Take a Chance on Me (10 page)

A week later, Cleo was on her way home from a job when the first snow of the year began to fall. Tiny dissolving snowflakes at first, followed by faster, fatter ones that stuck to the windscreen and whitened the fields on either side of the motorway. The married couple she’d picked up earlier this morning and dropped at Southampton docks were sailing to the Caribbean on a luxury cruise ship; envying them, Cleo turned off the M4 and headed for Channings Hill. Just enough snow to settle and look picturesque would be nice. But not enough to bring Gloucestershire to a grinding halt, especially when she had another pick-up this afternoon.

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she neared the village. A mug of tea and a plate of hot buttered currant buns, that was what she wanted right now. Which was frustrating, seeing as she didn’t have any at home, but not an insurmountable problem because unless there’d been a mad rush on buns this morning, she’d be able to grab some from the village shop.

Oh yes, toasted currant buns dripping with butter. The more Cleo thought of them, the more badly she needed to have them. Finally reaching Channings Hill, she pulled up on the forecourt outside the shop and jumped out of the car.

God, it was
freezing
outside…

But at least the shop was warm. Waving at Myrna behind the counter, Cleo hurried round the central aisle towards the bread section and screeched to a halt when she saw Johnny ahead of her. With his dark hair tousled and his jeans and sweatshirt spattered with paint. And two cellophane packets of currant buns in the crook of his left arm.

Stiffening in disbelief, she stared at them, then at the empty shelf where
no more packets of buns sat
.

This was ridiculous. Was he doing it on purpose? Had he been reading her mind again?

‘Morning! Sorry,’ Johnny checked his watch and corrected himself. ‘Afternoon!’

Never mind about that. Cleo pointed to the buns. ‘Are you having both packets?’

He looked surprised. ‘Well, yes. That’s why I’m holding them.’

‘So you’re buying…
all
the buns?’

‘Not for my own personal use,’ said Johnny. ‘I’ve got a crew of painters and decorators waiting back at the house. If you’re working undercover for Weight Watchers,’ he added, ‘and worried I might be guzzling the lot myself, I can promise you I’m not.’

It was no joking matter. The thought of not being able to have currant buns was sending Cleo’s blood pressure sky high. She blurted out, ‘How many in the crew?’

‘Five. Plus me. That’s two each.’ Johnny frowned. ‘Is that a problem?’

Could she say it? Yes, she could. ‘OK, here’s the thing. I came into the shop because I really really want toasted currant buns with butter.’

‘Oh.’ He nodded in amused recognition. ‘I’ve just realized why.’

‘Why?’

‘Mrs Clifford.’

Heavens, he was right. Mrs Clifford, the lovely cuddly cook who had been in charge of the kitchen at Channings Hill village school all those years ago. Whenever the snow had fallen, she had made currant buns and brought them into the classroom heaped up on huge plates, halved and toasted and laden with butter. It had been a tradition that everyone would eat two halves before piling outside to pelt each other with snowballs. How funny that she’d forgotten that.

So, the fact that Johnny was here buying them too wasn’t such a coincidence after all. More of a Pavlovian reaction to snow.

‘We could have one packet each,’ Cleo offered reasonably.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you
seen
my team of decorators?’

‘Look, there’s Scotch pancakes! I bet they’d prefer those.’

Johnny gave her a look. ‘Nobody in their right mind would rather have a boring Scotch pancake than a toasted currant bun.’

OK, he was being doing it deliberately now.

‘There are crumpets.’ She picked a packet off the shelf and waggled it persuasively. ‘Crumpets are the
best
.’

‘Are they?’ said Johnny. ‘Why don’t you have them, then?’

Ooh
. ‘Because I want a bun!’

He shrugged. ‘You could buy plain bread rolls and poke currants into them.’

‘Or,’ said Cleo, ‘I could poke currants into you.’

Johnny laughed, thinking she was joking. He didn’t know her at all.

‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘You aren’t having a whole packet, but I’ll give you two.’

If he’d been Ash, she’d have made some bawdy quip about it being better than him giving her one.

But he wasn’t Ash. Instead, Cleo went along with Johnny to the counter and watched him pay for both packets of buns. Then he tore open the cellophane on one of them, asked Myrna for a paper bag and handed it over with two of the buns inside.

‘Here.’ In return, she tried to give him a fifty pence piece.

‘Have them on me,’ said Johnny.

‘Thanks.’ Much as she’d have preferred not to be beholden to him, Cleo wasn’t going to get into an undignified grapple over fifty pence.

As they left the shop, Johnny paused next to the ancient Land Rover he’d driven down in. ‘You could come up to the house if you want. See what’s being done to it. We can have a communal tea-break, all toast our buns together.’

A flurry of snowflakes swirled around them. Cleo shivered in her thin uniform. ‘No thanks. I’ve only got an hour before my next job.’ And nothing,
nothing
was going to spoil her enjoyment of the hard-won buns.

Apart from anything else, in his house they might be tainted by the smell of paint.

Even if she wanted to go there, which she didn’t.

Johnny reversed the Land Rover across the shop forecourt and roared off up the hill. Hungrier than ever and practically salivating by now at the prospect of toasting the buns, spreading them with Lurpak, and biting into their crunchy, curranty, butter-soaked heavenliness, Cleo followed suit.

At the top of the hill, Johnny gave her a wave and turned right at the village green. She took the left-hand fork and made her way between the avenue of chestnut trees, passing a metallic-blue Fiesta parked up by the play area before pulling up outside the cottage.

There was someone sitting at the wheel of the Fiesta. Just sitting there, not speaking on a phone or anything. Which was slightly unusual, given the weather. When it was warm and sunny, parents often brought their children to the play area, but today it was empty. Mildly curious, Cleo glanced over as she climbed out of her own car. Was it a man or a woman? She couldn’t even tell. And what were they
doing
, sitting there? Reaching the front gate, she stopped and turned again. Were they lost or ill or—?

Rurr-rurr-rurr-rurr went the engine of the Fiesta as the driver turned the key in the ignition. Rurr-rurr-rurr.

The engine wasn’t firing. So that was why the car was there. It had broken down. The driver was trying to get it started. What a rotten time for it to happen, in weather like this.

Rurr-rurr-rurr-rurr-
rurr
. As the driver banged the steering wheel in frustration, Cleo saw that it wasn’t a man with short hair; it was a woman with her hair tied back in a ponytail.

Oh God. Her stomach was rumbling like a cement mixer, her feet were cold, and in less than an hour she had to be out again. The very,
very
last thing she wanted to do now was see if she could help a stranger in trouble.

Offer to push a car and hopefully get it bump-started? And more than likely get mud and slush sprayed over yourself when the wheels broke through a frozen puddle?

Or make a cup of tea, watch TV, and eat two hot buttered currant buns?

Oh
God
. With a sinking heart, Cleo took her hand off the wooden gatepost. Sometimes she really wished she didn’t have a conscience. Life would be
so
much easier if she could just waltz into the house and not feel an ounce of guilt. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Slowly, she made her way across the street, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes and flexing her already icy fingers. As she approached the car, the woman behind the wheel stopped turning the key in the ignition. She was looking at Cleo, waiting for her.

Oh fuck, oh no, please don’t let this be happening. Cleo’s heart lurched up into her throat as her eyes met those of the woman and recognition hit her like a brick. This was Will’s wife—
Jesus, his actual wife!
—and she was here in Channings Hill, parked less than fifty yards from her house.

OK, had Will told his wife about her? Was she here for a confrontation? Or was this… please God… simply the most bizarre coincidence ever? And did she know who she was about to speak to? Cleo had recognized her because she’d spent forty minutes queuing behind her to see Santa, but Will’s wife definitely wouldn’t be able to remember her from then. That was impossible.

Which meant there was still the faintest of possibilities that she didn’t know who was standing in the snow beside her car.

The woman opened the driver’s window. She had a clear complexion, huge amber eyes, and glossy gold-brown hair pulled back from an oval face to reveal exceptionally pretty ears.
The stupid things you notice when you’re in shock.

‘Hi. Um, problem with the car?’ Cleo had never felt more ridiculously British. Her voice had gone all clipped and high-pitched. Plus, it was a completely idiotic question.

‘Er, yes. I don’t know what’s wrong. It just… died on me.’

Was that a hint of things to come? Well, at least she hadn’t bellowed accusations or leapt out of the car and started beating her up.

Dry-mouthed, Cleo said, ‘I could give you a push if you like. See if we can bump-start it on the slope.’

Will’s wife was still gazing at her intently, as if she wasn’t sure whether Cleo was the one or not. She was also shivering.

‘OK, we’ll give it a go. Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ Slinging her bag satchel-style over one shoulder, Cleo braced herself against the back of the Fiesta and gave it an almighty shove. She was strong; she could do this…
heeeavvve
…

Nothing. The car didn’t move an inch. Stopping and making her way round, she said to Will’s wife, ‘You have to take off the handbrake.’

‘
Oh
. Sorry!’

They tried again. This time the car began to roll slowly forward. Pushing hard, then harder still, Cleo yelled, ‘Try now!’ but the engine didn’t catch and they ran out of downward momentum. Brilliant, now the car was stuck right outside her cottage, which was
worse
.

‘Hang on, I’ve got some WD-40.’ Fetching the can from the Mercedes, she flipped up the Fiesta’s bonnet and sprayed every available lead.

Still no joy. Her hands were numb by now, her nose pink and stinging with the cold.

‘Oh well. Thanks for trying, anyway.’ The woman’s teeth were chattering. ‘I’d better call the RAC.’

She took out her mobile. Cleo stood next to the car like a lemon and listened to the brief exchange on the phone. Finally, Will’s wife hung up. ‘They’ve had loads of calls. It’s going to be at least an hour before they can come out.’ She shivered. ‘Typical.’

Oh God, here we go again. Cleo swallowed hard. This entire situation was surreal. Because she knew who this woman was and she suspected that this woman knew equally well who
she
was, yet neither of them was saying it, and she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move, because… well, what if Will’s wife
didn’t
know?

But the thing was, if anyone else were to have been stranded in a freezing cold, broken-down car, she wouldn’t think twice about inviting them into her house.

Which meant she was going to have to invite Will’s wife in, because otherwise, it would look suspicious and give the game away, and it would become blazingly obvious to Will’s wife that she
was
the one who’d been having an affair with her husband…

OK, this was too confusing. Stamping her icy feet and blowing on her hands, Cleo said, ‘Well, you can’t wait out here. You’d better come in.’

‘Are you sure?’ Will’s wife blinked and looked startled, then relieved. Recovering herself, she reached for her bag and jumped out of the car. ‘OK. Thanks.’

***

If the situation had been surreal before, it became even more so once they were inside the cottage. Cleo put the kettle on, sliced the currant buns, and popped them into the toaster.

While she buttered the buns, Will’s wife was making the tea, spooning sugar into mugs. Cleo, with her back to her, jumped a mile when a teaspoon clattered onto the flagstoned kitchen floor.

Will’s wife smiled as she picked up the dropped spoon. ‘Nervous?’

‘Sorry.’ Perspiration prickled under her armpits. ‘It just made me jump.’

‘It’s kind of you to invite me in. What’s your name?’

Did Will’s wife know her name? Had Will told her? ‘Uh, Cleo.’

‘Hi. And I’m Fia. Short for Sofia.’

‘Right. Um… bun?’

‘Thanks.’ Fia paused, taking the plate and gazing at her. Then she looked directly at Cleo and said, ‘So, do you know who I am?’

Cleo’s heart launched into overdrive. ‘No.’

‘Sure?’

Breathe,
breathe
. ‘Why would I know?’

‘Just thought you might.’ Fia shrugged. ‘You’re having an affair with my husband, aren’t you?’

Shit. Cleo’s hand flew to her mouth. Collapsing onto a stool, she said, ‘
Did
have. Past tense. I didn’t know he was married, I swear.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I saw him with you and the children. Queuing at the arboretum to see Father Christmas.’ Feeling awful, Cleo said, ‘As soon as I found out, that was it. I finished with him that same night.’

Fia thought back for a moment, then nodded and shrugged. ‘Will’s a good liar. It’s always been one of his special talents.’

Cleo was still finding it hard to believe they were having this conversation. ‘I felt terrible. You all looked so happy together.’

‘We probably thought we were.’

‘Was it you who phoned me the other week?’

Another nod. ‘I got hold of a copy of his mobile phone bill. Your number cropped up quite a few times. Of course, it could have been completely innocent, just something to do with work.’ She half-smiled and took a sip of tea. ‘Then I called you and you sounded so guilty and panicky… well, that was when I knew for sure that it wasn’t.’

‘You frightened the life out of me. I didn’t want to get dragged into anything. I definitely didn’t want you to find out.’ Of the two of them, Cleo realized she was the one finding this more of an ordeal. Her buttered toasted bun was growing cold in front of her and she could no longer even face eating it, which was something that had
never
happened before.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t call it the surprise of the century.’ Making short work of her own bun, Fia shook her head and said, ‘He did it last year too.’

‘He
did
?’

‘With a girl from his office. When I got to hear about it, he begged me to forgive him. On his knees.’ Her lip curled at the memory. ‘And he swore he’d never do it again. Silly me, I believed him. Decided to give him one more chance.’

For the sake of the children. Cleo felt another surge of guilt followed by a wave of anger; Will’s selfishness was wrecking his family, threatening to destroy his children’s lives.

She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. ‘And now?’

‘Well, he’s blown it, hasn’t he? I’m not a complete doormat,’ said Fia. ‘And he’s never going to change. So it’s all over.’

‘Oh God. I’m sorry.’

‘You didn’t know. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll get over it. Will liked to put on a great show of us being happy in front of other people, but it hasn’t actually been that much fun being married to him.’ She eyed the untouched bun on Cleo’s plate. ‘Are you going to eat that, or can I have it?’

Cleo pushed the plate across the table. Those poor kids, how would they cope with their parents’ divorce? ‘So why did you come here today?’

‘I just wanted to see you. Find out what you looked like. I wasn’t even going to speak to you.’ Wryly Fia said, ‘The car breaking down wasn’t part of the plan.’

‘And how did you know where I lived?’

‘Ah well, that was a teeny bit illegal.’ Fia pulled a face. ‘You’re on the same network as Will. And I happen to have a friend whose brother works for the phone company. He was the one who got me the copy of the bill. Then I persuaded him to look up your address. But it’s OK, he made me promise not to set fire to your house.’

Twenty minutes later, Cleo looked out of the living room window and saw that the snow was still falling in flurries.

‘Look, I can’t be late for my next job. I’m going to have to leave early.’

Fia flipped open her phone and rang the RAC again. She frowned, listening to them. ‘
How
long?’

OK, this was going to be awkward. Cleo wondered what she was supposed to do now.

‘Another two hours.’ Hanging up, Fia said with heavy irony, ‘Apparently they’re snowed under.’

‘Um…’

‘It’s OK, I know. I’ll wait in the car.’

Damn. Cleo was torn; turfing her out was going to be even more embarrassing now. But how
could
she go off, leaving a complete stranger in her house? Except Fia was
worse
than a complete stranger; she was Will’s emotionally tortured, cheated-on wife.

Who was to say she wouldn’t go completely ballistic, cut up all her clothes, and smash everything she could get her hands on?

Cleo hesitated, still suffused with guilt.
On the other hand, I did have an affair with her husband
.

Plus, two hours outside in her car and she’d freeze to death.

‘Hang on.’ Picking up her own phone, she speed-dialed Ash. ‘Hi, it’s me, what are you doing?’

‘Nothing much. Googling myself, seeing how popular I am. You know, I can’t believe how much everyone loves me, they—’

‘Come round,’ Cleo interrupted. ‘I need a favor.’

She opened the door to him twenty seconds later. Ash, wearing a torn checked shirt over a faded Superman T-shirt, struck a pose and said, ‘Damsel in distress? I’m here to help. What is it, something electrical? Or another jam-jar lid you can’t get undone?’

‘I have to get back to work. Can you look after someone for me? Her car broke down.’ Cleo pointed to the Fiesta, wonkily parked by the gate. ‘Just keep her company until the RAC turns up.’

‘OK, no problem. Do I smell toasted buns?’ Breezing past her, Ash headed into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Oh. Hi.’ He stared at Fia and promptly flushed an unbecoming shade of red.

She gave him a curious look in return, taking in the uncombed hair, blotchy complexion, and scruffy outfit. ‘Hello.’

‘Fia, this is my friend Ash.’ Cleo didn’t have time to play nursemaid; if he was going to be shy, that was his problem. ‘Ash, this is Fia.’ Having rapidly introduced them, she grabbed her bag and keys. ‘And I need to go.’ She waved goodbye to Fia. ‘Hope your car gets fixed soon. And good luck with, you know… the other stuff.’

‘Thanks.’ Fia nodded and smiled. ‘Bye.’

The front door slammed behind Cleo and Ash felt his hands go clammy. This was it, the story of his life. On the outside, everyone thought he was so confident and cheerful. And a lot of the time they’d have been right; he
was
confident and cheerful. Until the moment he found himself in the company of a girl he fancied, and his entire personality shriveled and dried up like a grape.

He was used to it. It had been happening for years. If he were American, no doubt he would have spent countless hours and thousands of dollars in a therapist’s office by now, learning the expensive way that he had issues with low self-esteem. As it was, he already knew this and preferred to spend his money on fast cars, skiing holidays, and all manner of electronic wizardry instead.

Fia was covertly watching him. She was wearing a plain black V-necked sweater and grey jeans tucked into boots. Her hair, a kind of shiny, chestnutty brown, was pulled back in a ponytail and she had really nice ears. And he couldn’t think of a single solitary thing to say to her. OK, now she was going to start thinking he was some kind of retard, but he just couldn’t help it. God, she was gorgeous.

Say something, you plank
.

Ash cleared his throat. ‘What other stuff?’

She looked taken aback. ‘Sorry?’

This was what it was like, every time. He gazed out of the window, praying to see an RAC van pulling up outside. ‘Cleo said good luck with the other stuff.’

‘Oh, right.’ Fia nodded. ‘Well, she was seeing this guy, Will Newman? Did you ever meet him?’

Blinking fast, Ash said, ‘No.’ Jesus, what was going on here?

She gave him a look. ‘It’s OK. You’re allowed to say yes.’

See? He’d even lost the ability to lie. Usually he was world-class at it. He shrugged. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m his wife,’ said Fia.

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Her half-smile only made her more irresistible. Ash felt himself become correspondingly more tongue-tied. She was probably thinking how ugly he was. When he’d been young, the pretty girls had told him outright that he was ugly. They’d giggled and made sick-noises at the very thought of having to kiss Fat Ash. So that was one good thing; at least they were old enough now to keep their opinions to themselves when he was within earshot.

Although he knew they were still thinking it.

The awkward silence lengthened. Ash examined his hands, checked again that there was no sign of the RAC van. ‘Tea?’ It came out like a frog’s croak.

Fia looked puzzled. ‘Sorry?’

‘Cup of tea?’

‘Oh right!’ She got that relieved look people get when they manage to make out what some deranged foreigner is trying to say to them. ‘No thanks, we just had one.’

‘OK.’ It was his biggest fear that one day this would happen while he was live on air; some girl with whom he was secretly besotted would walk into the studio during one of his brilliant comedy rants, and his listening audience would hear him grind to a halt and turn into a monosyllabic moron.

‘Are you all right?’ said Fia hesitantly.

Humiliation made him defensive. ‘I’m fine. Just, uh… never mind.’ The TV remote control was balanced on the arm of the sofa. Seizing it with relief, Ash said, ‘Shall we watch TV?’

***

Cleo pulled up outside the cottage and stared in disbelief at the snow-covered blue Fiesta still parked in front of her gate. This was ridiculous; it was eight o’clock at night. How could Will’s wife still be here? She should have been gone hours ago.

More to the point, where was she now? Because both Ash’s cottage and her own were in darkness.

Oh well, ask a silly question.

‘We’re in the pub.’ Ash had to raise his voice to be heard above the racket. ‘Coming over?’

‘Did the RAC not turn up?’ Cleo was outraged.

‘Oh yeah, they did. They fixed the car,’ said Ash.

‘Oh for God’s sake! So why’s Fia still here?’

There was an edge to his voice that she couldn’t identify. ‘I don’t think she wants to go home.’