Miranda's Big Mistake (33 page)

In Miranda's experience, when heroines in slushy films found themselves depressed and with too much time on their hands, they always seemed to find something deeply worthy and constructive to do in the way of housework. Miranda, who wasn't heroic in any shape or form, had noticed this and decided they must be barking mad. If you were miserable, doing something as awful as scrubbing the kitchen floor was only going to make you feel
much
worse, surely. Any fool could see that.

Anyway, what on earth was the point of cleaning the house when Florence had just jetted off for a month and nobody was going to see it?

Miranda tapped her fingers fretfully against the telephone, then punched out Bev's number. How often had Bev been at a loose end on a Sunday and rung her, to suggest going out somewhere nice—i.e., containing plenty of men—for lunch?

But the phone rang and rang. Bev wasn't there. Of course she isn't, thought Miranda as she hung up, she's over at Johnnie's being all happy and coupley and so lovey-dovey it made you want to be sick.

Honestly, talk about ingratitude. You take the trouble to sort out your friends' hopeless lives for them, you find them their perfect partners…and the next thing you know, they've swanned off into happy-ever-after-land without so much as a by-your-leave. Huh, you'd be lucky to get a postcard.

If it wasn't for me, Miranda thought, Bev would never have met Johnnie in the first place. And Fenn wouldn't have met Chloe. Indignantly, she pulled her sweater over her head, bundled it up and flung it in the direction of the stairs.

Typical, as long as they're all right, that's all that jolly well matters.

Never mind
me
.

***

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Miranda knew that whoever was at the door, she really didn't want to see them.

Sprawling across the sofa in front of the TV, plucking your eyebrows whilst watching
Little House on the Prairie
, was possibly the most effective method going if you were desperate for that white-rabbit-struggling-to-break-in-a-new-pair-of-contact-lenses look.

Oh yes, massively flattering, thought Miranda, surveying the result in her eyebrow-plucking mirror and making the unhappy discovery that her eyes exactly matched her Pepto-Bismol–pink thermal tank top. Of
course
I'm going to open the door and frighten whoever's on the doorstep witless.

The doorbell rang again.

She ignored it.

It rang for the third time.

Miranda crawled across the sitting room floor and up on to the window seat, inching her eyes over the window ledge like a sniper in the forest…

And came face to face through the glass with Danny Delancey.

Hugely embarrassed, imagining how silly she must look, Miranda instantly ducked down again.

‘Too late, Miranda.' Danny, his voice carrying clearly through the closed window, didn't bother to hide his amusement. ‘I looked just now and saw you with your big bottom in the air, wiggling across the carpet.'

Yanking the front door open, clutching her coat around her, Miranda said indignantly, ‘I do
not
have a big bottom.' As an afterthought she added, ‘And even if I did, it wouldn't matter. There's absolutely nothing wrong with having a big bottom.'

Not that she wanted one herself—no thanks very much—but it seemed only sisterly to make the point. After all, Chloe's bottom wasn't what you'd call petite and Fenn seemed pretty smitten with hers.

‘Would you like me to say I saw your delectable little bottom wiggling across the carpet?' Danny grinned, unperturbed by this outburst. ‘I will if you want. I just thought it might alarm you, seeing as I'm not normally the flowery-compliments type.'

This was true, Miranda couldn't deny it. Still, she was almost sure there was a hint of a compliment lurking in there. Deep down.

Somewhere.

‘I didn't want to answer the door in case you were a Jehovah's Witness.' She stepped back reluctantly, and wished with all her heart she hadn't been quite so vigorous with the tweezers. ‘And I haven't been crying, okay? I've just plucked my eyebrows.'

‘I'll believe you, thousands wouldn't.' His dark eyes flickered over her clothes. ‘Why are you wearing a thermal tank and a coat?'

‘I had to take my sweater off, there was sick on it. Not my sick,' Miranda added defensively. ‘Mattie's.'

‘Glad to hear it. Florence and Tom get away on time?'

‘How did—?' Miranda stared at him, wondering how he could have known they were leaving today. Then she wondered why she was bothering to wonder, since pretty obviously Florence had rung and told him herself.

‘She was just keeping me in touch. Thought I might be interested.' Danny's tone was neutral.

‘If she told you I was lonely and needed cheering up—' Miranda began furiously, but he stopped her in her tracks.

‘She didn't. Actually, I'm the one in need of help.'

Oh well, that stood to reason, he looked so
utterly
helpless standing there in his dark-blue sweatshirt and faded Levis, with his battered leather jacket slung over one broad shoulder and his humorous dark eyes glittering down at her in that completely unfair way.

‘Go on,' muttered Miranda, wondering if she was ever going to be able to look at him without experiencing that swooping sensation—like leaping dolphins—in the depths of her stomach.

‘I've got a new kite in the car,' Danny told her. ‘I need to get some serious practice in, so that I can dazzle that nephew of mine with my skills. And I need someone to untangle me when it all goes horribly wrong.' He paused. ‘Fancy a trip to Parliament Hill?'

‘Dazzle him with your skills?' echoed Miranda. ‘Better take a tent with us, then. This could take years.'

Danny's mouth began to twitch at the corners.

‘Is that your charming way of saying yes?'

Determined not to let him see how overjoyed she was, Miranda replied, ‘Actually, it's my charming way of saying: what the hell, I could do with a good laugh.'

***

When had she last come up here, that time with Florence? It must have been back in April, Miranda finally worked out. And now it was November, but the kites were still out in force.

The sun was out too, brightening a cloudless hyacinth-blue sky, but it was colder than before, an icy north-easterly wind zinging through Miranda's hair and numbing the exposed tips of her ears.

All over the hill, children wrapped up against the cold raced around, battling to seize control of frantically flapping kites and miles of unraveled nylon cord. The adults, expertly coaxing their kites into performing gymnastic displays of Olympic brilliance, stood their ground and scarcely moved at all.

Racing around like a lunatic and getting garroted by your own kite string was clearly a very immature thing to do.

To impress his nephew, Danny had bought a monster of a kite, crimson and double-winged and as uncontrollable as a charging rhino. Every time Miranda threw it up into the air, it leapt skywards for a few seconds, lulling them both into a false sense of security, before plummeting back to earth with a vengeance. Twice, it had missed her head by inches and she'd had to learn to dodge out of the way. When she took her turn at trying to fly it, it promptly hurled itself into the nearest tree.

Danny inched his way along the high branch around which the cord was tangled.

Fit body. Very fit, Miranda couldn't help noticing. For about the hundredth time in the last hour.

‘I don't know why you're bothering,' she shouted up at him. ‘That kite is a psychopath. It doesn't deserve to be rescued. You should teach it a lesson and leave it up there to rot.'

The kite was released at last, amid a flurry of falling leaves. Danny swung himself down from the branch and landed next to Miranda. Having glanced briefly at her, he busied himself brushing bits of bark from his jeans.

‘The thing is, some kites are easy, you get on with them from the word go. Others need a bit more work. You can either give up, or you can persevere. But if you get there in the end…well, that makes it all worthwhile.'

Miranda's nose and cheeks were pink with cold. She had tugged the sleeves of her warmest sweater over her knuckles and her arms were wrapped around her waist, but she was still prone to fits of uncontrollable shivers. She watched the kite slither off across the grass then begin to leap upwards, straining against its leash like a slavering Rottweiler.

‘Take it to the vet. Have it put down. If you really want to impress your nephew, take up rollerblading instead.'

‘You're freezing. Here, put my jacket on.' Danny shrugged it off and placed it around her shoulders.

‘I didn't know it was going to be this c-cold.' Surreptitiously, Miranda sniffed the collar of the jacket, breathing in a lungful of that oh-so-familiar aftershave. ‘I suppose you tried to persuade your girlfriend to come up here with you, but she had more sense.'

There, managed it at last! She'd slipped the subject into the conversation but in such a deft and casual manner that he wouldn't guess how long she'd been dying to bring it up.

‘Girlfriend,' Danny said thoughtfully, winding the kite back towards him.

‘You remember. Blond. Posh-looking. Waves at you like this.' Miranda waggled her fingers in pseudo-friendly fashion, accurately mimicking the girl she'd seen sitting in his car.

She was careful not to sound bitchy. That wouldn't do at all.

‘I think you must be talking about my sister,' Danny said. ‘Caroline. Eddie's mother.' Helpfully he held out his hand, palm downwards, indicating the height of his nephew. ‘You remember Eddie.'

‘Your sister.' Miranda breathed out slowly. ‘You made me think she was your girlfriend.'

‘Did I?' Danny frowned, not altogether convincingly. ‘Oh no, she's definitely my sister. Although she certainly wishes I
had
a girlfriend. In fact she's so desperate to see me settled down, she spends her life trying to fix me up with her single friends.'

He wasn't exactly looking thrilled. Exercising caution—and a degree of jealousy—Miranda said, ‘And you haven't found one yet that you like?'

The kite, fully rewound now, had arrived back at Danny's feet. It flapped rebelliously amongst the fallen leaves like a truculent teenager.

‘It can't escape if we sit on it.' Danny held one wing down with his Timberland-booted foot until Miranda was settled on the kite, then he joined her. ‘Oh yes, I've definitely found one I like.'

His faded denim knee was inches away from her own, his tone amazingly casual. Almost as if he was telling her about a car he had seen and was thinking of buying.

Miranda swallowed and tried to concentrate on the panoramic view stretched out before them. This was London, home to millions and millions of people. But at this moment in time, could any of them possibly be more confused than she was?

At last, lamely, she said, ‘Well, good. What's this girl like?'

‘Difficult.' Danny shook his head and tapped the crimson material beneath them. ‘Like this kite. Never does what you want her to do. Veers off in all the wrong directions…keeps getting tangled up with other kites…'

Miranda's heart began to thud like a marching band. In her stomach, the dolphins leapt.

‘Is she seeing anyone now?'

‘No. I've kept away for the last couple of months, to give her time to get over something that happened.' He paused. ‘It hasn't been easy, but it was something I knew I had to do.'

Crash bang, crash bang,
thud thud thud
.

‘What does she look like?' said Miranda, her gaze fixed helplessly on the distant horizon.

‘Oh, ugly. No, that's a joke,' said Danny as her shoulders stiffened. ‘Not ugly at all. Incredible dark-brown eyes. Very kissable mouth. Dark-green hair with gold bits at the end.'

‘Tendrils,' Miranda murmured. ‘Not
bits
.'

‘And, of course, she has a delectable little bottom. Not that there's anything wrong with having a big one,' said Danny. ‘Big ones are fine too.'

The view, Miranda discovered, was becoming a bit blurred. She wiped the back of her hand hurriedly across her eyes.

‘Why now, Danny? After all this time, what made you change your mind?'

‘I haven't.' He shrugged. ‘My mind was made up months ago.'

‘But—'

‘Other kites,' Danny said simply. ‘Like I said, she kept getting tangled up with other kites.' He paused, his dark eyes serious. ‘Are you over Miles?'

Miranda nodded, unable to speak. Directly above them, a large yellow and brown kite hovered like an eagle. Twenty yards away a young girl jumped up and down yelling, ‘Don't crash it, Daddy, don't let it crash on those people's heads!'

‘Concussion,' Danny sighed. ‘Just what we need. Have you any idea how long I've spent rehearsing this moment? It was supposed to be so romantic.'

‘It still is.' Miranda spread her arms wide. ‘Sitting here with me, risking brain damage to be with me…I call that madly romantic.'

Danny smiled and touched her icy cheek.

‘Mad, certainly.'

‘Go on,' Miranda whispered, ‘kiss me, I dare you. And the first person to look up at the kite is a sissy.'

***

‘Daddy, Dad, what are those people doing?'

‘Making a spectacle of themselves, Rachel.'

‘Daddy, why has one of them got green hair?'

‘Because he's an exhibitionist, darling. Just ignore them both.'

Miranda began to giggle helplessly and the kiss disintegrated. She rolled over on to her back and watched the yellow and brown kite disappear as it was towed down the hill.

‘I think perhaps it's time I grew my hair.'

‘I think it's time we went home,' said Danny. ‘Before I really do turn into an exhibitionist.' He gave her a long look. ‘I love you. More than anything. You do know that, don't you?'