Take a Chance on Me (15 page)

Lunch with his producer followed by an uncharacteristic urge to go shopping for new clothes meant it was four o’clock by the time Ash arrived home. As he hauled a load of carrier bags out of the boot of the car, he heard footsteps behind him. Purposeful footsteps at that. For a split-second his heart leapt at the thought that it could be Fia. Turning, he came face to face with…

OK, not Fia. It was Georgie—no,
Georgia
, Tom Wells’s eighteen-year-old, sperm-donated daughter. What a weird situation
that
was.

‘Hey, how are you doing?’ She was looking and sounding exceedingly perky. ‘I thought you’d have been home earlier than this!’

Straightening up and slamming the trunk shut, Ash said, ‘Well, now I don’t have to wear my electronic tag any more, I’m allowed to stay out pretty much as long as I like.’

For a moment her bright blue eyes widened like saucers. ‘Did you really have one?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, phew!’

‘I know. Curfews are the pits.’

Georgia grinned at him. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. Guess what?’

He shrugged. ‘No idea. You’re my long-lost sister?’

‘Shut up! No, listen. I am your biggest fan! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me last night that you’re a DJ!’

‘I’m very modest,’ lied Ash.

‘Seriously, I heard your show this morning… and you were
brilliant
. And all that stuff about the online listeners, getting them to email in from all over the world and making up that song about them…that was just brilliant! You know what, you’re
way
funnier than Chris Moyles.’

‘I happen to agree with you there.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Sorry?’

She nodded at his front gate. ‘To your house. You can show me what you’ve been buying. It’s funny, isn’t it? If I’d grown up here with my dad, we’d have known each other for years. And I only met you yesterday, but it feels as if I
have
known you for years! You know when two people just seem to click and get on really well together? Well, that’s what I reckon it’s like with us. Come on, let’s have a look at your new things. If you went out and bought a load of stuff to impress me, I’ll tell you if it’s worked.’

Ash had bought them in an attempt to impress Fia, but was aware that his taste in clothes was decidedly dodgy. In the absence of Cleo, he may as well solicit advice while it was being offered. Even if the person making the offer was currently wearing a purple denim jacket, emerald green corduroy shorts over black tights, and a multicolored spotted scarf.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Georgia scolded. ‘I have great personal style. I’m very eclectic.’

Ash jangled his keys. ‘Come on then.’

In the living room, she wasted no time in making herself at home. ‘Ooh, that’s a big one!’ It wasn’t a double entendre; she was pointing at the TV. ‘And I like how you’ve done this room.’ She gazed around, taking in the chalk-white walls hung with black and white photo prints, the pale grey carpet, and black suede sofa and armchairs. ‘Not too tidy, but not a complete mess.’

‘Thanks.’ In the process of picking up the magazines and newspapers strewn across the coffee table, Ash let them drop back down.

Georgia laughed, revealing pearly teeth. ‘I’m going to listen to your show every day. Now, try on your clothes. It’s OK, you don’t need to go upstairs—’

‘Oh yes I do. Jesus, what are you like?’ Ash kept his overweight body to himself, thank you very much; even on beaches he stayed covered up. Stripping to the waist in front of a skinny, straight-talking eighteen-year-old simply wasn’t going to happen.

‘I’m like me.’ Unperturbed, Georgia said, ‘I’m unique.’

‘I can tell.’

When he came back downstairs, she surveyed him through narrowed eyes.

‘What does that mean?’ Ash glanced down defensively at the shirt and jacket.

‘It’s all wrong.’

‘Bloody hell, I spent hundreds on this lot.’

‘Calm down, the clothes are OK. It’s the way you’re wearing them.’ Jumping up from the sofa, she began briskly unfastening buttons, turning back cuffs, tweaking collars, and loosening the shirt he’d tucked too tightly into the waistband of his jeans. ‘You need to relax. Just keep things fluid and casual. And take
this
thing,’ she picked a bright, zig-zaggy sweater out of one of the bags as if it were a dead snake, ‘straight back to the shop.’

The zig-zaggy sweater from Ted Baker was his favorite. ‘No, no,’ Ash shook his head. ‘I’m keeping that one.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Georgia soothingly, ‘are you starting to regret asking me to help you now?’

‘Actually, I didn’t ask you. You just came barreling in here and started barking orders like a sergeant major.’

‘I’m sorry, I know I can be a bit full-on. I just really want to help you.’ She dumped the Ted Baker bag on the sofa and went back to adjusting the turned-up collar of his jacket. ‘There, that’s much better. Although I don’t know why I should, because it’s only going to make more girls chase after you.’

Ash eyed her with suspicion. ‘Are you making fun of me?’ Because if she was, he wouldn’t like it.

‘God no. Why would I do that? You’re fantastic.’ She fixed him with her unblinking vivid-blue gaze. ‘Don’t you understand why I’m here? I absolutely completely fancy you rotten.’

He exhaled. ‘OK, who put you up to this?’ If it was Cleo, he’d wring her neck.

‘No one!’ Raising her hand, Georgia reached out and gently brushed the backs of her fingers against his face. When he leaned away, she said, ‘I felt it last night. I kind of hoped you did too. And that was
before
I knew you were on the radio. Which proves I’m not some kind of screaming groupie.’

Ash shook his head. ‘This is a trick.’

‘It’s not. OK, you’re not pretty. But that’s not what I go for,’ said Georgia. ‘Never have done. It’s character every time for me. When all my friends were drooling over Zac Efron, I had pictures of James Corden on my wall. And now I’ve met you.’ She moved a couple of inches closer. ‘I just think we’d be perfect together. And you must want me.’

This was surreal. ‘Why must I want you?’

‘Because I’m pretty
and
I have a great personality.’ She grinned. ‘What’s not to like?’

‘But—’

‘Hey, don’t look so stunned. This is a good thing! I’m so glad I came here now.’ Reaching up on tiptoe, she planted a quick kiss on Ash’s unsuspecting mouth. Then, pulling away a fraction of a second before
he
could pull away, she said, ‘And you’re going to be glad too.’

Jesus, she really meant it. Ash wiped his mouth, now sticky with melon-flavored lipgloss. ‘OK, stop right there. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at…’

‘Come here, then, and let me show you.’

‘No. Get
off
.’ It was like trying to wrestle an octopus. Unpeeling her hands, he said firmly, ‘This isn’t going to happen. No way.’

‘Why not? You can’t tell me I’m not pretty enough.’ Georgia was indignant. ‘Not being big-headed or anything, but I do know what I look like.’

He could understand her confusion. On the scale of physical attraction, she was stratospherically out of his league. Ash said, ‘Look, you’re stunning. But you’re eighteen.’

‘So?’ Her voice rose.

‘That’s too young for me.’

‘For God’s sake, I’m not some little kid! I’m an
adult
.’

‘I know, I know, but it’s the way I am. I’ve always gone for girls my own age or older. It’s just… personal preference.’

‘So you’re not interested in me. You’d prefer someone older and uglier. And probably way fatter too.’ Her hands on her narrow hips, Georgia said, ‘Do you have any idea how…
wrong
that is?’

Ash broke into a smile. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

‘Not to mention frustrating. Oh well, I’ll leave it for now. But don’t think I’m going to give up,’ she warned, ‘because I’m not. I can still try and win you over with my dazzling personality.’

‘Of course you can try.’

‘I’ll be your number one fan. And the age thing doesn’t matter, you know. That’s nothing. What are you, anyway? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?’

‘Twenty-six,’ Ash said gravely. ‘And a half.’

‘Well there you go, that’s nothing at all! Right, I’m definitely not giving up now.’

‘Good luck then, because it’s not going to happen.’

Unperturbed, Georgia changed tack. ‘I’d be great on the radio. Can I be on your show?’

‘No you bloody can’t!’

‘Spoilsport.’

‘I know, too bad. And I have calls to make, business to take care of.’ Inching her towards the front door, Ash said, ‘So I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you—’

‘—to leave, yeah yeah. You’re getting rid of me. But I know what I want and I don’t give up until I get it.’ She flashed him a dazzling smile as he ushered her out of the cottage. ‘And there’s something else about the age thing.’

‘What’s that, then?’

‘When you’re eight-two, I’ll be seventy-four.’

Why,
why
couldn’t he be shamelessly lusted after and chased by Fia?

‘Trust me,’ said Ash, ‘when I’m eighty-two I’ll be dead.’

‘You see? That’s such a defeatist attitude. I could definitely help you work on that,’ said Georgia.

‘I had a call from Ash this morning.’ Back from transporting a clutch of corporate types to a conference in Manchester, Cleo dropped in on Abbie after work. ‘He’s being sexually harassed by Georgia. She threw herself at him!’

‘Lucky old Ash.’ Abbie carried on basting the chicken she’d just taken out of the oven.

Cleo switched on the kettle. ‘Except he’s not the least bit interested. She’s not his type. He says—’

‘Not that one,’ Abbie blurted, stopping her in her tracks as she took a carton of milk from the fridge. ‘That’s the full-fat.’

‘It’s OK, I like full-fat.’

‘But it’s Georgia’s. Use the other one, the semi-skimmed, otherwise there won’t be enough for her cereal and it’ll be my fault.’

Abbie was clearly stressed. Her hair was escaping from its scrunchie, her cheeks were flushed, and she was spooning melted butter over the chicken at warp speed. Putting back the wrong milk, Cleo said carefully, ‘Where is she?’

‘Out with Tom. Looking at vans. She needs a van for her ironing business so he’s buying her one.’ Baste, baste, baste.

‘He said he might. So, she can drive, then? I mean, she has a license?’

‘Oh yes. Passed her test first time, last October. One of her mother’s boyfriends was a driving instructor. So that was handy.’

‘Abbie, sit down.’

‘I can’t, I’m making the dinner.’ Prodding the chicken with the basting spoon, Abbie said, ‘Except we can’t have the stuffing
in
the chicken because that makes it
claggy
apparently. So we have to cook it in a separate tin and make sure it’s all crunchy on the outside, because doing it the other way is just
gross
.’

Oh dear. Cleo debated whether to remind her older sister about the endless arguments their family used to have over the optimum shape for chips, straight or crinkly, thick or thin…

‘And I daren’t get it wrong,’ Abbie rattled on, ‘because I’ve already blotted my copybook today. God knows, you’d think I’d done her washing for her out of spite. I even hand-washed her little white top because I wanted to make sure it stayed white.’

‘What happened?’

‘I put it in the tumble-dryer and it shrank. And of course it was Georgia’s favorite. So I apologized because I could see she was upset, and she told me it said on the label that it
shouldn’t
be tumble-dried.’

‘Oh.’ Cleo’s sympathies were by this time yo-yoing between Abbie and Georgia. A favorite top was a favorite top.

‘So I said I’d looked for a label to see what the washing instructions were, and there wasn’t one on it. And Georgia said there
had
been a label, but it had been all scratchy on the back of her neck so she’d had to cut it off, but if I’d asked her if it was OK to go in the tumble dryer, she could have told me it wasn’t.’

Again, Cleo wondered whether this was the moment to recall the time she had added her school shirt to the white wash in the washing machine, forgetting the ink cartridge in the top pocket. When Abbie had seen the disastrous blue splodges all over her best white jeans, she’d hit the roof. Which was completely understandable, but the fact remained that it had
been an accident
.

‘Poor you.’ Instead, she gave Abbie a hug. ‘Things’ll settle down though. You’ll get used to each other.’

Abbie shook her head. ‘I’m trying my best, but I feel like such a spare part. And we were planning to go on a cruise this summer, remember? It’s always been my dream. But when I asked Tom about it yesterday, he said it might be a bit awkward now. He doesn’t think we can just swan off, the two of us, and leave Georgia here on her own. But if she came along too, we’d have to book another cabin just for her, and that would almost double the price of the holiday, which would mean we couldn’t afford it anyway, so basically that’s that. We’re not going anywhere. But hey, it’s probably for the best, because who needs a lovely cruise around the Mediterranean anyway, when they can stay here and spend all their hard-earned savings on some crappy old van instead?’

Her voice had spiraled up to batsqueak level; it was almost painful to hear. Cleo’s ears were saved by a car pulling up outside. She glanced out of the window. ‘They’re back.’

‘Right. OK, calm,
calm
.’ Taking deep breaths and vigorously fanning herself with the tea towel, Abbie said, ‘Sorry, just having a bit of a moment. I’ll be fine.’

The front door slammed and there was clattering and a squeal of laughter out in the hallway. The next moment, two voices chorused, ‘Hi honey, I’m ho-me!’

Which was what Tom always said in his jokey way, but before Cleo could smile at Abbie to signal that everything would be OK, they heard Georgia exclaim, ‘Oh wow, you live here too? That’s amazing, so do I! Oh honey, look at us, we’re both
home
!’

‘Home!’ echoed Tom. ‘And honey, do you smell cooking?’

‘Honey, I do! In fact I think I smell… chicken!’

The next moment they burst into the kitchen together, but not before Cleo had seen the look in her sister’s eyes. Once, she had been the person Tom called Honey. Now, Georgia had managed to hijack that shared endearment and she and Tom were calling each other by that name. And if they hadn’t meant to make Abbie feel even more left out, they’d managed it anyway. She minded a lot.

So much for telling Tom last night to be a bit more sensitive. He was clearly besotted with Georgia and unable to help himself.

‘Hiya! Is it crunchy stuffing?’

‘Yes, I’ve—’

‘But you won’t undercook the carrots, will you? I can’t stand crunchy vegetables.’

Abbie shook her head and summoned a cheery smile. ‘No, don’t worry, I won’t—’

‘Ha! Guess where we’ve been?’ Clapping her hands and hopping from foot to foot, Georgia blurted out, ‘To look at vans! And guess what we’ve done?’

Abbie opened her mouth to guess. ‘Did you—?’

‘WE’VE BOUGHT A VAN!’ Launching herself at Tom, Georgia hugged him and kangaroo-jumped around the kitchen. ‘Well, my dad bought me a van! Isn’t that just the coolest thing ever? Tomorrow morning as soon as we’ve got the insurance sorted out, I’m picking up my very own van! And it’s blue!’

Abbie was like a nervous bride posing for the photographer, forced to hold her smile for too long. ‘Blue! How
lovely
…’

OK, enough. ‘It wasn’t just your dad, though, was it?’ Cleo couldn’t help herself; she had to say something. ‘It was Abbie too. That money came from both of them.’

‘Did it? Oh right, I didn’t realize.’ Shaking her head, Georgia said gaily, ‘Thanks, Abbie,’ and let go of Tom just long enough to give Abbie a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek.

Well, an air-kiss close to her cheek.

‘No problem, sweetheart. It’s our pleasure.’ Abbie gave her an affectionate hug in return, but within seconds Georgia was back at Tom’s side, clutching his arm and chattering excitedly about how early tomorrow morning they’d be able to collect the van.

Cleo glanced across at Abbie, longing to say something, but Abbie was already shaking her head.

Never before had she had to work so hard to bite her tongue.