Nearly Almost Somebody (19 page)

From across the street, Zoë could see Ed sitting at a table in the window, his laptop open. She glanced at his book in her hand.
The Orphan.
She adored the sketch of the cuckoo, but then she adored the typeface used to show his name and every single word he’d written inside. Ed, it seemed, held more thought, could wield more compassion with a mere word, even one as seemingly insignificant as
the
, than anyone she’d ever met. But this was over.

His brow furrowed when she walked in, but he sat back and looked up at the Quote of the Day.

Mistakes are the portals of discovery

– James Joyce

‘How apt,’ she offered.

‘I picked it. Yesterday’s was a little more bitter and Thursday’s... it pretty much offended everyone. How are you?’

Still shagging your dad.

She dropped his book on the table. ‘You have serious issues with your parents.’

He nodded, his burning gaze never leaving hers. ‘And you haven’t even met my mother.’

Seriously, why did he never check her out? She’d worn her favourite red dress, a sleek bodycon number that pulled in her less favourable bits and showed off her curves. What was the point if he never looked?

Slowly, he slid the note he’d left her across the table. ‘You never read this.’

What was the point now? ‘I’ve been relocated, to Kendal.’

He nodded again, folding his arms. ‘What did you have to do to earn that?’

‘Stay away from me.’

Most definitely over.

She strode away, bouncing between wanting to hit someone and bursting into tears. Time to get shit-faced. But as she reached her car, her mobile lit up. Jonathon. Was he changing his plans for the night? He was supposed to be going to some tedious golf club soiree with his frigid wife, leaving Zoë to watch a village bloody football match with Libby.

‘Hello,’ she purred.

‘Is that Zoë Horton?’ asked a posh woman.

Oh, holy... Was that Jonathon’s wife? Had she found out? Had Ed told her?
‘It is.’

‘This is Fee Carr, Jonathan's wife.’

Shit, shit, shit.

‘Is awfully unprofessional to call out of the blue, but I was a friend of your great-aunt...’

Didn’t see that coming.

‘...thought it would be lovely to say hello. Would you like to come for lunch next Thursday?’

Or that.

She’d said yes partly because she couldn’t think of a genuine excuse not to, but wouldn’t it be interesting to understand why the hell Jonathan didn’t just divorce the woman. And why her son hated her so much.

* * *

The village football match, a grudge game between the two Kings, the Alfred of Gosthwaite and the George of Haverton, was an annual fixture, which the Gosthwaite Eleven had lost 1-0 for the last two years. This year, Robbie had informed Libby, they were determined to win – Scott had even rallied the troops for three training sessions. Libby had her doubts. Scott, Xander, Patrick and another six guys stood in the beer tent, pints in hand. Not a winning attitude in her book.

‘I don’t like this,’ Libby said, frowning up at Robbie. With her holding Matilda’s hand and him carrying Dora, they looked exactly what they weren’t – a happy little family. ‘People will talk.’

‘Stop worrying.’ Robbie set Dora down, smiling as she and Matilda skipped off to the bouncy castle stationed in the corner of the field. ‘Half the people here know anyway.’

‘And the half that don’t know think I’m shagging your brother. I’d rather be at work.’

‘I’d rather you were here. I’m half-tempted to kiss you right now.’

She elbowed him, knowing he was teasing her. ‘Where the hell’s Zoë? She promised me she’d be here for moral support. Oh God, there’s Jack.’

‘Relax.’ Robbie placed a hand on her back, guiding her towards the bar. ‘Drink?’

She smiled hello to his friends, the people she knew, but pointedly ignored Grace. ‘And it’s fair to say your mother knows.’

‘She does not. What do you want, jug of Pimm’s?’

‘Please. Your dad was looking at me very suspiciously before we left.’

‘My dad was checking you out.’ He dropped a twenty on the bar, looking over her denim shorts and silk halter neck top. ‘Understandably.’

‘Oh, there it is.’ She took four plastic cups from the barman and walked away.

‘Oh, there what is?’ Robbie lay out a rug at the side of the pitch nearest the bouncy castle.

‘The look.’ She smiled at his raised eyebrows. ‘Like you’re about to bend me over the sofa, whether I like it or not. You’re infamous for it, but for the record, you can and I would.’

‘Takes the fun out of it, if I have permission.’ He dropped to the rug, glancing over to his daughters bouncing merrily away. ‘But that’s not what I was thinking.’

She sat cross-legged, holding out her cup for him to fill. ‘So what was it?’

He popped a strawberry from the jug into her mouth. ‘I want to wake up with you tomorrow.’

Libby stared at him and he stared back. ‘Really?’

‘Mum and Dad are there to look after the kids. It won’t make any difference to them.’

They could go to bed, fall asleep, wake up. Talk, kiss, shag whenever they liked. Unrushed. Turning away, Libby watched the other players jogging onto the pitch. Why wasn’t she thrilled at the idea? Because she knew he really wanted his wife back? Was he closing his eyes and thinking of his wife? Had he always been doing that?

‘You’re really going to stay the night?’ she asked, her cheeks flushing with shame as Patrick ran by.

‘I hope you’re not planning to get much sleep.’

‘OMG, Daze, look. A picnic rug and Pimm’s, is this a romantic date?’ Clara wandered over with Daisy in tow, both pushing sleeping tots in buggies. ‘Oh, the kids are here too.’

‘Playing happy families?’ Daisy asked, barely able to look Libby in the eye.

With her worst fear confirmed, Libby’s blushes increased. People did think she was trying to get her feet under Low Wood Farm’s kitchen table. She knocked back her drink as Clara sat down. Where the hell was Zoë?

‘So, Ms Wilde,’ Clara said, helping herself to the Pimm’s. ‘Shall I sign you up for the fan club, or pencil you in to be guest speaker at the AGM?’

Robbie pulled Clara’s ponytail. ‘Leave her alone.’

‘You’re no fun.’

‘Rob,’ Scott called from the pitch, beckoning him over.

Robbie checked on Matilda and Dora, still bouncing. ‘Lib–’

‘I’ll keep an eye on them,’ Daisy offered.

‘They’ll be fine with me,’ Libby said, and as Robbie jogged away, she turned to Daisy. ‘I’m not trying to take her place if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘You couldn’t. She’s their mother.’

Libby stared at her empty cup.

‘Daze, pack it in. It’s Van’s fault as much as anyone’s. Besides, Libby’s only human. I’m not a hundred percent sure I’d say no.’

‘I’m just... if Robbie would, what if Xander would too?’

Libby hadn’t a clue what to say. Would sorry cut it?

‘I’m going to the bar.’ Daisy strode away, pushing baby Evie towards Xander who was already grinning, clearly delighted at their arrival.

‘Xander never would and she knows it,’ Clara said, turning to watch the other men warming up. ‘You and Rob explains a few things though. I couldn’t understand why Patrick didn’t have his hands in your pants already. I’d started to think he’d either found God or caught HIV. If I were you, that’s who I’d be doing.’

From the safety of her sunglasses, Libby watched as the boys started stretching, Patrick laughing with Scott.

‘He’s not my type.’

‘Why? He’s the classic Byronic hero and sexy as fuck. And OMG, does that guy know how to party. There are three days of my life I can’t remember. All I know is we got the train to Paris and I couldn’t walk when we got back.’

‘You and Patrick...’ But wasn’t he one of Scott’s oldest friends? Well, that was his decent moral values box left unchecked.

Clara waved a dismissive hand. ‘It was yonks ago, before Scott and I got together. Well, we were kind of on a break. Scott’s the settle down and marry type, but Patrick’s more likely to get you fucked, fuck you then fuck off.’

‘Definitely, not my type.’

‘He’s fun. Last year. Gosthwaite would’ve won the football, but he got hammered, punched the Haverton goalie and got sent off. Scott was furious, but it really kicked off after the match. Patrick got busted snorting coke off his Land Rover bonnet. I thought it was hilarious, but PC Andy wasn’t so amused. You should so go out with him, Libby.’

Not a chance. Whatever his reasons were for walking out of the pub, Libby had to admit she’d had a lucky escape. Clara was right; Patrick was hot, very hot, but the last thing Libby needed was to get involved with someone who slept with his friend’s girlfriend.

‘O... M... freaking G.’ Clara pointed to the other side of the field.

The Haverton team stopped their knee-raises as Zoë walked into the park. One-by-one the Gosthwaite players slowed to a halt, watching her hourglass body, perfectly encased in a sleek red dress, killer heels in hand, wiggle past. Jack and the Haverton goalie even managed to walk into one another. But if Zoë knew she’d literally brought members of two football teams to their knees, she appeared oblivious, merely flicking her glossy black hair over one shoulder, bee-lining to Libby.

‘Bit over-dressed for a football match, aren’t you?’ Libby filled a cup, offering it to her. Zoë downed it in one then held it out for a refill. ‘Bad day not-at-work, dear?’

‘That’s one way to put it. Jesus, there’s no shade. I’m so going to get freckles sitting here. Hi, Clara.’ Zoë hitched her skirt up, flashing more shapely thigh, and frowned beneath her enormous sunglasses.

Libby frowned at the linked Cs on the arms. ‘Are they Chanel?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can’t afford–’

‘They were a gift from a guy at work.’

‘Ooh, who?’ Clara asked. ‘Adam’s pretty hot.’

‘And a total dick,’ Zoë said, her head tipping to the side as the Gosthwaite team began stretching. ‘Jesus, Patrick’s put together pretty bloody well.’

Libby nibbled a slice of cucumber, determined not to answer, and thankfully Clara’s little boy woke up, distracting them.

‘Oh for...’ Clara groaned. ‘I’ll be back in, well about twenty minutes if I’m lucky.’

‘It’s a shame he’s a vet,’ Zoë said, suspiciously casual.

‘Patrick?’ Libby hated herself for biting. Zoë knew all her soft spots. A vet had to be the hottest profession around, even surpassing a fireman. Rushing in, saving kittens, puppies, ponies – all completely heroic to Libby.

‘Might do it for you, Lib,’ Zoë said. ‘And okay, they do earn a fair whack, but it’s a bit... grubby.’

Libby glanced again at Patrick. His grubby side wasn’t his job, it was his rather dubious morals: rude, backstabbing and willing to sleep with his friend’s girlfriend. She sipped her wine. Thank God he wasn’t English. Thank God she hadn’t summoned someone like him.

‘What’s going on?’ Libby asked, topping up Zoë’s cup. ‘You’ve a face on you like someone’s cut up all your credit cards.’

Zoë let out a long sigh. ‘Remember the hot coffee shop guy? He’s a no-fly zone.’

No fly zone? But Zoë didn’t have rules; she thrived on breaking other people’ rules. ‘Why?’

‘He’s...’ Zoë’s guilty blinking was so obvious the partially-sighted lady collecting money for guide dogs outside the WI tent could see it. ‘He’s Jonathan Carr’s son.’

‘Your boss?’ Why would that matter? Unless... Libby folded her arms. ‘You’re shagging him?’

‘Don’t you bloody dare?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t give me that
why-can’t-people-be-faithful
crap.’ Zoë pinched one of her cigarettes. ‘
You’re
shagging your boss.’

‘That’s different. Rob’s in a difficult place.’

‘And what if my boss is in a difficult place, does that make it okay?’

‘Is he?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. His wife, Fee, had a car crash years ago and has permanent back pain. Total cripple. They have a very open marriage.’

‘She
knows
?’

‘She even invited me for
lunch
.’

Libby worried the polish on her thumbnail. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about him?’

‘Why do you think? You wouldn’t have
approved
.’

‘Sorry.’ Libby glanced across at Robbie. Pots and Kettles. ‘But you’re choosing your boss over his son, even though–’

‘He’s just some guy.’

‘Who you like a lot. Admit it. You loved his book... Zo, you could LOVE this guy.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘Why are you choosing his dad?’