My Single Friend (41 page)

‘Saving my life,’ she croaks.

He smiles, wiping his face with a greasy sleeve. ‘I
love
you, Carolyn. I know I don’t say it often, but I do.’

She nods and closes her eyes again, looking peaceful. My heart surges. Mum . . . Oh God, Mum . . .

One eye reopens then and she fixes it on Dad. ‘You know next time you want to prove it? Try some flowers instead, won’t you?’

Henry has popped out to the newsagent, like he always does on his days off. Except this isn’t a normal day off.

His bags are by the door, packed and ready for his departure in an hour. I am supposed to go with him to the airport to see him off, but when I woke this morning I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I wouldn’t be able to watch him and Erin head off together without bursting into tears and giving the game away.

Taking a notepad and pen from my bag, I start writing as quickly as I can. I haven’t got long until he returns.

I fold the note and place it on the doormat so he’ll see it as soon as he walks in. Then, grabbing a sweater, I head out of the door and make straight for my car. I reach for the door handle and glance up – at exactly the moment Henry turns the corner at the end of the road, newspaper in hand.

I look away, pretending not to see him, and leap into my car. Without looking back, I shove the key into the ignition, put the car in gear and hurtle away. Out of Henry’s life.

Considering my mother was staring death in the face eighteen hours ago, she’s looking remarkably chipper.

‘Typical, isn’t it?’ She unwraps a chocolate and pops it in her mouth. ‘Everyone in
Dynasty
had a Jacuzzi – and none of their houses burned down.’

Dominique smiles and offers me the half-empty tin of Cadbury’s Roses.

‘No, thanks,’ I say quietly.

‘I suppose Krystle Carrington wasn’t swimming around in a piece of maternity apparatus,’ Mum continues.

She must be made of stronger stuff than me. While she’s happily stuffing her face with chocolate, I feel as if I’ve been hit on the head with the plate of a steam iron.

It’s not just the aftermath of the fire – though that alone could leave me shell-shocked until 2020. My mind is also spinning with thoughts of Henry, who’s now en route to Manchester Airport, filled with hopes and dreams about the next twelve months.

I hope he’s not too annoyed with me for sneaking off, but then I did have a good excuse, even though visiting hours don’t really start until eleven-thirty. Good job Dominique managed to bribe the nurses with half of Mum’s Roses to let us in early.

‘There aren’t many chocolates left in here,’ she grumbles, unwrapping a green triangle. ‘Who’d you buy them from – your father?’

I wouldn’t be surprised if Henry proposed to Erin while they’re away. That’s what happens on trips like these, they’re life-changing. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

‘I
love
your flowers,’ enthuses Dominique. On the table next to Mum’s bed is a floral display fit for a royal wedding.

‘They’re from Jasper. He doesn’t do things by halves.’

‘I want a boss like that,’ says Dominique.

Mum grins. ‘After twenty-one years of cleaning toilets, I’ve earned him.’

‘Was it definitely the Jacuzzi that caused the fire?’ I ask.

‘Looks that way.’ Mum bites into a hazelnut whirl. ‘It’d been set up wrongly, causing a leak in the corner and they think it got to the electrics in the house. The fire service will do a report but that’s the theory so far.’

‘You’re remarkably chilled out, Mum,’ I point out. The doctor told me earlier that he thinks she’s still suffering from shock. Even with a medical explanation for her coolness, she’s freaking me out.

‘I’m alive, aren’t I?’ she shrugs. ‘There’s nothing like facing the Grim Reaper and telling him to sling his hook to put things in perspective.’

‘But what about the house?’ I say tentatively. I don’t want to upset her.

‘Look, part of me is gutted about the house – we’ve lived there since we were married. But it was hardly the stuff of
Country Life
.’

‘Still. You
are
technically homeless.’ I say this gently because Mum’s got to come to terms with this sooner or later. She doesn’t look any less cheerful.

‘Well, you’ll put us up for a few months, won’t you? I’m sure the insurance would pay for a hotel, but they’re so faceless . . .’

My eyes widen. I’m overjoyed my parents are alive, but I’d rather not have them squatting in my living room. ‘I’ll have to have a chat with Dominique about that. There are only two bedrooms.’

‘We’ll sort something out,’ says Dominique, and I can’t help admiring her compassion. Or naivety.

There’s a knock on the door and when we turn to look, it’s Dad. He’s wearing a pair of hospital pyjamas that, uniquely, are an improvement on his own. In his case, there’s no doubt that last night’s events have sunk in. Although physically the doctors say he’ll make a full recovery, he looks grey and drawn. Still, as he walks forward, he produces a bunch of flowers from behind his back. They’re a quarter of the size of Jasper’s, but it doesn’t matter.

‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ Mum says, taking the bouquet and sticking her nose in a hydrangea.

He pauses, with tears in his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, love.’

‘About what?’ asks Mum.

‘About the birthing pool. It’s all my fault. All my bloody fault.’

Mum frowns and I notice her eyes welling up. ‘Oh, give us a kiss, you soft sod,’ she says, drawing him near. ‘You saved my life, didn’t you?’

Dom and I exchange a look and decide to back out of the room.

Dad spots us and straightens his back. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not stopping,’ he says. ‘I’ve got my consultant coming over in a couple of minutes so I just popped in to drop off the flowers. I’ll see you all properly later.’

And with that, he’s off. My dad, the hero. Sort of.

‘How long have you been married?’ asks Dominique.

‘Thirty-one years,’ says Mum, propping up one of Dad’s wilted flowers.

‘You’re a good advert for it,’ Dominique says, ‘and I never thought I’d be saying that. Not that Lucy or I have had much luck with our love-lives lately – eh, Luce?’

Mum peers at me. ‘You still haven’t told Henry then?’

My face flushes.

‘Told Henry what?’ asks Dominique.

‘Thank you, Mother,’ I sigh. ‘Very discreet.’

‘Discreet? Discretion isn’t what you need – it’s action. Have you told him or haven’t you?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Told him what?’ repeats Dominique.

‘I . . . look, nothing.’

‘Lucy,’ says Mum sternly. ‘When does he fly off on his round-the-world trip?’

I look down at my hands. ‘Today. Now. He’ll be on his way to the airport.’

‘What do you need to tell Henry?’ Dominique just won’t let it go.

‘I . . . well—’

‘Tell her, Lucy,’ says Mum. ‘Go on.’

‘Tell me
what
?’ snaps Dominique, who’s had enough of all this.

‘She’s in love with him.’ Mum crosses her arms. ‘Our Lucy is in love with Henry.’

Dominique is shrieking so loudly the patients at the other end of the corridor must think she’s undergoing an amputation.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, for God’s sake?’

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ I stutter. ‘I didn’t want to compromise your friendship with Erin, for a start.’

‘How?’ she asks, incredulous.

‘Erin’s in love with Henry, like you said. Even if I was going to be a bitch and try to steal him – which I’m
not
– what good would come of telling you? It’d just lumber you with information you’d be powerless to act on.’

‘
Arrrggh!
’ Dominique rubs her hands over her face. ‘What a mess.’

‘I know,’ I say.

‘I don’t mean about you and Henry,’ she says impatiently. ‘Though I grant you, that is quite a mess.’

‘What then?’

She sighs and look out of the window. ‘You know when I said I thought Erin was in love with Henry?’

I nod.

‘I was wrong.’

It takes a second for her words to sink in. ‘What?’

‘She
likes
Henry,’ she clarifies. ‘I mean, everyone likes Henry, but . . .’

‘But what?’

Dominique comes right out with it. ‘But she’s got the hots for Darren.’

‘
Darren?
’

Dominique nods. ‘You know when we stopped off for a drink after we visited the flat and I said Erin had sounded funny on the phone?’

‘You thought it was nerves.’

‘It wasn’t nerves,’ she confesses. ‘It was lust. She’s been in turmoil about what to do.’

I frown. ‘I knew Erin had the hots for Darren while they were at university, but that was ages ago. She told me it was history.’

‘Yeah, well, her feelings have been reignited.’

‘
But what about Henry?
’ I have to stop myself from screaming it. ‘He’s set off on a round-the-world trip with Erin thinking everything’s hunky-dory.’

Dominique makes a tsking sound. ‘You’re missing something, Lucy.’

‘What?’

She looks at me as if it’s obvious. ‘There is no way Henry would have chosen Erin had he thought there was a chance with you. Erin’s always known that. Maybe, subconsciously, that’s why she turned her attention to Darren: self-preservation.’

I’m astonished. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘It’s
obvious
,’ Dominique sighs. ‘Where do I start? The way he looks at you. The way he tries to protect you. The way – just, the way he
is
with you. He’s had a twenty-year crush, Lucy.’

I sit down, trying to stop my head spinning. ‘You never said this before.’

‘I assumed you knew. How can you
not
know?’ Dominique looks exasperated.

I shake my head. ‘It can’t be true. Why would he bugger off round the world if it was?’

‘Because he thinks the feeling isn’t mutual,’ she replies. ‘We
all
thought the feeling wasn’t mutual.’

‘You’re wrong, Dominique. You were wrong about Erin being in love with him and you’re wrong about this.’

‘I admit I was wrong about Erin, but there is no way I’ve misread Henry’s feelings. I’ve known it for as long as I’ve known you both. You’re the love of his life, Lucy.’

‘I’ve meen trying to dell her,’ Mum interjects. She has at least three chocolates in her mouth and looks like a greedy chipmunk.

Then she swallows and goes on: ‘Well, haven’t I? Lucy, you’re the only one who won’t believe it.’

I turn to the window, my heart and my mind racing as fast as each other.

Could it be true?

Could Henry really be in love with me?

‘Right, Lucy.’ Dominique looks at her watch. ‘You’ve got one hour and fifty minutes before Henry’s plane takes off. So here’s the question. What
exactly
are you going to do about this?’

I am normally the safest driver I know. In fact, I’m an old woman behind the wheel, resolutely sticking to the speed-limit and, more than often, below it.

But with the needle on my speed-dial touching a perilous 73 m.p.h. – look, I
said
I was no Lewis Hamilton – I belt along the M56, leaving a Nissan Micra, two heavy goods vehicles and a six-berth caravan in the dust.

My heart break-dances against my ribcage as a thousand corny movie scenes flip through my mind. Lovers running with open arms. Floaty-haired women being spun around. Kisses that go on for ever. Cue a Leona Lewis ballad . . .

I flick on my indicator and turn onto a slip-road.

Problem is, this reunion isn’t going to be straightforward. First, there’s Erin. Whether she fancies Darren or not, there’s protocol to consider. Call me old-fashioned, but declaring your love for someone else’s boyfriend isn’t the done thing. Yet, that’s exactly what I’m about to do, with God knows what consequences.

Then there’s the man himself. Whatever Mum and Dominique say, whatever I want to believe, the only conclusive proof that Henry loves me would be if he told me so. So far, he’s said nothing of the sort – and that doesn’t fill me with confidence.