A Walk in the Park (7 page)

“You don't have a clue who I am, do you?”

“No, I don't. Sorry. I'm afraid that's, um, twelve hundred pounds in total. Are you absolutely sure that's OK?”

“I'm ahbsolutely shore.” Vampire Teeth mimicked his oh-so-English accent. “You know something, man? I like you.” He watched as Harry began parceling the shirts up with brown paper and string. “You ever hear of a hip-hop artist called EnjaySeven?”

“I haven't. I'm sorry. Is that you? Art isn't really my forte,” said Harry. “I did see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel a few years back…”

“Michelangelo had some talent, but I'm not talkin' about that kind of artist. Hey, Ronnie, volume.” Vampire Teeth made the turn-it-up signal to one of the massive men lurking in the doorway, who in turn gestured to whoever was still in the first car. Some form of noise that until now Harry had been only vaguely aware of in the background was cranked up to shudder level and blasted across the yard: thud thud THUD-CRASH, thud thud CRASH.

Good heavens.

“That's you?”

“Yeah, man. That's me.”

“It's very… loud.” Harry felt sorry for the pigeons on the roof. What a racket.

“OK, Ron.” The signal was made to reduce the volume. “So tell me what kinda music you listen to.”

“Not your kind, no offense. I enjoy Michael Bublé. Um, do you want to take the shirt off now?”

“No, I'll wear it. Flying ducks.” The heavy gold watch flashed on his wrist as he patted the breast pocket once more. “Know something? You're a pretty cool guy.”

“That's not true. I'm the very opposite of cool. Even I know that,” said Harry.

“But I like you for it. You're comfortable with being yourself.” It was the turn of the gold incisors to glint in the sunlight streaming through the dusty window. “You happy to appear on my show, man?”

“What show?”

“
My
show. All about me. These two aren't filming us for the good of their health, ya know. You'll be on MTV. You cool with that?”

All this talk of cool. Harry thought back over the last few minutes and decided he hadn't said or done anything he regretted. “Fine. I imagine I'll be portrayed as the comedy uptight Englishman.”

“There is that small possibility.” The grin broadened. “But you never know, you might turn out to be one of those comedy uptight Englishmen people like to see.”

Hmm, or throw rocks at. Oh well. Harry handed over the neatly tied parcels of shirts and shook the man's hand, as he always did with his customers.

“It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr… er… And I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in the Lake District.”

“Yo, you too, man. And you gotta check out my website some time, listen to my music, yeah? You might decide it's not so bad after all.”

“Absolutely.” Harry nodded. “I'll do that.”

Another flash of the vampiric teeth. “Is that the truth or are you just being polite?”

“I'm just being polite,” said Harry.

The camcorders were switched off, the shirts thrown into the trunk of the Maybach. Everyone piled back into the cars. Morag, having finished her tea and brought the empty “World's Best Nan!” mug over to be washed in the sink, visibly flinched as the music began booming out once more.

She joined Harry in the office doorway. “Everything OK, pet? Tourists, is it?”

He nodded. “Americans.”

“Horrible noise.”

“He's a musician. That's him singing.”

“Singing, is that what you call it? Sounds like a bull in a microwave. It's the kind of horrible thing my grandson listens to.” A hand raised in farewell emerged from one of the lowered tinted windows of the first car. Harry and Morag smiled and nodded and politely waved back. “What did he say his name was?”

What had it been? Something with a number in it that made no sense. “He did tell me,” said Harry, “but I've forgotten. How are you doing with the shirt for Tom Huxtable?”

“Finished it, pet. I'll drop it round to him on my way home. At least he'll look smart for his cousin's funeral.”

“That's good.” Harry took the empty mug from her. “I'll wash that for you, shall I? Could you do some more long-sleeved mediums next? We're running low.”

“Well, here we are.” Having set off in a mini-convoy shortly after six in the morning, they had reached Bath before midday. Lara jumped down from the rented van and joined Evie and Gigi beside the car.

“Home.” Gigi looped an arm around her waist. “
Our
home. Yours too,” she added, reaching for Evie with her free hand. “Until you decide what you want to do.”

“And there's no hurry.” Lara took out the key the lawyer had sent her. “You can stay as long as you like. Crikey, this feels weird.”

Evie gave her a sympathetic look. “It's bound to.”

“No, I mean holding this key feels weird.” Lara held it up to show them. “I can remember the shape of it
exactly
. Right, let's go.”

Together they headed across the driveway and Lara unlocked the front door. The smell of the house hit her instantly and the memories came flooding back, both from before and after her mother's death.

The smell of the house itself was from before. That counted as a good memory. The altogether more pungent scents of Janice's own perfume and the cheap lavender furniture polish she'd always used were less pleasant. Hopefully they would fade over time.

The living room seemed larger, probably because it was empty. The kitchen had been redesigned, fitted out with pale ash units and mottled gray countertops. The dining room was wallpapered in flowery pink and green paper with hideous matching borders. Upstairs, the bathroom was new, plain, and white, with the loo-roll holder having been painstakingly removed. The master bedroom was beige and stripy, the guest bedroom magnolia and plain.

Lara hesitated before entering the third bedroom. Her own old room. Would it still be the same? She had painted the walls purple and covered them with posters and prints. The carpet had been blood-red to match the bedcovers and she'd had furry multicolored cushions on the bed. Janice had always called it a monstrosity.

She opened the door.

More magnolia, everywhere. The room was sterile and empty. Apart from the view from the window, she wouldn't have recognized it as hers. It was as if every last sign of her existence had been eradicated.

Actually, no if about it. That was exactly what had happened.

“I'm guessing this isn't what it was like before,” said Gigi.

Lara smiled briefly. “You'd be right.”

“All this nothing color, it's all so
bleurgh
. Oh well, we can redecorate, brighten it up. Anyway.” Gigi pulled a list from her jeans pocket; she was the undisputed queen of lists. “Things to do. It's midday. The beds are being delivered between one and three. We need to unload this van then make a start on the unpacking. I think we should sort the kitchen out first. Oh, and the fridge should be here by four. Shall we get going now?”

“If you're wondering if she's always this bossy,” said Lara, “the answer's yes. Look, if you want to shoot off and see Joel's parents, just go. We can manage without you.”

But Evie was already shaking her head. “It's OK, I'm staying here. I want to wait until we're settled before facing everyone and getting hassle from Joel.” She paused. “That's if he hasn't run off with his little makeup girl.”

“Sure?”

“Completely.” Evie pushed up her sleeves and headed for the stairs. “Let's get everything done first, while nobody knows we're here.”

***

Six hours on, the house was beginning to come together. Well, kind of. The beds had been delivered on time, which was a bonus. Having just finished making up the last one, Lara stopped to stretch her aching shoulders. Half the packing cases had been emptied, clothes had been hung in the fitted wardrobes, the chests of drawers they'd brought them in had been installed. OK, so they had no curtains and no curtain rails as yet, but the bookcase on the landing was now brimming with books, the TV was set up in the living room and the bathroom was all done.

Evie and Gigi had driven off ten minutes ago to pick up a Chinese from the takeout place Evie insisted was the best in Bath. Lara finished piling the rest of the sheets and duvet covers into the airing cupboard. Her stomach was rumbling, she was hot and sticky, and her hair was glued to her neck. All the windows in the house were flung open in an attempt to clear the artificial smells she hated so much.

OK, next box. Opening it on the landing, Lara saw that it contained saucepans and kitcheny things. So much for Gigi's brilliant labeling system. She bent down and gathered the box into her arms.

Halfway down the staircase, the weight of the contents overcame the strength of the tape securing the bottom of the box.

Lara yelled, “
Noooo…!
” as the cardboard flaps gave way, trapdoor-style, then “Ow-
OUCH!
” as the contents landed on her bare feet before clattering the rest of the way down the stairs. Bloody chopping board, bloody buggering saucepans,
bloody
cheese grater.

Yuk,
literally
.

Lara sank down on the bottom step and examined the damage. A couple of cuts, a graze, and several incipient blue bruises; her feet looked as if they'd gone out, got drunk, and got into a fight.

God, and they really
hurt
.

Then she heard the sound of knocking and realized there was someone at the door. There was a doorbell but it didn't work, thanks to the lovely Janice having unscrewed the case and removed the battery before she'd left.

Well, it couldn't be Evie and Gigi; they had a key. Limping across the hall, Lara peeked through the window to see who was out there on the doorstep. The next moment she ducked down out of sight, scalp prickling in disbelief.

How,
how
could Flynn be here on the doorstep?

And now her heart had gone into overdrive; giant cymbals were crashing away inside her chest. It was like Tchaikovsky's
1812 Overture
in there. Lara closed her eyes, struggling to think. Selfishly, seeing Flynn again without warning was hard enough anyway. Last time she'd been all dressed up and looking her best. Today was different; she was scruffy and smeared with dust, her face was shiny, her hair was damp, and there were sweat patches on her T-shirt.
Oh, the glamour
.

This wasn't just about her, though, was it? There were other people to consider. For a start, if he knew she was here, did that mean he knew about Gigi too? Because if not, he was going to get a shock.

But importantly, far more importantly, what about Gigi? She wanted to meet her father, but not without any warning at all. Let's face it, the three of them had been working like dogs today in ninety degree heat. Given the choice, Gigi would much rather make a good first impression with shiny just-washed hair and clean clothes.

Lara exhaled slowly. She was still crouching on the floor and her feet were throbbing. If she stayed like this, was it remotely likely that Flynn would give up and leave?

“Lara? It's me. I heard you just now. Open the door.”

OK, so that answered that question. Now, if she were to ask him to leave, would he go? But what if he didn't, what if he stayed and started arguing? He'd definitely see the sweat patches under her arms; she could feel them expanding practically by the second.

“If you don't come to the door, I'm going to assume you're either dead or unconscious. In which case I'd better call 911.”

This was so typical of Flynn; he'd never been one to mess around. Still trying to formulate a plan, Lara attempted to wriggle backward on her hands and knees. The next moment there was a sharp knuckle-rap on the glass and she looked up to see him gazing down at her through the living-room window.

Lara rose to her feet—ow,
ow
—and gingerly made her way through to the hall. She opened the front door and said, “This isn't a good time.”

“It is for me.” Flynn was surveying her with interest. “Why didn't you want to come to the door?”

“Because I look a mess.” It was as good an excuse as any. “How did you know I was here? Did you hire a private detective?”

A fractional shake of the head. “I took the cheaper option, left my number with the woman next door.” He indicated which side. “I came round last Sunday to try and find out where you were. Janice didn't want to help me. Then I got chatting with the neighbor and she told me your father had died. Sorry to hear that.”

Lara shrugged; they were adults and it was the polite thing to say, even if they both knew it wasn't true.

“Anyway, she gave me a call a couple of hours ago, told me there was a rented van sitting on the drive and stuff being moved into the house.”

Lara envisaged the helpful neighbor's conversation: “There were three of them; a dark-haired one called Lara, a blonde one called Evie, and a younger girl who looked like a cross between the dark-haired one and… well,
you
actually!”

Aloud she said, “So you didn't know it was me.”

“I didn't. But I came anyway. And it is you.” A glimmer of a smile. “You're here. Moving in.”

Oh God, how long had Evie and Gigi been gone? Fifteen, twenty minutes? It was unlikely that they were about to reappear, but it could happen.

“I am. But I really can't talk now.”

“Don't be silly, you don't look that bad. Can I come in?”

Talk
about
a
backhanded
compliment
. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I'm busy.”

“I can help you. What happened just now, did you fall down the stairs?” He was glancing behind her at the saucepans scattered across the parquet.

Lara shook her head. “I'm fine, everything just fell out of the box.”

“You're not fine. Your foot's bleeding.”

“I'll live. Sorry, this really isn't a good time for me. You have to go.”

He gave her a speculative look. “OK, I will. Just let me ask a couple of quick questions. Is Evie all right? Is she here too?”

“Yes.” Lara nodded. “And yes. But don't tell Joel. She just needs a couple more days.”

“No problem.” Flynn dipped his head in agreement. “Now you. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Partner?”

“No.”

“Why did you never contact me?”

There it was, the killer question, delivered without so much as a flicker.

“Look, we have to stop this now.” Her mouth was so dry she could barely get the words out.

“I don't want to stop. You might disappear again.”

“I won't. Are you free tomorrow? We can talk then, have a proper catch-up.” In contrast to her mouth, her palms were slippery with sweat; she had to get rid of him fast.

Flynn looked skeptical. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Because I say you can. Pick me up tomorrow evening and we'll go for a drink. I'll tell you everything then,” said Lara. “I promise.”