Thinking of You (6 page)

The advert had gone into the classified sections of today's
Western
Morning
News
and the
Cornish
Guardian
. Ginny had spent ages composing it, finally settling on, “Cheerful divorcee, 38, has lovely room to let in spacious home in Portsilver. Would suit lady in similar circumstances. £60 pw inclusive.”

There, that sounded OK, didn't it? Friendly and appropriately upbeat? If she were looking for somewhere to live, she'd be tempted herself. Gazing with pride at the adverts in the papers—all fresh and new and filled with promise—Ginny felt a squiggle of excitement at the thought of the fun she and her new lodger would have, going shopping together and—

Yeek, phone!

“Hello?” She put on her very best voice.

“'Ello, love, you sound up for it. Fancy a shag?”

Oh God. Outraged, Ginny said in a high voice, “No I do
not
,” and cut the connection. Her hands trembled. How completely
horrible
. Was this what was going to happen? Would she be harassed by perverts?

The phone rang again an hour later. This time Ginny braced herself and answered it with extreme caution.

“It's me. How's it going?

Oh, the relief. Gavin. “Nothing so far. Except some vile pervert.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him to fuck off.”

“Listen, let me know when anyone's coming around to look at the room. I should be there. It's not safe, inviting strangers into your home when you're on your own.”

Ginny relented. Gavin had offered before but she'd told him there was no need, seeing as she'd only be meeting women anyway. Now, though, she realized he was right. It was silly to take the risk. Gavin might be disastrous in many ways, but he did have his good points.

“OK. If anyone
does
call.” Reluctantly, she said, “Thanks.”

“No problem. I'm free this evening. You didn't, by the way.”

“Didn't what?”

“Tell me to fuck off.”

Ginny counted to ten. “That was you? Thanks a lot.”

“Ah, but I got my point across. It might not be me next time.”

Gavin was annoying enough when he was wrong. When he was right he was insufferable. Ginny, who hated it when that happened, said, “Fine then, but you can hide upstairs. I'm not having you sitting there like some minder while I'm talking to them.”

“You spoil all my fun,” Gavin protested. “Never pass up the opportunity to meet new women, that's what I say. Hey, what if a foxy young chick moves in and I start dating her? That'd be a laugh, wouldn't it? Would you be jealous?”

“No, just astounded by her bizarre taste in men.” Ginny was patient. “And no, it wouldn't be a laugh either.” Counting off on her fingers, she added, “And thirdly, I can promise you now, my new lodger isn't going to be a foxy young chick.”

***

The doorbell rang at seven o'clock on the dot, heralding the arrival of the first of the three potential tenants who had phoned that afternoon. More nervous than she let on—heavens, was this what it was like to go on a blind date?—Ginny shooed Gavin upstairs and took a steadying breath before opening the front door.

“Hello, love, I'm Monica. I've just been having a look at your window sills; you know they'd benefit from a quick going over with a dab of bleach. Brighten them up lovely, bleach would. Ooh, and those skirting boards could do with a dust.”

The trouble with blind dates was, it wasn't considered polite to take one look at the no-hoper in front of you and say, “Sorry, this is never going to work out, so why don't we just give up right now?”

But here she was, faced with the equivalent of a blind date with John McCririck, and Ginny knew she was going to have to be pleasant and chat politely to the woman because that was how these things were done. Even if this one had just criticized her window sills and she'd saw off her own head rather than allow her to move into this house.

Monica was short and squat, with permed gray hair and flicked-up spectacles. She looked like a short-sighted turtle. She also looked sixty-five years old. And she hadn't stopped talking yet.

“…that's what I do, love. My little secret. Just dab a toothbrush in vinegar and scrub away like billy-o—those taps will come up like diamonds! Here, you take my coat. Oh dear, haven't you got a hanger? Now, why don't we have a nice cup of tea and a good old chat before I take a look at my room, hmm? Then we can start to get to know each other. Ooh, I say, Gold Blend, that's a bit extravagant, isn't it? And washing-up liquid from Marks and Spencer, well I never. Nice and weak, please, love, we can share the teabag. No sugar for me, I'm already sweet enough.”

Oh help, oh help, get me out of here. Ginny said, “Sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Forty-two, love. That's why I knew we'd have plenty in common, what with being the same age.”

“Ri-ight.” Ginny considered calling Gavin down from upstairs to see if he might like to flirt with the woman.

“I'll tell you a bit about myself, shall I? Well, my hubby and I are getting a divorce so we're selling our bungalow, which is why I'm looking for a place to rent. And sharing's nice, isn't it? Cozy, like. Between you and me I'm not that bothered about losing him. My hubby's a bit of a misery, quiet as a church mouse, never been the sort to join in with conversations. Used to spend all his time in his blessed garden shed when he wasn't at work, so I can't see me missing him much at all. Mind you, could have knocked me down with a feather when he said he wanted a divorce! Didn't see that one coming! Men are funny creatures, aren't they? I'll never work out what makes them tick. Silly old fool, how he thinks he's going to manage without me I can't imagine. Did you know there's a mark on the outside of your window? Some bird's gone and done its nasty business on the glass. You want to get that cleaned off, it doesn't look very nice. I could do it for you now if you like.”

“She sounds perfect. When's she moving in?” As soon as the front door closed, Gavin came downstairs.

“Shhh, my ears hurt.”

“Want me to give them a polish with Brasso? That'll bring them up a treat.”

“What a nightmare.” Ginny shuddered. “That was horrendous. I told her I had lots of other people interested in the room and that I'd let her know tomorrow.”

“You've only got two more to see. What if they're worse than her?”

Dumping the coffee cups in the sink and thinking longingly of the bottle of white wine in the fridge, Ginny said, “There can't be anyone worse than Monica.”

***

“Hi, come in, I'm Ginny.”

“Zeee.”

Ginny hesitated, wondering if the woman had a bumble bee trapped in her throat. “Excuse me?”

“Zeee. That's my name. With three
e
's.” There was a note of challenge in the woman's voice, as if daring her to query the wisdom of this. “Zeee Porter. You shouldn't have a table there, you know. Not in the hallway like that. Bad feng shui.”

“Oh.” In that case, Ginny longed to tell her, you shouldn't have grubby blond dreadlocks and earrings bigger than castanets emphasizing your scrawny chicken neck, and you definitely shouldn't be wearing purple dungarees and homemade leather sandals over woolly toe socks, because that's bad feng shui too.

Zeee Porter, she learned, was thirty-six and—incredibly for such a catch—still single. Currently the only man in her life was her spirit guide, Running Deer. During the summer months, Zeee surfed, worked as a henna tattooist, and just, like, generally chilled out. The rest of the year she just, well, generally chilled out and waited for summer to come around again. Yes, she'd had a proper job once, in a vegan café in Aldershot, but being told what to do and having to get up in the morning had done her head in.

“It was a bad vibe, man.” Zeee shook her head dismissively. “I just don't need that kind of hassle in my life.”

She evidently didn't need the hassle of shampoo or deodorant either. Ginny wondered if Running Deer wore a peg on his nose or if spirit guides weren't bothered by those kinds of earthly matters.

Heaven knows what Monica would make of her. She'd probably march Zeee out into the garden and set about her with neat bleach and a scrubbing brush.

Ginny dutifully showed her the room she wouldn't be living in then said brightly, “Well, I've got
lots
of other people to see, but I'll give you a ring tomorrow and let you know either way.”

“I haven't got a phone,” said Zeee. “Phones are, like, destroying the planet.”

“Oh.” Except for when Zeee had rung earlier to make the appointment, presumably.

“To be honest,” Zeee went on, “I think we'll just leave it. No offense, but I wouldn't want to live here anyway. It doesn't really do it for me, know what I mean?”

Flabbergasted, Ginny said, “
Oh.
”

“
Plus
, Running Deer's telling me I shouldn't move in. He wouldn't be comfortable here.”

“Right.” Awash with relief, Ginny sent up a silent prayer of thanks to spirit guides everywhere. Hooray for Running Deer.

Zeee flicked back her moth-eaten dreadlocks. “Plus, he says you have a muddy aura.”

***

“God, what a stink. Open the windows,” Gavin complained. “Who's next?”

Ginny wasn't getting her hopes up. The third and final prospective lodger was male. “His name's Martin. I told him I was looking for a female to share the house with, but he said I couldn't specify like that because it was sexual discrimination and I could be sued if I refused to even interview men.”

Gavin's lip curled. “Sounds like a nutter. Just as well I'm here.”

“Actually, he didn't sound like a nutter. He was quite nice about it. He's split up from his wife,” said Ginny, “and just needs somewhere pretty fast.”

“Probably because he murdered her and the police are on his tail.”

Ginny was fairly sure Martin wasn't a murderer. “He apologized for being a man but said he really wasn't difficult to live with, he didn't play loud music and he was fairly sure he didn't have any annoying habits. So what else could I do but agree to see him? You never know, he might be all right.”

“Soft, that's what you are. I'll keep an ax upstairs with me,” Gavin said cheerily. “Just in case.”

 

Martin Mason didn't look like a murderer. He politely introduced himself, appeared happy with the room Ginny showed him, and complimented her on her decorating skills. In the kitchen he accepted a cup of tea and said, “Well, I expect you've got plenty of other people to see, but just to let you know, I'd be very interested in the room.” Drily he added, “Although I daresay you'll end up choosing a female.”

“I don't know. I'll decide when I've met everyone.” Was her nose getting longer? He seemed pleasant enough, but Ginny knew she wouldn't be inviting this man to be her housemate, although she didn't doubt that he'd pay his rent on time. Sharing her home with a gray-haired, suit-wearing, fifty-year-old assistant bank manager wasn't what she'd had in mind at all.

“I'd appreciate a quick decision,” said Martin. “I'm sleeping in a work colleague's spare room at the moment, you see. I don't want to outstay my welcome.”

Ginny nodded, remembering that his marriage had just broken up. Poor man, it couldn't be easy for him; it must have come as a terrible shock.

“So what happened? Is your wife still living in your house?” Was it impertinent to ask this? Oh well, she was curious.

Martin blinked behind his owlish spectacles. “For now, yes.”

“And she just kicked you out, told you you had to leave?” Ginny was indignant on his behalf; that hardly seemed fair.

“Oh no. I was the one who left.” His tone was mild. “It was absolutely my choice. I just couldn't stand being married to my wife a minute longer.”

Good heavens, she hadn't been expecting that. Ginny said with bemusement, “Why? What was it like being married to her?”

Martin's mouth curled up at the corners. Behind his steel-rimmed spectacles his eyes glinted with amusement. “Believe me, if you'd ever met Monica, you wouldn't need to ask.”

***

“Monica's husband. Poor man,” Ginny said with feeling. “No wonder he was glad to be out.”

“Did you tell him she'd been here?”

Ginny nodded as she sloshed wine into two glasses up to the brim and handed one to Gavin. “He said, whatever you do, don't let her move in. She'd drive you demented.”

“But you aren't going to be asking him to move in either. So that's it.” Gavin shrugged. “You've seen all three and none of them fitted the bill. What happens now?”

“Re-advertise I suppose. Try again. Hope for better luck next time.” Ginny made headway into her much-needed glass of wine, more disappointed than she cared to let on by the events of this evening. She had been so looking forward to meeting someone lovely, the two of them hitting it off from the word go. Now she knew how naive she'd been and the sense of disappointment was crushing. What if she kept on advertising and no one suitable ever turned up?

By eight o'clock they had finished the bottle and Gavin was preparing to leave when the phone rang.

“Hi,” said a warm male voice, “I'm calling about the house-share. Is it still going, or have you found someone now?”

It was more than a warm voice; it was a gorgeous voice, the kind that made you think the owner had to be gorgeous too. Wondering if maybe all might not be lost after all, Ginny said, “No, it's still free.”

“Fantastic. Now it says here in the ad that you'd prefer a female…”

“Either. Really, I don't mind.”

“As long as it's someone you can get along with.” He definitely sounded as if he were smiling. “I know, that's the important thing, isn't it? My name's Perry Kennedy by the way. And your house sounds great, just the kind of thing I'm after. How soon could I come around and take a look?”

Giddy with hope and three hastily downed glasses of wine, Ginny said recklessly, “Well, whereabouts are you? If you want to, you can come around now.”

Having expected so much, Ginny was relieved to see when she opened the front door that he wasn't a troll. Perry Kennedy was six feet tall, with wavy reddish-gold hair, sparkling green eyes, and a dazzling smile. He was also athletically built and wearing a dark casual jacket over a white shirt and jeans.

“It's really good to meet you.” As he shook Ginny's hand he said, “I've got a great feeling about this place already. Hey, I love the way you've done the hall.”

Twenty minutes later they were sitting together in the kitchen chatting away as if they'd known each other for years. Perry's current flat was too small; it was driving him crazy. He was thirty-five, single but with a great crowd of friends in Portsilver and he loved socializing. A year ago he had moved down from London to Cornwall, selling his flat in Putney and plowing the equity into a T-shirt printing business. He enjoyed jet-skiing and scuba-diving in his spare time. His favorite food was Thai. He drove an old MG and his all-time favorite film was
The
Color
Purple
.

“But I don't normally admit that to people,” said Perry. “I don't know why I told
you
. That film always makes me cry.” He shook his head confidingly. “This could ruin my street cred.”

“I can't tell you how many times I've sobbed my way through
The
Color
Purple
,” said Ginny.

“Yes, but that's allowed. I'm not supposed to, though, am I? I'm a man.”

Ginny laughed at the expression on his face. He was perfect.

“Anyway, I'm taking up too much of your time. The room's great,” said Perry. “And so are you. What shall I do, then? Leave my number and wonder if I'll ever hear from you again?”

Could she ask for anyone better? Ginny raced through everything she knew about him in her mind, searching for flaws and finding none. Perry was charming and brilliant company. OK, he wasn't a woman and they probably wouldn't spend a lot of time discussing nail polish, but other than that, were there any drawbacks at all?

“Or,” said Perry with a smile, “do you think there's a chance we might have a deal?”

Three glasses of wine didn't make the decision for her, but they certainly played their part. Seeing no reason to prevaricate, Ginny threw caution to the wind. Her mind was made up. She beamed at Perry and said, “We have a deal.”

He looked at her in delight. “You don't know how much this means to me. It'll make all the difference in the world. How soon would the room be available?”

“Whenever you like.” Ginny watched him take out his wallet and count his way through a sheaf of twenty-pound notes.

“Would Saturday be all right?”

“Saturday? No problem.”

“Here, one month's deposit and the first month's rent in advance.” Perry pressed the notes into her hand and said cheerfully, “Before you change your mind. And you'll be wanting references of course. I'll bring them along on Saturday. Thanks so much for this.” He fixed Ginny with the kind of look that made her insides go wibbly. “I'm so glad I met you tonight.”

“Me too.” She watched as he rose to his feet and reached for his car keys.

“I'd better get back. Saturday morning, OK? Elevenish, or is that too hideously early?”

Ginny shook her head. This was the start of her new life and as far as she was concerned Saturday couldn't come soon enough. “No problem. Eleven o'clock's fine.”

***

The trouble with ex-husbands was you could always rely on them to notice things you'd much rather they didn't.

And, naturally, to take huge delight in pointing it out.

“Ha!” Gavin pointed a triumphant finger at her as he came down the stairs.

Ginny was determined to bluff it out. “What?”

“You fancy him.”

“I do
not
.”

“Oh yes you do. You fancy the pants off him.
And
you're going red.”

“Only because you
think
that,” Ginny protested. “Not because it's true.”

“I don't think it, I know it. I
heard
you.” Smirking, he launched into a wickedly accurate imitation of her, repeating random overheard phrases punctuated with girlish giggles and slightly too loud laughter.

Why couldn't she have an ex-husband who lived five hundred miles away? Or in Australia? Australia would be good.

“You were eavesdropping.” Ginny curled her lip accusingly to let him know how she felt about such low behavior.

“I was making sure you were safe. It was my job to listen to what was going on. Fine chaperone I'd be,” Gavin remarked, “if I sat upstairs with my Walkman clamped over my ears. You could be screaming your head off and I wouldn't hear a thing. I'd come down to the kitchen just in time to see him stuffing the last bits of you down the waste disposal. Then you'd be sorry.”

“Anyway, he's moving in on Saturday.” Ginny was defiant. “And I don't fancy him, OK? He just seems really nice and we get on well together, that's all.”

“Hmm.” Gavin raised a playful eyebrow. “Very well indeed, by the sound of things. Good-looking, is he?”

“Average,” said Ginny. “Better looking than the other three that came round here tonight. Four, actually.” To get her own back she pointed at Gavin. “Including you.”

He grinned. “This is going to be interesting.”

Ginny felt a squiggle of excitement.
Interesting.

She hoped so too.