A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (21 page)

‘There is no thing with Sam,' I said. ‘We were ghost-writing to each other without knowing it. And now we know. It was embarrassing for five minutes and then we decided to help get these two people together. The end.'

‘But … but there was so much chemistry, Charley. I saw those emails. You don't think you and Sam could –'

‘
No
,' I replied firmly. ‘Never. In a trillion years, never.'

Ness shook her head, as if recovering from a trance. ‘You're right,' she said. ‘Sam is a dirty tramp.' Hearing Nessie's little voice calling Sam a ‘dirty tramp' gave me the giggles, which turned into belly laughs.

‘What's going on out there?' Granny Helen's voice shrilled, out of the kitchen window. ‘Is that the bloody Jehovah's Witnesses or is it my granddaughters?'

We grinned at each other and walked inside.

‘She's doing better than we expected,' Mum whispered, as she poured us some wine in the warm, steamy kitchen. ‘She slept for ten hours last night and woke up demanding a kipper sandwich served with kiwis.'

Mum and Dad had taken Granny Helen to California some years ago during one of their ‘new age' holidays that involved comfortable hotels and luxury transfers. Granny Helen had fallen in love with kiwis there and ever since – long before kiwis had become voguish in the UK – she had sent Mum and Dad to a supermarket twenty-five miles away every week to buy them. When Mum forgot to buy kiwis one Christmas, Granny Helen went on strike and set up a picket line outside the kitchen. ‘Don't go in there,' she'd said loudly. ‘That woman is stuck in the past. Won't even serve a bloody kiwi for breakfast.'

‘Sounds positive?' I said uncertainly.

‘Definitely,' Mum agreed. ‘She whacked your father round the backside with her stick when he told her she couldn't let Malcolm sleep on the bed with her. Said that if he couldn't allow a dying woman one last wish then he deserved to have his ears boxed.'

I felt a bit happier. ‘She doesn't sound like a dying woman to me.'

‘No,' Mum said wryly. ‘No, I don't think she's a dying woman right now. But … Well, a stroke at her age can't just pass without consequence.'

Granny Helen was as sharp as a nail one minute, tired and vague the next. Dad, meanwhile, was doing his best to behave as if nothing had happened. He wore an expression of forced jollity all evening and cracked lots of bad jokes in Granny Helen's direction, most of which she met with her customary scorn. ‘
See?
' his face said, when she cut him down to size. ‘
See? She's fine!
' After the fish pie Mum served a special kiwi pavlova in Granny Helen's honour (‘I don't have much of a sweet tooth,' Granny Helen sniffed, eating four slices in a row) and Dad treated us to a spectacular rendition of ‘Ring of Fire' on his banjo. His playing had improved significantly but it was still very far from good. Malcolm, clearly in agreement, went off to bed and put a big brown paw over his ear. Granny Helen fell asleep in her chair.

When I watched Dad scoop up Granny Helen's tiny body and carry her next door to her cottage, my breath caught in my throat. ‘She's totally back to normal,' he remarked, to no one in particular.

After the door shut behind them, there was a long silence. ‘Dad's in denial,' Ness announced.

Mum shrugged. ‘He is a doctor, Nessie,' she said. ‘He knows better than us.'

‘Oh, Mum, come on. Granny Helen's ninety-one. You know what a stroke means at her age,' Ness said.

I was surprised. Ness was rarely so blunt.

‘The reason I'm saying this,' Ness said, as if reading my mind, ‘is that I'm properly worried about Dad.'

‘Me too,' Mum replied, after a pause. ‘He's incredibly attached to her. I don't know what we'll do when she …' She trailed off.

We looked at her sharply. Mum
always
knew what to do. She avoided our eyes and started clearing plates. ‘We'll just all have to keep our fingers crossed for her,' she said briskly. She put the kettle on and Ness and I knew the subject was closed.

As I drifted off to sleep in my higgledy-piggledy bedroom, I became aware of a vibrating sensation in the region of my left leg. ‘Fuck off,' I muttered, trying to find my phone.

‘Oh, no,
really
fuck off,' I said, seeing Shelley's name on my caller ID.

YOU HAVEN'T REPLIED TO WILLIAM YET????
she texted, a few seconds later. I ignored her. Some things were bigger than finding love for a stranger.

My phone started ringing again and I sat up, enraged. ‘Shelley, it's eleven fifty-two p.m. and I am with my family. I will reply tomorrow, OK?'

‘Um … Hi, Chas?'

I looked at my phone. Oh, balls. There was Sam's name
with an accompanying picture of him wearing a condom on his head. ‘Sorry, Bowes.'

‘Good customer-relations chat you've got there,' he remarked mildly.

‘Sorry, I just – she – urgh.'

Sam chuckled softly. ‘I know. William's as bad. They're driving me mad already.'

‘Is that why you're calling me? Has William been on your back?'

‘Of course not!' Sam sounded hurt. ‘I just wanted to check you're all OK. I've been worried about Granny Helen.' There was a silence. ‘I like to keep an eye on you weird bunch of Lamberts,' he said.

I was touched. ‘That's really sweet.' I smiled. ‘Thank you. Well, Granny Helen's sort of not great, Dad's in denial, Mum's stressed about Dad, I'm tired … Ness is as gorgeous as ever, though.'

‘Chasmonger, sounds tough. Get some sleep …' This was probably getting a bit too close to a soft 'n' gentle chat for Sam and he stopped talking.

‘Thanks for calling, Bowes. I'm surprised you're not out chatting up laydeez, it being Saturday night and all.'

‘Ah. Well, actually I am. I'm having a drink with someone. But I wanted to check you're OK.'

‘That's very kind. Now get back to work.'

‘Aye-aye. Night, Chas.'

I smiled and rolled over. Sam was a dirty dog but he was also the sweetest man on earth at times. It still surprised me.

The sound of a distant train whirring across to Dunbar and the rhythmic thump of Malcolm's tail against the kitchen dresser woke me the next morning. A lie-in was tempting but I had a mountain of work to do for next Friday's Simitol launch and, of course, a dating email to write. It was Shelley's turn to message William, and overnight she had sent me three increasingly crazed emails begging me to reply to him
right now
because if I didn't reply soon he'd decide she'd gone off him and back off. Apparently. I'd read them this morning, amazed. Shelley might be a kick-ass businesswoman with the demeanour of a police truncheon but her self-esteem was on the floor.

‘We're far better off out of all of that relationship bollocks,' I told Malcolm a little later. ‘Turns us all into mentals.' I'd tried to sneak off to Edinburgh early but had been unable to resist his beseeching face. ‘Love me,' it had said. ‘Feed me. Walk me.'

Coming home early
, I texted Sam, as Malcolm jumped gleefully into the River Linn, paddling around like a big brown smiling seal.
Pls evict any loose women from the flat so we can sort out W&S.

Malcolm climbed out of the river and shook himself dry all over me.

‘You stinker!' I laughed, clipping on his lead. He beamed
up at me, as loving as ever. No human being made me laugh as much as Malcolm could. There was a lot to worry about at the moment but Malcolm was definitely helping.

By the time I got back, Mum and Ness were looking confusedly at what appeared to be a large sunken teacake. Mum shrugged helplessly as Dad burst in whistling. ‘I've made a special breakfast loaf, girls! I'm calling it Barbados Roll,' he added, as if this somehow explained things.

Just over an hour later I hobbled down Broughton Street where van drivers were still loading cheeses and complicated-looking bread into delis and cafés. The air was sharp and the wind from the east made my cheeks smart. As I rounded the corner of Forth Street, I spied a petite young girl in full Saturday-night attire letting herself out of my front door. She barely noticed me as she staggered past on her spiky heels. I grimaced, genuinely disgusted. It had been a while since I'd seen this, and for that reason it felt even more tawdry than it used to in the days before Yvonne.

‘Good night?' I asked Sam, as I arrived in the living room. To my surprise, I found him sitting at the table, typing away on his laptop.

‘Surprise!' he said, showing me an area of bookshelf that he'd cleared and filled with lever arch files complete with proper printed First Date Aid labels. Enjoying my astonishment, he then pointed at two stacks of business cards, which sat in a Perspex box. I was gobsmacked. How had he done all of that? And so quickly? Sam's interactions with technology seldom stretched beyond the cheese toaster!

‘So … we got our first male client overnight!' he reported.

‘Wow! Less than twelve hours after you updated the website?'

‘Yes! Marcus. Banter skills of a jolly frog. Well-meaning but excitable and ridiculous. I'm looking forward to helping him, actually.'

I sat down and beamed at Sam. He was surprising me at every turn: I had a sudden urge to run over and squeeze him. But, for obvious reasons, I resisted. There could be no confusion between us at the moment.

‘Anyway,' he continued, ‘I wanted to talk to you about our rates. I think we can and should increase them. Oh, and William and Shelley, why haven't you replied yet? William texted me at midnight asking if I thought Shelley had forgotten about him and was banging some Manhattanite in a bar!'

‘Wow,' I said, flopping backwards on the sofa. ‘Those two are properly smitten. And a bit mad. Shelley called me last night screeching about being rejected. Then she emailed me overnight saying she thought she should just abandon it. She said she's lost her nerve.'

‘What? He asked her out! How is that a rejection?'

I waved him away. ‘Don't even ask.'

‘Nutters,' Sam remarked.

‘Nutters,' I agreed. ‘Coffee?'

‘Yes. Make it strong.'

I got up and switched on the espresso machine. ‘I think the only thing that'll persuade Shelley to stop being such a silly sausage is if William turns this Friday-night date into something really extravagant.'

‘Why should he?'

‘Because she was devastated that he wouldn't cancel whatever he was doing on Thursday. It's going to take a big gesture to convince her that he's serious.'

Sam gasped. ‘Is she out of her
mind
? He wants to spend Friday night with her! Why the fucking fuck should Thursday matter?' He looked genuinely exasperated.

I shrugged. It was mad, of course. Bonkers. But, rather embarrassingly, Shelley's skewed reading of the situation did make some sense to me. Sam turned back to his computer, realizing that he wasn't going to find as much solidarity in me as he might have liked.

‘What's her all-time favourite thing?' he asked eventually. ‘I can suggest they do whatever it is on Friday night, maybe.'

I didn't know and, moreover, I didn't really want to think about it. I was feeling really twitchy about not having started my Salutech stuff yet. ‘Dunno. Look, Bowes, I'm afraid I need to get on with work. Just propose something that'll make her feel special.'

Sam eyed me levelly for a few seconds and I could see he was disappointed. After all, we'd made a deal – we sorted out William and Shelley together, pooling our resources and information.

And that was that. I couldn't have anyone disappointed in me: I was going to have to help him, in spite of my need to work. I'd just finish at midnight tonight rather than ten p.m.

Not without relish, I opened up Shelley's early emails. ‘Ummmm … Well, she likes going to the gym –'

‘You'll have to do better than that,' Sam interrupted. ‘What sort of a date would I suggest around that? A protein shake in the members' lounge followed by a rogering in the sauna?'

‘Shhh, Bowes … I'm reading … Aha! She loves opera. Specifically,
The Pearl Fishers.
'

I think the Pearl Fishers' duet is quite incredibly beautiful
, Shelley had written in her autobiography back in mid September. The force of her sentiment had surprised me.
It makes me cry every time I hear it. So tragic.

Sam turned away and opened up a Google page. ‘That's the right sort of thing,' he said. ‘But they never show
The
Pearl Fishers
– I have no idea why. Shelley's quite right.'

I was surprised. I hadn't known Sam was into opera, and told him as much.

‘I do have a cultural life, Chas,' he said. ‘I'm not all about beer and birds, you know.'

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Interesting. I could have sworn I'd just crossed paths with a girl in a Friday-night skirt,' I said casually. Sam carried on looking at his computer screen but I could see his cheeks go red. ‘Blushing, Bowes?' I asked him. ‘Everything OK?'

‘She was my first since Yvonne,' he muttered. ‘Leave it.'

I busied myself with the coffee, feeling a little ashamed of myself. Sam's business was Sam's business, not mine.

‘OH, MY GOD!'

I whipped round. ‘What?'

‘It's only bloody on at the Coliseum in London!'

‘What? Eh?'

‘
The Pearl Fishers!
'

‘No WAY!'

‘Yes way. Right, we have to get tickets,' he said, loading up a new webpage. A few seconds later he thumped a fist on the table. ‘Sold out.' He pondered the situation for a few seconds, then stood up, fishing his mobile out of his pocket. ‘Leave it with me,' he said, avoiding my eye. He slunk past me and into his room.

I sat down on the sofa to do some of my peg-leg exercises, sipping coffee. I looked over at our new ‘office' and smiled. I was rather enjoying working with Sam. As long as he maintained his new wholesome and productive existence, and kept Friday-night Friends to a minimum, I felt living with him was becoming a rather good thing.

‘Oh, I am the bomb,' he said, emerging triumphantly from his bedroom. ‘The BOMB!'

I sipped my coffee, confident that he'd explicate. He did.

‘Two tickets, front of the royal circle, Friday night,' he said. ‘Do I or do I not rule the
world
, Chas?'

‘You most certainly do. How the hell did you pull that off ?'

‘A girl I know …' Sam said, winking. ‘Say no more.'

It was weird. Certain as I was that my feelings for William had not been transferred to Sam, I was definitely finding myself more bothered about his myriad romantic trysts. Somewhere along the way they had stopped being funny and had started to seem a bit horrible; a bit tawdry.

I dragged myself back to the matter in hand. ‘Right, then, Bowes, drop Shelley a line to tell her about the tickets. She'll go mental!'

Sam wasn't keen. ‘I don't think I can. William sent the
last email … If a woman doesn't reply you've got to sit and wait until she does. You can't just send another. Double-messaging. Bad.'

I shook my head. He had to email her, end of story. ‘Desperate times, Bowes.'

‘OK.' He started typing. ‘Double message it is.'

Now then Shelley, I'm presuming your silence means you are rendered immobile with adoration for me rather than that you've flown into a fit of pique about me being busy on Thursday.

‘Careful, Bowes,' I said, reading over Sam's shoulder.

What I didn't mention earlier was that I have two tickets for Bizet's
The Pearl Fishers
on Friday next week. It's a wonderful opera; that duet frankly makes me weep. You cannot say no. So ideally I suggest you say yes.

Yes?

I wonder how it's going out there. You seem so incredibly driven, Ms Cartwright; I am quite sure you will be saving that company's ass. You're actually a bit amazing. X

‘Nice,' I said, handing Sam his coffee. ‘Very nice. She can't say no to that.' As we chinked our cups, I felt a wave of excitement. ‘I love this!' I told him. ‘I know it's naughty, but isn't it fun?'

Shelley did not say no. Ten minutes later, she rang me and fog-horned down the phone so loudly that Sam, who was in the bath, could hear. ‘
THE PEARL FISHERS !
IT'S MEANT TO BE! SAY YES FOR ME! WHAT ON EARTH WILL I WEAR?' she roared. I grinned. If these two worked out, they would make the best success
story our website would ever hold.
Psychotic workaholic tamed by doctor with exclamation-mark addiction
, I imagined. Sam and I were flying.

Sam's phone started to ring on the coffee-table and I leaned over to look at it. ‘Shit, Sam, it's William!' I called.

‘Bring it in!' he yelled. ‘Door's unlocked.'

I covered my eyes and launched myself into the bathroom with Sam's phone held in front of me like a shield. I heard the water swell as Sam leaned forward. ‘You're such an uptight Victorian, Chasmonger,' he remarked, taking it from me.

‘I just don't want to see your knob,' I replied primly. I sat down on the toilet lid, facing away from Sam with my hand over my eyes just for safety.

‘Hi, William,' Sam said calmly. ‘What's up?'

A loud tinny voice filled the bathroom and I realized Sam had put William on speakerphone. ‘What's up? That's a very good question,' William replied. I wasn't sure I liked his voice. He sounded extremely self-important, the sort of person who made knowledgeable comments about champagne vintages.

‘Eh?' Sam said. His casual manner alarmed me.

‘Are you in a toilet?' William asked suspiciously.

‘Yeah,' Sam replied. ‘I'm in the bath.'

William exhaled irritably and I tried to do a throat-slashing gesture in Sam's general direction. He ignored me.

‘Well,' William continued, ‘I was calling to ask exactly what you think you're doing, inviting Shelley to the opera on my behalf. I do not have tickets. Furthermore I've looked online and they are not even available to buy. What the hell are you up to?'

‘Chill,' Sam said.

I was flailing an arm in his direction. He couldn't talk to a client like that!

‘Chill, William, I got you some tickets. The best in the house, actually. And you don't even need to pay for them.'

William was momentarily silenced. ‘Oh,' he said gruffly. ‘Oh, well.'

‘I didn't have time to email you before I sent that message,' Sam continued, ‘but basically you're taking her to her very favourite opera in the world ever. The duet bit makes her cry.'

There was a pause. Appalled, I turned to look at Sam, who put a hand over his privates.
You
IDIOT!
I mouthed at him.

‘Er – and how do you know that?' William asked eventually.

‘It says so in her dating profile,' Sam bluffed easily. ‘She changed it last night.' He waved frantically to get me to go and update Shelley's dating profile. I glared and ran through to the living room.