Digging Deeper (21 page)

“Let’s go upstairs and I can give you the best part of your birthday present. Probably more than once, you lucky girl.”

“No.”

Pierce looked startled. “What?”

“No, I’m not going upstairs with you.”

Pierce looked around the lounge. “There’s no furniture. It’ll be a bit uncomfortable in here.”

“Fuck off, Pierce.”

The shocked look on his face thrilled her.

“What’s the matter? You don’t swear. Is this about your party? I told you I couldn’t help it, sweetie. It was business. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go for a meal this lunchtime. You wear your blue dress with the daisies. You look smart in that. Then we can come back here and you can open your present.”

“I don’t want to see you anymore. Please leave.” Kirsten had her hands glued to her sides. She didn’t want him to see her shaking.

Pierce didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sneered and gave a short laugh. “You silly cunt.”

Kirsten steeled herself. Pierce proceeded to run her down, every aspect of her figure, clothes, the way she spoke, her sense of humor, her inability to recognize good wine when she drank it and her performance in bed. After he’d finished, Kirsten made herself smile. The biggest, broadest smile she could manage and when she saw the look on his face, she knew it really was over and that she’d won. Moments later, the door slammed.

Josh came in. “Are you okay? You’re not sorry he’s gone?” He reached out to take her hand.

Kirsten shook her head. “I’m only sorry how much time I wasted on him. He didn’t even try to get me to change my mind. He didn’t care for me at all.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

“Did you hear everything?”

He nodded.

“Even the bit about sex?”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Oh, Josh.”

He pulled her into his arms. “No more tears. You’re wonderful and Pierce is an idiot, running you down to try and save face. He’s the past. I’m the present and your future. I’m going to make you happy because just being next to you makes me happy.”

Kirsten smiled. “Well, if you’re going to be my new boyfriend, you’d better come and have lunch with my parents.”

“Out of the fire and into the frying pan?”

Kirsten groaned. “My Dad’s going to love you. He’s not funny either.”

———

Flick arrived back after lunch. She did a quick check round the house, but it was empty. Kirsten and Josh had cleaned the kitchen and emptied the living room of debris, clearly destined for sainthood.

A note from Stef lay next to the kettle.

“Gone to Scotland to stay with Drew and his parents.”

Beck hadn’t lasted long, but maybe he hadn’t cared. Maybe they were both one-night-stand sort of people. Flick stripped the sheets from her bed and put them in the washing machine. She noticed Stef had helped herself to her clothes, but had no energy to be angry. Cleaning her own cubbyhole didn’t take long, but Flick hesitated before she went into Stef’s room.

As usual she’d transformed it into a tip. Clothes lay everywhere, many items Flick didn’t recognize. She gnashed her teeth as she picked them up. Would Stef care she flashed her boobs in men’s faces so she could splash out on new clothes? Stef could shop for England. If it was an Olympic sport she’d be a cert for a medal. Four empty condom packets sat on the bedside table. Four. Flick felt like her heart had been ripped out. She dragged the sheets from the bed and threw them downstairs.

She cleaned the house in a raging temper, vacuumed everywhere, accidentally sucked up Kirsten’s new rose petal potpourri and sucked up the sawdust on purpose from around a sleeping Hannibal. If the hamster had disappeared up the nozzle she’d have been glad. She tossed Beck’s naval cap on the bed, only just resisting the temptation to stamp on it. Flick attacked the bathrooms with rubber gloves, bleach and anti-men spray. She bagged rubbish, sorted bottles, recycled cans, took down all the fairy lights and was still hyper. The one thing she couldn’t do on her own was move the furniture back into the house.

In a moment of masochism, Flick decided she’d use the paint earmarked for her bedroom on the living room walls. Her father’s old dustsheets were stored on a shelf in the garage so she spread them over the wooden floor, took down the curtains and flung open the windows.

Ten minutes later Flick stood on a step ladder in a yellow lace bra and matching French knickers, clutching a tray of paint and wielding a roller.

Sixty minutes after that, the ceiling had two coats and so did Flick. She looked like a Pollock life-model. Picking up a brush she wrote “Stef is a bitch” and “Beck is a wanker” several times all over one of the walls. Flick was amazed how much better she felt until she realized someone stared at her through the open window.

“The bell’s not working,” Beck said.

“What do you want?” Flick rushed to roller over what she’d written.

“Can I come in?”

“The door’s not locked.”

Seconds later Beck stepped into the room. “Unusual technique,” he commented as Flick tried to cover the last of her graffiti. Two walls were covered with crisscrossing lines.

“Stef’s not here,” she said.

“I haven’t come to see Stef.”

“Right.” Like she believed that.

“I lost my cap. I’ll get charged by the hire company if I don’t find it.”

Stab me again, why don’t you?
“It’s where you left it.”

“Where’s that?”

“Stef’s bedroom. You can go and get it.”

Moments later he was back. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Flick tried not to stare. He only wore boxers, blue ones with goldfish all over them.

“Gap?”

“Where?” He looked down.

She laughed. “No, I meant is your underwear from Gap?”

“Yes. Was that a guess or are you an expert on boxer shorts?”

“PhD.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing. How about your underwear?” He picked up the brush and tin, and started to go round the edges of the skirting board.

“Bargains-are-us.” Flick thought of saying La Perla but the label might be showing.

“I wish I’d known girls painted rooms semi-naked. Or is it just you?”

“Probably just me. Emulsion washes off skin easier than clothes.”

“Maybe we can wash it off together.”

Flick let a few seconds go past before she blurted, “Stef’s gone to Scotland.”

“Good.”

Four condoms and he says good? Maybe Stef had worn him out.

“I saw you in bed with her,” she said and then rollered the wall so hard paint sprayed everywhere.

“No, you didn’t. Stef grabbed the cap and disappeared with it.”

Flick froze.

“I presume that’s why I’m a wanker and Stef is a bitch?”

She winced.

“I stood at the window for a few moments before you noticed me. A lot to admire apart from your calligraphy. Yellow lace. Tanned skin. Umm.”

Ribbons of arousal fluttered through her body. “So who was Stef sleeping with?”

“Her boyfriend Drew.”

“Oh.”

“Feeling foolish?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.”

“Looking for a stone to crawl under?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Flick slapped paint on the wall and splattered her face.

“She’s not my type.”

Flick guffawed. “She’s sex on legs.”

“No, she isn’t.”

Beck ran the brush around the edge of the door.

Flick turned to look at him. “So what is your type?”

“A paint-splattered woman.”

He turned and she watched his gaze slide from the curve of her neck down to her toes. Her hand shook as she pushed the roller over the wall. He moved up behind her and the breath caught in her throat.

He groaned. “I hear a car. I wish I’d unclipped your bra half an hour ago.”

“I wish I’d dragged you into the shower ten minutes ago. It looks great, thanks for helping.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How come there’s no paint on you?” Flick asked.

“Probably because I’m careful. Pity I don’t need a wash.”

Flick picked up the brush and ran it down his arm. Beck laughed.

Kirsten poked her head round the door. “Josh. There are weird naked people in the living room carrying out some bizarre painting ritual.”

“Less of the weird,” Flick said.

“More of the naked,” Beck added.

Josh joined Kirsten at the doorway. “Wow, great bodywork, Flick.”

“Great body, Beck.” Kirsten laughed.

“Hey,” Josh protested.

“You’re supposed to be admiring the walls,” Flick pointed out.

“Did you get any paint on them? Oh, Beck, that’s your phone,” Kirsten said.

She and Josh moved further into the room as Beck went to retrieve his mobile.

“You missed a great lunch,” Kirsten said.

“I take it your mother thinks Josh is wonderful.” Flick smiled.

“How could she not? He ate everything, praised everything, played nicely with Tom, told Lucy she was pretty and listened to Dad talking about hammer drills for thirty minutes. When Josh confessed to being a power-tool addict, Dad went into raptures. I, on the other hand, am less impressed.”

“I’ve got a power tool to show you,” Josh whispered and Kirsten giggled.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Beck called. “I forgot Willow’s father was coming round to—give us the benefit of his extensive local knowledge.”

“Bore you to death?” Kirsten asked.

“Or that.” Beck chuckled.

Flick leaned against the door watching him get dressed. “Do you want to wash your arm?”

“I’ll preserve it. When you’re a famous artist I can sell it for millions.”

“Did I mention I was the only one in my class who failed art?”

Beck moved toward her as if he was going to give her a kiss and then stepped back. “Have you any idea what you do to me standing there in yellow lace underwear? If I kiss you I’m not going to want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Flick said in a quiet voice.

“I don’t want to go, but I have to.”

“Maybe you could give me just a little kiss.”

Beck wavered and then bent his head, but his mouth touched her ear and not her lips.

“There isn’t anything I’d rather do more than kiss you, but there’s no way I can kiss you and stop. If just looking at you makes me smolder, a kiss will make me explode in a fireball. I really have to go back. I promised Isobel. I already owe her big-time.”

He pressed his lips against her hair for a moment, then gave a big smile and left. Flick sighed and turned to see Josh and Kirsten staring at her.

“Well?” Kirsten asked.

“He’s the one,” Flick said.

“Morning, Nergel,” Flick greeted Henry.

He nodded. “Chief of the Secret Police of Hell. Yes, I like that.”

Flick scowled. “I’ll never catch you out.”

“Keep trying.” He handed her the list. “Pre-wedding cleaning. Celia would like you to stay the whole day if you can.”

“That’s fine.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t need any painting doing.”

Flick stared and Henry grinned. “I overheard Beck talking to Giles. All this time I could have had you working in your underwear and didn’t realize.”

“There are things other than painting I like to do in my underwear but they’re not on your list.”

“Little temptress.”

“Puriel.”

“The fiery and pitiless angel. Not me at all.”

“You torment me all the time,” Flick said. “I don’t know how I keep my hands off you.”

Henry smiled. “Neither do I. Sad to say, I have to remove myself from your vicinity. I’m taking the ladies of the house to Leeds, so you’ll be on your own. I think Celia has finally accepted the silverware is safe in your hands.”

“She didn’t miss the spoons then?” Flick asked.

Henry laughed.

As soon as they’d gone, Flick turned on the radio and started work. Without Gertrude she could work at twice the speed, giving her time to wander in the garden in case she met anyone worth talking to. As she reached up to grab the furniture polish, the envelope that had arrived that morning fell out of her pocket. Damn. So it hadn’t miraculously disappeared. She stared at it and wondered if by sheer strength of will it could be turned into a winning lottery ticket. Flick thought very hard for five seconds. Nope, didn’t work. She picked it up and stuffed it back in her pocket. It would spoil her day so she wouldn’t open it.

———

Dina had rarely felt so miserable. She couldn’t bear to look at her fingernails. Her back ached, and if she dug another hole and found nothing, she’d scream. The weekend had been a disaster. Beck turned up at the house on Saturday night to take Isobel to a fancy dress party and looked so divine Dina had wanted to eat him, only
Eat Your Man
wasn’t in her book of helpful hints. He wore a naval officer’s uniform and Dina knew she’d stared for ages with her mouth open. She couldn’t help it. Then Isobel had come downstairs, her hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a bed sheet and Matt, Ross and even Pravit had almost imploded. Bloody Jane had done Isobel’s makeup. Jane knew nothing about makeup. Why hadn’t Isobel asked her? Then when Beck kissed Isobel and told her she looked fabulous, Dina thought she might throw up. The boys had gone into Leeds but Dina hadn’t felt like it so she’d stayed with Jane and watched Saturday night TV. Her life was crap.

Sunday was a washout too. They had to go and listen to some old fart who was a local history fanatic bore them for hours with thousands of mind-numbing slides. Beck had only turned up for the last hour and he’d sat next to Jane. Life wasn’t fair.

She had another twenty-one days on this bloody dig and then she was off to Ibiza with a couple of mates and she couldn’t wait. She was fed up with moving earth when she wanted someone to make the Earth move for her. Dina angrily jammed her trowel into the ground and yelped when it hit a solid object. She threw off her glove and rubbed her fingers. She should have gone to Italy. She could have found some dark-haired Italian with a Ferrari and a beautiful villa. She might have even settled for Rich Foster.

Dina slipped the glove back on, moved the trowel further along and hit stone again. Ouch. She tried going deeper and found more of the same. Bloody typical. Her patch had to be the one with the massive boulder. She carried on moving soil from around the obstacle, muttering to herself.