Don't Want To Miss A Thing (7 page)

Then he started talking about Laura when they’d been growing up. So many stories, some of which he hadn’t even thought about in years. Like the time she’d tripped while giving him a piggyback and he’d gone sailing over her head like a jockey. The time she’d put him in a cardboard box and sent him tobogganing downstairs, resulting in him losing a tooth
well
before it had been ready to be lost. The time she’d been sunbathing on a rug in the garden and he’d ridden his bike over her outstretched hand, breaking two of her fingers.

‘So it was a pretty violent relationship.’ The way Molly said it made him smile.

‘Not always. I drove her mad in other ways too. When I was about five I collected a jarful of dead insects from the garage and emptied them in her bed. And she hated mustard, so I used to secretly smear some in her sandwiches.’

‘You were the naughty little brother. I bet you were a nightmare when she brought boyfriends home.’

Dexter laughed, taken by surprise by a memory he’d completely forgotten about. ‘I was. There was one boy . . . the two of them were on the sofa watching TV and I was hiding behind the curtains. For
ages
. Then they started kissing. I waited and waited, and then I yelled out, “Laura Yates, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Ha, you should have seen them. I was so proud of myself. Funnily enough, we never did see that boyfriend again.’ Ambushed by a
fresh wave of grief, he stopped talking and finished his drink. ‘Oh God, I can’t believe she isn’t here any more. I just don’t know where she’s gone.’

The next time he looked at his watch another hour had passed and the rum bottle was empty. They’d finished the rest of the sherry too. Molly, curled up in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace, was still apparently paying attention.

‘Look at you, still listening. Good for you.’ Dex held out his empty glass. ‘Can’t be much fun having to sit there and put up with me droning on.’

‘Don’t worry, this is what neighbours are for. What do you want me to do with that glass?’

‘Fill it with something.’

‘There isn’t anything else. Apart from some weird Greek liqueur. We’ve drunk the house dry.’

Dex waggled the glass at her. ‘Weird Greek liqueur it is then.’

‘It smells like bonfires and paint-stripper. No one’s ever been brave enough to drink it. Why don’t I make you another coffee instead?’

‘No. Just humour me.’ He needed to sleep and he knew it wouldn’t happen unless he knocked himself out. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn into a monster. But I’ll buy it off you if you want. Take it next door.’

‘You don’t have to do that.’ Unfolding her legs, she padded in her fluffy socks through to the kitchen and returned with the bottle.

‘Thanks.’ It definitely looked dodgy but Dex didn’t care. Taking it from her, he poured himself half a glass.

‘You should really eat something. I could do cheese on toast.’

He shook his head. ‘Not hungry.’

‘OK, you’ve talked a lot about Laura. But there’s one thing you
haven’t mentioned.’ The way Molly was looking at him made Dex not want to listen. He knew what she was going to say next.

‘One time when I was about ten I left stink bombs in her shoes so they’d burst when she put her feet in them. That was just as she was heading off out on another date. It’s actually a miracle I have any teeth left.’ He stared distractedly into the fire and took a huge gulp of liqueur without thinking.
Jesus
. . .

Molly waited until he’d finished coughing. Then she said, ‘What’s going to happen to the baby?’

There it was. That was the question he’d been avoiding thinking about. Dex coughed some more.

‘Where is she?’ Her gaze was unwavering.

‘Who?’

‘You know who. Delphi.’

‘She’s safe. She isn’t lying alone in an empty house, if that’s what you mean. Someone’s looking after her.’

‘Good. Who?’

God, she was like an Exocet missile. ‘Why are you asking that question?’

‘Because you’re looking so defensive.’

‘Can we change the subject? I don’t want to talk about this now.’

‘I think you should. Look, I’m practically a stranger. We don’t know each other. Where is Delphi?’

‘With a foster family.’ He hated even having to say the words. ‘Someone arranged it at the hospital before I got there. They have emergency foster carers for . . . situations like this.’

Molly was nodding. ‘Right. And who’s going to be taking care of her after that?’

This was it, this was the question he didn’t want to answer. But it wasn’t going to go away.

‘I don’t know.’ Dex briefly closed his eyes.

‘What about the father?’

‘Off the scene. It was just a fling. She never told him she was pregnant.’

‘And your parents are both dead.’ He’d mentioned it earlier when he’d been telling her about Laura. Molly said, ‘But she must have thought about what she’d do if the worst happened. People make plans. Who are her friends, do you know them? Maybe she asked one of them to look after Delphi.’

Dexter shook his head. ‘She didn’t.’

‘Well, did she make a will?’

‘Yes.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘She made a will.’

‘So it’ll be in there.’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what it says?’

He avoided her gaze.

‘Oh God,’ said Molly. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ He sank his head into his hands. ‘She asked me to sign this document saying I’d be the guardian, but I only did it because I thought it wouldn’t happen. You say you’ll do these things but you never expect to actually have to.’ There, he’d said it now. It was
out
.

‘So you don’t really want to do it.’

Her tone wasn’t judgemental, but he felt judged anyway. Dexter said heavily, ‘It’s not a question of if I
want
to do it. I just can’t.’

‘No?’

‘No! I mean, God, how
could
I?’

Molly looked at him and didn’t answer. He knew what she was thinking:
In the normal way
.

‘Look at me, look at my life.’ How could he make her understand? ‘I know nothing about babies. Before Delphi was born I’d
never even
held
one. I work stupid hours, sometimes all night long. When I’m not at work, I’m . . .
out
. There isn’t room for a baby. Plus, even if there was, I’m the last person in the world you’d want looking after another human being. It’d be a disaster. I can’t even keep track of my car keys.’

‘Right.’

‘I know what you’re thinking.’

She shook her head. ‘No you don’t.’

‘Of course I do. You can’t believe how anyone could be so selfish. That’s it, isn’t it? What a bastard, all he’s thinking about is himself. But I’m just being honest, it’s not something I can do. This isn’t the kind of person I am.’ He rubbed his eyes, which were prickling now with the effort of keeping them open; last night’s sleeplessness and the combination of drinks was catching up with him now.

‘Do you love her?’ said Molly.

‘Delphi? Of course I love her, but that’s beside the point. I’m selfish, don’t you see? She deserves better than to be stuck with someone like me. God, I’ve had to buy three new phones since Christmas – if I tried to take her anywhere I’d end up leaving her in the back of a cab.’

‘You say that now.’ Molly’s voice softened. ‘But she’s a human being. It’s different. You only lose car keys and phones because they
aren’t
the most important things in the world. You don’t love them with all your heart. Everyone panics when they first discover they’re about to become a parent. It’s completely normal to be terrified at the thought of being responsible for an actual baby. But that’s the whole point of loving them unconditionally – it means you’ll do everything it takes to keep them safe.’

‘Do you really think that?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘It’s human nature. Look, if you don’t
want to bring up this baby, fine. If you
do
want to but you’re just scared you aren’t
able
to do it . . . well, I wouldn’t worry about that. Because there’s no reason at all why you can’t.’

Wow, where had that little speech come from? And should she even be having this much faith in someone she barely knew? What if he took her at her word and
did
accidentally leave the baby on the back seat of a taxi?

Then again, was Dexter even listening to her anyway? He was currently peering into his glass and frowning.

‘This is empty. Can I have some more?’

So much for the impassioned pep-talk
.

‘No problem. I’m just going to make myself a coffee. Wait there,’ said Molly, getting up. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’

In the kitchen, she put the kettle on and waited for it to come to the boil. She didn’t bother making any coffee. After a few minutes she returned to the living room. Yes, he’d fallen asleep.

What a situation to find yourself in. You couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Having cleared away the glasses, Molly stood and watched him for a while. His breathing was deep and even. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and with his head tilted back against the cushions, the curve of his visible cheekbone gleamed in the dim light. His dark hair had dried now. He looked beautiful but troubled, which he undoubtedly was.

He was also a virtual stranger, but this didn’t worry her at all. She had a lock on her door and he wasn’t likely to make off with her telly. It was safe to leave him here for tonight.

Molly spread his jacket over the radiator. Because there was only room for the one, she took her own Barbour upstairs, put it in the airing cupboard to dry out and brought the emergency duvet back down.

Dexter didn’t move when she placed it over him. He’d be out for the count now, for the rest of the night.

Well, what a Monday evening this had been. Leaving two paracetamols next to a pint glass of water on the coffee table, Molly headed up to bed. After rum and sherry and burnt paint-stripper liqueur he was going to need them when he woke up.

When she came down the next morning he was gone. So were the paracetamols. The duvet, an oversized 10-tog version of Cinderella’s glass slipper, had been left in a crumpled heap on the otherwise empty sofa. No note, no other sign that he’d been here.

Molly opened the front door and shivered as icy rain splattered her face. Urgh, February. And her Barbour was still upstairs. She ran barefoot down the path, saw that the lurid yellow Porsche was no longer parked outside Gin Cottage and raced inside again. Did this mean he’d gone out to buy food? Or that he was on his way up to London? In which case, she might never find out what he chose to do about Delphi.

Poor Dex, what a terrible situation to be in. Surely between them there was some way they could help him? Wiping the rain off her nose, Molly silently prayed he’d come back.

Chapter 10

It had never been part of Frankie Taylor’s life plan to open and run a café. When she and Joe had moved to Briarwood almost twenty years ago, nothing could have been further from her mind and no one had ever heard of a sitcom called
Next to You
.

When they’d first viewed Ormond House, the previous occupiers had moved out several months earlier and the property had been rented out and used in the interim by a small independent TV production company as the location for a new show. With no money to spare and zero experience in the industry, operations were carried out on a shoestring and with no expectations of success. All was chaos for a while as six thirty-minute episodes were shot in and around the house in record time, then everyone left as suddenly as they’d arrived and village life returned to normal as if they’d never been there.

Frankie and Joe had bought the house and thought no more of it, until fourteen months later when the series finally aired on TV.
Next to You
featured a middle-aged Catholic priest, the lovely widowed lady next door, her batty-but-glamorous mother and a billy goat called Bert. It had touches of surrealism, gentle quirky humour in spades and the kind of can’t-be-manufactured charisma
between the lead characters that instantly captivated the nation. Against all the odds, everyone who watched the show fell under its magical spell; it was the ultimate
will-they, wont-they, but-they-CAN’T
scenario. Another series was immediately commissioned and this time Frankie and Joe, along with new arrival Amber, were moved out of the house for the duration of filming and put up in the nearby Colworth Manor Hotel. Which had been no hardship at all.

When it was shown on TV, the second series eclipsed the first.
Next to You
became a phenomenon, it was funnier than ever and the unacknowledged attraction between the two lead characters, Mags and Charles, tugged at the heartstrings like never before. Rumours began to circulate that the pair might be romantically involved in real life, but this was denied by the two actors themselves. Despite both being single and available, William Kingscott and Hope Johnson weren’t publicity seekers and preferred to keep their private lives private.

But it was what everyone thought.

Then, less than a week before the final episode was due to be aired and at the height of the excitement surrounding the record-breaking second series, William Kingscott was hit by an out-of-control articulated lorry.

He was killed outright.

The country plunged into a state of shock; in the space of two years William had made the leap from unknown actor to national treasure. The last episode was shown on the evening of his funeral and viewing figures broke all records. The accident may have happened hundreds of miles away in Edinburgh but, in Briarwood, Frankie and Joe found their home turned into a shrine as weeping fans congregated and left flowers in front of the house.

The creator of the series announced that there would be no
replacement for William’s character and no further episodes of
Next to You
. The show was over; Mags and Charles were no more. Hope Johnson never did speak publicly about her relationship with her co-star; she retired from acting and public view, becoming a recluse instead.

And the visitors to Briarwood stopped sobbing and leaving flowers, but their fascination with Ormond House remained. Over the years,
Next to You
became an acknowledged classic and embedded itself into the national consciousness. As cable channels multiplied, it continued to be shown, its popularity spreading worldwide. Visitors to England made pilgrimages to the village, took endless photographs of each other in front of the famous house and rang the doorbell to ask if they could come and look around inside.