Conditional Love (38 page)

‘No, Maureen,’ argued Donna, ‘it’s Queen. “Another one bites the dust”. Duh-duh-duh another one bites the dust. See?’ She pounded on the table in time with Nick’s pushes.

The two of them engaged in a sing-off until they realised that both tunes had the same beat.

I gazed goofily at Nick in action.

I’m in love. The man can do everything. Design houses, rescue dogs and save lives. What a hero!

‘OK, that’s enough, now you need to breathe into his mouth,’ ordered the manager.

‘You can do that bit,’ said Nick, sitting back on his heels.

The manager went pale, but evidently couldn’t find a reason to contradict him.

He stuck a finger into Edward’s mouth and removed his false teeth. They were flecked with green bits.

‘That’ll be the broccoli,’ said Maureen.

The manager retched and was just puckering up over Edward’s lips when the paramedics arrived.

‘Here you go, lads,’ said the manager, sighing with relief. ‘He’s all yours.’ He stood up and handed the dentures over.

The paramedics quickly lifted Edward onto a stretcher and wheeled him out to the waiting ambulance.

‘OK, nothing to see here,’ I told anyone who’d listen. ‘Show’s over.’

Yep, I’d always wanted to say that too.

‘You were fantastic,’ I said shyly to Nick.

He shrugged off the compliment, but I could see he was pleased. Definite improvement in relations between us.

Within seconds, the babble of conversation resumed, Frannie and Phil reappeared and everyone took their seats.

‘Sophie, you’ve brought your camera, haven’t you?’ said Donna. ‘Make sure you take pictures of me presenting the award for our Facebook page.’

I hadn’t, but I did have my phone. I took it out of my bag, snapped a few general ones of the flowers, the stage and a sneaky one of Nick. The one with the roses was quite good. I opened up
The Herald
’s Facebook page, posted the picture and wished all our fans a Happy Valentine’s Day.

‘Are you all right, Maureen?’ I said.

She had gone a peculiar shade of grey and her lips were all blue.

‘Shock,’ said Donna, tutting at Maureen as if the poor woman was doing it deliberately to annoy her. ‘Get her a brandy, Sophie.’

I didn’t mind getting Maureen a drink at all, what did rub me up the wrong way was being ordered about. Take photos, Sophie, get the drinks, Sophie… Jason on the other hand just sat there texting on his phone.

Still, maybe Nick would offer to come with me? This would give us our chance. I looked at him, hopefully. But Frannie had got there first. She had a hand on his knee and was gazing into his eyes.

‘I’ll be looking for an architect for my spa,’ she cooed.

The strumpet!

I stomped off to the bar with burning cheeks. Jason ran after me.

‘Oi, tell the boss I’m going. I’ve just had a text from a mate. My girlfriend is in Ritzy’s copping off with some skater dude. I’m going to kill him.’

Jeez, the men on our table were dropping like flies.

‘Drink this Maureen,’ I said, setting a double in front of her.

I, on the other hand, was going to stick to water. Don’t get me wrong, so far the evening had been an unmitigated disaster. Normally under these circumstances, I would have been off my face. But I was determined to tackle Phil about Lilac Lane and sort things out once and for all with Nick. And that required a clear head.

It was broaching the subject that I was finding difficult. Somehow I needed to lure Nick away from Frannie’s clutches.

‘I’d love to get my hands on your hair,’ she was saying now. ‘So thick, so versatile, so…’

Hairy? I wanted to say.

Nick edged away from her, muttering that he already had a barber thanks all the same.

Donna was deep in conversation with Phil about the property business. Yawn, yawn. I glanced at my watch. Only nine o clock! Someone was having a laugh, tonight had to be the longest night of my life.

‘We operate mainly in the leisure industry. Especially in our northern region. Converting empty banks into pubs. Warehouses into nightclubs.’

Something about Phil’s monologue rang a bell. I seized my chance to wrench Nick back off Frannie and nudged him hard.

‘Nick used to do that sort of thing, didn’t you? In Manchester.’

‘What?’

‘You used to design pubs and restaurants?’

‘Er, I worked for a commercial outfit, yes.’

Phil sneered at Nick. ‘I’d heard. Your reputation precedes you.’

Oh? Did they know each other? Judging by the puzzled look on Nick’s face – no.

Nick stared back at him. ‘I don’t like your tone.’ He took a sip from his glass, maintaining eye contact with Phil.

I didn’t like the way this was going.

‘My brother, whose girlfriend is Joanna Quinn,’ Phil paused to let his words sink in and Nick’s glass halted mid-air, ‘has told me all about you.’

‘Well.’ Nick shot me such an icy look that the hairs on my neck formed their own Mohican. ‘This is all very cosy.’

I had no idea what was happening here, but Nick clearly thought I did.

‘What have I got to do with it?’ I protested.

I understood the double planning application scenario and why he thought I was behind it. I could understand his anger. But this new thing was way over my head. I was losing track of what I was supposed to be guilty of.

‘You’re a piece of work, Sophie. You really are.’ He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up.

‘Wait!’

Nick looked at me with an expression which could have been indigestion, but, given his last words, was more likely to be disdain. But at least he waited. He sat down reluctantly and began pleating his napkin again.

I turned my back on Phil and addressed Nick directly.

‘Am I right in thinking that you don’t have to own land to apply for planning permission?’

Nick didn’t answer straight away. He took his glasses off and gave them a polish on his napkin, which by now was in the shape of a boat. His forehead creased in concentration and he pursed his lips.

I was vaguely aware of waiting staff swapping my soup bowl for a plate of beige chicken in a beige sauce. I tuned out of Frannie haranguing the waiter to bring her a non-dairy version of the beige chicken. My innards were in turmoil. I’d been feeling a bit peckish earlier, but now I had lost all appetite.

It was all so unfair. Nick seemed to have totally turned against me and none of it was my fault. I did not get dolled up in a green silk dress, pay for a Grecian style hair-do and a new pair of magic knickers to be treated like this.

I wished I could see what was going on inside that brain of his. I wanted to shake him. Couldn’t he see where this was going? What I was trying to tell him? Work with me here, man!

Finally, he eyeballed me for the briefest of moments and spoke.

‘Correct. As long as you have the landowner’s approval.’

Ha.

I smiled triumphantly at Phil. He shifted in his seat and buried his face in his wine glass.

‘Looks like you’ve wasted your time and money, then,’ I said.

‘Sophie,’ warned Donna, sharply.

I waved a hand at her. I’d seen the woman with her pants down, she held no fear for me anymore. Plus I’d had enough of doing as I was told.

‘You’ve put in an application on my land without my permission and presumably with a forged signature,’ I continued.

At this point, I expected Phil to snatch up his napkin, throw it down on the table in a fury and leave.

He shook his head and laughed.

In. My. Face.

I picked up my knife and turned it over in my hands. I had a good mind to grab hold of Phil’s wrist and re-enact that scene in Aliens where the android did a knife trick around a man’s fingers.

‘Pshh! You girls change your minds like your shoes. Your fiancé said he would get you to see sense eventually,’ said Phil.

Fiancé? Fiancé? Fi-an-cé?

I stabbed the table with my knife. Phil flinched.

Was there no end to the liberties Marc felt happy to take with my life?

I felt Nick bristle beside me. I was fairly bristly myself.

‘For your information, I’m single. Very much single.’

Slowly I looked round at Nick and waited for the penny to drop. Still waiting.

Finally, Nick’s eyes visited every point on the compass except south-southwest, which was where I was.

‘If Sophie knew nothing about this,’ said Nick, leaning forward to pierce the property developer with his stormy-grey eyes, ‘then the application is fraudulent. Invalid. It will have to be withdrawn.’

Hallelujah!

‘I knew nothing,’ I confirmed quietly. ‘Nor about Joanna Whatsherface.’

‘Somebody’s going to pay for this,’ said Phil, jabbing an angry finger in the air. ‘Nobody takes Strong Developments for a ride.’

‘What is going on?’ demanded Donna.

I blanked her. Pudding arrived. Chocolate mousse, my favourite. I ignored it.

Nick looked deep into my eyes, it was intensely hypnotic. His pupils pulled me in towards him like a magnet. My chest rose and fell as if he was doing his cardiac arrest thing on me. Everything around me slipped out of focus and all I could see was him and his big sorry eyes.

I could have played hard to get, made him work for my forgiveness. His assumption that I was in collusion with Phil Strong had stung. But my hormones were playing havoc with my nerve endings. All I really wanted to do was clear the room, sweep the stuff off the table cloth and jump onto his lap.

He smiled. The dimple. Yay! The dimple was back. I was so happy that I could have punched the air. I decided to save the punch for Marc. This was it. This was our moment!

He reached a hand out to touch mine.

‘Sophie –’

‘Toast!’ cried Maureen.

Christ, what had happened to her? One minute she was ashen, the next she was red and sweaty. Was this what the menopause did to you? And where had all her brandy gone? She lurched to her feet, glass in hand, steadying herself on the edge of the table, thereby answering all my questions in one. Drunk as a lord.

‘To Shophie,’ said Maureen, tipping red wine from her brandy glass all up her arm. One eye fixed itself on me and the other rolled back in her head.

‘And to all shingle gals everywhere. We wish we were young again, don’t we, Donna?’

Donna took exception to this remark and gasped just as her own glass touched her lips. She inhaled a lungful of wine and started to heave and splutter. Within seconds her face had turned an ugly shade of puce. Maureen fell back down and grinned at everyone. The two of them were like matching Ribena berries.

Donna was making such a racket that at first I didn’t notice the compère take to the stage.

‘Now we welcome to the podium, to present our first award, Donna Parker from our esteemed sponsors,
The Herald
.’

The audience obliged with a round of applause and the sound of Emeli Sandé’ singing ‘Read all About It’ blasted out of the PA system.

‘Donna, you’re on!’ I hissed.

‘Donna Parker!’ repeated the compère, shading his eyes with his hand and looking from left to right. ‘Donna, are you out there?’

‘Can’t speak,’ wheezed Donna. ‘You. Go!’ She wafted her hands at me.

‘Me?’

Donna stuffed a napkin in her mouth and dashed out, still coughing her guts up.

For God’s sake, Nick had been about to apologise, I was sure of it.

I huffed with frustration.

‘Good luck,’ he whispered.

With trembling legs I stood and wobbled over to the stage. Had these heels always been this high? I had never been so conscious of putting one foot in front of the other; for some reason, I was waddling like a duck.

‘About time!’ said the middle-aged smoothie with slicked-back hair through gritted teeth as I finally side-stepped my way up the stairs and onto the stage. ‘Hey, you’re not Donna.’

‘Change of plan,’ I muttered, snatching the gold envelope off him.

I stepped up to the microphone and ripped it open. The eyes of everyone in the room were on me as I fumbled to get the card out.

Act like you’ve done this a million times.

‘And the award for best commercial property goes to…’ Oh, it chuffin’ well would be.

‘Strong Developments for their waterside project.’

The audience clapped, Kelly Clarkson belted out ‘Stronger’ and there were one or two whistles of approval. I watched as Phil sprang onto the stage with his hand outstretched.

The compère handed me an engraved perspex block. I was tempted to drop it on Phil’s toe.

‘Here,’ I said, thrusting the award into Phil’s hands and faking a smile for the photographer. ‘Seems like you got what you came for.’

‘Tell monkey-boy he’ll be hearing from my solicitor.’

I assumed he meant Marc.

‘Not my problem. Tell him yourself.’

Phil pushed past me, off the stage and straight out of the door. Three men down. Only Nick remained.

I made my way back to the table. It was deserted all except for Maureen, who was asleep in a plate of after dinner mints.

Where was Nick? I scanned the room but he was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn’t have gone far. I picked up my bag and went out into the bar. Not there. I rounded the corner into the corridor towards the toilets. There he was, squaring up to Phil outside the ladies’ loos.

I don’t know why I did it, but I pressed myself against the wall in a shadowy patch and listened.

‘You have the morals of a sewer rat,’ said Nick, his hands on his slender hips, chest puffed out. ‘You must have known all along that Sophie’s signature was forged.’

Yay, go Nick!

Phil gave a disgusted laugh. ‘Don’t play the moral card with me, pal. We all know you're no saint.’

‘You know nothing about me,’ replied Nick harshly.

How dare he insult my Nick? I was about to dive in and offer my own thoughts on the matter when Phil’s next words riveted me to the spot.

‘Joanna has told my brother all about you and her. Yes, that’s wiped the supercilious smile off your face. The way you treated her when she was pregnant stinks. No decent man behaves like that.’

My hand flew to my mouth, I held my breath and I could hear my pulse thumping in my ears. Nick had a child?