Second Chances (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

SHE COULDN’T EXPLAIN what would trigger memories for her. Later that night, for no reason, Allegra suddenly remembered a time when she was nine or ten, walking along a deserted beach at dawn. The tide was out. Not even the little sand crabs were awake yet; at noon, when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, they would be scuttling across the beach in great swirls, hundreds of them, all burrowing at lightspeed back into the damp sand as she approached. But in the cool hours of early morning, they were nowhere to be seen.

The
children walked and giggled; sneaking out of bed just to walk along the beach before their parents woke was a great adventure. Driftwood, shards of broken shells, the occasional beached jellyfish — everything was a discovery that required group inspection and solemn discussion. Then they came upon the cat.

Limp,
soaked, lifeless, it lay on the beach that was its burial ground, a long string tied around its neck; the other end attached to a brick. The children stared at it, not knowing how to react in front of each other. For her part, the horror of what she was looking at would not hit her until years later, when the memory came back to her unsought. That someone would have taken this cat, deliberately tied a brick around its neck and thrown it into the sea; probably laughed to watch its desperate struggles as it drowned … none of that would occur to her then.

At
the time, the children simply stood and stared blankly; then someone (she couldn’t remember who it was) picked up the brick and dragged the cat higher up the beach. She thinks they left it there and moved on, simply forgetting about the poor, damned animal. She doesn’t think they even mentioned it to their parents.

Now,
she wondered if anyone else who was there that morning ever thought about that cat. And she wondered why, 30 years later, she cried for it. Said a prayer for it and hoped that it had drowned quickly, hoped that it had had no conscious thought about the person who did it, maybe someone the cat loved and trusted. She wept for a poor, sorry, pathetic cat, a cat she never knew except as a dead thing on a beach, a brick tied around its neck, never had a chance, poor baby.

And
then, because she was already crying, perhaps because crying for cats covered up why she was really crying, she cried also for other dead babies, her babies, one which she had scraped out of her belly because the man she was with said they weren’t ready for children; the other which had died because she couldn’t keep it alive inside of her. Allegra cried for dead cats and dead babies, and told no one.

Chapter Sixteen

ABI WOKE WITH a start when a phone began ringing loudly. Scrambling out of bed, she had just managed to pull on a dressing gown when Jack entered the room, holding out her mobile.

‘Your phone… it’s a blocked number; do you want me to answer it?’ he said. Abi shook her head, grabbed her phone from Jack’s hand and went through the sitting room onto the small balcony, pulling the door closed behind her.

‘I told you never to call me after midnight,’ she hissed into the phone. ‘I’m at Jack’s place, for God’s sake. Do you want him to find out? Go back to bed with your wife and I’ll call you in the afternoon when I’m at work, okay?’ She hung up and went back inside, where Jack was lying stretched out on the sofa.

‘Wrong number,’ she said, smiling at him, going over to stroke his hair. ‘How was your party?’

Jack
grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. ‘Drunken,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I wish you’d been there. Belinda and Rose hooked up with some blokes and there was lots of snogging going on.’

‘Snogging? I hope that didn’t include you,’ Abi replied, teasingly. ‘Come to bed. I’ve missed you.’

‘I didn’t think you were coming over tonight,’ Jack said. ‘Otherwise I’d have been home sooner. I’ve missed you, too.’

‘Well, Joe Bananas turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, so I thought I’d surprise you… You know, make sure you hadn’t forgotten about me,’ Abi said as she stepped back, undid the belt of her dressing gown and let it fall open. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Thank God she’d had time to have a shower before he got back, or he’d have detected the smell of another man’s aftershave on her body. Still holding Jack’s hand, she pulled him to his feet and led him into the bedroom.

‘You’re
the only one for me,’ she told him, tugging his t-shirt over his head and unbuckling his belt. They fell onto the bed, Jack closing his eyes and kissing her hard. But even as they made love, he couldn’t shut out the image of Allegra in his mind.

Chapter Seventeen

LIZ FLICKED A peanut shell back at Allegra, who ducked, giggling. It caught in her hair, as had the last 15 or so. She shook her head, threw a handful of shells back at Liz, who batted them away with the latest issue of Mojo, which had some rock star on the front cover, wearing what looked to be a bizarre purple babygro outfit.

‘So, go on, tell me all the stuff you haven’t done then,’ Liz said.

‘You’re drunk!’ Allegra squealed, inadvertently spitting bits of peanut at Liz.

‘I am not!’

‘Yes, you are! You’re so drunk you’re not even slurring; you’re doing that very precise thing of enunciating your words far too clearly. Next you’ll be talking about the weather in Macedoonia… I mean, Macegrovia… no, shit, Mongrovenia… wherever the hell it is. That place, you know.’ Allegra said. ‘It’s near Greece somewhere. Landlocked country. In desperate need of a new government and only tree-lahvvvers can institute a new one. Gerard’s going to be king, you know.’

‘Piss off and die, bitch.’ Liz flung more peanut shells at Allegra. ‘Stop avoiding the question.’

‘Okay, okay… what was the question again? Oh yes, things I haven’t done. Haven’t climbed Mount Everest, haven’t got any body piercings, haven’t ever made a soufflé, haven’t shagged Johnny Depp… or Angelina Jolie…’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. Go on, Catholic schoolgirl, tell me the stuff you’ve never done in bed,’ Liz leered at her. ‘That’ll take hours.’

‘Hah, that’s where you’re wrong. It wouldn’t take hours. It would take days. Weeks, possibly. Are you sure you’ve got enough time? I mean, isn’t there a band boy somewhere who looks uncannily like John Lennon who is in desperate need of your attention?’

Liz
ignored her, pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag and put on her reading glasses, peering over the top of them enquiringly. ‘Well? I’m waiting. It’s research for my new book. It’s going to be called “Things Which Catholic Schoolgirls Aren’t Allowed To Do Because They’re So Fucking Repressed”.’

‘Hmmn, catchy title… Okay… here goes. Never had anal sex, that can go in your list. Never done a “snowball”. In fact, I didn’t even know what that was until about three weeks ago, and that’s only because someone explained it to me. Same goes for “spitroast”. Never given anyone a handjob. Ummn… never done that thing where you squish your breasts together and he basically wanks between them. Hang on, still thinking…’

‘Forget it,’ Liz said, snapping her notebook shut and putting it away. ‘It’d be easier to make a list of things you have done. That would be short and sweet. In fact, I can write it now off the top of my head: Kissed. With and without tongue. Got to second base. Had intercourse in all of three positions. Have I missed anything out? Oh yes: administered a total of four blowjobs in your entire life. Or am I being too generous? Three blowjobs your entire life? Two?’

‘Don’t forget to put in there that I was also once a very successful lesbian, I want credit for that,’ Allegra said, suddenly feeling very woozy. ‘I am very, very good with my fingers. And my tongue. And now I have to go the bathroom, because I’m feeling rather ill. I told you not to let me have those Butterball thingies. I was fine until we got to the Butterball thingies. Now I just feel sick.’

Allegra
got unsteadily to her feet, and headed for the bathroom as Liz tried to catch the attention of a waiter to order more drinks. She managed to make it into a cubicle and fling up the toilet seat before heaving her guts out; she would later recall feeling very proud of herself for that achievement, and for not vomiting on her own shoes. She leaned against the wall, still not feeling terribly well, waiting to make sure she’d done with the puking thing before wobbling over to the sinks.

She
looked in the mirror and cringed; she looked like total crap. Her eyes were bleary, her make-up all but gone, her face looked saggy and old. No wonder she couldn’t get a shag. Not when there were nubile 23-year-olds out there, with their skinny, firm bodies, having her share of sex. Bitches. She hated them all. One in particular. But never mind that now, she told herself, as she washed her hands and rinsed out her mouth.

Feeling
slightly more composed, she made her way back to Liz and was a little put out to see a strange man at their table, talking to her. Not that he was strange, as such — well, he might be, she didn’t know that yet — but he was a stranger, he was at their table, in her seat, and apparently chatting Liz up.

‘Hello, lover, am I interrupting anything?’ Allegra asked, as she squeezed herself onto the edge of Liz’s chair and put her arm around her. She looked at the man, smiling fuzzily. ‘I hope she remembered to tell you she’s a muff-diver and you’re therefore wasting your time.’

‘And you must be Allegra,’ the stranger said, smiling widely, holding out his hand. Allegra sized him up as best she could through rapidly failing contact lenses. He appeared to have shoulder-length, shaggy blonde hair, appeared to have green eyes, as well as – ooh – nice, broad shoulders and good teeth. She was sure about the teeth because he was smiling and she could see them quite clearly, nice and straight and even and, gosh, pearly-white. She giggled as he spoke, still holding out his hand, ‘I’m sorry I took your seat; if you just quickly shake my hand, I’ll go get myself a chair.’

‘You don’t want to shake her hand, you don’t know where it’s been,’ Liz said, pushing Allegra’s arm off from around her shoulders. ‘And what the fuck are you doing touching my back? You know I can’t stand that.’

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ Allegra said, leaning over to lick Liz’s cheek. She was rewarded by Liz shoving her off her seat, and landed inelegantly on her backside in a heap on the floor. As the handsome stranger came round to help haul her back to her feet, she grasped his hand, pulled herself upright and slurred in his ear, ‘She knows I like it rough, hahhahahhahaa…’

‘Oh, dear God.’ Liz buried her face in her hands. ‘I apologise for my friend, she’s an arsehole. Go get your chair, Luke, and I’ll try to make her promise to be nice when you get back.’

‘ “Luke”? “Luke”?’ Allegra hissed, as he went in search of an extra seat. ‘Oh “luke”, Liz, he’s got a really nice butt… Oh “luke”, Liz, see how it wiggles when he walks… Oh “luke”, here he comes with his chair… And oh “luke”, am I mistaken or is he wearing alarmingly tight leather pants, hahhahaha…’

‘I think you should go home now,’ Liz said, severely, and she meant it. Allegra was more than half-way gone, and would only get worse if she stayed. Despite throwing up, the Butterballs she’d consumed earlier were clearly taking their toll on her ability to behave herself. ‘Come on.’

Liz
stood up just as Luke arrived back with chair in hand, looking surprised to see her grabbing both Allegra’s handbag and the scruff of her neck, ready to haul her out and pour her into a cab.

‘Back in a minute, save our table, I just have to dispense with the unpleasantry of my so-called friend,’ Liz said breezily. ‘Oh bollocks… help…!’

Allegra’s
legs had given way and she was doing a striking impression of a squid, limbs splaying out everywhere as she slowly sank to the floor despite Liz’s efforts to keep her much taller friend upright.

‘Here, let me.’ Luke grabbed Allegra, flung her over his shoulder in an impressive fireman’s lift while simultaneously taking her handbag off Liz. ‘Will she be alright to get home on her own in a taxi? What’s her address so I can tell the driver?’

Allegra
was flapping feebly as her arms dangled down Luke’s back, smacking his bottom.

‘Put
me down put me down put me DOWN, you’re squashing my stomach and I’m going to be sick down your back!’ she slurred. ‘Oh God…’

Just
as swiftly as he’d picked Allegra up, Luke put her down on her feet; somehow, miraculously, she avoided throwing up again and just as miraculously, he managed to get her into a taxi, she managed to tell the driver her address, assure everyone she was fine, just fine, and made it home without further incident. The next day would be a different story, of course. She would wake feeling like she’d been hit by a truck and swear never to drink again. Well, she’d swear never to drink Butterballs again. At least not in the immediate future.

Luke,
having watched the taxi drive off with a look of concern on his face, went back to join Liz, who had finally managed to flag down a waiter and refresh their drinks.

‘You sure she’ll be alright?’ he asked. Right on cue, Liz’s phone rang. Allegra, having opened the window of the taxi and, blasted by fresh air — not that any air in Hong Kong was actually “fresh” — felt much better, was calling, as she always did, to apologise profusely and promise she’d suffer appropriately the next morning.

‘She’s fine,’ Liz said, smiling. ‘No worries. That was really kind of you, by the way, to help out like that. Most blokes would have run a mile from a drunken, vomiting female they didn’t know.’

Luke
smiled, a slow, lazy, sexy grin that made Liz’s toes curl uncomfortably inside her boots. She felt a strange urge to run away. She didn’t like this, the oddly vulnerable feeling stirred up by a bloke gazing at her with frank admiration, and who had apparently been more than willing to help her friend leave so that they could now be alone. She fidgeted with her phone, staring down at the blue light illuminating the numbers, wishing someone would call her just so that she’d have an excuse not to look at him.

‘What?’ she finally snapped.

‘What what?’ he replied, grinning.

‘What are you staring at? It’s very rude to stare, you know. Or didn’t your mother bring you up right, apart from teaching you to be helpful to drunken, vomiting strangers in bars?’

‘I just like looking at you.’

‘Yeah yeah yeah, so I have big breasts, go on, cop an eyeful, everyone does, and no, I have absolutely no intention of shagging you but you can buy me another drink and I’ll tolerate your company for a further 10 minutes if you’re lucky, unless you get the drink to go and then I can,’ Liz said, trying to uncurl her toes and ignore the insistent thump-thump-thump of her heart. God, he was unnerving.

‘Then you can what? You’re very funny,’ he said, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tried to suppress his laughter. She was different, this one, a bundle of jangly nerves, bristling away at him, but so beautiful… those eyes, what colour were they? He leaned in closer to get a better look.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Liz yelped, moving away. ‘And to answer your question, if you still even remember it, I mean get the drink to go so that I can go. Or you can. Preferably you. I was having a perfectly nice time before you got here.’

‘Or we can both go,’ he said, refusing to be deterred. He wasn’t going to let this one slip away; no, she was worth the effort.

‘Go. Yes. That’s a great idea. I’m going to go.’ Never one to waste good alcohol, however, Liz downed her drink in one, grabbing her bag, stuffing her phone into her coat pocket and scraping her chair back.

‘Well, can I at least give you a ride home?’ Luke asked, still grinning.

‘A “ride”? What, you got a horse saddled up out there?’ she shot back at him, refusing to make eye contact. Dammit knees, stop shaking. And why were her bloody hands trembling?

Luke
couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. ‘Come on,’ he said, standing up too, ushering her out, but being very careful not to even brush against her as she slid past him. He followed her and, as she stopped just outside the door, looking at him almost accusingly, he nodded in the direction of a beautiful, gleaming motorbike.

‘Huh. Pretty, I guess, in a very obvious, macho, crotch-rocket kind of way,’ Liz sniffed. ‘So where’s the horse, then?’

‘This is the “horse”,’ said Luke, stroking the chrome handlebars of the bike. ‘And it’s not “pretty”, it’s a Ducati 900s. Twin cylinder, Marelli electronic fuel injection, six-speed, straight-cut gears, dry multiplate clutch with hydraulic control. Modelled on the original Ducati “naked bike”. 992 cc. A work of art.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Does it go?’

‘Does it go?’ Luke was gobsmacked by her lack of appreciation for his bike. ‘Hop on and let’s see if it does, indeed, “go”.’ He strapped on his helmet, handed Liz the spare. She stood there, looking at it.

‘I’ll get helmet-hair.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Do you want to go?”

Liz
glared at him, had a brief struggle with the helmet and climbed on behind him, wedging her handbag between them for good measure, then reluctantly wrapped her arms around his waist. The engine roared into life, she heard a muffled ‘Ready?’ from Luke, gave him the thumbs up and the bike moved slowly forward as Luke steered it out of the narrow side lane where it had been parked.

She
had no idea where they were going, but that was unexpectedly comforting. It was all out of her hands now. The only thing in her hands now was… Luke’s waist. She could feel his abs tightening and relaxing alternately as he expertly weaved his way through the traffic and headed for the highway.

There,
he opened throttle and the bike sped forward, the quiet roar of the engine helping Liz in her bid not to think about anything at all except that she was apparently being kidnapped by a tall, sexy stranger on a bike. She tried not to think about the fact that not so long ago, in another country in the warm summer sunshine, another handsome stranger had whisked her off in a very similar way. Well, that was then. This is now, she told herself.