Nearly Almost Somebody (34 page)

He stared at the floor, but her tears loomed. He’d rejected her, twice.

‘Your best friend told me to stay the hell away from you,’ she said, trying not to sob. ‘I should’ve bloody listened.’

She headed for the door, but he jumped up, grabbing her arm.

‘Libs, please don’t run off.’ He dropped his head to whisper in her ear, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve fucked you around.’

‘Then why do you keep doing it?’ She stared straight ahead, determined to resist him, but his lips were against her cheek.

‘Because I’m finding it impossible to stay away from you, and I have to.’

‘Why?’

‘Look, I have my–’

‘Don’t you dare.’ She spun around, pressing her hand against his chest to keep him away. ‘Don’t you dare say you’ve got your bloody reasons. I don’t care about your bloody reasons. You had your chance, you blew it in October. I’m really sorry about Baxter and Grace and I’m sorry you’re having a really bad day, but…’ She leaned up to whisper in his ear, using the words he’d crucified her with on Halloween. ‘Patrick, you need to leave. Please.’

And just like he’d done, she pushed him away.

‘Libs…’

‘Whatever you’re imagining in your pretty little head, it’s never going to happen.’ She ran into the house, slamming the door, her tears already falling.

Why did he keep doing this to her? Why couldn’t they go out together? What was so wrong with her? Was he ashamed of her? He couldn’t like her, not really. If he did, he wouldn’t mess her around like this.

Slumping against the hallway wall, she willed him to come in, to explain. Had she overreacted? Probably. But one minute they were laughing over her squealing down the bridleway from Lum Crag, the next he was kissing her. God, that had to be the all-time greatest kiss. She closed her eyes, reliving every moment. How his hands held her face, his fingers in her hair, his stubble on her skin, and when his thumb brushed down her neck. She shivered. If she hadn’t stopped the kiss, they’d have ended up in bed. They could be in bed. Why the hell had she stopped kissing him?

She’d overreacted. She should go back out. Apologise.

Whatever you’re imagining in your pretty little head isn’t going to happen.

No, this was self-preservation. He didn’t want to go out with her. He just wanted a sympathy shag because he was feeling down. That’s how much he thought of her. She was just another Grace. Hadn’t she learned anything? She’d been warned, told that he was trouble, that he’d break her heart, and oh look, job done.

No, he’d said he couldn’t stay away from her. He liked her. She knew he did, but he had to stay away from her. She stifled another sob. If he had reasons not to want to be with her then he wasn’t her Somebody, because her Somebody would forget their reasons. She’d forget all rational thought for him.

The chicken noodle soup, whisky and desolation churned in her stomach. She bolted to the bathroom just in time to throw up.

* * *

He could go after her, make her listen, but listen to what? He couldn’t tell her what he was prepared to tell her the day before. He couldn’t tell her about the ultimatum anymore. He couldn’t tell her the truth because several other people had their fingers on a shutter button, dying to catch the two of them together. And if they got a photograph, Wray would make up a story and they’d be front page news. He’d lose his job, his parents’ respect, everything. All for a thousand pounds. He’d pay five grand for anyone with a camera to piss off and leave them alone.

Why did he have to kiss her? Kissing her had screwed up everything. Fuck. He’d kissed her because the woollen hat had hidden the pink fringe and the dark had disguised the black eye make-up. She’d sat there looking more than pretty. She looked adorable, beautiful and, Christ, she tasted even sweeter than she looked.

The girl was amazing, but if they went out, they’d be busted by Wray’s trigger happy fortune hunters. He rested his head against the door. Did it matter? What would he rather lose, everything or Libby? This was crazy. How could he be thinking of sacrificing everything for a girl with pink hair and a teenager’s wardrobe?

Christ, he’d never seen her angry. Had he really messed her around that much?
Whatever you’re imagining in your pretty little head isn’t going to happen.
Yeah, he’d messed her around that much.

The kitchen was in darkness, no movement inside. He wanted to apologise, but he had no idea how to make it better. He knew it would be a mistake coming here, but he’d wanted a shoulder to cry on and there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

Jesus, did he want to go out with her, to have a
relationship
? He shuddered at the word. No. This was a mistake, a fucking big mistake. He should never have listened to Scott.

Sod it. He kicked a gnome off the patio steps and strode away. The worst day ever had got much, much worse, but he’d left the whisky on the table. Why could no one see that he’d changed?

On stage, Annalise as the Sugar Plum Fairy paused in an arabesque before sinking into a low curtsey to rapturous applause. Hardly a flawless performance, but impressive for a sixteen year-old. Libby longed to kick her off the stage and show them all how it should be done, but that wasn’t her job. She ushered the girls off the stage, telling them to shush, while Jane sent on the next batch.

Twenty years ago, Libby had been in her first ballet. She’d played a mouse and watched the Sugar Plum Fairy with awe. That was what made her want to be a ballerina. Did she really want to teach
Good Toes, Bad Toes
to five year-olds? This wasn’t how her life was supposed to be. She was supposed to be on stage, executing thirty-two perfect
fouettés
in her role as Odile. She wasn’t supposed to be babysitting five year-olds.

And yet she couldn’t stop smiling.

The second act flew by all too quickly and soon she was sitting downstairs, surrounded by the four to six year-olds she’d been coaching, all trying to sit on her knee, play with her hair and find out how brilliant they were.

‘You were awesome,’ she said to them. ‘You all tried really hard and should be super-duper proud of yourselves. Now, get your coats on, quick quick.’

They really had worked hard and they’d maintained their concentration for a whole ballet, which was more than could be said for a few of the dads in the audience who’d slept through most of the second act, Robbie included. When the last of the kids had been collected, abandoned ballet slippers and scrunchies tided into a box, Libby quickly changed from her practical backstage clothes into a slinky black top she’d appropriated from Zoë’s wardrobe, faux-leather jeans and high heels. With another three layers of eye shadow and two of mascara, she was ready for a night out in Haverton.

‘You look fabulous,’ Jane said, poking her head around the door. ‘Now come on. They want to lock up.’

After a final squirt of perfume, Libby followed Jane through the empty auditorium, her hand brushing over the seats as she passed them.

‘Do you miss it?’ Libby asked. ‘Performing, I mean.’

‘I used to, but it’s over thirty years since I last danced on stage.’ Jane smiled. ‘These days I get a much bigger kick out of watching girls I’ve taught since they were four performing a lead role with confidence.’

‘Annalise was brilliant.’

‘You know, we don’t always do the Nutcracker. Maybe we’ll do Swan Lake next year. You’d make the perfect Odette-Odile.’

‘Aren’t the students supposed to dance?’

‘Technically, you are a student.’

‘I’m a bit old compared to the rest.’

‘Experienced. Maggie made me perform it when I came here.’ Jane checked her watch. ‘Do you need a lift? My friend Liz will be here in a minute.’

‘No, I’m going to Oscar’s for Xander’s birthday. A well-earned mojito is on the cards. Do you think she died happy? Maggie I mean.’

‘Happ
ier
, maybe.’ Jane tightened her scarf against the biting cold. ‘She was a bitch to work for, but I’ve a lot to thank her for. She helped me get out of an abusive marriage and she mellowed as she got older, accepted things the way they were.’

‘That she couldn’t perform anymore?’ Was there hope for Libby too?

But Jane gave a quiet laugh. ‘She wasn’t bitter because she couldn’t dance. She was thirty-five when she had that accident. Her career was already over. It gave her a massive payout and the opportunity to move up here.’

And be with Seamus
. Libby hesitated, wanting to know more. Didn’t Daisy say that Jane, like Clara, loved to gossip? Libby decided to play dumb. ‘Why did she want to move up here? It is a bit of a cultural leap from Covent Garden.’

Jane’s eyes glinted, the bait taken. ‘Well, not everyone knows, but between me and you, she’s had the most passionate affair with Seamus Doyle.’

‘The poet?’ Libby widened her eyes, pretending to look shocked.

‘Went on for over forty years.’ Jane checked her watch again. ‘He was living up here, and when she moved up, she assumed he’d leave his wife. He didn’t.’

‘Poor Maggie.’ Seemed the right answer.

‘That’s why she was bitter. She blamed the world for him choosing Lucinda, but eventually they settled into this odd relationship, together as much as his marriage would allow. I think he truly loved her and she accepted that a little of him was better than none. It was the only weakness I ever saw her show. At least he was there the day she died.’

Libby tucked her hair behind her ear, desperately trying not to look shocked. ‘He was?’

Again, Jane’s eyes twinkled with gossip. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but Maggie did say he was staying the week. No one seemed to see him in Gosthwaite after she died though. I suppose he must’ve left the day before...’

Had Seamus been there that night? Libby flashed a smile, hiding her intrigue. Wouldn’t it be interesting to have a chat with Mr Doyle? ‘I heard Maggie said Gosthwaite’s where ballerinas come to die.’

Jane laughed. ‘I’ve always said it’s where we come to live. I’ve made a good life here, Libby, and so did Maggie. You can too, if you want to. You just need to work out what you want to do.’

‘I
think
I want to teach.’

Jane smiled. ‘You’re a natural. The kids love you.’

‘It’s funny. Not long ago, little kids terrified me.’

‘At the moment it’d only be late afternoons and early evenings, but the pay’s not bad.’

Jane was offering her a job? Libby didn’t know how to react. Surely if she were to teach she’d do it in London, with real dancers? That’s where she belonged.

‘But the studio’s empty in the mornings.’ Jane waved as the lights of a Land Rover came into view. ‘Clara’s always saying I should do adult dance classes. You could run those?’

Back to Ballet
for yummy mummies in the morning and
Good Toes, Bad Toes
in the evenings – was that really how she wanted to spend the rest of her life?

‘Think about it,’ Jane said as the car pulled up.

‘I will,’ Libby said.
I really will.
‘Thank you.’

Libby hugged Jane goodnight, as the driver wound down a window. The woman had untidy dark grey hair and glasses perched on her head.

‘Hello, Libby,’ she said, smiling.

Libby blinked, trying to work out if she knew the woman.

‘Oh, Liz, this is Olivia Wilde. Libby, this is Elizabeth McBride.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, finally,’ Liz said, holding out her hand. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Scottish accent... McBride... Was this Patrick’s mother? Libby managed a smile. Had Patrick told his mother about her?

‘Jane’s always telling me how marvellous you are. I’d love to see you dance.’

Jane had told her, not Patrick. Libby’s forced smile grew as she stepped away. ‘I’m retired, I’m afraid.’

The temperature outside might be near freezing, but inside a tinsel and bauble festooned Oscar’s Bar and Bistro, it had to be twenty-five degrees. Libby stripped off her coat, wishing she’d worn a skirt, not leather bloody jeans. Zoë’s text said she was in the Judge’s Chamber, a side room where Xander was holding his cocktail party. What Zoë’s text failed to mention was that she was sharing a jug of Long Island Iced Tea with Robbie, Scott and Patrick. Arse.

Twelve days. Twelve days since he’d kissed her and she’d seen nothing of him. Back to cold Patrick. The pattern was easy to spot now, but she missed him. They were friends and just when more looked promising, he ripped the crazy paving from under her.

Sitting on tall stools around a high table, they overlooked the rest of the room, clearly the best seats in the house, but then Robbie practically owned the place. Libby hovered in the doorway. Clara, Daisy and Vanessa were behind the bar, being shown how to mix cosmos by Tom the barman. She could scarper and send a message saying she’d gone home, citing a headache. Too late, Xander spotted her and yelled her name. Arse. As he released her from a bear hug, Libby eyed the table.

Which side of Zoë should she opt for, the one by Robbie, risking pissing his wife off, or the one by Patrick, risking... god only knows what? Robbie gave a huge grin as she walked up, but Patrick focussed on his pint, his jaw twitching. Robbie it was.

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered, hugging Zoë hello.

‘I bumped into Scott on my way in,’ Zoë whispered back. ‘He insisted.’

‘Can we not bump into them on the way to the bar?’

‘Oh, get over it. Patrick looks hot. You should so fuck him.’

‘It’s all I’d get to do.’ Libby wiggled her fingers, waving at Vanessa, who watched with a worried frown from across the bar. ‘Can we sit somewhere else?’

‘No,’ Zoë snapped, checking her watch.

‘When you’ve finished whispering,’ Robbie said, smiling and pushing a vast highball glass towards her. ‘Careful, it’s rocket fuel, but after sitting through seventeen hours of ballet, I bloody deserve it.’

Libby swatted his arm. ‘It was only ninety minutes.’

‘The longest ninety minutes of my life.’ Robbie shot her a wink, making her laugh and Patrick finally looked up, but with no hint of a smile.

In a beautifully ironed, black and grey striped shirt, he looked like some girlfriend with excellent taste shopped for him – a far cry from the threadbare jeans and tatty t-shirt he’d worn on their non-date. Nice jeans too. And shoes. Libby turned away, looking for a distraction.

She found one.

Bugger.

‘Zo, Silver Fox at five o’clock.’

Zoë’s head shot around, but Jonathan loitered at the bar, merely watching her. Libby admired his composure.

‘You okay, Zo?’ Libby asked as quietly as she could over the chattering crowd.

Zoë flashed a sweet smile. ‘How was the ballet?’

‘Good. Odd.’ Libby frowned, bemused by the hold this guy had on Zoë. It just wasn’t Zoë’s style. ‘I had to stop myself from sabotaging the Sugar Plum Fairy so I could take her place. You should’ve come.’

Zoë mimed stabbing herself in the heart and Patrick leant forwards, beckoning her closer so he could whisper something. As she did, she put her elbows on the table, a tried and tested trick to make her already fabulous cleavage look like the Grand Canyon. What was worse, Zoë flirting with Patrick or Patrick blatantly appreciating two of the wonders of the natural world?

But Libby’s insecurity evaporated as Zoë glanced to Jonathan for the third time in a minute. She took Zoë’s arm, tugging her away from Patrick.

‘You told him you’d be here, didn’t you? And you’re flirting with Patrick to make Jonathan jealous, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

Libby nipped her.

‘Maybe.’

She nipped again.

‘Okay, yes.’ Zoë bent her head to Libby’s. ‘Look, he messaged me earlier asking to meet up, but I said I was going out and unless he wanted punishing, he’d better leave me alone.’

‘So basically, you told him to meet you here.’

‘I miss him.’

‘Last week you hated him because he’d screwed Maggie.’

‘And that’s beyond skanky, but...’ Zoë glanced across at him. ‘Just think what I can get out of him as punishment.’

‘Zo, that’s not–’

‘I miss the sex, okay? The guy’s freaking hot. Speaking of which...’ Zoë leaned in to Libby. ‘Patrick’s so hot for you. His face when you came in. You do know you’re all cigar butts and silk, right?’

Zoë’s words faded as Jonathan strode over. Libby sipped her drink, expecting trouble, but Jonathan simply stood against the next table, a few feet from them, watching. Wow. For an older guy, Libby would. And considering his submissive tastes, he had quite a commanding air. Zoë closed her lips around the straw in her glass, slowly sucking until nothing more than crushed ice remained. Jonathan didn’t move.

‘What?’ Zoë asked, stepping towards him and folding her arms.

‘I’d like to talk to you, Miss Horton,’ Jonathan said.

‘Fuck you,’ Zoë said, but her words lacked any bitterness.

‘I love you.’ Jonathan tugged her arms free, pulling her closer. ‘And I want you back.’

Libby sipped her drink, trying not to let her jealousy show. Not that she fancied Jonathan, but why couldn’t she meet a guy willing to declare his feelings like that. Robbie, Patrick and Scott all leaned on the table, blatantly listening in.

‘You’ve lost too much weight.’ Jonathan looked Zoë over, his face filling with concern.

‘It’s been a tough time… emotionally. Your fault.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Jonathan said, slipping one arm around her waist. ‘How would you like me to make it up to you?’

‘I want a present, a small glittery present.’

He held her tighter, his hand slipping down to caress her bum. ‘I have the perfect one in mind.’

‘Which is?’ Zoë asked with faked indifference.

Robbie, Patrick, Scott and Libby all leaned closer, trying to listen.

‘An engagement ring. Marry me.’