Take a Chance on Me (13 page)

‘Hey, you came.’ Answering the front door and thankfully not topless, Johnny looked pleased to see her. He was wearing faded jeans and desert boots, and a white T-shirt with a diagonal reddish-brown smear across the front.

‘Is that paint?’ Cleo pointed to it; hardly a cheerful color for a room.

‘What?’ He glanced down at the smear. ‘Oh, right. No, it’s blood.’

‘Did somebody stab you?’

‘Ever the optimist. No, I’ve just been having a fight with a horse.’ Lifting his T-shirt, he showed her the cause of the bleeding, a long, freshly inflicted scratch. ‘Occupational hazard. You wouldn’t believe how many T-shirts I get through in a year. So’—he led her into the house and gestured around the hall—‘is it looking better in here?’

It was. Better, fresher, cleaner. The smell of paint still hung in the air but all the clutter had gone. There were new rugs on the polished wooden floorboards, the light fittings had been replaced, and the windows glittered.

‘Much,’ said Cleo.

‘Just as well. It’s cost a fortune.’

She kept a straight face. ‘You poor thing. I’m welling up.’

‘OK, sorry.’ Johnny smiled briefly. Then they reached the drawing room and he threw open the double doors.

‘Oh
wow
…’

No more worn, threadbare carpet. No more peeling outdated wallpaper. The entire room, including the floorboards, had been painted white. Sunshine streamed in through the full-length windows. Lined up against the far wall were huge bales of wire, and in the center of the room stood the current work-in-progress, a half-completed, four-meter-high sculpture of a horse.

It was an arresting, magnificent sight. No wonder Cornelia was such a fan of Johnny’s work. Looking at photographs of the creations on his website gave no inkling of the emotional impact to be gained by viewing them in the flesh. So to speak.

Watching her with a faint smile on his face, Johnny said, ‘You like it?’

Cleo nodded, barely able to tear her gaze away from the horse. Stepping over the coils and lengths of wire strewn across the white dust sheet upon which it stood, she moved towards it. ‘Am I allowed to touch?’

‘Go ahead. It’s not as fragile as it looks. Watch out for sharp edges—I haven’t turned them in with pliers yet.’

It was just as well he’d given his permission; not reaching out and touching the sculpture would have been the worst kind of torture. She ran the flat of her hand wonderingly over the horse’s flank. How could something silvery and made of lengths of galvanized steel seem so alive? It was extraordinary. Finding herself smiling in disbelief, Cleo moved round to the front and stroked the proud curve of its neck. Imagine being able to create something as—yeesh, that windswept mane was
sharp
.

A bead of blood grew on the end of her finger. Stepping up and taking hold of her wrist, Johnny examined the wound.

‘Oh dear. We’re going to have to amputate.’

Cleo retrieved her hand and sucked the blood from her finger. She moved back. ‘Show me how you do it.’

‘How I amputate? Well, I generally get a big old electric saw…’ He picked up a pair of safety glasses, then nodded at the only piece of furniture in the room. ‘Go and sit down. You’ll be safe over there.’

The sofa was long and sleek, upholstered in deep purple velvet. Sitting on it, the view was of Johnny and the sculpture, then the French windows behind him, then the terrace and the grounds beyond that. As he worked, illuminated by the afternoon sunlight flooding into the room, Cleo was able to see the play of tendons and muscles in his body. No wonder he had broad shoulders and a washboard stomach; the galvanized steel wire needed to be strong enough to bear the weight of the piece when it was completed. Johnny flexed and stretched as he bent and sculpted each section into place. Perspiration gleamed at his throat and on his forearms. Behind the safety glasses, his eyes were narrowed, constantly judging and gauging and checking that every new addition was exactly right. You could see the intensity of his concentration as he moved around the figure, making endless additions and improvements. Every so often, a length of wire whipped through the air, catching the sun like a flash of mercury. A couple of times the sharp end of the wire caught Johnny’s arm.

Watching Johnny at work was a magical, mesmerizing experience. When he finally stopped, Cleo would have guessed she’d been sitting there for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. But the shadows in the room had lengthened, and when she looked at her watch she saw that it had been an hour and a half.

‘I can’t believe it’s four o’clock.’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘This is definitely how time travel should be. Just think, if airlines supplied wire-sculpture demonstrations on long-haul flights you’d find yourself on the other side of the world in a flash!’

‘It’s like that for me too.’ Pushing his fingers through his hair, Johnny stepped back to survey his work from a distance. ‘Once I start, I lose all track of time. I can go through the night.’

Now there was an image to conjure with.

He flexed his shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s get a coffee.’

‘OK,
oof
.’ Her left leg, which had been tucked under her on the sofa, had gone dead. Gingerly uncurling it and levering herself upright, Cleo shook her head when he offered a hand. ‘It’s fine, I can manage.’

‘Stubborn as ever,’ Johnny remarked. ‘Either that, or you’re scared of my irresistible animal magnetism.’

‘Or your incredible modesty.’ Limping into the kitchen after him, Cleo leaned against the polished granite worktop as her foot began to fizz and prickle back to life. ‘Listen, what’s going on with Fia Newman? Was it your idea for her to move here?’

He began making the coffee. ‘No. She was trying to figure out what she could do. At one stage, I happened to mention that a live-in job would kill two birds with one stone, but I didn’t suggest the Hollybush. I just dropped in yesterday evening and there she was, carrying her stuff into the flat upstairs.’

Her foot was really zinging now, like Alka-Seltzers dropped in water. ‘And the other night?’

‘The other night what?’

‘When she stayed here with you.’

He turned to look at Cleo. ‘What are you asking?’

‘Nothing.’ They were two consenting adults and it was none of her business what they might have got up to, but she felt it only fair to warn him. ‘It’s just… she spent the night in your house. You were kind to her. And now, bam, she’s moved into the village! I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re probably the reason she’s done it.’

Ha, she caught the flash of genuine surprise in his eyes. So he hadn’t cottoned on. ‘Me?’

‘Oh yes.’ Cleo rotated her recovering ankle. ‘She’s just left her husband. You flirted with her in the pub, invited her back to your place for dinner, let her spend the night here.’ She paused. ‘And now she’s back.’

‘Riiight.’ Johnny nodded slowly. ‘OK, I see what you’re saying.’

Men, honestly. They had no idea. ‘You’re her sticking plaster.’

A quick grin. ‘I’m even more irresistible than I thought.’

Cleo reached for the mug of coffee he was holding out to her. ‘She’s vulnerable.’

‘Because you had an affair with her husband.’

She gave him a look, but he was right; she did feel responsible. ‘You don’t want to mess her around. That wouldn’t be kind.’

‘OK, spare me the lecture. And you should have a bit more faith in me,’ said Johnny. ‘I’ll have you know I can be a gentleman when I want to be. When Fia stayed here the other night, she slept in the spare room.’ He paused. ‘And I slept in mine.’

‘Well, good.’ Cleo smiled, relieved to hear it.

‘Do I get a reward for that?’

‘Yes you do. You get a nice warm glow from knowing you did the right thing.’

‘Fantastic.’ He nodded. ‘A nice warm glow. Who could ask for more?’

Cleo drank her coffee. ‘Getting involved with her would just be asking for trouble.’

‘Fine, I get the message. Sounds like you’re not too thrilled about having her here.’

‘She seems nice. Normal enough. Apart from having a major crush on you.’

‘Touché.’ He acknowledged the dig with a brief smile.

Cleo sighed; did he think she was a complete bitch? ‘But it’s just… difficult, you know? Every time I see her, I’m going to be reminded of Will. And I’ll keep on feeling guilty.’

‘It wasn’t your fault though.’

‘I know that logically. But I’m still the reason she left him.’

Johnny said, ‘Sooner or later it would have happened anyway. You’ve done her a favor. And at least the children weren’t hers.’

Cleo nodded. ‘That’s true.’

‘If she’d stayed with Will for a few more years, chances are they’d have had kids of their own. And she’d have ended up a single parent. So you’ve saved her from all that.’

‘You’re right.’ It was Cleo’s turn to look modest. ‘I’m practically a heroine.’

‘A heroine with terrible judgment when it comes to picking a man. I mean, there’s me,’ he tapped his chest, ‘pretty much perfect in every way, and you’re not remotely interested.’

She dipped her head in agreement. ‘So true.’

‘But a complete arse like Will Newman comes along and you think he’s the answer to your prayers.’

‘OK, you might find this hard to believe, but he did actually do a pretty good job of hiding his complete arsiness. He’s like a lot of people.’ Cleo’s tone was meaningful. ‘They can give the impression on the surface of being really nice. But deep down, they’re capable of all sorts.’

Johnny raised an eyebrow. ‘Are we talking about you now? Because I have to tell you, you aren’t often nice to me.’

‘Actually, I was thinking of someone else. When did you last see Mandy Ellison?’

He looked blank. ‘Mandy? God, not for years. Ten years, I suppose. Why?’

‘I saw her last weekend. She’s been married for ages. Two kids, wonderful husband, great life.’ Cleo said playfully, ‘She told me
all
about it. They even have personalized plates.’

He sounded mildly interested. ‘Does she work?’

‘You’re joking. Gary earns tons of money. No need to.’

‘Sounds like Mandy.’ Amused, Johnny said, ‘She never was the hard-working kind.’ He paused, watching her finish her coffee and reach for her bag. ‘You haven’t seen the rest of the house yet. I was going to show you upstairs.’

Hmm, there was an offer.

‘Not like that.’ He tut-tutted, demonstrating his unerring ability to read her mind. ‘Well, not unless you really want me to.’

‘Very generous of you, but no thanks. I do have to go now. But it’s been fun.’ Cleo made to leave. ‘And remember what I said about Fia, OK? Don’t do anything… you know.’

‘Fine. For now.’ Johnny’s eyes glinted with mischief as he showed her out. ‘Although it still feels like you’re the one who wrecked her marriage and I’m the one getting punished for it. Seems a bit harsh.’

She smiled up at him. ‘Just concentrate on that nice warm glow.’

Abbie was in the bath waiting for her face pack to set when the doorbell rang downstairs.

And Tom was still at work.

She waited for whoever it was to give up and go away. No way was she answering the door with a pale blue clay mask slathered over her face. Also, since the sachet of blue gloop had cost two pounds fifty, she absolutely wasn’t going to wash it off before it had had a chance to do its refining, beautifying, drawing-out-the-impurities thing.

But like a dog that never tires of chasing and retrieving a stick, the person on the doorstep kept on ringing the bell. Again.

And again.

And agaaaaaain—

‘OK, I’m coming, just
stop
it.’ Sloshing water, Abbie climbed out of the bath and pulled on her terrycloth robe. If it was Tom and he’d lost his keys, she’d slather pale blue gloop all over his face and it would jolly well serve him right.

She padded downstairs and paused in the hallway before calling, ‘Who is it?’ through the front door.

Then she heard ‘Hiya, it’s meee!’ and felt her stomach turn to concrete.

Oh God. Without even any warning. Completely forgetting the face pack, Abbie opened the front door and gazed at Georgia, very tanned and blonder than ever. And with a huge battered grey suitcase at her feet.

‘Hi Abbie! Euw, look at you! Dad’s not home from work yet then?’

She didn’t mean for her breezily worded question to hurt, but the effect was like fingernails scraping down a blackboard. Actually, the setting face pack came in handy, keeping her features immobile and her true feelings hidden.

While inwardly her brain screamed
No, go away, leave us alone and don’t even think of bringing that case into this house
.

Aloud Abbie said, ‘Not yet. Does he know you’re here?’

‘No, it’s a surprise! I called him this afternoon and told him I was sunbathing on the beach in Praia de Rocha, and he said lucky old me. But I’m not there, and when he comes home I’m going to go whoo-hoo, I’m back!’ Georgia beamed at her. ‘It’s going to be brilliant! Won’t he just love it?’

‘Well, it’ll definitely be a surprise.’ The drying clay meant she sounded as if she were speaking through clenched teeth. And of course, she couldn’t stop Georgia bringing the case into the house. Abbie stepped to one side as the girl lugged it past her over the front step and into the narrow hallway. ‘Have you come straight from the airport?’

‘No, we’ve been in London for the last couple of days. I’ve left Mum clearing out the flat, packing everything up before she flies back to Portugal.’

Abbie followed her through to the living room. ‘Why?’

‘Because she’s doing another of her flits, surprise surprise.’ Georgia peeled off her coat to reveal a stripy top and lime green shorts. ‘We’ve had a bit of an argument about it. She’s dumped Christian, right, and now she’s met this new guy, Ted. I mean, this is a middle-aged woman we’re talking about, d’you know what I mean? She can’t keep chasing men for the rest of her life. It’s not dignified.’

‘So Ted lives in Portugal too?’

‘Lives and
drinks
in Portugal.’ Pulling a face, Georgia said, ‘And he’s made it perfectly clear he doesn’t like me. Which is fine, because it’s absolutely mutual. I was in the way there and he wanted me out of the picture. So I said that was cool, I’d live in the Paddington flat by myself, but then
Mum
wasn’t going to be there… so then, well, we ended up having a bit of a falling out about that.’ She paused to examine the beaded leather bracelet on her left wrist. ‘Actually, quite a lot of a falling out.’

‘Oh dear.’

Georgia looked at her. ‘Can I make a cup of tea, is that all right?’

‘Yes, yes… sorry, I should have offered.’

‘It’s OK. You know, it’s weird trying to talk to you with all that gunk on your face. Why don’t I make the tea while you go upstairs and wash the blue stuff off?’

***

Abbie didn’t ask the question that was uppermost in her mind and Georgia didn’t answer it. Instead, like the elephant in the room, it remained unmentioned for the next seventy minutes while they talked instead about Portugal, their respective Christmases, the annoying way sweaters went bobbly at the sides, and how weird it was that people would gag at the sight of mouldy yogurt but would happily tuck into blue cheese, the moldier the better.

Basically, she didn’t need to ask the question because she already knew the answer. Even a chimp could guess.

Then Tom arrived home and Abbie saw his face light up at the sight of his daughter. Georgia yelled, ‘Surprise!’ and almost sent him flying, wrapping him in an exuberant hug. The little knives were out in force in Abbie’s stomach, twisting with envy and dread.

‘So is that all right then?’ said Georgia when she’d finished explaining the story of how she happened to be here. ‘It’s OK if I stay with you?’

This was it; this was the question. Abbie carefully kept her expression neutral, whilst inside her head she shouted No no no no no.

‘Well…’ Startled but hopeful, Tom had turned to look at her. ‘That sounds… um, what do you think, Abbie?’

Cruel. Cruel and unfair. He had to know what she was thinking.

Georgia was looking taken aback too, as if it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have to beg. ‘Oh God, is this really awkward? I’m sorry,’ she blurted out to Tom, ‘I thought you’d be pleased!’

‘Sweetheart, sit down, don’t get upset.’ Tom was mortified. ‘Of course we’re pleased… it’s just all a bit sudden, and how long were you thinking of—?’

‘Don’t worry, Dad, it’s fine. I’ll go back to London.’ Georgia’s blue eyes swam as she backed away. ‘Sorry to bother you… I’ll find someone to put me up…’

‘Wait, you can’t go, of course you can stay!’ Tom turned to Abbie and blurted the words out in a panic. ‘That’s all right with you, love, isn’t it?’

***

Cleo was painting her toenails when the phone rang.

‘Hello?’ Whoops, she managed to blob cyclamen pink polish onto the side of her foot as she clasped the phone between shoulder and chin.

‘Hi, it’s me.’ Abbie’s voice. ‘Come over to the pub.’

‘Hm? Oh, no thanks. I’m having a lazy night in. Actually, I’m just doing my toes and you’ve made me—’

‘It wasn’t a question,’ Abbie cut in. ‘I’m telling you to come over because I need you.’

‘What? Why?’ Putting the lid back on the bottle of Rimmel polish, Cleo straightened. ‘And why are you sounding all weird and echoey?’

‘I’m in the loo. Hiding. How soon can you be here?’

Whatever was happening? ‘Well, it says this stuff dries in sixty seconds. So all I’ve got to do is put some clothes on. Oh, except I’ve just plucked my eyebrows. As soon as the redness goes down, I’ll—’

‘Never mind your eyebrows,’ Abbie blurted out. ‘Get yourself over here
now
.’

Which was easy for her sister to say, but Cleo knew from experience that after a vigorous plucking session, the skin around her eyebrows glowed neon-red and stayed red for ages. Then again, Abbie had sounded desperate. Heroically, she got herself dressed, roughly dried her hair, and spent a couple of minutes applying minimum-level makeup plus white highlighter under the eyebrows to disguise the worst of the damage.

Cleo surveyed the end result in the mirror. She still looked ridiculous but never mind. In a way, it was nice to be wanted. And since Abbie didn’t make a habit of needing her company in such dramatic fashion, she could even hazard a guess as to what this might be about.

The guess was confirmed when she arrived at the pub and saw the blond girl with Tom’s eyes standing with Tom and Abbie. She hadn’t met Georgia last time, but the girl had evidently turned up again. Poor Abbie; hopefully it was only a flying visit. Even now, she was looking wan and left out, like the wallflower nobody wanted to dance with.

‘Oh look, it’s Cleo.’ Feigning surprise, Abbie beckoned her over. ‘Georgia, meet my younger sister. Cleo, this is Georgia. And you’ll never guess what? Georgia’s come to stay with us! Isn’t that lovely?’

Bloody hell. No wonder Abbie was looking a bit wild-eyed.

‘Hi. Great.’ Wondering how to greet the girl who under other circumstances would have been her niece, Cleo stuck out her hand before realizing that Georgia was going in for the air-kiss so they ended up like novice Morris dancers, doing an awkward bit of both. ‘So how long are you staying?’

‘Who knows? I’m moving in!’ Leaning towards Tom—oh God, it was so weird to think he was her father—Georgia said cheerfully, ‘I could still be here when I’m seventy!’

So that was why Abbie had sounded frantic on the phone.

‘Drink, Cleo?’ Tom already had his wallet out.

‘Yes please.’

‘Actually, I hope you don’t mind me saying.’ Georgia peered more closely at her. ‘But are you allergic to your eye shadow? Only your eyes are, like, really
red
.’

***

‘What could I do?’ Abbie murmured thirty minutes later when they visited the loo. ‘How could I say no? She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.’

‘Oh God, it’s not fair on you.’ Cleo gave her a hug.

‘And Tom’s thrilled; it’s like a dream come true for him. He’s trying to hide it, but he can’t. And every time I think about it I just feel sick.’ Abbie shook her head. ‘But then I tell myself it’s not her fault and I hate myself for being so horrible. I must be some kind of monster…’

‘Look, you’re in shock. And you’re definitely not a monster. It’ll get easier. Everything’ll settle down and you’ll all get used to each other.’ Cleo knew she was probably spouting rubbish, but what else could she say? ‘And this is Channings Hill we’re talking about. She’s used to living in London. A couple of weeks here and she could be going out of her mind with boredom. She’ll be begging to leave.’

‘That’d be too much to hope for,’ Abbie sighed.

The door was pushed open. Georgia said brightly, ‘Talking about me?’

She hadn’t heard them. ‘No,’ Abbie managed a smile.

‘We were a bit,’ said Cleo.

‘Of course you were. I’m not completely stupid. It’s OK, I don’t mind.’

‘Actually, Abbie’s got a headache, but she was worried you might think she was just using it as an excuse to leave. She’s feeling pretty rotten,’ Cleo went on, ‘so really she should go home and take some painkillers.’

‘Oh poor you, you should have said! Of course you must go,’ Georgia exclaimed, over-sympathizing in that way people do when the least popular member of the party says they might leave. ‘Me and Dad’ll be fine.’

‘And I’ll be here too.’ Cleo nodded at Abbie, who was so obviously not enjoying herself. ‘Go on, off you go.’

Grateful for the excuse, Abbie left and Georgia and Cleo rejoined Tom at the bar. Georgia said interestedly, ‘Who’s that, over there?’

While they’d been in the loo, Johnny and Ash had both arrived and were setting up a game of pool. Johnny was looking handsomer then ever tonight in a white cotton shirt and jeans, with his hair falling into his dark eyes. Ash, never the most sartorial of dressers, was wearing a baggy red sweatshirt that made him look like an off-duty Father Christmas.

‘Just a couple of locals.’ Changing the subject, Cleo said, ‘So, what are you going to be doing job-wise? Any ideas?’ This was the girl who had just spent several weeks lazing by a pool in Portugal; she really hoped Georgia didn’t think she could just move in with Tom and Abbie, eat them out of house and home and generally sponge off them like… well, OK, like millions of bone-idle teenagers the world over, but that was beside the point.