Thinking of You (11 page)

Ginny still found going for a walk without a dog a strange experience, like waking up on Christmas morning and finding your stocking empty. Even after all this time, she still found herself glancing around, expecting to see Bellamy either trotting along beside her or madly bounding around in circles in search of treasure.

Even more disconcertingly, at least for anyone who happened to be watching, she still sometimes picked up sticks and went to hurl them into the air before realizing Bellamy was no longer there to retrieve them.

That got you some funny looks from passersby.

The beach had always been their favorite place. Now, as she made her way along the shoreline, Ginny kept her hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of her black padded jacket. There, tangled in a skein of glossy wet seaweed, was a piece of driftwood ideal for throwing. (
Mustn't
pick it up,
mustn't
throw it.) A crab skittered across the sand heading for the shelter of a semi-submerged rock. One of Bellamy's favorite games had been snuffling after crabs, nudging them with his nose then leaping back like an outraged maiden aunt confronted by a male stripper when the crabs retaliated with their claws.

Oh God, she missed Bellamy so much. Strolling along the beach wasn't the same without him. Nor without Jem. For years it had been the three of them splashing through the waves, playing frenetic games, and collecting shells for Jem's bedroom windowsill.

Now it's just me, thought Ginny, gazing out to sea and watching a lone fishing boat chug along with seagulls swooping in its wake.

The phone rang in her pocket.

“Mum?”

“Hello, darling!” The sound of Jem's voice, just when she most needed to hear it, lifted Ginny's spirits in a flash. “How lovely to hear from you! What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, all the usual stuff. Buckets of work. Boring old essays, bossy lecturers… did you get my email yesterday?”

“I did.” Jem had attached a photo to the email, of Lucy and herself on their way out to a party. “And I can't believe you weren't wearing your new boots.” When Jem bought anything new, she had a habit of wearing it nonstop for the next three months.

Giggling, Jem said, “I was.”

“I meant the pink ones. Oh, you naughty girl, don't tell me you've bought another pair.”

“I didn't; Rupert did. He didn't like my pink boots so he threw them out of the window at some people who were annoying us.” Still laughing, Jem said, “Then the next day he gave me the money to buy a new pair. Can you believe it? He gave me a hundred pounds!”

Ginny was incensed. “He just threw them out of the window? What kind of person does that? You
loved
those boots.”

“And now I love these ones! Oh, Mum, it was
funny
; you should have been there. And mine were a bit cheap-looking. These are much nicer. I'm wearing them now. Rupert thinks they're great; he says I don't look like a hooker anymore.”

Rupert was a prat and an arrogant one at that; if he'd tried chucking anything of hers out of a window, Ginny would have thrown him out after it. Hearing Jem, normally so sensible, leaping to his defense sent a faint chill down her spine.

“And is he still with his girlfriend? What's her name… Caro?”

“Nope. They broke up.” At this, Ginny's sense of foreboding increased. “Anyway,” Jem went on, “I want to know how your new job's going. Is it good?”

Right. Change of subject. For the next few minutes, as the seagulls wheeled overhead, Ginny told Jem all about her first evening shift yesterday at Penhaligon's. Finn hadn't been there and she had enjoyed herself hugely; Evie and Martha were fun to work with, the kitchen staff was hardworking and cheerful, and she had enjoyed getting to know the regular customers.

Jem was delighted. “Hey, Mum, good for you. Maybe I should come down and meet them too.”

“Except you're working.” Ginny darted out of the way as a wave lapped against her trainers.

“Ah, but I'm not! That's why I'm ringing.” Jem was triumphant. “The pub landlord called me this morning—a pipe burst in the roof last night and the place got flooded, so it's closed until next week. Which means I'm free,” she went on gaily, “so I thought I'd shoot down for the weekend, if that's OK with you.”

This time, Ginny was so overjoyed she didn't even notice the next wave breaking over both her feet. She wouldn't have noticed if a shark had reared up out of the water with a mermaid on its back.

“Of course it's OK with me. Oh, darling, that's
fantastic
news. I can't wait!”

***

“You can't do that.” Rupert emerged from the kitchen as Jem came off the phone. “You mustn't go home. That's a complete waste of a weekend.”

“How can it be a waste of a weekend? I'll be seeing my mum.”

“I mean a waste for
us
.” In the middle of the living room he slid his arms round her. “I'll be here all on my own. What'll I do with myself while you're gone?”

“You won't be on your own. Lucy's going to be here.”

“She isn't. She's just told me she's off up to Manchester for some cousin's wedding.”

“Damn.” Lucy was in the shower; Jem gazed in dismay at the closed bathroom door. “I thought she'd be around so we wouldn't have the chance to… you know…
be
together.”

“Well, she won't be. Which gives us all the time in the world to… you know…
be
together.” As he mimicked her choice of expression, Rupert grinned wickedly and pressed his groin against hers. “I mean, think how much
being
together
we could do.”

Jem was torn. It was an opportunity they weren't often likely to get. If only she'd known twenty minutes earlier that Lucy would be away.

“Mmm,” Rupert murmured, moving his hips. “Being together, being together…”

“I've told Mum now. She's expecting me.”

“You're starting to sound like Davy Stokes. Hey, come on, you only told her five minutes ago. Call her back and say you can't make it.” As he nuzzled her ear, Rupert said with amusement, “Just tell her something's come up. That wouldn't be a lie now, would it?”

Weakening, Jem imagined telling her mother that she would be staying in Bristol after all. Maybe think up a less lascivious reason than the one Rupert was suggesting, for decency's sake. Would her mum be disappointed, though?

“She sounded so pleased when I said I'd be coming down.”

“That's what mothers do.” Rupert shrugged. “They have to sound pleased; it's part of the job description. You wouldn't like it if she said, ‘Oh God, do you have to?'”

Was that true? Actually, it was, come to think of it; she might be in the way. Her mum had a new job now and a new housemate. She had a busy, happy life. The last thing she needed, probably, was a nosy daughter arriving back to take up more of her time.

“If you leave me here on my own”—Rupert gave her a mournful look—“I might have to go out and shag some ugly fat bird. And I'd really hate that.”

Jem grinned and made up her mind. “You know what? I'd hate it too.”

***

Ginny's phone rang again as she was standing in the queue at the delicatessen waiting to pay for her basket of luxuries.

“Mum? It's me again. Look, I'm not going to be able to make it after all—I've only just realized how behind I am with my essays. If I don't spend the weekend catching up, I'm going to be in big—
yeeek!
—trouble. So, that's all right, isn't it? I expect you're rushed off your feet anyway!”

Ginny's mouth was dry. Her heart sank. Jem was gabbling at warp speed, a sure sign that the excuse wasn't genuine. And she wasn't coming home. Disappointment flooded through her. And what had provoked that squeak?

“What just happened?”

“When?”

“The squeak. You were saying you'd be in big trouble, and you squeaked.”

Jem giggled. “Oh, that was just Rupert mucking around. It's nothing. So is that OK then? I won't be around to interrupt your hectic life!”

The basket was suddenly far too heavy. Moving out of the queue, Ginny said carefully, “Fine, darling. It would have been lovely to see you, but it's your decision. If you need to catch up on your essays… well, that's what you have to do.”

“I knew you wouldn't mind. OK, Mum, better go now. Love you!”

Having tucked the phone back into her handbag, Ginny retraced her steps around the delicatessen, emptying the basket. Back onto the shelves went the jars of stuffed olives, the packets of cashews and macadamia nuts, the prosciutto slices and the marinated artichokes. All Jem's favorite things.

“Come out without your purse, love?” An older woman gave her a sympathetic look.

Ginny shook her head. “I thought my daughter was coming to stay for the weekend. She's just phoned to say she can't make it. Too busy.”

“Tuh, heard that one before. Kids are selfish, aren't they? Mine used to do that to me.” The woman clicked her tongue. “We had some arguments about it, I can tell you. Right humdingers.”

Ginny didn't want to argue with Jem, but her disappointment was so great that she was willing to give almost anything a try. “Did it help?”

“I wouldn't recommend it, love.” Heaving a sigh of resignation as she picked up a jar of pesto, the woman said sadly, “She married a man I didn't like. We had a few rows about that too. Then fourteen years ago they upped and immigrated to Australia.”

 

It was Saturday evening and the restaurant was busy. Finn was there, greeting new arrivals, working the tables like a pro, and attracting plenty of attention from the female diners. Watching him in action, Ginny saw the way they lit up and sparkled when he spoke to them, then chatted equally easily with the husbands of the married ones, ensuring they realized he wasn't a threat.

The single women loved that bit too. All the more chance for them. When a man as attractive as Finn Penhaligon moved into the area, it gave them all hope.

“Watching how it's done?” Evidently amused, Evie paused on her way to table six with two plates of mussels. “Can't you just
feel
all those flirty female hormones in the air?” With a wink, she added, “Good old Finn, he hasn't lost his touch.”

“I can see that.” As Finn crossed the room in order to answer the ringing phone, every female eye followed him.

“You'd better watch out. You could be next.”

Ginny grinned because the idea was so ludicrous. “I don't think that's going to happen. He'd be too worried I might nick his wallet.”

Finn beckoned her over to the desk a few minutes later.

“Relative of yours?”

“What?” Ginny peered down at the diary where he'd written the name Holland for nine thirty.

“Table for two. I've just taken the booking. She didn't say so, but I thought it might be your daughter.”

Her heart leaping like a fish, Ginny wondered if it could be Jem. Had she come down after all, to surprise her? And a table for two… did that mean she'd brought someone with her?

If it was Rupert, Ginny vowed to be as nice to him as she knew how.

***

An hour later her foolish hopes were dashed as the door of the restaurant opened and Gavin walked in with a blond who looked as if her lifetime ambition might be to appear on page three of the
Sun
, adopting one of those “Good gracious, where
did
my clothes go?” pouts.

Clearly struggling to match this vision in four-inch sparkly stilettos with the photograph he'd seen of Jem, Finn said doubtfully, “Is that your daughter?”

“If it was, I'd tell her to get her roots done and wear a bra.” Awash with disappointment at having even thought it could be Jem, Ginny said, “It's my ex with one of his lovely young things. At a guess I'd say he's probably not with her for her mind.”

“Now now.” Finn's mouth twitched. “Never judge someone on first impressions. You of all people should know that.”

He was having a dig, but Ginny's thoughts flew immediately to someone else whom she had met and disliked on sight. Maybe she'd got it wrong about Rupert and he wasn't obnoxious after all.

“Except men pointing guns at you.” She picked up a couple of leather-bound menus. “If they're doing that, it's generally best to go along with your first impression. And run like hell.”

“Thought we'd surprise you,” Gavin said cheerfully when Ginny went over to hand them their menus. “This is Cleo, by the way. Cleo, this is Gin.”

“Hiya!” Cleo actually had a sweet and friendly smile, but with her gauzy low-cut top and missing bra, it wasn't likely that many men would notice.

“You did surprise me. When Finn said a girl had booked the table, I thought it was Jem.”

Cleo giggled. “That was me. Gavin asked me to make the call while he was in the shower.” She gazed around eagerly. “I've never been to a restaurant like this before; I'm more of a burger girl myself. Are these… serviettes?” She was pointing to the dark blue linen napkins.

Politely, Ginny said, “Yes, they are.”

“Wicked! Fancy having serviettes that aren't made of paper!”

After their main course, Cleo tottered off on four-inch heels to the loo and Gavin beckoned Ginny over.

“Well? What do you think of her?”

“Nice enough. Pretty. Young.” Ginny shrugged helplessly; what did he expect her to say? “Just don't marry her, OK?”

Gavin beamed; he never took offense. “She's fun. We're enjoying ourselves. Speaking of fun, how's the lodger? Still the life and soul of the party?”

“OK, OK.” Ginny acknowledged that if she was going to have a dig at his choice of girlfriend, it was only fair that he should be allowed to have a go in return about Laurel.

“So, Wednesday. Bring her along to our singles do.”

“Not that again. She won't go.”

“Ah, but it's up to you to persuade her.” Gavin looked pleased with himself. “And you know it makes sense. Now listen, because I've had one of my ideas.”

“Would that by any chance be similar to the idea you once had about pouring a can of petrol on the barbecue to liven it up a bit? The idea that left you without eyebrows for the next three months?”

He ignored this disparaging reminder. “You have to tell Laurel that you want to go to the singles night, but that you're too shy to do it on your own. You beg her to go along with you for moral support. Brilliant or what?”

Transparent was the word that sprang to mind. Rather like Cleo's top. Ginny said, “And you'll be there?”

Gavin looked at her as if she'd just suggested the sea was pink. “Of course I'll be there!”

“But what about Cleo?”

“We're not joined at the hip, you know.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, Wednesday's her yoga night.”

He was never going to change. When Gavin was eighty he'd be the scourge of the nursing homes; no still-sprightly widow would be safe.

“Everything OK?” Finn joined them.

“Wonderful, thanks. Great food.” Patting his stomach, Gavin said cheerily, “I've just been persuading Ginny here to give the local singles club a try.”

The temptation to grab hold of Gavin's chair, wrench it backward, and tip him to the ground was huge. Would a bruised coccyx be painful enough? Did her ex-husband seriously not realize that she might prefer it if he didn't blurt out this kind of thing in front of her new boss? The new boss who was struggling to keep a straight face.

“I'm not interested in singles clubs!” Ginny felt herself going very red.

“Sorry, of course you're not.” Infuriatingly, Gavin winked and raised a finger to his lips, indicating that it was their little secret. “Wednesday, eight o'clock. You'll love it. OK, shhh, Cleo's coming back.”

“Hiya!” Cleo trilled when Gavin had introduced her to Finn. “It's really nice here, isn't it?” Leaning closer and resting her hand on Finn's shirtsleeve, she whispered, “Only I hope you don't mind me telling you, but someone's made off with the towel in the ladies.” I had to dry my hands on bits of toilet paper! I mean, you don't expect people to nick things in a posh place like this, do you?”

“I'll go and check,” Ginny murmured hurriedly before either Finn or Gavin could come up with some oh-so-witty retort.

Twenty seconds later she was back. “They're all there.” Then, because Cleo was looking baffled, “Dark green, in two piles on the shelf above the linen basket.”

Cleo's expression cleared. “Oh
those
. But they're only little! I thought they were flannels in case you wanted to wash your face!”

Gavin roared with laughter and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “My little Eliza Dolittle. They're towels, darling. You dry your hands on them then throw them in the basket to be washed.”

For a moment, Cleo looked flustered. “Oh! Well, that's very extravagant.”

Poor Cleo. Feeling a stab of sympathy toward her, Ginny said, “I think it's extravagant too.”

***

It was Wednesday night and they were actually here. Ginny still couldn't quite believe it. Yesterday, she had discovered, was the anniversary of the day Laurel and Kevin had first met. As a result, Laurel had been inconsolable, gazing helplessly at a battered photo of her former love and mournfully wondering aloud, over and over again, why she was bothering to carry on, because what was the point?

By the evening, Ginny couldn't have agreed more. If Laurel wanted to end it all by electrocuting herself in the bath, she'd have happily supplied the hairdryer and the extra-long flex.

“Sorry, I know how boring this must be for you.” Laurel tugged the last tissue out of the box and wiped her eyes. “I just miss Kev so much, you know? It just feels like life isn't worth living. It's all right for you, you're completely over Gavin, you don't want him back. But I still want Kevin, more than
anything
.”

“I don't want Gavin back,” Ginny blurted out, “but I'd like a man in my life. In fact, I'd love to try that singles club Gavin was talking about. Except… I couldn't go on my own.”

Laurel sniffed damply. “You could. Gavin would be there.”

“Exactly! That's what makes it impossible. I wouldn't know anyone apart from my ex-husband!” Out of sheer desperation, Ginny pleaded, “But if you'd come along with me, just once, you'd be doing me the biggest favor. Tomorrow night. Would you? Please?

She didn't for a moment expect Laurel to say yes.

“All right then.”

What?

Ginny gazed at her. “Really?”

“If it's what you want, I'll do it,” Laurel said sadly. “I'll hate it, of course, but I suppose I owe you that much. If it makes up for me being a bit miserable sometimes.”

A
bit
?

Stunned, Ginny said, “Well, thanks.”

“Don't expect me to talk to any men though. Especially not that Hamish person Gavin was going on about.”

“Absolutely not.” Ginny crossed her fingers behind her back.

“And I'm only going the once.”

“Absolutely.” Bugger, now that meant she had to go too.

The singles club was held in the back room of the White Hart. Now, pausing in the doorway, Laurel said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course!” Ginny flashed a bright smile. “This is exciting! Just think, I could be about to meet the man who'll change my life!”

Laurel looped a strand of long red hair behind her ear. “It must be nice to feel so hopeful. I hope he's in there.”

Me too, thought Ginny. More to the point, I hope his name is Hamish.