To the Moon and Back (8 page)

‘Do the stuff?'

‘That's right.'

‘You mean have the sex?'

‘Spot on.'

‘What, you didn't even try?'

‘Didn't want to try.'

‘And how did the girl feel about that?'

‘She was devastated, thought it was all her fault. Then when I told her about Jamie she thought maybe I was gay.' Todd took a drink. ‘So I had to explain that I wasn't. And after that I was a challenge. Girls were falling over themselves to seduce me. And the harder they tried, the more I backed off. Talk about weird.' He shook his head. ‘I've never been so popular. Bloody typical that I didn't get to take advantage of it. I bet Jamie was up there laughing his head off.'

How had she kept her distance from Todd for so long? He'd loved Jamie just as much as she had. Ellie said, ‘I bet he was too.'

He leaned towards her, lowered his voice. ‘Do you ever talk to him?'

Ellie's stomach gave a squeeze. She nodded. ‘I do.'

‘Me too.'

She put down her fork. ‘Does he talk back?'

‘No.' Todd looked bemused; the idea had evidently never occurred to him. ‘How can he? He's dead.'

***

‘Still speaking to me, then?' Tony greeted them on their return to the flat.

‘You did exactly the right thing.' Ellie gave him a hug. ‘Thank you.'

He patted her on the shoulder. ‘I'm glad it worked out. Just call me Svengali. Todd, come here. Good to see you again.'

Leaving them to their reunion, Ellie went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. When they rejoined her, she said, ‘More like fairy godmother, the way you've been sorting out my problems.'

‘Make the most of it, I'm only here until Wednesday.' Tony pinched a biscuit out of the tin. ‘Oh, and your new boss rang earlier. Can you call him back?'

‘He's changed his mind about taking you on. You're sacked already,' said Todd.

Ellie made the coffee, then phoned Zack.

‘Hi, just letting you know I've got a breakfast meeting at the Savoy on Monday morning, so don't turn up at the house at nine. Make it ten instead. I'll definitely be back by then.'

‘OK, fine. Thanks.' This was the kind of message she liked to hear.

Zack cleared his throat. ‘Who was it who answered the phone when I called before?'

Ellie hesitated; why was he so interested? And to think it was women who were meant to ask all the questions. Anyway, it wasn't as if he could have recognized Tony's voice; it wasn't that distinctive. Easily she said, ‘That was just my friend. Right, ten o'clock on Monday. Anything else I need to know?'

‘Not that I can think of.' For a moment he sounded as if he did want to say something else but was keeping a lid on it. ‘Right, enjoy the rest of your weekend,' Zack said abruptly. ‘I'll see you then.'

It was Monday afternoon, a balmy summer's day, and all human life was out here on Primrose Hill.

Well, not
all
human life. But enough to keep you entertained for hours. Following a morning of press interviews, Tony was enjoying being able to give his voice a rest. From his position on this south-facing bench, possibly the most spectacular view in London was stretched out in front of him. The sun blazed down from an almost cloudless sky. There were dog walkers out in force, and parents with small children playing games on the grass. There was a group of adults practicing t'ai chi. Sunbathers stripped down to essentials were stretched out on the ground, soaking up as many rays as humanly possible. Toddlers ate ice lollies and investigated daisies, teenagers played football, and a grandfather was gamely attempting to teach his grandson how to fly a kite.

Grandchildren. Tony, who would now never experience that particular joy, was speared with fresh grief. He watched the man try and fail to coax the kite up into the still air.

Don't think about it.

A Rollerblader swooshed past with a Labrador on an extendable lead. On a bench further down the hill an old man was feeding the birds with a carrier bag of seed. Straight-backed and lost in concentration, a woman sat at an easel, painting the view. Her hair was very short, her skin was coffee-brown, and she was wearing a long geranium-red cotton dress that covered a generously curved body. Tony watched as her brush moved confidently across the paper, her bare arm almost dancing as she added color to the sky. One minute she was leaning forward concentrating on intricate detail, the next she was sitting back to survey the results. At one stage she smiled with satisfaction and he found himself smiling too, because the pleasure she was taking in creating the picture was infectious. From forty feet away he couldn't be sure, but he thought she might be singing to herself.

Over the hill behind her came a teenager pushing a buggy and attempting to kick a soccer ball for the preschool boy with her. The baby in the buggy was crying, the small boy running ahead.

‘Kick it! Kick it to me!' he yelled.

Distracted, the teenage girl managed to get the ball over to the boy and he aimed a wild kick at it, sending it sailing through the air. In a flash Tony saw what was going to happen next. The ball followed its inevitable trajectory, the boy chased after it, the teenage girl had already turned back to attend to the wailing baby… and with a thud the ball hit the woman in red squarely in the back.

Oh dear. Even from this distance Tony saw the paintbrush go
splat
against the painting and fly out of the woman's hand. The boy, realizing he could be in trouble, abruptly stopped running and looked scared.

But when the woman turned to identify the culprit, she broke into a wonderful smile and bent to retrieve the ball from its position under her folding chair. Beckoning the boy over, she handed the ball back to him then rested a hand lightly on his shoulder as together they discussed the painting. Within seconds the boy was giggling and gazing up at her as if she were his favorite teacher.

As Tony sat and watched them, a gray cloud passed over and the temperature dropped. A couple of minutes later, the first drops of rain began to fall. The teenager called to the boy and he ran back to her with his ball, stopping to wave at the woman in red before they disappeared back over the hill. The woman waved and called out, ‘Bye, darling.'

The shower grew heavier as the cloud moved overhead. The woman had already flipped the easel over to protect her painting from the rain. But she wasn't packing up her things or running for cover. Getting to his feet, Tony headed for the shelter of an oak tree. As he passed her, he said, ‘Would you like a hand with your things?'

‘No thank you, darling, it's fine. This rain isn't going to last long.'

Her voice was beautiful, velvety, and lilting. Tony said, ‘You're going to get wet.'

Her smile broadened, lighting up her face. Running her hand over her bare arm, she replied easily, ‘No worries, I'm waterproof.'

She was soon proved right; within five minutes the cloud had passed over, the rain had stopped, and the sun was back out. Everyone who had taken shelter re-emerged onto the hill. As soon as the woman in red had tilted her easel back into position and opened the lid on her paintbox, Tony made his way over.

Up close, her close-cropped dark hair glittered with water. At a guess, she was in her late forties, but her good Afro-Caribbean bone structure and unlined complexion made it difficult to tell for sure. She was wearing no makeup. Her eyes were an amazing color, the light golden brown of maple syrup.

Not that she'd actually turned to look at him yet. All her attention was currently concentrated on the painting in front of her. Or, more likely, on the crimson
splat
courtesy of the ball landing in the small of her back.

The rest of the painting was a joy, executed with verve and style, depicting not just the wider view over London but the individual stories of the various characters spread across the hill. Tony smiled, spotting the ancient t'ai chi enthusiasts, the jogger, and the Rollerblader with his excitable Labrador, the pair of them colliding as the dog's extendable lead wrapped itself around one of the ornamental lamp posts along the path.

‘Did he ruin it?'

‘The little boy? Bless him, he was almost in tears.' The woman shook her head. ‘I told him it didn't matter a jot, and that it might even make the painting better.' Taking out a pencil, she deftly sketched around the splat for a minute or two. Then she sat back. ‘There, see? How about that?'

Tony leaned closer. In the lower left quadrant of the painting, a plump lady had materialized, sitting in front of an easel. She was gazing in dismay at her own painting, which now sported the red splodge, whilst overhead a guilty-looking seagull flew past clutching a tipped-up pot of paint.

‘Clever.' There was something about the painting that just drew you in. Utterly drawn, Tony said, ‘Do you sell your work?'

‘Sometimes. Why, are you interested?'

‘Could be. I like a picture that tells a story. How much?'

‘One hundred and fifty pounds.'

Tony nodded. ‘I'd like to buy it.'

‘Really? That's very sweet of you.' Smiling, she continued adding detail. ‘In that case, you don't have to buy it. You may have the painting.'

‘What does that mean?' He was taken aback.

‘Tell me, have you ever been given a present you didn't like?'

Tony hesitated. ‘Yes.'

‘It's a horrible feeling, isn't it? But have you ever given someone else a present and known for sure that they absolutely loved it?'

‘Well… yes.' He nodded.

‘And doesn't it feel fantastic?'

‘There's no other sensation quite like it.'

Turning at last to look at him, her golden eyes danced. ‘Which is why it gives
me
pleasure to give
you
my painting. If you enjoy it enough to pay for it, it's yours. On the house. A little gift to you from me. When it's finished, of course.'

There had been no flicker of recognition when she'd looked at him. Years of practice enabled Tony to be able to tell when people were pretending not to know who he was. This woman, with her guileless smile and easy manner, wasn't playing any kind of game.

‘That's incredibly generous of you. Thank you.' Tony shook his head. ‘But you're never going to make the shortlist for Businesswoman of the Year.'

‘Ah, but I know my painting's going to a good home. It'll be properly appreciated.' She loaded a fine brush with topaz yellow. ‘That's good enough for me.'

‘Do you always give them away?'

‘Only when the mood takes me.'

‘Where do you exhibit your work?'

‘Nowhere fancy. Just the occasional art fair. And online.' Leaning closer to the easel, she painted a child's sundress.

‘What's your name?'

‘Martha.'

‘I'm going to need more than that,' said Tony, ‘if I'm going to look you up on the Internet.'

She burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, I'm a hopeless case. I'm Martha Daines. Now, are you local? Could you be here tomorrow afternoon?'

‘After two, no problem.' He had an interview at twelve thirty.

‘See you tomorrow, then. I'll bring it with me. And your name is?'

‘Tony.' She didn't have a clue.

‘Tony. It's been lovely to meet you. Thank you for liking my work.' Bracelets jangled on her wrist as she waved her paintbrush at him. ‘Bye!'

It was almost the end of her first day. With all the new information she was absorbing, Ellie felt as if her head was ready to explode. Zack had been in and out of the house, receiving visits from clients and disappearing to meet with others. His working life was chaotic and his phone never seemed to stop ringing. She was typing up reports, fielding calls, making travel arrangements for upcoming trips to Zurich and Madrid, and familiarizing herself with the all-important business diary, as well as the general workings of the office.

Zack was upstairs taking a conference call when the doorbell went at ten past five. Opening the front door, Ellie found herself face to face with a polished, sheeny-looking redhead in a sage green, fitted linen dress.

‘Well, hello. So you're the new girl.' Her mascaraed lashes batted as she carried out a comprehensive up-and-down. ‘Alice?'

‘Ellie.'

‘Right. Bit of a change from Barbara. I'm Louisa, I expect Zack's mentioned me.'

He hadn't, but Ellie diplomatically didn't say so. She recognized Louisa from the newsagents the other week and wasn't at all surprised that Louisa hadn't, in turn, recognized her. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would. And presumably she was Zack's girlfriend. Bad luck for Roo then, who had been keen to find out if he was single.

Then they heard footsteps on the staircase and, conference call evidently over, Zack appeared.

‘Darling,
hi
.' Louisa moved forward to greet him with a kiss that announced, loud and clear, that he belonged to her. Or she would have done if Zack hadn't leaned back and turned his head slightly, preventing the public display of affection. Or ownership. Ellie wondered if it would save all sorts of hassle if she just said, ‘Look, it's OK, you don't have to worry about me, I'm really not after him.'

But no, it was hardly the kind of thing you could announce. Instead she said, ‘I've booked the flights and the hotels, and the letters are all ready for signing.'

‘Great, thanks. Come on through.' Leading the way into the kitchen, Zack said, ‘It's time for you to meet someone you're going to get to know pretty well.'

‘Who?'

He grinned. ‘The love of my life.'

Ellie guessed who it was by the way Louisa rolled her eyes. During her interview Zack had asked how she felt about dogs. He'd then gone on to explain about Elmo, but she hadn't seen him yet. Now she was about to.

‘Geraldine's back from visiting friends in Brighton. She just called to say he's coming over.' Somewhere outside they heard a rhythmic clattering noise. Zack paused then said, ‘Five… four… three…'

‘He'd better not be muddy,' warned Louisa.

‘Two… one…'

Another clatter, this time closer to hand, then the dog flap in the back door swung open and Louisa backed into a corner as a disheveled-looking dog burst through into the kitchen. Yelping with joy, he danced around Zack for a few ecstatic seconds before launching himself into his arms.

‘I'm not scared,' said Louisa. ‘It's just these stockings are eight denier. They cost a fortune.'

So this was Elmo, Zack's true love. A three-year-old wild-haired terrier cross with attitude, Elmo resembled nothing so much as a teenager after a hard week of partying in the mud at Glastonbury. He had button-bright eyes, lopsided ears, and a jaunty manner. Not to mention bushy eyebrows and a straggly beard. As he squirmed in Zack's arms, he did exaggerated double takes of delight.

Hmm, no wonder Louisa was looking put out.

‘I'll wait upstairs,' she announced. ‘Don't be long, OK? We're meeting the Drewetts at six fifteen.'

‘I'll be up soon.' Was it her imagination or did Zack visibly relax the moment Louisa was out of the room? Turning round, he pointed and said, ‘Elmo, say hello to Ellie.'

It would have been extra impressive if Elmo had actually said hello back. But she was still charmed by the way he snuffled and wagged his tail and gave every sign of being thrilled to meet her. Zack lowered him to the ground and Ellie knelt to greet the little dog properly.

‘He's gorgeous! Hello, baby, I'm going to be friends with you! You are
fab
.' She blew kisses as Elmo rested his front paws in her hands and excitedly licked her neck. Looking up, she said, ‘And he doesn't get confused, living in two houses?'

Because Elmo was a timeshare property. Two years ago, Zack's neighbor Geraldine had said how much she'd love to have a dog, but her bad leg made it impractical. Zack, in turn, had told her that he'd always wanted a dog but the hours he worked and his frequent trips abroad meant it would be unfair on any animal. The next day, in true entrepreneurial fashion, he had come up with the solution and a week after that Elmo had entered their lives.

‘It works fine. He has the best of both worlds. Geraldine's at home most of the time. We have matching dog flaps into our kitchens.' Nodding out of the window, Zack indicated the specially lowered section of wall separating their gardens. ‘Elmo just hops over when he fancies a change of scenery. If I'm working too hard, he'll go and see Geraldine for a bit of company. If he wants a walk, he comes back here. We share vet's fees and make sure we keep track of who's feeding him, otherwise he'd end up the size of a barrel.' His gaze softened like a proud father's as he watched her scratch the dog's comical ears. ‘He likes you.'

‘Well, good. I like you too.' Ellie kissed Elmo's whiskery eyebrows and got her chin licked in return. ‘You're so… huggy!'

‘Zack?' Louisa's voice drifted down the stairs. ‘Come on, you need to get changed before we leave. We mustn't be late.'

***

‘So, first day at work. How did it go?'

‘Pretty good. Busy.' Ellie was in bed; she put down her book and looked at Jamie, lying on his side across the end of the bed with his head supported on one elbow. ‘I think I'm going to enjoy it.'

‘You're moving on.' Jamie's gaze was intent.

‘Your dad said that. But I don't feel as if I am.' It was hard to explain, but part of her didn't want to move on; the prospect made her feel guilty. ‘I still love you. I'm never going to stop. It's a new job, that's all. With people who aren't going to treat me differently because of what happened.'

Jamie said easily, ‘Zack sounds all right.'

‘He is all right.'

‘What's the girlfriend like?'

‘Louisa? Confident on the surface, insecure underneath. Wishes I was thirty years older. It's funny, she doesn't trust me. If only she knew.'

Jamie grinned and flicked back his streaky blond hair. ‘If only she knew what a sex maniac you are?'

‘I meant what a eunuch I am. Zack couldn't be safer with a lesbian nun.'

‘I used to know a joke about a lesbian nun.'

Ellie pulled a face. ‘I know you did.'

‘I can't remember how it went. You'll have to ask Todd.'

‘But then he might tell me.'

‘Don't be like that. My jokes are hilarious.' Jamie pretended to make a grab for her feet beneath the duvet, because in the old days he would have tickled them mercilessly by way of punishment. But since that couldn't happen now, all he could do was pretend.

‘Todd's coming over at the weekend.'

‘Good. I'm glad you two are talking again.'

Ellie felt warm and comforted; of course he was glad. Wasn't that why she'd done it, safe in the knowledge that it was what Jamie would have wanted?

‘It was your dad. He was the one who set it up.'

‘But you did your bit. You made the effort. I'm proud of you.'

‘Don't make me cry.'

‘Oh, baby. I love you.'

‘Me too.' She wiped away the tear that was sliding out of the corner of her eye.

‘You're doing OK. Get some sleep now. Night, baby.'

Ellie closed her eyes and felt the aching loneliness well up inside her chest. ‘Night.'