Thinking of You (20 page)

Jem looked disappointed. “But I think he's nice. And I want you to be happy.”

Her heart swelling up like a giant marshmallow, Ginny reached across and clasped the hands of the daughter who meant the world to her. “Oh, sweetheart, how can I not be happy?
You're back.
”

“But only for a week. What about when I leave? Then you'll be all on your own again.” Jem's face lit up. “I know! Why don't I have a quiet word with Finn, see if he fancies you?”

Ginny's fingers tightened around Jem's hands, then tightened again until she flinched. “Darling, that's so sweet of you. But you can't do that.”

“I could! I'd be really subtle and—
ow
, Mum!”

“Because if you did do that,” Ginny continued, her smile angelic, “I'd have to break both your legs.”

 

“The thing is, I look at you and I just want to
yawn
…”

“Dad, that is so rude! Honestly,” Jem complained, “you're turning into a juvenile delinquent. You're just asking for a slap around the face.”

“Luckily for him, I'm not into violence,” Laurel said placidly.

“I'm so sorry about my dad,” said Jem. “He's always been like this. He's so embarrassing.”

It was Saturday afternoon and Gavin, just arrived, was being his usual shy, retiring self.

“You didn't let me finish.” Undeterred, Gavin stretched out an arm and helped himself to the last slice of lemon drizzle cake. “I was talking about Laurel's clothes, the impression she makes on people when they meet her. Everything droops,” he complained, waving the cake as he gestured at Laurel. “OK, maybe not the boobs, but everything else. Droopy skirt, droopy top, droopy
hair
. I'm just offering some constructive criticism. What's wrong with that?” he demanded as Jem rolled her eyes. “First impressions count. You want people to look at you and go, wow.”

“Is that what they say when they see you?”

Gavin, who was wearing a multicolored striped shirt, black trousers, and a bright red waistcoat, said with pride, “Nobody looks at me and thinks I'm boring.”

“No,” said Laurel. “But nobody looks at me and thinks I'm fat.”

There was a stunned silence. Then Gavin started to laugh. “That was funny.”

Laurel looked bemused. “It isn't. Being fat is a serious health issue.”

“You said something funny. I love it!”

“You should lose thirty pounds,” Laurel retaliated. “Look at your stomach.”

“You should stop offering me cakes then.”

“I didn't offer you any cakes. You helped yourself.”

Still grinning, Gavin eyed her with new respect. “Know what? You're getting better. Buy yourself a perky new outfit and you'll be unrecognizable.”

“I don't want a perky outfit. I like my clothes the way they are.”

Ginny, rejoining them in the living room, looked suspiciously at Gavin. “Are you giving Laurel a hard time?”

“Quite the opposite. I'm giving her an easy time, complimenting her on her sense of humor. She's making progress,” Gavin declared. “Plus, I've been here ten minutes and she hasn't mentioned Kevin once, which has to be some kind of—”

“Shhh,” Laurel said severely. “We're not mentioning that name. New rule.”

“Excellent rule. Why didn't anyone think of that before? You're on a roll now. Hey, what are you doing on Wednesday night?”

Laurel's huge green eyes widened in horror. “Please don't ask me out on a date.”

“Sweetheart, I said you were on a roll, not that you'd scooped the jackpot. I was just going to suggest you giving the singles club another go. I'll make sure Hamish turns up this time. You never know, you being more cheerful now could make all the diff—”

“Not in a million years,” said Laurel.

“But I just know you two would hit it off. And,” Gavin added persuasively, “we're having a quiz night. Any questions about droopy clothes and you'd clean up.”

“Is that another joke?”

He grinned. “Yep. Well done for recognizing it.”

“Thank you,” said Laurel, “but I'm still not coming to your singles club. And you could still do with losing weight.”

“So cruel.” Gavin clasped his chest. “Like a dagger in my heart.”

“You'd be better with one in your stomach.” For the first time there was a glimmer of a smile around Laurel's mouth. “Then it might go down, like a popped balloon.”

“I don't know how it got there.” Mournfully, Gavin patted his stomach. “It crept up on me when I wasn't looking. I used to have a fine figure, didn't I, Gin?”

“You used to have lots of fine figures,” said Ginny. “Sadly they all belonged to bimbos in miniskirts.”

“There she is!” Jem, who had been gazing idly out of the window while the grown-ups got on with their bickering, shouted, “The bitch is back! Look at her, scuttling inside like a rodent. God, I'd love to go over there and tell that lying tart what I think of her.”

“Well, you're not going to.” Envisaging some hideous street brawl, Ginny said, “This isn't Jerry Springer. We're just going to ignore her, OK?”

“But that means she gets away with it!” Indignantly Jem said, “How can that be fair?”

“Hang on.” Gavin was looking blank. “Is this Carla we're talking about? Gets away with what?”

Everyone congregated at the window to watch Carla hurry into her house, slamming the glossy black front door behind her.

“Gets away with
what
?” repeated Gavin, bewildered.

“I was about to tell you.” There was a horrid tightening knot in Ginny's stomach as she filled him in on the situation. When she'd finished she put the question she knew she needed to ask. “Did anything like that ever happen with you?”

Gavin's face was a picture. “You mean did Carla ever make a play for me?”

“Or vice versa.”

“Bloody hell, Gin, I can't believe you even think that!”

“I can't believe it either, but until yesterday I thought I could trust my best friend.” Ginny shrugged. “And look how well that turned out.”

“Well, nothing happened, and that's a promise. Carla never tried it on and I wouldn't sleep with her if you paid me.” Straight-faced, Gavin said, “I'd rather sleep with droopy Laurel.”

Droopy Laurel rolled her eyes. “You wish,” she said.

Carla had evidently whizzed home to pick up a change of clothes. Within ten minutes the front door reopened and she emerged carrying a small suitcase, her gaze deliberately averted from Ginny's house as she hurried back to the car.

“I'm going to go over there and give her a piece of my mind,” Gavin announced.

“Oh no you're not.” Touched by his loyalty, Ginny nevertheless moved to the living room door to block his exit.

Which was a fairly pointless exercise, seeing as Gavin launched himself at the window instead, flung it wide open, and bellowed across the road, “Hey, Carla, has he told you he's got herpes?”

Carla didn't look up but a young postman, cycling past at the time, did an alarmed double-take and almost wobbled off his bike.

“Poor kid.” Gavin watched with grim satisfaction. “Looks like she's had him too.”

***

For once all the diners had left in good time. By half-past ten the restaurant was empty, leaving only Ginny and Finn to finish clearing up.

“Early night for you,” Finn observed. “You'll be pleased.”

“Jem's gone out for the night. It's Kaz Finnegan's birthday do. Anyway, I've got that chef program to watch,” said Ginny. “The one about the French guy who bought the crumbling castle in Wales and turned it into a restaurant.”

“Damn, I missed it. Everyone's been telling me about that.”

“No problem, I recorded it.” Ginny, collecting cutlery to lay a table for ten, said eagerly, “I can lend you the DVD.”

Finn shook his head. “It's OK, don't worry about it.”

“But it's supposed to be brilliant. You'll enjoy it!”

“Really, it doesn't matter.” He turned his attention to counting the twenty-pound notes in the till.

Something about the way he said it aroused Ginny's curiosity.

“Don't you have a DVD player?”

Defensively, maybe even too quickly, Finn replied, “Yes, of course I do.”

“So why don't you want to borrow the DVD?”

He paused in the middle of cashing up, looked over at her for a moment.

“Because the DVD machine's still in its box.”

Mystified, Ginny frowned. “OK, I know this is a pretty radical suggestion, but how about… ooh, let's see, taking it out of the box and connecting it up to the TV?”

Another lengthy pause. Finally he gave in, exhaled slowly. “Because I tried that and I couldn't make it work.”

Oh, brilliant. Ginny did her best to keep a straight face. “Right, so did you read the instruction manual?”

“Yes. But that just made everything worse; it kept going on about
scart
leads and… and
grinch
cables and stupid stuff that made
no
sense at all.” Finn shot her a warning look. “And if you're laughing at me…”

“I'm not laughing.” Heroically, Ginny bit her lip but she was only human. “OK, maybe smirking a bit.”

“It's not funny,” said Finn. “It's embarrassing. I'm a
man
.”

“It's not as embarrassing as having to admit you're impotent.” Ginny said it without thinking, then hastily added, “Not that I'm saying you
are
impotent, of course.”

“I'm not,” Finn said gravely.

“But you have to admit, it is
quite
funny.”

“We're not talking about impotence now, are we?”

Equally seriously Ginny shook her head. “No, because impotence is never funny.”

Good grief, was she really having this conversation?

“I can't set up DVD players.” Finn admitted defeat. “Or video recorders. Or TVs, come to that. It's a recognized phobia,” he went on, “of electrical leads and sockety things and manuals that deliberately set out to confuse you.”

He was hating this; she was loving it. Ginny's mouth was twitching uncontrollably now. “So, um, how do you usually deal with this?”

He looked slightly shamefaced. “Get a man in.”

A man. Of course. Giddy with power, Ginny said, “Would a woman do?”

This time she definitely detected a flicker of amusement. “Would a woman do what?”

“Would you like me to set up your DVD player for you?”

He shrugged offhandedly. “If you want.”

“Sorry. That's not good enough. Not nearly enough enthusiasm.”

Finn gave in gracefully, broke into a broad smile, and pushed the till shut.

“OK, you win. Yes please.”

 

They made it across the darkened courtyard without, for once, being ambushed by Myrtle. Upstairs in the flat, Finn brought out the DVD recorder, crammed haphazardly into its original packaging as if someone—
ahem
—had previously had a go and ended up losing his temper with it. The expression on Finn's face as he handed it over made Ginny smile all over again.

It took her less than fifteen minutes to sort patiently through the spaghetti-like tangle of wires, plug them into the relevant sockets, set up the recorder, and tune in the relevant channels.

“I don't know how you can do that.” Finn watched as she sat back on her heels and expertly keyed in instructions via the remote control.

“It's easy. Look, let me show you how to set it in advance.”

“Don't even try. I'll just press record when it's time to record something. That's as technical as I get.” Holding out a hand, he helped Ginny to her feet. “But thanks, I appreciate it. Now, do you have to rush off or can I ask you another favor?”

She breathed in the scent of his aftershave, experiencing a tremor as his warm hand clasped hers. “You want me to fix your kettle?”

“The kettle's fine. I'll prove it to you. What I really want is for you to give me your honest opinion of this room.”

Ginny gazed around at the decor. “I thought you'd never ask.”

It had, she learned, been Tamsin's idea to hire an outrageously trendy interior designer, lure him down from London, and have him transform the flat while Finn had been away on a buying trip. Upon Finn's return, he had been confronted with the mother of all makeovers involving aubergine-and-silver striped walls, a pistachio-green ceiling, and a sixties-style, pop-arty aubergine-and-pistachio carpet. The lighting was modern, verging on the futuristic. The sofas, sleek and uninviting, were upholstered in lime-green tweed flecked with silver.

Austin Powers would have thought it was shagtastic.

“You don't want to know how much it cost,” Finn said with a shudder.

“Did you tell her you hated it?”

“Couldn't. It was my birthday present. And Tamsin was so thrilled, I didn't have the heart to hurt her feelings.”

He must have loved Tamsin an awful lot. Whenever Gavin had bought her something horrific for her birthday Ginny had trained him to hand over the receipt at the same time. Then again, that was the beauty of coordinated outfits from Marks and Spencer. It wouldn't be quite so easy lugging an entire room back to the shop.

“So what happens now?”

“It has to go. The whole lot. I would have done it before but the restaurant had to take priority. It's been easier to just ignore it. But the other day I picked up some paint charts,” Finn went on firmly. “And this time I won't be hiring a bloody designer.”

He made coffee with the non-broken kettle. Ginny sat down on the sleek, slippery sofa and spread the paint charts over the brushed aluminum—brushed
aluminum!
—coffee table. For the next hour they debated wall colors, curtains, furniture, and accessories. Out with the new and achingly trendy, in with the unflashy and traditional. Ginny sketched out ideas and drew the room with cream curtains billowing gently at the open windows.

“Not blue curtains?” said Finn.

“No, too dark. Definitely cream.” Her mind was made up on that score; it might not be the bedroom but Ginny was adamant there would be cream curtains. And billowy ones at that. Oh yes, they would billow if she had to smash all the windows herself.

“So how are you feeling about Perry now?”

Thanks
for
reminding
me.
“Like an idiot.”

“Well, you shouldn't. He's the idiot.”

Acutely aware of Finn's proximity to her on the sofa—their shoulders were only millimeters apart—Ginny said, “I'm out of practice when it comes to dating. I should have realized what his game was, but I didn't. Maybe if I'd been out with more men I wouldn't have been so gullible.”

“Don't blame yourself. You're better off without someone like that. Carla would probably be better off without him too, but now she's the one being gullible.” Drily, he added, “And look how much practice she's had.”

“You think I should feel sorry for her?” Ginny half smiled. “I can't see that happening.”

“Maybe not. You just have to put it behind you and move on.”

“Is that what you did?” She felt brave enough to ask him now. “After Tamsin left?”

Finn shrugged and this time his shoulder made contact with hers. “It's the only thing to do.”

“But it's easier for some people than others. Like you with that girl Catherine,” said Ginny. “The one who sent you flowers the other week. Why did she do that?”

He sounded amused. “Because I gave her a lift home?”

Ha, and the rest. Bluntly, Ginny said, “Did you sleep with her?”

There was a pause then Finn nodded. “OK, yes. I did.”

“You see?” Vigorously Ginny shook her own head. “I'd love to be able to do that!”

Now he was definitely smiling. “You'd love to sleep with Catherine? Or with me?”

Oh Lord, what a thought.

“Neither! I
meant
I'd love to be the kind of person who could do that.” Ginny felt the heat creeping into her cheeks. “I wish I could go out, see someone I like the look of, and… well, have a one-night stand, just for the hell of it. But I can't, because I'm not that kind of person and I never have been.”

“Never?”

“Never. It's really annoying. Men do it all the time. And so do loads of women, I know that. But I've never been able to.” Recklessly Ginny said, “If I told you how many men I'd slept with, you'd fall off the sofa laughing. Honestly, I'm pathetic.”

Finn raised a playful eyebrow. “So you're saying you want to be like Carla?”

“God, no, nothing like that. Just… you know, once in a blue moon it'd be nice to think, oh sod it, why not?”

“Find someone you like the look of and just go for it?”

“Well, yes.” Ginny knew her cheeks were on fire now; she still couldn't quite believe she was having this conversation, and with Finn Penhaligon of all people. But her pent-up feelings were spilling out uncontrollably like molten lava. “What are you doing?” she added, because he was now twisting round on the sofa, peering out of the window at something in the sky.

“Just checking if it's a blue moon.”

Her breath caught in her throat. This, subconsciously or otherwise, was exactly what she'd wanted to hear him say. Maybe it was pathetic, but after having her confidence dented—more like
smashed
—by Perry, she was ridiculously flattered to know that Finn Penhaligon would be prepared to have sex with her.

Except, terrifyingly, he appeared to have made his offer and was now awaiting her response to it.

Except, aaarrgh, what if it hadn't been an offer at all? Maybe he was a keen astronomer genuinely interested in discovering whether the moon tonight might actually be blue?

“Well?” Finn prompted, his dark eyes questioning.

Hopelessly unsure and petrified of making a twit of herself, Ginny said, “Is it?”

“Take a look.” He gently turned her round to face the window. “Tell me what you think.”

There was an unromantic
thunk
as Ginny's ankle knocked against the edge of the coffee table, setting the coffee cups rattling against the metallic surface. Her heart hammering against her rib cage, she followed the line of Finn's pointing finger and saw the moon hanging low in the inky-black sky, partially obscured by the branches of a sycamore tree.

“So, does it look blue to you?” The words came out as a whisper, his warm breath circling her ear in such a way as to send Ginny's nervous system into a frenzy. But she still didn't know if this was all part of his seduction plan or simply an experienced astronomer asking a hopeless ignoramus an easy question.

“It looks… um, well… I think maybe it looks a
bit
blue.”

“Really?” Now he sounded amused—oh God, was that the wrong answer?

“White with a hint of blue?” hazarded Ginny. “Sort of… very faintly… bluish?”

“Hmm.” He nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I think you could be right.”

“Yiawoooooow.”

“What's
that
?” Startled by the unearthly noise, faint but clearly audible, Ginny's eyes widened.

“Sounds like Myrtle, somewhere outside.”

“
Yiiaaarrrrlll
.”

“She's not happy. Oh God, what if she's been cornered by a fox?”

“Poor fox, he doesn't know what he's let himself in for. She'll rip him to shreds.”

“
Mwwwwaaaaaooowwwwww
,” Myrtle yowled, sounding more outraged than Ginny had ever heard her before.

“She's being attacked by something. I'll go and let her in.” Leaping up and slipping past Finn, she headed downstairs and opened the front door. “Myrtle? Come on, sweetheart, it's OK, come inside.”

But although she heard another faint yowl, Myrtle didn't materialize out of the darkness and shoot past Ginny's ankles in a blur of indignant black fur. Finally, she closed the door and made her way back upstairs. If Finn had a torch, they could go in search of her.

But when she reached the landing, she saw Finn standing at the far end of it, his hand resting on the handle of a half-open door that, if she'd got her bearings right, had to lead into the master bedroom. His dark eyes locked with hers for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he held out his other hand and slowly beckoned her forward. His voice low and with a husky edge to it, he murmured, “Come here.”

Oo-er. Tingling all over, torn between finding a missing cat and being drawn into Finn Penhaligon's bedroom, Ginny hesitated. Then again, what had Myrtle ever done for her? Maybe the time had come to be selfish for once. If Finn had decided that the moon was blue, who was she to argue?

Wandering in a dreamlike state toward him, she imagined herself unbuttoning Finn's white shirt, removing the leather belt that held up his black trousers, undoing the zip in a sensual manner. Oh Lord, she was disastrously out of practice; she hoped she didn't show herself up. Socks, for instance. Would he take his own socks off before the trousers came down? Surely he wouldn't expect
her
to deal with them. Heavens, she couldn't remember how socks got disposed of; she was going to make a complete fool of herself and—

“Take a look at this.” Finn noiselessly opened the bedroom door and drew her inside. As she held her breath, the first thing Ginny realized was that she wasn't going to have to wrestle with sock etiquette after all.

Not with Finn either, come to that.

Another realization was that as far as her long-cherished fantasy was concerned, she couldn't have got it more wrong if she'd tried. There was no four-poster, no cream hangings billowing gently in the breeze. The bed was king-sized and ultra-modern with a leather headboard and a heavy, expensive-looking dark blue suede bedspread.

Except it wasn't looking quite so expensive at the moment, what with all the gunk and slime smeared in the center of the bed over the supple, top-quality suede.

“Oh…” Ginny's hand flew to her mouth.

“
Yiaaaaaawwwwww
,” Myrtle yowled, furry paws extending and rib cage heaving as the next contraction gripped her body. As they watched, a silvery parcel emerged, slithering out of Myrtle and onto the bedspread only inches from the first blind mewling kitten. Twisting round, clearly relieved to have got a second one out, Myrtle used her sharp teeth to remove the covering membrane and bite her way—
eww
—through the umbilical cord.

“I didn't even realize she was here in the flat,” Finn whispered. “She must have jumped across from the tree outside and climbed in through the window.”

“Like a true cat burglar.”

He grinned. “Give her a motorcycle and she'd out-leap Evel Knievel.”

“Oh
looook
.” Ginny tugged at his shirtsleeve as the first kitten, having staggered to its feet, promptly fell over the second. Struggling to get up again, it then slipped on a patch of dark green slime and landed on its back. It lay there mewing piteously until Myrtle took pity on it and unceremoniously hauled it by the scruff of the neck over to her stomach.

“How do they know how to do that?” said Finn as the kitten, without a moment's hesitation, latched on and frantically began to feed.

“How did Myrtle know she had to bite through the cord?” Ginny shook her head in wonderment. “I'm glad I didn't have to do that when Jem was born.”

Myrtle turned and blinked majestically, topaz eyes surveying her audience. For once she didn't snarl or hiss at them. “Maybe now she's a mother she'll turn into a nicer cat.” Finn didn't sound too hopeful.

“Maybe she just has more important things on her mind right now, like bracing herself for the next contraction. How much did your bedspread cost, by the way?”

“Hundreds.” Finn paused. “And hundreds. Tamsin chose it.” Another pause. “Almost a thousand, I think.”

Consolingly, Ginny said, “It'll probably dry-clean.”

Since seduction was no longer on the menu—if it ever had been—they left Myrtle to get on with the task in hand and headed back to the living room. Finn made more coffee and paced the kitchen while Ginny perched on a high stool at the counter and surfed the Internet on his laptop.

“Sit down,” she complained. “You're making me jittery.”

“I am jittery. I feel like a prospective father.”

“Well, you aren't.” Ginny winced the moment she'd said it. What a thing to come out with. Luckily, typing “cats giving birth” into Google diverted her attention.