Staying at Daisy's (14 page)

‘It’s a scar.’ Barney’s mind began to race.

‘I know that, stupid. How did you get it?’

‘Knife.’ Well, scalpel. Same thing.

‘Someone attacked you with a knife?’ Mel was horrified.

Some surgeon, actually.

But Barney couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not yet. He was still gripped with the fear that finding out about his condition might put Mel off, make her view him in a different light. Just because he was healthy now, didn’t mean he would always be well. Like batteries, transplanted kidneys could wear out.

‘What can I tell you?’ he parried lightly. ‘I grew up in a rough part of Manchester. See this here?’ Deftly, he drew her attention to the little finger on his left hand, which was bent out of shape. ‘I sat on a collapsible chair when I was five. And it collapsed. In Manchester, even the chairs are dangerous.’

He was changing the subject. Mel didn’t pursue it. One of the things she liked most about Barney was the way he hadn’t bombarded her with questions about her own past.

‘It’s eleven o’clock.’ She glanced in the direction of the bedroom door. ‘Can you stay?’

‘Are you sure? You’ll have to set the alarm for six.’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Freddie’ll be up by five.’ Mel pulled a face. ‘God, what did I tell you that for? Now you’ll be off like a shot.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Barney said happily. ‘I can’t think of anything nicer than staying here with you.’

Maggie’s eyebrows rocketed in disbelief when the phone rang at five past eleven.

‘If that’s the repairman, you can jolly well tell him to stick his spare part up his bottom! The bloody cheek of that man, he promised
faithfully
he’d be round this afternoon, if he thinks he can phone up now and—’

‘Hello?’ Having pounced on the phone, Tara pressed it tightly to her ear. The next moment, an idiotic grin spread across her face as she heard the voice she’d been waiting to hear. ‘Not your man,’ she mouthed at Maggie.

He’s my man, my man,
mine…

‘Still haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.’ Dominic’s voice, low and intimate, sent ripples of pleasure cascading over her shoulders.

‘Me neither,’ Tara whispered back.

‘How about dinner tomorrow night? I thought we might give Lettonie a whirl.’

Tara was overwhelmed. She counted herself lucky if some chap bought her a packet of smoky bacon crisps to go with her half of lager. Restaurant Lettonie, in Bath, had a stunning reputation
and
two Michelin stars. Dominic must really like her.

A
lot
.

‘Sounds fine,’ she said casually, as if men whisked her off to Michelin-starred restaurants practically on a daily basis.

‘I’ll pick you up at eight. Same place as before.’

‘OK. Bye.’ Tara wondered if he was keeping his voice low because he was phoning from home, and determinedly didn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t her fault he was trapped in a miserable marriage.

‘Who was that?’ said Maggie when she’d hung up.

‘Oh, just Robbie Williams. He’s been ringing and ringing for ages, pestering me to go out with him. Poor thing, he can’t get a girlfriend to save his life. So I said I’d see him tomorrow night.’

‘That is such a kind thing to do,’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Giving up your precious spare time to keep some ugly rock star company. Where’s he going to take you?’

‘Bless his heart, he hasn’t got much cash to spare. Probably Burger King,’ said Tara.

‘You know, you really are a wonderful person.’ Maggie shook her head in admiration. ‘That Robbie Williams, he’s lucky to have you.’

‘I know.’ Tara beamed modestly at her. ‘I’m a saint.’

***

Daisy couldn’t remember when she’d last had such a relaxed and completely enjoyable evening. Stretched across the sofa with her bare feet resting comfortably on Josh’s lap and a mug of coffee—made by Josh—in her hands, she said, ‘I should be in bed by now. You’re turning into a bad influence already.’

‘
I’m
the bad influence?’ He shot her a look of disbelief. ‘You’re the one who made me sing “Roll Out The Barrel” downstairs. You forced me to join in with “Underneath The Arches.” I thought this was going to be a nice quiet hotel, a genteel little place full of genteel little old ladies playing canasta.’

‘Oh well, that’s my father for you,’ said Daisy. ‘Anyone the least bit genteel is banned from the premises. If they even try to creep up the drive he has them shot on sight.’

Josh grinned. ‘Your dad hasn’t changed a bit.’

Daisy slurped her black coffee and wriggled her bottom into a more comfortable position on the sofa. Hector had greeted Josh like a long-lost son, declaring to the room at large that Josh had been the best by far of all his daughter’s old university friends and the only one he’d ever really liked.

‘And you actually told Daisy that at the time?’ Josh, joining in like the trouper he was, had clapped his freckled hand to his forehead in mock horror. ‘God, no wonder she dumped me—
nothing
puts a girl off a chap more than knowing her parents think he’s great.’

Next to them, Daisy had rolled her eyes and said, ‘That’s not true.’

And it wasn’t, she’d thought as Hector had launched into a rousing chorus of ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.’ It was a ridiculous idea.

Wasn’t it?

‘Go on then,’ Josh prompted, dragging her back to the present. ‘Tell me about this husband of yours. If he was such a bastard, how come you married him?’

‘Ah, well, he did that sneaky man-thing,’ Daisy riposted. ‘He forgot to mention the fact that he was really a bastard. When we first met, Steven gave a good impression of being pretty much perfect. And I fell for it.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me, you thought you’d found your ten.’ Josh was looking insufferably smug.

‘Go on, smirk all you like.’ Daisy was seriously beginning to regret the burst of honesty years earlier that had compelled her to admit the whole truth to Josh. ‘But yes, if you want to put it like that, I did think I’d found my ten. Steven was funny and charming—
ouch
.’

Josh, pinching her big toe, protested, ‘I’m funny and charming.’

‘And he was very, very good-looking—ouch,
ouch,
’ squealed Daisy as he grabbed her other big toe.

‘That’s a face-ist remark. You’re a face-ist.’ Josh shook his head sorrowfully at her. ‘Ugly people have feelings too.’

‘I know, I know, it’s shallow and I’m ashamed of myself, but I’m just being honest. And you aren’t ugly,’ Daisy told him. ‘Anyway, as far as Steven was concerned, I thought he was perfect. And as it turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Oh please,
please
,’ she begged, wriggling like an eel as he began to tickle her feet mercilessly, ‘stop it, I’ve been punished enough, I promise, I’ll never be face-ist again!’

‘So have you learned your lesson?’

‘Yes, yes!’

‘Actually, no, you haven’t,’ Josh tut-tutted. ‘I saw you this afternoon, remember? Flirting with that chap outside the hotel. And you can’t tell me he was ugly.’

Daisy looked innocent. ‘Wasn’t he? I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Come on, tell me all about him.’

Reluctantly she did. And braced herself for his reaction.

Josh, predictably, roared with laughter. ‘Oh, this is priceless. Daisy MacLean, this is your life! Don’t you see, you’re setting yourself up all over again?’

‘I’m not setting myself up,’ Daisy said crossly. ‘I’m just not, OK? There’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Dev Tyzack.’

‘Sweetheart, pull the other one.’

Don’t tempt me, thought Daisy.

‘But there
isn’t
.’

He wagged a finger at her. ‘I was watching you, remember.’

‘And did I throw myself at him?’

‘You looked as if you wanted to.’

Oh God, thought Daisy, horrified. I didn’t, did I?

‘These lady killer types are all the same,’ Josh went on. ‘It’s a law of nature. They can have any woman they want, so they do. As soon as they make a conquest, they lose interest and move on to the next one. It’s a thrill-of-the-chase thing. Fun for them,’ he concluded sympathetically, ‘but not very relaxing for you, waking up each morning and wondering if today’s the day you’re going to be given the old heave-ho.’

‘And I actually said you could stay here,’ Daisy wailed, giving his knee a swipe. ‘I offered you a bed out of the sheer goodness of my heart and this is the kind of abuse I have to put up with!’

‘Not abuse. Sensible advice. You’re free to do whatever you want,’ Josh said easily. ‘I’m just reminding you what’ll happen when it all goes wrong.’

***

Having planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek, Josh had disappeared into the spare bedroom and been out for the count within seconds. Daisy, lying in her own bed gazing up at the beamed ceiling, heard him begin to snore gently through the adjoining wall.

But this wasn’t the reason she couldn’t get to sleep. Josh’s remarks were rattling round her brain like beans in a jar. Basically, Daisy admitted, because he hadn’t told her anything she hadn’t already figured out for herself.

High-risk men—men like Dev Tyzack—only ended up making you miserable.

Better not to get involved.

The board in the front window of the village shop was plastered with a variety of notices. Baby rabbits were advertised, free to a good home. A babysitter was offering her services. Someone was desperate for a cleaner three mornings a week. Somebody else was selling their tanning bed, their Spanish guitar, and an upright freezer. One of the cottages in the village was being advertised for holiday subletting. If anyone had seen a black cat with a white smudge on her nose, missing since the beginning of February, could they please contact Fred and Eileen in Brocket’s Lane.

The bell clanged above the door as Barney entered the shop. Christopher and Colin were both in there, busily restocking the shelves and bickering amicably with each other. Today they wore matching pink and grey checked shirts, grey trousers, and pink knitted waistcoats.

‘Hey, it’s the boy Barney.’ Colin enjoyed teasing him, protesting that anyone as pretty as Barney couldn’t be straight. Even Christopher, relieved to discover that Barney wasn’t gay, was friendly towards him now. It was hard, being insecure and jealous and terrified that your young boyfriend might be persuaded to stray.

‘I was looking at the ads in the window,’ Barney began.

‘And you want to buy the Spanish guitar? Hallelujah,’ exclaimed Colin. ‘I thought we’d still be advertising that bloody thing in ten years’ time.’

‘No—’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve found Smudge.’ Christopher looked hopeful.

‘Sorry, I haven’t,’ Barney blurted out, because otherwise they could be here all day. ‘It’s about the cottage.’

Christopher and Colin looked surprised.

‘Hill View Cottage? The holiday sublet? They’re asking four hundred pounds a week for that place.’

‘I know,’ said Barney, ‘and I can’t afford anything like that. But I just thought maybe you’d know if there were any other places to rent around here. Something smaller and cheaper. Well,’ he amended, ‘quite a lot cheaper.’

Christopher pulled a face. ‘All the holiday properties cost a bomb, they’ve been chintzed and ruffled to within an inch of their lives. You wouldn’t find anything for less than two hundred a week.’

Terrific. Barney’s spirits took a dive. Since being seized by the idea this morning, he’d been counting the minutes until his lunch break, convinced that Christopher and Colin would be able to help.

‘What’s wrong with the hotel? Have they kicked you out?’ Always eager for gossip, Colin had abandoned his shelf-stacking. His eyes widened. ‘Were you caught doing something naughty?’

Barney hated to disappoint him. ‘I just wanted somewhere with a bit more room.’ Shyly, but with some pride he added, ‘For me and my girlfriend.’

‘Sweet,’ sighed Colin.

‘Well, if we hear of anything we’ll let you know,’ Christopher assured him. ‘But don’t hold your breath.’

‘In the meantime,’ Colin said brightly, ‘you’re looking a bit pale. Are you sure you wouldn’t be interested in a sunbed?’

News traveled fast in the village. At four o’clock Barney was beckoned outside by Bert Connelly, one of the hotel’s handymen.

‘Hear you’re lookin’ for a place to rent.’ Bert came straight to the point.

Startled, Barney hoped and prayed Bert wasn’t about to offer to squeeze him into his own cottage in the village, which was already full to bursting with his three lumbering farmhand sons and a wife the size of a haystack.

‘Um, well, it was just a thought.’ Please, no.

‘Only I had an idea.’ There was a meaningful glint in Bert’s eye.

‘Oh yes?’ By this time Barney was beginning to feel like Hugh Grant in
Mickey Blue Eyes
. Except Bert was somehow scarier than the Mafia.

‘Reckon I might be able to help you out, see.’

‘The thing is, the money—’

‘I know, I know what you young lads get paid.’ Bert tapped the side of his huge nose and drawled, ‘That’s why I thought of it. And don’t you worry, I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.’

It was now or never. Summoning up all his courage, Barney blurted out, ‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll stay where I am, but thanks for… well, you know, thinking of me.’ There, he’d said it. Now he wouldn’t have to share a bed with one of Bert’s sons and a couple of even more terrifying dogs.

‘Oh.’ Evidently disappointed, Bert slid a fat hairy hand into the pocket of his overalls. Pulling out a scrap of paper, he scrunched it up in his fist and shrugged. ‘Well, just a thought. Seemed a shame, little place like that standing empty. Still, never mind, eh?’

Completely wrong-footed, Barney repeated idiotically, ‘Standing empty?’

‘Oi, Bert!’ Kelvin yelled across from the van that had just trundled into view. ‘Are we goin’ to fix that fence or not?’

‘Brock Cottage,’ Bert explained, turning to go. ‘Rose Timpson’s old place, at the end of Brocket’s Lane. Not that it’s much to write home about, but I thought you might’ve been interested—all right, all right, I’m coming,’ he bawled back at Kelvin. ‘Keep yer ’air on.’ As Kelvin had only a few functioning follicles, this was probably a joke.

‘I might be interested!’ Barney’s heart leapt with hope. ‘Who’s Rose Timpson? Is that her phone number?’ It took all his self-control not to grab the balled-up scrap of paper from Bert’s hand.

‘Hardly likely to be.’ Bert chuckled at the thought. ‘Dead, isn’t she? Kicked the bucket a couple of months back. Still, eighty-seven, can’t say the old bird didn’t have a good innings.’

‘Bert, get a move on, will you?’ roared Kelvin.

Happily, Bert didn’t share Kelvin’s eagerness to get the job done. ‘Place has been empty since she died, see. Trouble is, it’s a complete tip. Rubbish everywhere, needs major work doing on it. Rose’s son wants to fix the place up and sell it, but he’s stuck out on a twelve-month contract in Dubai. So at the moment it’s just sitting there doing bugger all.’ Bert shook his head slowly. ‘And like I say, it’s not as if he can rent the place out, the state it’s in. Leastways, not in the normal way, to holidaymakers and the like.’

‘Bloody hell, Bert, are you gonna stand there yakking all day?’

‘But I reckon Bobby Timpson wouldn’t say no to the chance of a bit of extra cash, like, if I told him you might be interested in takin’ the cottage on for a few months.’

‘That sounds fantastic.’ Barney could have hugged Bert. Well, almost.

‘Right then, here’s the key.’ Bert delved into his other pocket. ‘What you want to do is take a look around the place after work, then pop in to us and let me know what you think. If you’re up for it, we’ll give Bobby a ring. I’ll vouch for you, tell him you’re a good lad, and I reckon we’ll have ourselves a deal.’

***

Rose Timpson evidently hadn’t squandered her pension money subscribing to
House Beautiful
. She had, however, been an avid hoarder. Both bedrooms of the tiny cottage were stacked high with teetering piles of old newspapers. Pictures of cats had been cut from magazines and scotch taped to the walls of the living room. There were dead potted plants lined up along every window ledge, damp patches on the walls and dozens of used light bulbs in a big box in one corner of the kitchen. The wallpaper was awful, there was a chilly damp smell in the air, and a huge plastic chandelier coated with grime and dust dominated the minuscule bathroom.

‘See what I mean?’ Having spotted Barney making his way along Brocket’s Lane, Bert had abandoned his vast, cooked tea and ambled after him. ‘Told you it was in a bit of a state. Well,’ he amended, kicking a corner of the ratty living-room carpet, ‘quite a lot of a state. Now you’ve seen it, you might want to change your mind.’

But Barney’s eyes were shining. The cottage only smelled damp because it had been left unheated since December. Once Rose’s belongings had been moved out, the place would have real potential. During his long stays in hospital he’d watched enough episodes of
Changing Rooms
to know that a few gallons of fresh paint and an electric sander could work wonders. They could chuck out the awful stained carpets, polish up the floorboards, put up new curtains…

He’d never actually put up a curtain before, but maybe Mel would know how to do it.

Mel and Freddie…

‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ he told Bert.

‘Want me to ring Bobby, then?’

‘Yes please.’

Barney had been half expecting to follow Bert down to the phone box in the village, but the older man promptly produced the latest Nokia Orange and punched out the numbers.

Seconds later he was greeting Bobby Timpson as easily as if he’d just bumped into him in the pub.

Within a couple of minutes, the deal was done. For thirty pounds a week, Barney was the new tenant of Brock Cottage.

‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ he babbled when Bert passed the phone over to him.

In Dubai, Bobby Timpson sounded amused. ‘No problem. At least now I won’t have the job of clearing out all that junk when I get back.’

‘I’ll decorate it, make it look nice,’ Barney fervently promised.

‘Don’t go too mad. The place is going to need rewiring before I sell it, so don’t bother putting up a load of fancy wallpaper.’

‘Just paint,’ Barney said happily. ‘You won’t recognize the place when you next see it.’

‘Give the rent to Bert each week. He’ll keep it for me. By the way, any trouble on that score and you’ll have his lads to answer to.’ Bobby’s tone was light, but the underlying note of warning was there.

‘There won’t be any trouble, I can promise you that,’ Barney said eagerly. ‘You don’t know how much this means to me. I won’t let you down.’