Take a Chance on Me (2 page)

Was her blood actually
physically
heating up or did it just feel that way? Cleo kept herself under control and nodded. No need to react and give Johnny the kick of knowing the effect he had on her; she was
so
much better than that.

‘And now he’s run off and left you?’

‘He had to get back to work for an important meeting. He has a very responsible job.’

‘He does? Good for him.’ Johnny sounded amused.

How did he manage to make even those few words sound as if he was making fun of her? Cleo marveled at his talent. Logically, she might know her own lack of further education wasn’t his fault, but deep down inside, it still kind of felt that way. She loved her job at Henleaze Limos, but who knew; if her schooldays hadn’t been blighted, she might have gone on to do anything. The sky could have been the limit… she could have become, God, an astrophysicist!

Well, she
might
have wanted to be an astrophysicist. Whatever that involved. Physics, presumably, mixed with… possibly… Astroturf.

‘So is this Will New-Man the love of your life?’

See? Even now he was making fun of Will’s surname. How would he like it if she called him Lahhh-Venture?

Instead, taking the moral high ground, she said easily, ‘Maybe. It’s all going very well at the moment. How about you?’

Johnny grinned and pulled a face. ‘Not so great. Temperamental creatures, women. They can be pretty hard work.’

They
. Just to let her know how popular he was, subject to the attentions of hordes of besotted females. Cleo smiled politely, registering lack of interest, and said, ‘What’s going to happen to Ravenswood?’

‘Sell it, I suppose. If I can.’ Johnny shook his head. ‘Just stick it on the market, ASAP. Not the ideal time, of course, but you never know. Someone might come along and see the potential. And it’d be great if we could find a buyer before Christmas. There’s an opportunity to bag the apartment below mine if we can get a quick sale. I could turn it into a fantastic gallery.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘Why are you asking? Might you and your chap be interested in putting in an offer?’

Oh yes, that was
so
on the cards, what with Ravenswood being a seven-bedroomed, detached house with a garden bigger than a football pitch. Although when it was that size, you didn’t call it a garden; it was referred to as
the grounds
.

‘I could mention it to Will.’ And start buying extra Lotto tickets. ‘How much will you be asking?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got a couple of estate agents coming over tomorrow to look the place over and come up with a valuation. I’m pretty out of touch, but somewhere around two and a half, at a guess.’

Two and a half million pounds. Cleo envisaged the number, all those zeros rolling across the paper if you were to write it down. Did Johnny have any idea what an inconceivably huge amount of money that was? And the casual way he said it, as if it were completely
normal
…

Ah well, maybe she and Will would give it a miss after all. ‘Well, good luck. I’ll leave you to get on.’

As she made to move away, he said, ‘This chap of yours. Does he work in private health insurance?’

‘What? No! Why?’

‘Just curious.’ A smile lifted the corners of Johnny’s mouth. ‘He just looks as if he might, that’s all.’

Ooooooh…

‘Oh dear, look at you.’ Abbie greeted her sympathetically. ‘I saw you talking to Johnny. Been getting under your skin, has he? Here, have a sip of my Malibu.’

Cleo could always rely on her sister to make her feel better. Abbie was looking lovely today, her fine honey-blond hair falling in waves to her shoulders and her gentle face glowing thanks to the subtle application of makeup she generally didn’t wear but liked to save ‘for best.’

Then again, sisterly sympathy only went so far. ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I have my own drink? Seeing as Lawrence is paying. Which means Johnny is. In fact, let’s make it a great big one. Dry white, please.’ Cleo signaled to Deborah behind the bar. ‘Lovely, thanks. Honestly, he doesn’t change, does he?’ She knocked back some much-needed wine. ‘Two and a half million pounds he’s going to be asking for his dad’s house. He wondered if Will and I might like to make him an offer. And he’s keen to get it sorted before Christmas because he wants to buy another apartment in New York and turn it into a gallery. I mean, does he even
care
that Lawrence has just died? As far as he’s concerned, it’s a nice little windfall coming along at just the right time… God, it’s enough to make you
spit
.’

‘Is this a diatribe?’ Tom, Abbie’s husband, looked pleased with himself. ‘Ha, there’s a word I’ve never used before. But it is, isn’t it? Definitely sounds like a diatribe to me.’

Cleo smiled, because Tom was looking so smart in his dark funeral suit and a bright blue shirt that matched his sparkling eyes. It always seemed strange to see him out of his work clothes of dusty polo shirt and jeans. Even his short brown hair had been given a trim in honor of Lawrence’s funeral. ‘Oh yes, it’s a diatribe. Some people just deserve one.’ She nodded and took another glug of wine.

‘But you liked him once,’ said Tom.

‘What?’ Cleo froze. ‘No I didn’t!’

‘You must have done. If you didn’t fancy him, why would you have said yes when he asked you out?’

Oh for crying out loud. To his left, Abbie was suddenly engrossed in a loose thread on her bronze shirt. Her heart beginning to thud in double-time, Cleo said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Tom was actually laughing now, wagging a finger at her. ‘Come on, I know it was a while back, but you still did it. Johnny LaVenture asked you out at the school disco and you agreed, then—
hey
, mind my drink!’

‘Tom.’ Abbie, who had given him a nudge, shot him a warning look. ‘Shut
up
.’

Staring at them open-mouthed, Cleo said slowly, ‘Oh my God, you
know
about that?
Both
of you know?’

It was her deepest, darkest, most shameful adolescent secret. All these years she’d kept it buried, telling herself that, OK, she’d made an almighty fool of herself, but at least her family didn’t know.

Except… she looked from Abbie to Tom, then back again… it rather looked as if they did.

‘Honestly, you’re such a blabbermouth,’ Abbie scolded.

‘Hey, it was years ago.’ Tom’s grin spread across his face as Ash approached them. ‘What does it matter now?’

‘What are we talking about?’ Ash, whose nosiness knew no bounds, looked interested.

Cleo blurted out, ‘Don’t tell him!’

‘The time Johnny LaVenture told Cleo he was crazy about her and she agreed to go out with him.’

Brilliant, thanks a lot
.

‘Oh right, at the school’s end-of-term disco.’ Ash nodded solemnly.

Right, that was it. Ash had only moved into the village three years ago. Facing him, Cleo’s voice rose. ‘Does
everyone
know about this?’

‘Well, yes. Although I thought it was supposed to be a secret. You weren’t meant to
know
that we know.’

Cleo swallowed. What had taken place had been enough to mentally scar a girl for life. In fact, she was fairly sure it
had
mentally scarred her for life. She’d gone along to the end-of-year disco with no expectations other than drinking a few alcohol-free shandies, dancing with her friends, and having a fun time. When Johnny LaVenture had come up to her and asked to speak to her outside, she had initially refused, but he’d practically begged until curiosity had got the better of her and she’d eventually given in. Then, once they were outside, Johnny had haltingly confessed his true feelings for her. He’d only teased her so much, it transpired, to cover up the fact that he really liked her, but now he could no longer hide how he really felt. And as he’d been telling her this, his beautiful dark green eyes had gazed beseechingly into hers, his trembling hands had stroked her shoulders. Cleo, hypnotized by the declaration and scarcely able to take it in, had leaned back against the rough exterior wall of the girls’ changing rooms and been unbelievably moved by the admission; he must have been plucking up the courage to say this for months.

Then, Johnny had falteringly asked her out on a date the following week, and although she didn’t really want to go out with him, she’d known she couldn’t refuse. It would shatter his confidence. Sixteen-year-old boys had easily bruised egos; it would be too cruel to turn him down… just one trip to the cinema, then she’d gently suggest that they’d be better off as platonic friends…

So she’d smiled up at Johnny and said yes, of course she’d go out with him, and at the back of her mind, she had also taken great satisfaction in the knowledge that
Ha
, all the bitchy girls who’d sided with him and called her Misa would have to be nice to her now.

It had been a heady moment, the kind of turnaround any downtrodden sixteen-year-old could only dream about, but it had actually happened and it felt… God, it felt fantastic! Not only was everything going to be all right from now on, but she hadn’t retaliated, poked fun at him
when she could so easily have done
, or said something mean. And now he looked as if he was about to kiss her. Well, one little kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it? To be honest, she could use the practice. Tilting her face up to his, Cleo closed her eyes, encouragingly puckered her lips, and waited for—

A snort of laughter directly above her head
wasn’t
what she’d been waiting for, but it was what she heard. Followed by a chorus of muffled giggles, a scuffling noise, and the kind of clattering sound you’d get if someone standing precariously on the loo in the cubicle below the open window had just lost their footing and fallen off.

Someone was eavesdropping. Several someones, from the sound of it. This was what the girls in her year were like. Not what you’d call mature. Still, did it really matter if they’d overheard? Putting out a hand to reassure Johnny, Cleo said, ‘It’s all right, don’t worry about them,’ and wondered why he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

The giggles turned to shrieks of hysterical laughter and the head of Mandy Ellison poked through the open window. Crowing with delight, she opened her horrible big mouth and yelled, ‘Ha ha, I can’t believe she fell for it, you were brilliant!’

Bewildered, Cleo turned to Johnny. ‘What does that mean?’

Half-smiling and backing away, Johnny said, ‘Sorry, she bet me a fiver I couldn’t do it.’

Everyone was scrambling up onto the loo seats now; along the row of windows, more heads popped out. Everyone was laughing harder and harder. As the realization sank in that she’d been well and truly set up, color flooded Cleo’s cheeks.

Johnny shrugged and raised his hands, absolving himself from blame. ‘I never thought you’d say yes.’

She was torn between wanting the ground to swallow her up and an overwhelming longing to burst into tears. ‘I only said it because I felt sorry for you!’

‘Ha ha ha ha ha! Yeah, of course you did,’ jeered Mandy Ellison.

‘It’s
true
. I don’t fancy him!’

‘But you seriously thought he fancied you,’ Mandy sniggered. ‘Like that’s ever going to happen,
Misa
. Ha, you’ve just given us the best laugh we’ve had in months. And all for a fiver.’ As she said it, she grinned at Johnny. ‘
Bargain
.’

By the time Cleo’s dad had arrived to drive her home, she’d been hanging around outside the school for over an hour. Inside, the disco was about to end.

‘All right, love? Didn’t expect to find you out here waiting for me. Had a good night, have you?’

How could she tell him? The last thing she wanted was her family feeling sorry for her. ‘Not bad.’ Buttoning up the hurt and humiliation, she said off-handedly, ‘Got a bit boring towards the end.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’ Her dad gave her a teasing nudge. ‘But did you dance with any boys?’

‘There wasn’t anyone I wanted to dance with. They’re just a bunch of losers,’ said Cleo.

Now, here in the front bar of the Hollybush, the shame was every bit as acute as it had been all those years ago.

Cleo looked at Ash, Tom, and Abbie. She said, ‘Who told you?’

Ash shrugged and pointed at Abbie. ‘You told me, didn’t you? A couple of years back.’

‘Tom told me,’ said Abbie, ‘straight after it happened.’

‘Honestly, why do I have to get the blame for everything? Everyone was having a laugh about it in the pub the day after the disco,’ Tom protested. ‘Stuart Ellison told us about it. His sister Mandy was there when Johnny did it. It was just a bit of fun.’

Cleo resisted the urge to rip every last freshly-trimmed hair from Tom’s head. So all this time she’d been the laughingstock of the entire village. And like one of those well-kept secrets you never imagine could actually be kept secret, she’d had no idea.

What’s more—talk about adding insult to injury—the chances were that if you were to ask him about it now, Johnny himself probably wouldn’t even remember that evening at the school disco when he’d earned himself the easiest fiver of his life.

The For Sale signs had been up outside the house for over a week now. Having instructed his solicitors to take care of everything, Johnny had flown back to the States the day after the funeral. Busy cleaning the windscreen of the Bentley she was due to take out again this afternoon, Cleo paused as, across the green, two cars slowed to a halt outside Ravenswood.

It wasn’t nosy to watch them, was it? It was being neighborly, making sure the place wasn’t about to be burgled. Although it had to be said, the couple emerging from the maroon Volvo didn’t look like your archetypal burglars. And the other chap, even from this distance, was visibly an estate agent. Of course, where Johnny was concerned, it would be just typical that the first people to view his old family home would fall in love with it at first sight and buy it on the spot.

Cleo was kneeling across the Bentley’s back seat vigorously vacuuming under the driver’s seat when someone pinched her bottom.

‘Oof!’ She collapsed, rolled over onto her side, and pointed the vacuum nozzle like a pistol at Ash. ‘Don’t
do
that.’

His eyes danced. ‘Can’t help myself. If I see a cute little backside sticking up like that in front of me, I just have to pinch it.’

He was home from work. The downside of hosting a breakfast radio show might be the inhumanly early starts, but the upside was that it was all done and dusted by ten o’clock and he was back at Channings Hill by eleven. Switching off the vacuum cleaner and picking up her polishing cloth, Cleo said, ‘Pass me the beeswax. How’d it go today?’

‘Bloody brilliant. If you’d bothered to listen to it, you wouldn’t have to ask.’ When it came to his radio show, Ash’s modesty knew no bounds. Since taking over the breakfast slot three years ago, having been poached from a smaller commercial station in London, he had conjured a seventy percent increase in listening figures. He was the star of BWR, much loved by his ever-growing audience. As well as local listeners, fans from all over the world were now tuning in to hear him online. On his show, he exuded confidence, wit, and irresistible charm. Women and girls of all ages adored him and Ash played up to this, reading out his fan mail and regaling listeners with indiscreet stories of his wild, testosterone-fueled, Hollywood-style love life.

In reality, out of the studios, his confidence melted away. Actually, that wasn’t true; in the company of friends, people he knew, he was fine. But plant a new and attractive woman in front of him and Ash completely lost it every time. It was like watching a dementor suck the life out of him. Along with the vanishing confidence went the easy wit and charm, their places usurped by clunky awkwardness as, in front of the astonished audience’s very eyes, Ash Parry-Jones shed a dozen years and reverted to being a cripplingly shy, overweight, and unattractive teenager. And no amount of cajoling could snap him out of it, though Cleo had certainly tried. As Ash himself freely admitted, success was the best revenge and, career-wise, he’d achieved that in spades, but it would have been nice if he could have undergone the kind of physical transformation achieved by Brad Pitt when he’d guest-starred in
Friends
as the once-fat dorky one from school.

Sadly, this hadn’t happened to Ash. He may have lost some of the excess weight that had haunted his adolescence but there was still plenty left; he would never be lithe. His solid frame was always going to be chunky. His hair was fairish, messy, unremarkable. And looks-wise, he had the kind of face that gave the impression of having been put together using leftovers—a wonky nose, double chin, wayward eyebrows, and slightly asymmetric ears. Cliché it might be, and again Ash was the first to point it out, but his was a face perfect for radio. Of course there were photos of him on the internet for those curious enough to track them down, but the vast majority of his listeners had no idea what he looked like. Which meant that girls attracted enough to his radio persona to deliberately seek him out, ended up getting a terrible shock.

‘I couldn’t listen to your show. I was on a job,’ said Cleo.

Ash raised his wayward eyebrows. ‘On the job?’

‘
A
job.’ She flicked the polishing cloth at him. ‘It was really sweet, actually. A married couple celebrating their golden wedding anniversary. Their children clubbed together to send them on a fantastic holiday as a surprise present. And this morning, they thought they were being picked up by an ordinary taxi.’ Clients like these, thrilled and excited to be taking possibly the first ride of their lives in a limo, were the kind Cleo loved the most. They made up for the silent high-flying businessmen who took the service for granted, the ear-splitting racket generated by over-excited children leaving junior school for the last time, and having to control groups of wildly inebriated women having bachelorette parties. This morning’s lady, bless her, had burst into tears in the back of the Bentley. Through the sobs she’d hiccupped, ‘Oh my days, whatever did I do to deserve a family like mine? I’m the luckiest woman in the world!’

‘And just think how much more they’d have enjoyed the journey if they’d been allowed to listen to my show.’

‘You never give up, do you? You’re nothing but a ratings tart. If you want to be useful,’ said Cleo, ‘you could make me a cup of tea.’

‘Excuse me.’ Ash tapped his chest. ‘This is a future global superstar you’re talking to.’

‘Nice and strong, not much milk, two sugars.’

He ambled inside, returning five minutes later with the mugs of tea. Classily, he’d given her the one featuring the bikini-clad woman whose bikini disappeared when the mug was hot. As Cleo settled herself on the wall separating their adjoining front gardens from the road, the three visitors emerged from Ravenswood. They stood chatting together for a minute before the estate agent jumped into his car and with a cheery wave drove off. The remaining couple surveyed the village before climbing into their Volvo, the tall man opening the passenger door for his alarmingly spindly-legged wife.

‘Do you think they’ll buy it?’ said Cleo.

‘Might do. She looks like a flamingo.’ Ash narrowed his eyes. ‘Not to mention a Radio 4 listener.’

The immaculate maroon Volvo pulled away in stately fashion, made its way past the pub, then, instead of turning left out of the village, carried on around the green towards them at a menacing ten miles per hour. Watching it, Ash hummed the theme tune to
Jaws
.

Up close, the woman looked even more like a flamingo, her eyes dark and beady, her nose a beaky hook. She needed to tilt her head back in order to gaze down it at Cleo and Ash.

‘Morning. Live here, do you?’ The eyes registered disapproval of the naked lady mug. ‘We’ve just been to view Ravenswood. Seems like a quiet enough village. Are people generally happy to live here?’

‘Happy?’ Ash said good-naturedly. ‘They’re ecstatic. So you’re interested in the house, then?’

The woman pursed her narrow lips like a VAT inspector. ‘Possibly. But we need to know more about Channings Hill before we make any decisions. My husband and I like peace and tranquility. Is this a quiet village?’

‘I wouldn’t say quiet, exactly. We have our moments,’ said Ash. ‘It’s just… normal.’

‘What does
that
mean?’ The woman’s husband surveyed him intently. Cleo wondered what it must be like for the two of them, being married to each other.

‘Not too many people have parties,’ she explained. ‘It’s more kind of… unstructured noise. Like the teenagers on their motorbikes… they’re good kids really, they just don’t think about the noise when they’re racing round the green.’

The dual intake of breath was audible. The woman shuddered and said, ‘
Motorbikes
?’

Lady Bracknell would have been proud.

‘Not all of them,’ Cleo rushed to reassure her. ‘Some just have mopeds. But it all stops at midnight.’

The man’s eyes bulged. ‘The estate agent didn’t mention anything about this.’

‘I’m not surprised! But the rest of the village is great.’ Cleo nodded with enthusiasm. ‘Fantastic pub, loads going on there. You’ll make loads of new friends in no time, especially if you’re into karaoke!’

The Volvo left the village a lot more speedily than it had arrived. Ash reached for Cleo’s hand, gave it a smack and said, ‘You are a bad, bad girl.’

‘Don’t care. I didn’t like them. That woman looked as if she wanted to peck my eyes out.’

‘If you’ve put them off, that estate agent’s going to hunt you down and shoot you.’

OK, that was something she hadn’t actually thought of. Cleo shrugged. ‘They wouldn’t have fit into this village.’

‘And it’s nothing at all to do with wanting to muck things up for Johnny LaVenture.’

Goddammit, how did Ash
do
that? Putting on her most wounded face, Cleo said, ‘That’s a terrible thing to suggest.’

‘But a great opportunity to get your own back. He’s desperate for a quick sale. You’ve probably stopped that happening. Just how fond of your kneecaps are you?’

‘Oh come on, somebody else’ll come along and buy it. Somebody a million times better, then you’ll be glad I did it. Anyway,’ said Cleo, jumping down from the wall and handing back her empty naked lady mug, ‘Johnny’s in New York, so how’s he ever going to find out?’