Nearly Almost Somebody (37 page)

‘What were you doing before?’ he asked.

‘When?’

‘When I arrived, you were writing on your napkin.’

Her cheeks turned through seven shades of red. ‘Nothing.’

Oh, that was impossible to resist. He stretched across, blocking her arms and grabbed her napkin. She tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of her reach. A... artist, Paolo. B... ballet dancer, Tristan. C, carpenter, Jack...

He stared at her, as amused as he was shocked. ‘An A to Z fuck list by job?’

‘You’re right out of luck. V’s already filled.’

‘There’s a smutty joke in there. Vicar?’

‘I hate you.’

‘So you keep saying.’ He checked the list. ‘Voice coach? Whatever, he can go under C. Jack can go under J.’

‘Out ranked by a Jewel Thief.’

‘A vet doesn’t outrank a voice coach? Thanks.’ He tugged her hair. ‘
You
went out with a Jewel Thief?’

‘At sixth form.’

‘What?’

Libby swatted his arm. ‘Well he wasn’t a jewel thief then. He was a dancer. Now, he’s a jewel thief. On the run and everything.’

‘Good story, but it’s cheating.’ Patrick handed back the napkin. ‘Fill the rest in properly.’

‘The rest?’ She gave a tiny smile. ‘There is no more.’

He studied the list, shocked by the huge gaps. ‘It’s finished?’

She nodded.

‘Libby, there are only ten names on here.’

‘I haven’t always had an appalling reputation, you know.’ She frowned at him. ‘I thought ten was plenty. I was pretty wild at sixth form.’

‘Whatever, you were a goody-two-shoes. And I still think a vet should outrank a voice coach.’

She didn’t drop eye-contact for a second as she dug in her bag and produced a make-up pencil. ‘So how bad are you?’

Fuck. ‘I know what you’re doing. This is one of your distractions.’

‘You’ve been smoking. You’re an easy mark tonight.’

‘Why don’t you want to talk?’

‘For B, are you going for Beauty Queen or Barmaid?’

Pushing his frustration aside, Patrick took the pencil.

The waitresses delivered turkey roulade with all the trimmings, and he devoured the lot, including Libby’s unwanted potatoes as he completed his list. It took him less than ten minutes. Jesus, that was far too easy. Libby still picked at her vegetables when he started swapping the odd name for one with a higher ranking profession.

‘Oh my god, you’ve finished already?’ She took the list, a smile threatening. ‘Cow-castrating assistant. Cute. Quantity surveyor, really? You haven’t just made that up?’

Sadly no. Needy nightmare, that one, but he could’ve used Quality Control Inspector too.

‘Who the hell knows a zoologist?’ she asked.

‘A vet, you idiot.’ He elbowed her and she laughed, properly laughed. Finally.

Over dessert, they chatted about the ballet, how she adored teaching the little kids at Jane’s, and as the waitresses poured coffee, he forgot all about ultimatums and who might be watching. The other guests mingled, swapping seats and heading for the garden, but the two of them remained, loitering over another glass of champagne.

‘Are we friends again?’ he asked.

Her eyebrows knitted together. ‘I’m–’

‘We can forget about the fucking in the hallway part, if you like.’ He smiled down at his coffee, but couldn’t resist a sneaky sideways glance to check her reaction.

The corners of her mouth twitched. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’

He loved how she turned pink and that the shawl had slipped down her arms, showing her perfect bare shoulders. ‘Are you actually wearing a dress under there?’

‘Yes.’ She glanced up at him, peeking through her fringe. ‘There’s just not very much of it.’

Fucking in the hallway it was. Maybe he could take off half the black eye make-up when he took off the dress.

‘Libs,’ he whispered, deliberately letting his lips brush her ear, ‘let’s get out of here.’

Her smile disappeared along with her shoulders. She’d wrapped the shawl around herself, tighter than ever.

‘Libs?’

‘No.’ She stood up. ‘I hate you and I’m not going to let you play hot and cold with me ever again.’

With long, elegant strides, those incredible legs carried her away and for several minutes, he sat staring at the table.
I hate you
. She’d told him enough times. Maybe she actually meant it. He hadn’t arsed things up this badly with a girl since... Melody Lawson’s sister. What the hell was he going to do?

‘You look like you need a drink,’ Scott said, patting his shoulder.

Defeated, Patrick followed him to the bar, perching on a stool as Robbie poured three hefty whiskies. He’d never seen Robbie look quite so bad tempered. This wouldn’t be good.

‘Let’s have it.’ Patrick knocked back half his whisky.

‘We’ve known each other for twenty years,’ Robbie said, ‘and I’d say we’ve been very good friends for the last two. Well, that’s in jeopardy.’

‘Rob,’ Scott pleaded, ‘that’s not helping.’

‘What?’ Robbie held up his hands. ‘You expect me to sit here and watch while Libby gets used and tossed aside by him?’

‘They’re made for each other and he’s changed.’

‘He doesn’t even like how she looks.’

Patrick stared at them both. ‘I am still here.’

‘Libby’s an angel,’ Scott said, twirling his whisky. ‘A sexy, classy, intelligent, funny angel.’

‘An
Off Limits
angel,’ Patrick replied.

Robbie merely stared at the bar.

‘We’re not fifteen.’ Scott shook his head. ‘Come on, Rob.’

‘I won’t do it again,’ Patrick said. He’d nearly lost his friendship with Scott over Clara. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

‘I just want her to be happy,’ Robbie said, rubbing his forehead. ‘Forget
Off Limits
.’

Christ, well that was one hurdle down.

‘You haven’t told her, have you?’ Scott asked.

‘Told her what?’ Robbie’s frown worsened. ‘You haven’t really got HIV, have you?’

‘What? No, I haven’t.’

‘It’s just Clara–’

‘Clara’s going to get throttled. I’m on probation ’til June,’ Patrick said. ‘My parents will boot me out if I end up in the paper again. Bye-bye job, house, family.’

Robbie looked up at the ceiling. ‘And Libby’s a photographer’s magnet.’

‘It gets better. Grace was behind the
Haverton Eye
. It’s offline now, but she said Wray’s offering a grand for a photo of me and Libby. There could be half a dozen people here tonight, ready to sell us out. It’s big risk.’

‘Patrick’s worried she’ll leave if he tells her the truth,’ Scott said. ‘Is he right?’

Patrick looked up, expecting one answer, but hoping for another from the only person who knew Libby as well as he did. But Robbie nodded.

‘She’ll blame herself and leave to protect him.’ Robbie sighed. ‘If your job wasn’t on the line, would you have already fucked her and fucked off?’

‘No.’ He stared at his glass. ‘Yes. But it’s different now. We’re friends because of you.’ Christ, maybe everything did happen for a reason.

‘So what now?’ Robbie asked.

Patrick shrugged. ‘I suppose we’d go out. Or something.’

How many times had he imagined it? They’d go out on the bikes and for long walks, though he’d draw the line at running with her. He’d take her to dinner and wander across the Green holding her hand. They’d sit in pubs, getting a little drunk on a Saturday night before going home to bed. And he’d get to go to bed with her every single night.

‘Not or something. We’d go out,’ he added. ‘But what if...’

Robbie drained his glass. ‘What, are you worried you’ll fuck it up?’

‘It’s already fucked up. She hates me.’

Robbie sighed. ‘Then it’s time for an overblown romantic gesture.’

‘Like what?’ Patrick was wide-open to genius suggestions.

‘You know the rules. What I’d do to win her over wouldn’t work for you.’

Despite the butterflies now dancing in his stomach, Patrick smiled. The rules:
Do something that’ll make her smile and show you’re caring, sensitive or romantic
. For a minute, he studied the door to the ladies toilet where she was still hiding, trying to come up with anything that would mean something to Libby. He knocked back the rest of his whisky. This was bloody good stuff. It must be Jura. A slow smile spread over his face. Isla. Libby needed to meet Isla.

‘I need to get her back to my place. Taxi?’

‘There’re a couple on standby outside. But sex isn’t an overblown romantic gesture.’

‘Have a little faith, brother.’

Robbie leant across the bar. ‘If you break her heart, I will kill you.’

‘I’ll let you. Now, how the hell am I going to get her to come with me?’

Scott patted his back. ‘Rob’ll talk to her. Won’t you, Rob?’

* * *

It took five minutes hiding in the toilets for her to be sure she wasn’t going to cry, but she refused to crumble here, not in front of Patrick. Yet again, he’d battered her defences. Wanting to apologise, the
I like you
, the
I want to talk
… all of it raising her hopes, making her think he wanted more, but then when she asked him what he wanted, what did she get?
I want you to meet my brother
. What the hell for, a threesome?

No more.

With her make-up and shawl still in place, she left the safety of the bathroom only to find Robbie hovering by the huge glass doors – between her and escape. Arse. He turned as her heels clipped across the floor.

‘Before you run away, can I have a word?’ he asked. ‘Please?’

Reluctantly, she sat down on the sofa. ‘Is it all going well? It seems to be. Doesn’t Vanessa look beautiful?’

‘Yes, it is and yes, she does.’ Robbie sat next to her. ‘Now, what are we going to do about you and Patrick?’

Libby picked at a loose thread on her shawl. ‘Nothing.’

‘I think he’s in love with you.’

‘He’s a funny way of showing it.’

‘I don’t think he really knew it until tonight.’

‘He’s stoned and drunk. He’s just letting his indulgent, hedonistic side take over. I’ve seen it all before.’

‘Remember on your birthday, I asked you if you trusted me. Do you still?’

She turned to him, frowning as she nodded. ‘Of course, I do.’

‘Then trust me now. Give him a chance.’

‘Why?’

Robbie paused for a moment.

‘When Patrick was eleven, he wanted a dog. It’s all he wanted for Christmas that year. He’d asked for months and he was convinced he was getting one, a Springer spaniel puppy. Patrick went missing on Boxing Day, just disappeared. His parents rang around, frantic, and eventually Scott and I found him kicking a football at the playground. There was no dog with him. Apparently, his mum and dad explained that because he was away at school, it just wasn’t practical. He said he’d go to school here. They still said no. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He was devastated that the one thing he really wanted, he’d never get to have.’ Robbie nudged her. ‘He had the same look on his face when you walked away just now.’

Her heart broke, imagining the eleven year-old Patrick, picturing him with shining eyes, just as he’d had the night Baxter died. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Yes you do.’ Robbie sighed. ‘Libby, you’re in love with him and you have been for a long time. What if he’s your Somebody? You can’t just walk away and not give him the chance to explain why he’s done what he’s done.’

‘Yes, I can.’ Because if Patrick were her Somebody, he wouldn’t have behaved so appallingly in the first place.

‘But look at all the things he’s done for you. Like organising for you to see Jane. And getting Van to talk to you.’

‘What? I assumed you... You mean,
he
did it?’

As Robbie nodded, Libby struggled to breathe. Patrick had fixed her life? He’d done those things when he was barely speaking to her. Why? Did he really care? If he did, why did he want to run away the night Baxter died? Why did he ditch her the second that beautiful blonde turned up in Oscar’s? Hot, cold, hot, cold.

‘I can’t do this, Rob.’

She stood up, determined to flee, but Patrick stood ten feet away, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Slowly, she shook her head. His eyes pleaded with her.

‘Trust me,’ Robbie whispered, ‘and let him explain. He’s your Somebody.’

Robbie headed back to the bar and Libby glanced at her escape route. Run. But her legs refused to move. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the little silk pouch tucked inside her handbag. Good looks, 25-35, nice eyes but not brown, English, honest, single, decent morals, good with animals. I want my Somebody.