Conditional Love (30 page)

The space was so confined that with all three of us removing our outer layers at the same time, it was like a vertical version of Twister. Nick and I were both glowing from the exertion as I showed him into the living room and ushered him into the arm chair.

‘Ooh,’ said Jess, looking from him to me and back again. ‘Ooh.’

‘Sophie?’ called Emma from the kitchen. ‘Would you help me with the drinks?’

‘Make yourself at home.’ I sent Nick an apologetic look and did as I was told.

‘You crafty bugger!’ hissed Emma, pouncing on me as soon as I walked in. ‘When you said architect, I imagined a crusty old git with baggy trousers, one tuft of hair and those glasses you balance on the end of your nose.’

‘Pince-nez,’ whispered Jess, materialising suddenly and making us both jump. ‘He’s divine. So masculine, so sexy, so –’

‘So not my type,’ I said, hiding my face in the fridge on the pretence of fetching the milk.

‘Do you think he’s here to ask you out?’ said Jess, squeezing my arm.

I rubbed at the white marks she had made on my skin and shook my head. ‘He’d never do that. He never mixes business with pleasure.’

‘Ha! You’ve talked about it then,’ said Emma

‘Perhaps he can’t deny his feelings for you any longer,’ sighed Jess, clutching a hand to her bosom.

I snorted and started to go back to the living room. The poor man would be mortified; it was so obvious we were talking about him. How many women did it take to make a cup of instant coffee, for heaven’s sake?

‘You fancy him,’ declared Emma. ‘That’s why you haven’t talked about him.’

‘Shush,’ I said, raising my hands. ‘He’ll hear you. And no, I don’t.’ I turned away before she spotted my crimson face. Too late.

‘Well, get back in there, see what he wants!’ she smirked.

I lowered myself onto the sofa and smiled. He was resting one ankle on the opposite knee and jiggling it up and down. He didn’t look like he had made much headway with making himself at home.

‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t make it to the pub in Woodby. Something came up.’ I fiddled with the zip on my cardigan. How unlikely did that sound? Maybe I should have told him the truth?

‘I understand,’ he said with an earnest smile.

I doubted it, but decided not to elaborate.

Emma and Jess came in with drinks served in our best mugs. Jess perched daintily on the sofa next to me, all traces of her earlier tiredness apparently banished, while Emma knelt at Nick’s feet and handed him his coffee like a devoted disciple.

‘Thanks,’ he nodded at Emma before turning his attention back to me. ‘Forgive the imposition, but I need your help.’

Emma mouthed ‘Posh’ at Jess silently. I glared at them both surreptitiously to make themselves scarce. Jess pretended not to notice and Emma gave me a look which said ‘No chance’.

I racked my brains, to no avail, as to how I could be any use to him. He took a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase and handed me a photograph of a dilapidated single-storey farm building.

‘Some new clients have asked me to design a scheme to convert an old cowshed into a home.’

It was little more than a shell, in fact, pile of rubble would be more accurate. I peered at it a bit closer. The brick was a lovely honeyed yellow, contrasting beautifully with the warm red roof tiles. I could see how, with a bit of imagination, it would make a very attractive home.

Nick raked a hand through his hair and frowned. ‘I’m convinced the layout I’ve come up with is the right one, but the clients can’t envisage the finished article.’

He handed me a sheet of paper which I unfolded on my knee, the sort I recognised by now as being one of his drawings.

‘It looks great,’ I said with a frown. ‘But I don’t see how I can help?’

‘He wants you to go round there and tell them not to be so dim,’ said Emma unhelpfully.

Nick laughed and then catching Emma’s eye, turned it into a cough. ‘This is a big ask, so feel free to say no, and it’s really not a problem if you’re not keen –’

‘Whatever it is, I’m sure she’d love to help,’ said Jess sincerely.

The blush I had just managed to banish came back with a vengeance. I slurped my tea and tried not to drip on the paper.

‘But what it needs, I’ve realised,’ said Nick, polishing his glasses on the front of his shirt, ‘is to be brought to life. It’s not enough for them to see the house as a flat plan. They need to be shown the possibilities, how they could use the space. That’s where your talents come in.’

‘Talents!’ mouthed Emma at me as if to say, ‘Get you!’

I cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. He sat forward in his chair and stared at me. A little tuft at the front of his hair was sticking up again. It was all I could do not to lean over and smooth it down.

‘When I was in my office pondering my next move, I spotted the boards you made for your own house.’

A warm feeling trickled through me as I remembered how much I had enjoyed creating them.

‘One room. That’s all it would take,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe the living room? If they could see how it would look full of furniture, colours, fabrics, textures, all the detail that you so expertly poured into your brief, then I’m sure they would get it.’

An interiors scheme. For a real house. Designed by me.

I was so touched that he would even consider asking me that for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

‘Would you pay her?’ asked Emma, narrowing her eyes.

‘Of course!’ said Nick, running a finger round his collar. ‘What do you think? If you haven’t got time, just say.’ He was staring at me again.

‘No, no, I’m not too busy,’ I said, finally finding my voice and crossing my fingers that neither of my flatmates had been paying too much attention to my previous whingeing.

‘I’d need it before Christmas.’

My life was possibly at its most turbulent point ever: I’d just split up with the man of my dreams; my father was winging his way across the Atlantic to fill me in on the gory details of my parents’ marriage; my mother, as a consequence, was incommunicado; and I had more targets to meet at work than a professional hitman.

‘I’d be honoured,’ I replied earnestly.

Nick beamed. And there it was. The little dimple in his left cheek.

‘Thank you,’ he sighed. ‘Your spark of creativity is exactly what the project needs.’

‘Thank
you
,’ I mumbled before catching Emma’s poorly-disguised amusement.

Luckily, Jess evidently felt that I had received enough attention.

‘We’re all highly creative in this flat,’ she said. ‘In fact my sister has been nominated for a national award in silver stuff –’

‘Shortlisted,’ said Emma, looking coy and twirling her hair round her fingers.

‘And I’m in charge of putting on a major Christmas production,’ added Jess, bending over the side of the sofa to retrieve a folder out of her school bag without giving a thought to the length of her skirt.

‘That’s right,’ said Emma. ‘In fact, isn’t it time to start working on your ass?’

‘I’d better be off,’ said Nick, looking flushed as Jess gave us all a flash of her knickers.

After a brief discussion of the clients’ tastes – primary colours not pastel, leather not chintz, Pollock not Picasso – I showed Nick to the door.

‘Could you meet on the twenty-third, do you think?’ He opened up a small diary and took out an even smaller pencil.

I hesitated. I had planned to do all my Christmas shopping in one fell swoop on that day.

‘I can meet you in town,’ said Nick affably. ‘Besides, I still owe you for that coffee you promised to have with me.’

‘It’s a date,’ I said smiling, instantly regretting my choice of words.

A bout of sniggering ensued. The girls had their ears pressed to the door, I just knew it.

‘Oh, nearly forgot.’ He slapped his forehead and held out a set of drawings and the photograph. ‘These are for you.’

Our fingers touched as I took them from him and I felt the heat from his skin. The hair at the nape of my neck tingled and I shivered.

Was it my imagination or did his fingers hold onto the drawings for just a second too long?

thirty-four

Dear Mum,

Please let me know if you're ok.

I’ve tried calling and texting but you don’t answer. I’ve Skyped, but you're never online. This is my third email. Short of flying over myself, I don’t know what else to do.

I’m worried about you. We’ve never gone this long without speaking. If you're still mad with me, then fine. Well, obviously it’s not fine and we need to talk about it. But at least give me a sign that there is nothing seriously wrong.

I hope that you’re still coming to England as usual this Christmas. It won’t be the same without you.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Love

Sophie xxx

thirty-five

Four days until Christmas. The flat was looking its twinkliest best; fairy lights hung around the fireplace. The tree, which was bushy and not too tall, was laden with Shaker-style decorations; the hall was festooned with holly garlands; and optimistic bunches of mistletoe hung from every light fitting. I’d even managed to find some Christmas scented candles which were burning merrily on the mantelpiece.

I plumped up the cushions and tucked the TV remote out of sight. There was an empty crisp packet in the waste paper bin and I scooped it out.

Emma watched me from her position at the living room window with muted mirth. ‘For goodness sake, Sophie, will you sit down? You're making me dizzy.’

I dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. My stomach was churning and I’d bitten my lip so much that I’d made it sore. My emotions were all over the place and my coping strategy since getting up this morning had been to keep busy.

Only when I’d reorganised the cutlery drawer for the second time did Jess intervene and force me to relax in a hot bath.

I checked my watch. Five minutes to go. A wave of panic propelled me off the sofa. I went to join Emma at the window and scanned the street below.

Somehow, despite publically vowing never to see my father again, when he had phoned to let me know he was back in the country, I was so surprised that Brodie had passed on my message that I’d found myself inviting him round to the flat.

It had seemed like the right gesture to make, especially after the way I had treated him last time. I had thought I would feel more confident on home turf, but as the date had got closer, I had become more and more nervous about it. Right now, I was terrified. Having agreed to listen to what he had to say, I had the feeling that neither of my parents would come out of the story well, and after all these years, was it really worth all the heartache?

Jess waltzed in wearing a loose-fitting purple chiffon tunic, dotted with sequins, and matching tights. ‘What do you think?’ She gave us a twirl. ‘Is it suitable for being proposed to?’

Emma and I doled out the required compliments. Jess was still convinced that Spike would be saying ‘Merry Christmas’ with an engagement ring. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes if he didn’t deliver.

Jess gave me a tight squeeze.

‘I’m so sorry I can’t stay. But it’s our only chance to be together and Spike and I are going to exchange presents today. I can’t wait!’

Spike was working every day over Christmas except the twenty-fifth, which he would be spending with his mother. Jess had been devastated to learn that she was not invited.

The door buzzer sounded and my stomach dropped to somewhere below my knees. I smoothed my dress down and tried not to panic.

‘OK. Remember the plan. Jess, you let him in and offer him a drink. I’ll be waiting by the Christmas tree. Emma, you don’t leave my side unless I give you the code word. Which is?’ I pointed at her.

‘Patricide.’

‘Emma!’

‘Mince pie.’

Buzzzzz.

‘Go, go, go!’ I flapped my hands at them both and positioned myself by the tree.

The front door opened.

Oh, sod it.

I shrugged my shoulders at Emma and raced into the hallway.

My dad was here, in my flat, all bundled up in a heavy wool coat and holding a plastic bag. His eyes found mine and a nervous smile lit up his face. He looked a lot healthier this time: his face was tanned and although there was a lattice of fine lines across his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes were gone.

The situation demanded a physical gesture of some sort. Last time we met, I had pushed him over. I wouldn’t do that, but couldn’t quite bring myself to hug him either. Not yet.

‘Mr Stone! Merry Christmas!’ cried Jess. She flung her arms round his neck, then looking up at the mistletoe, giggled and kissed his cheek.

Great. Now anything less than a hug from me and I’d look a right cold fish.

I took a step forward and Terry did the same.

The look of sheer pleasure mixed with apprehension on his face did weird things to my insides. My hands were clammy and my heart was beating wildly. Before I had chance to move, he clasped me to him briefly and then took my hands in his.

‘It’s wonderful to be here,’ he murmured, gazing directly into my eyes.

‘Nice to see you,’ I stammered.

He had worker’s hands. So rough compared to Nick’s. Nick’s? What on earth had his hands to do with the price of fish? I realised that I had no idea what Terry had done for a living since leaving the Navy. So far, all conversation had focussed on the events circa 1980.

‘Oh!’ said Jess. I looked over Terry’s shoulder and followed her gaze.

A tall young man with a mop of wavy dark hair filled the doorway. He wore a thick orange hoodie and jeans.

‘Brodie wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind?’ said Terry, raising his eyebrows He held his hand out towards me and looked at his son.

So this is the guy who chewed me up and spat me out over the phone. I swallowed. I hadn’t bargained on Brodie tagging along too. From the look on his sulky face, he didn’t seem particularly happy to be here either.

‘Brodie, this is your sister Sophie.’

‘Half-sister,’ Brodie and I said together.