him it was her, then this is over. My job is safe.

Yet, I can’t do it. I can’t land her in it.

I stand up. ‘It’s okay, I’m going,’ I say to him. ‘It wasn’t me though.’

‘What possible reason can you give me that’d make me believe you?’ he asks, through tight lips.

Sadie stands up. ‘Sebastian, leave Gemma alone. She didn’t do it.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you.’

‘Well, believe it,’ Sadie says. ‘It wasn’t her. It was me.’

Chapter 51

Gemma

By the time I get home that night, I still have absolutely no idea what to say to Dan. It hasn’t helped that Alex has texted me several times through the day, asking how I am and trying to persuade me to meet up with him again. I haven’t responded yet, because the truth is I haven’t got the headspace to work out what the hell I’m going to say or do. Tonight, tomorrow or, it’s becoming increasingly clear, for the rest of my life.

When Dan opens the door, I stand up and immediately start talking. ‘Dan, I think we need to have a discussion about—’

But he simply pulls me into his big arms as tears spill down my face. I feel a surge of emotion as I press myself into his chest, feeling his heartbeat run through me.

Eventually, he pulls back and looks at me through glazed eyes. ‘I love you so much, Gemma, and I hate what happened last night. I’m really sorry.’

At that, I begin to sob, unable to control myself.

‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ he whispers, wrapping himself around me again. I sniff, unable to get the words out.

‘You shouldn’t be apologising,’ I manage to say. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising.’

He brushes the hair out of my face and kisses my forehead. ‘I think you’ll find we both gave as good as we got.’

‘I was wrong to have accepted the money from your mum. And to have kept it secret.’

He tenses momentarily. ‘I know you thought you were doing the right thing. I shouldn’t have been so uptight about the whole issue.’

Against all the odds, it has never felt better to be held by him. Or indeed anyone. I suddenly just want this whole thing to go away, along with Alex Monroe and the storm he’s set off inside me.

Besides, I always have loved make-up sex. The emotion, the rawness, the urgent then gentle ebbs and flows, the feel of someone’s lips against yours who yesterday made you fizz with anger, but right now you can’t be without.

He brings his mouth to mine as his fingers caress the top button of my blouse and I push myself breathlessly against him.

‘DANIEL! GEMMA!’ Belinda’s voice echoes up the stairs. ‘THE HAM AND PINEAPPLE CURRY’S READY! GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!’

Chapter 52

Dan

On the day before Grandma’s eightieth birthday, I wake up and look at her present – the wetsuit Gemma and I bought her – and realise it’s totally unsuitable. I need to get something different. That wetsuit has been bothering me for ages. Yes, she was swimming outdoors last year, but she’s eighty, not eighteen. I’ve been in denial.

I intend to return the wetsuit at lunchtime but don’t have time to do that, so go and buy its replacement instead – a Pandora bracelet, which as far as I can ascertain is a decent default gift to purchase for any female from the age of 0 upwards.

I’m walking out of the shop in Liverpool city centre, when my phone rings. It’s Gemma. ‘Hello you,’ I say.

‘Hi there,’ she replies.

I can’t fully convey how good it feels not to be fighting. To have put our conflagration behind us and – I hope – seen the back of the Tampax Ninja.

She made a mistake. I overreacted. We’re over it. Or at least I am – I love her too much to want to dwell on it any further. But I can tell the whole thing has knocked her sideways, judging by how quiet she’s been since it happened. She’s barely even mentioned the house.

‘Just thought I’d let you know I heard from Rich,’ she says.

‘Oh?’

‘Mrs Deaver has decided that she doesn’t want to hold up the sale any longer, so she’s going to continue staying at her friend’s house. We’re back in business.’ She sounds oddly flat.

‘God almighty, could they mess us around any more? The woman’s changed her mind so much she sounds virtually schizophrenic.’

‘Well, don’t slag her off too much. We’re exchanging contracts on Monday.’

‘Seriously?’ I ask.

‘Seriously,’ she replies. But I can’t help thinking she doesn’t sound as happy as I might have expected.

One thing for which I have to give my mum credit is that she knows how to throw a party. By 9 p.m. Buddington Hall has been transformed into a Gatsby-style spectacular: there’s a champagne fountain, fireworks and a spread that is not just magnificent, but also untouched by her own culinary hand. (With the exception of one dish – a ‘Scotch Egg Trifle’ which she describes as a ‘savoury twist on a classic’, like she’s Heston Blumenthal’s deranged cousin.)

Grandma is having a whale of a time. ‘This must have cost a fortune,’ she says, sipping champagne. ‘You do realise that your mother is a lunatic.’

‘I blame the parents.’

She grins. ‘I would too.’

‘So how does it feel to be eighty?’ I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked. Grandma’s wearing make-up tonight and Mum bought her some new clothes last weekend. But she’s looked inescapably frail again recently. Or perhaps, with her birthday approaching, I’ve only just started to notice.

‘Well, I’d prefer to be twenty.’ The lines above her lips fade into a wry smile. ‘But it’s not all bad. You weren’t around then, for a start. And I’ve had a good innings, as they say.’

‘You’ve still got plenty of time to score a few more runs yet. Are you dancing?’ I ask.

‘Are you asking?’

I take her by the hand into the hall and Grandma and I perform my best attempt at a waltz. It’s based largely on instinct, tips thrust on me by Bobby and a vague recollection of what the conker-coloured blokes on
Strictly
do.

When the song finishes, she’s slightly out of breath. ‘I think you need to stick to someone who can keep up.’ She nods at Gemma, who’s spent most of the evening in the corner with Sadie.

I made one attempt to strike up conversation, but Sadie responded with a tsunami of uncontrollable sobbing so I decided to ‘give them some space’ i.e. run a mile. But this could be a good excuse to tear my girlfriend away. I leave Grandma chatting to some friends from church and head over.

‘Fancy a warm-up dance?’ I ask.

‘I can’t. I’m not wearing the right shoes,’ Gemma says, slowly enough to make it clear that she’s already quite drunk. ‘These ones slip off.’

‘Perhaps we’d better call our big routine off then.’

‘Not a chance. I’ve got another pair for that upstairs. Anyway,’ she stands, grabs me by the arm and turns me away until we’re out of earshot, ‘I can’t leave Sadie. It’s terrible, Dan. She and Warren are thinking of calling off the wedding.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s meant to be getting married in three months and now has no salary with which to pay for it. If she gets the sack, she’ll be unemployable. Hey . . .’

‘What?’

‘I was just thinking, she could do with some advice from an objective source.’ I look around the room. ‘I mean you,’ she replies.

‘Me?’

Before I can object, I’m plonked unceremoniously next to a weeping, hysterical car crash of a person – just the kind of guest you want at a party, obviously.

‘Hi, Sadie. How are things?’ I ask, employing an inane, smiley face in the vague hope that she might be compelled to follow suit.

‘OHGODTHINGSAREAWFULI’VELOSTMYJOBANDEVERYTHING’STERRIBLEANDIDON’TKNOWWHATTODO!’

Gemma nudges me.

‘Really sorry to hear that, Sadie,’ I cough.

‘I was saying to Sadie,’ Gemma begins, ‘that she should see a lawyer to get some advice before she does anything.’

‘Good idea,’ I comment. ‘I’d do that.’

‘But that’s going to cost a packet and it might be premature. So
then
I said, she should set up a meeting with Sebastian. Try and reason with him. Apologise.’

‘That’s a great idea,’ I say heartily. ‘I’d do that.’

‘But that might make things worse because he was in such a foul mood.’

‘Hmm.’ I nod as if applying the kind of cognitive effort you’d put into trying to cure cancer.

‘So that’s the problem,’ Gemma concludes. Then she looks at me, apparently expecting some pearl of wisdom. I mentally roll the dice.

‘I’d go for option one,’ I say decisively.

‘The lawyer?’ Sadie asks.

‘Definitely.’

The two of them look at each other uneasily.

‘I’ll just go and apologise,’ Sadie decides.

Gemma nods. ‘Good idea.’

Pete is on fine, if supremely intoxicated, form. He’s had at least six large glasses of my mother’s Gin Blitz and is swaying so much all he needs is a lighter in the air and he could be at a Michael Bolton concert. ‘Where are you having your leaving do?’ he asks.

‘I haven’t put much thought into it.’

‘Well, you better had – you’re going in three weeks. You bastard.’

Pete wasn’t impressed by the news that I’ve handed in my notice; he’s taken it very personally, like a small puppy I’ve abandoned in the street, rather than a 14-stone grown man.

There’s no going back though – my job is now a ‘cost saving’. In these last austere few months, as soon as the council, who are responsible for half of the Chapterhouse Centre’s funding, become aware of a vacant role, finding a replacement goes on hold. For months, or sometimes indefinitely. It’s a way of shaving a salary off their extremely challenging budget without having to pay redundancy money. Which is little consolation for those who’ll have to pick up my work, not to mention the service users.

I feel an urgent desire to move the conversation on.

‘How are things with you and Jade?’ I venture, picking the one subject I know will distract him.

‘Great! Great!’ he says, then he starts swaying again.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Well, I meant what I said. We’re just good friends. And I’m fine with that. I’m back in the market.’

‘What, dating again?’

‘Not actually got that far, but I’m available. I’m ready, willing and waiting for the woman of my dreams to come and get me.’ He grins. ‘Anyone here single? What about that Sadie?’

‘No, she’s getting married. Or maybe not. The point is, forget Sadie. But there are loads of other single women.’

‘Really?’ His eyes light up.

I nod. ‘Few of them are under fifty-five, but they’re all single.’

He flashes me a look, then – to my alarm – starts scanning the room.

Before long, the party is in full swing and Mum is parading me around as if I’m her new poodle, in a series of encounters that go like this:

Mum:
Jeremy! Have you met my son, Daniel? He’s just got a new, high-flying job, he has a beautiful girlfriend, and he can speak Japanese.’