Take a Chance on Me (27 page)

By Tuesday night, the weekend’s fabulous weather was a dim and distant memory. Peering out of the bedroom window, Abbie shivered at the sight of the rain hammering down and the branches of the trees behind the house being battered and swept sideways by the howling gale. Poor Cleo, on her first day back at work, was having to drive a car full of executives up to Gatwick.

Guilt kicked in then, because at least she was warm and dry and comfortable, and shouldn’t that be enough to make her happy? But it wasn’t. Unrelenting misery was now an inescapable part of her life and she knew she was no fun to live with. How Cleo was managing to put up with her, she had no idea. It was time to sort herself out and start thinking about the future. She couldn’t impose indefinitely. She also needed to get another job.

Abbie headed downstairs in her dressing gown. She would make herself a cup of tea, curl up on the sofa, and find something easy to watch on TV.

The doorbell rang halfway through
Britain’s Got Talent
. A manic magician had just—apparently—sliced off his arm with a circular saw. The audience let out a collective gasp of horror as blood fountained out and spurted across the stage. Abbie gasped too when she opened the front door and saw Des Kilgour standing wet and windswept on her doorstep.

‘Abbie? Can I come in?’

She hesitated. ‘Why?’

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Des, I don’t think so.’ God, had he come here to tell her he still loved her? Her pulse quickened with anxiety. ‘Really, there’s nothing to say.’

‘Look, this isn’t like last time. It’s nothing to do with that.’ He paused, clearly embarrassed. ‘It’s about… something I’ve found out.’

Abbie wavered. Des was a good-hearted soul; it wasn’t as if she was afraid of him.

‘Please,’ he said again.

She took off the chain and opened the door properly. ‘OK.’

Rain dripped from Des’s Barbour and formed puddles on the parquet floor. Sitting back down on the sofa and wrapping her dressing gown tightly around herself, Abbie said, ‘What’s this about, then?’

Des stayed standing in front of the fireplace, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘You know you thought it was Georgia who told Tom about us?’

Us
. She wished he wouldn’t use that word. ‘It had to be Georgia. No one else knew anything.’

‘It wasn’t her.’ He shook his head, causing Abbie to feel sick.

‘So what are you telling me? It was you?’

‘God no!’ Stricken, Des said, ‘Of course it wasn’t me!’

‘Who, then? Who wrote that letter and stuck it on Tom’s windscreen?’

‘Glynis.’

‘
What
? Glynis from the shop?’ This made no sense. How could Glynis have found out? It wasn’t physically possible.

‘She wasn’t snooping. She just… heard us.’

Abbie still couldn’t believe it. ‘And she actually told you this?’

‘Huw did,’ said Des. ‘She only told him last night. He came to see me this evening, thought I should know.’

‘I don’t see how it happened.’

‘It was my fault.’ He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘Glynis was working in the shop when the phone rang. She picked it up and heard our voices. I know, I know how it happened,’ Des hurried on. ‘I worked it out. Before you came into my office that morning, I’d been trying to contact Huw at home. Then when you turned up and we were talking I must have accidentally knocked my phone’—he demonstrated patting the shirt pocket where his mobile was invariably kept—‘and hit redial. Glynis answered the phone and heard us. I suppose it sounded as if we were having a full-on affair. And she’s pretty straight, you know. It shocked her. She didn’t want to be seen to be the one spreading gossip, but she thought Tom deserved to know what was going on behind his back.’

‘Oh God.’ Abbie rubbed her face as the information sank in. It made sense.

‘Sorry. But I had to tell you.’ Des raked his fingers through his reddish-fair hair. ‘Huw feels bad about it too.’

‘Right. Well, thanks. At least now we know.’

As she showed him out, Des said, ‘Everyone misses you at work, you know. Not just me. If you wanted to, we’d have you back tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, but it’d be too difficult. I couldn’t.’ Abbie knew that Tom wasn’t going to take her back, but the superstitious part of her wouldn’t let her even consider returning to Kilgour’s in case he found out just as he might be on the verge of changing his mind.

***

The trees creaked and swayed and leaves swirled up like ghosts as the storm raged around her. Everyone else was inside tonight. Abbie’s umbrella had been blown inside out; giving up on it, she let the rain hit her in the face. Within minutes, she’d reached her old home. It was eleven o’clock but there were still plenty of lights on. And it didn’t matter how horrendous the weather was, she wasn’t going inside.

Not that she was likely to be invited.

Abbie braced herself. She didn’t even know yet if Georgia was there. She could be out. And Georgia was the only person she wanted to speak to.

Adrenaline pounded through her veins. Oh well, only one way to find out.

But it was Georgia who answered the door and was visibly shocked to see her. ‘Oh. Dad’s not here.’

Good
. ‘That’s OK, it’s you I wanted to see.’ Abbie noted the bandage on Georgia’s right hand.

Opening the door wider, Georgia stepped aside and said, ‘You’d better come in.’

‘No, um, I’d rather not…’ As she spoke, a blast of wind hit Abbie from behind, almost knocking her off her feet.

Georgia read her mind. ‘It’s all right, Mum’s not here either. I’m on my own.’

Relieved, Abbie said, ‘OK then.’

The living room was festooned with more clothes than ever. Georgia winced with pain as she picked up the steaming iron.

Right, let’s get this done before Tom and Patty come back
. Abbie plunged straight in. ‘Look, I’ve come to apologize. I accused you of telling Tom about… you know. And you told me you hadn’t, but I didn’t believe you. Well, now I know it wasn’t you. I was wrong and I’m so, so sorry.’

Georgia stopped ironing. She carefully upended the iron on its rest and said, ‘So who was it, then?’

Abbie explained who had composed the anonymous letter and how it had come to be written. ‘I think Glynis’s conscience was pricking her, because she knew I thought it was you.’ She shook her head and clutched at her battered umbrella. ‘Anyway, that’s how it happened. And I’m sorry.’

‘Thanks. But you should have believed me.’ Georgia looked relieved and sad at the same time. ‘I’m a very honest person.’

‘I know. And there’s nothing worse than being accused of something you didn’t do. That’s why I had to come over and tell you, because I felt so terrible…’ Abbie’s voice trailed off as Georgia bent her head and a tear plopped onto the ironing board. First one, then—
plop
—another. ‘Oh please, don’t cry. You didn’t do anything wrong!’

‘That’s not quite true though, is it?’ Raising her chin, Georgia said unsteadily, ‘I’ve messed up everything. I should never have come here. No wonder you hate me, look what’s happened since I turned up. I’ve ruined your life.’

Oh God. Abbie was horrified. ‘You haven’t… you didn’t…’

‘I have.’ Georgia’s mouth wobbled with the effort of not bursting into tears. ‘I’m not stupid, I know what it’s been like for you. I’ve wrecked everything and I’m s-sorry… if I hadn’t come along, you and Tom would still be t-together.’

Unable to bear it a moment longer, Abbie rushed over. Georgia let out a howl of misery and crumpled into her arms.

‘Oh sweetheart, don’t cry, ssshhh.’ A lump sprang into Abbie’s throat as she folded her into a hug.

‘
Ow
…’ Flinching, Georgia pulled her bandaged hand free.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Attempting to let her go, Abbie discovered she couldn’t; Georgia was clinging to her like a baby koala. ‘And you mustn’t blame yourself. I’m the one who messed up. It’s not your fault… oh God, now you’ve set me off… listen to me, you haven’t done
anything
wrong.’ Her own tears were now falling into the hair of the daughter she’d never had. She stroked Georgia’s silky head and patted her like a baby. ‘Don’t cry. Goodness, what do we look like? If your mum comes in now, what’s she going to say?’

‘She won’t be coming in. She’s in Portugal.’

‘What?’

Georgia sniffed and rubbed her wet face. ‘She’s my mum and I love her, but she’s a nightmare to live with. I told her she had to go.’

‘She’s gone back to Portugal? But I thought her boyfriend kicked her out of the house.’

‘Ted did. He was the last one. She’s back with Christian now, the one before Ted.’

Abbie took this in. ‘And where’s your dad?’

‘He’s got a job on in Bournemouth so he’s staying down there for a couple of days. It’s just me here tonight.’

‘And your hand? What happened to that?’

‘Burnt it with the iron.’

‘Let me see.’

Georgia reluctantly peeled off the bandage.

‘
Ouch
.’ Abbie winced at the sight of the livid, triangular burn on her palm.

‘I know. I sent the iron flying and tried to catch it.’ Georgia said wryly, ‘That’s how smart I am.’

‘How can you even
hold
an iron now?’ It had to be agonizingly painful.

Georgia indicated the bags of clothes. ‘That’s how. It all has to be done and I can’t let people down. I took Sunday off to go out with Dad, so yesterday I was ironing for eighteen hours straight. And I still haven’t caught up.’

She was pale, in pain, emotionally wrung out, and physically exhausted. Abbie said, ‘Oh sweetheart, just look at you,’ and took off her coat.

‘It’s OK, you don’t have to help me.’ Georgia’s eyes filled with fresh tears as she watched her roll up her sleeves.

‘I know I don’t. But I want to.’ Abbie smiled at the girl she would have been unbelievably proud to call her daughter. ‘And I’ll keep going for as long as it takes. If you want to do something useful you could put the kettle on. I’d love a cup of tea.’

‘Hi, can you pop over? I’ve got something for you to say thanks for the other night.’

‘Oh sweetheart, you didn’t need to do that.’ Abbie melted at the sound of Georgia’s voice; it was so lovely to hear her sounding cheerful again. ‘You don’t have to buy me presents.’

‘Ha, bit late now, it’s here. I’d bring it over in the van,’ said Georgia, ‘but it’s too heavy for me to lift on my own.’

Was it a bay tree in a pot, a garden table, a gigantic vase, a life-size pottery crocodile? With Georgia, who knew? As Abbie reached the house and raised her hand to ring the bell, the front door was pulled open and Georgia threw her arms around her.

‘Hello, I’ve got to go! Your present’s in the living room… hope you like it!’

And she was gone. The van sped off down the lane and Abbie’s knees turned to spaghetti. Because her present was no longer in the living room. It had moved into the hallway.

‘I’ve been given a big talking-to by my daughter,’ said Tom. ‘And she’s explained some things I should have been adult enough to work out for myself.’

Abbie’s heart was in her mouth. Tom’s voice wasn’t completely steady. Instead of his dusty work clothes, he was wearing clean jeans and the blue and green striped shirt she had bought him for Christmas. She could tell by the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t comfortable; talking about his feelings had never come naturally to him. Aloud she said faintly, ‘What kind of things?’

‘Oh, I don’t know…’ Tom licked his lips and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘…things like I’ve missed you so much and I love you and the last couple of weeks have been the most miserable of my life…’ Now that he’d started, the words came tumbling out. ‘And I can either carry on being proud and miserable or I can get over what happened and put it behind me and tell you I don’t want to live without you. Because that other stuff doesn’t matter, it was a mistake, and I just want us to be like we were before.’ He shook his head. ‘I overreacted. I said I couldn’t forgive you, but that was just cutting my nose off to spite my face. And I’ve been thinking and
thinking
about it ever since. I knew I had to sort things out, but it took Georgia to bring me to my senses and realize that I need to do it now. It was just my stupid pride stopping me.’ This time Tom’s voice cracked with emotion. ‘I was an idiot and I’m sorry, and I might have left it too late because you could be loving every minute of your new single life. But I love you so much, I really do. And if you do want to come back, you’d make me the happiest man in the world.’

Abbie managed a wobbly smile. This was why she’d spent her entire adult life loving him. Tom was honest, principled, loyal, and strong. He might find it hard to express his feelings but that only made it all the more special when he did. Her throat tightening, she said, ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ He nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on her. ‘And you’d make Georgia pretty happy too.’

Was this really happening? She threw herself into his arms and this time Tom was the one whose eyes were damp with tears. Tom, who never ever cried.

‘I’m sorry too. I wish it hadn’t happened but it did. I was out of my mind with misery and I made a hideous mistake. But I didn’t have sex with Des Kilgour, I swear I didn’t—’

‘Sshh. It’s OK, I believe you. I just want you back.’

Dizzy with joy, Abbie kissed him. ‘I’ve missed you so much. I want to come back more than anything.’

He squeezed her, overcome with emotion. ‘Good. And there are going to be some changes around here.’

Was he laying down the law? Were there going to be
rules
? Taken aback, Abbie said, ‘Like what?’

Tom took a half-step back and drew her into the living room doorway. ‘Take a look. Notice anything different?’

What was different? And then she saw.
Oh good grief
! There were no clothes hung up, no crammed-full bags, no ironing board set up in front of the TV. The room was back to its pristine, uncluttered, pre-Georgia state. It looked so
empty
…

Abbie’s heart thudded with fear. Her initial instinct was horror. Oh no, this was the very last thing she wanted. ‘Is Georgia leaving? Is she moving out?’

Tom looked carefully at her. ‘Would it help if she did?’

‘No! I don’t want her to go!’

He relaxed, broke into a smile. ‘That’s OK then. She’s not going anywhere.’

Abbie gestured around the room. ‘So where’s… everything?’

‘You know Georgia, she doesn’t hang about. One of her clients runs an ad agency in Cheltenham. He offered her a job as his receptionist. She’s taken on Ethel and Myrtle Mason to do the ironing at their house from now on. She’ll take care of the pick-ups and deliveries before and after work. So that’s it, all sorted. We’ve got our house back.’

‘I’ve got my husband back.’ Abbie stroked his dear oh-so-familiar face.

‘And I’ve got my beautiful wife back.’ Kissing her, then kissing her again, Tom said, ‘Now that’s what I call a result.’

An hour later, Abbie’s phone went. Smiling when she saw who was calling, she answered and said, ‘Hi.’

‘I’ve waited and waited, and now I can’t wait a single second more.
Well
?’ demanded Georgia.

Patience had never been one of her strong points.

Abbie said, ‘What time are you coming home and what would you like for dinner?’

‘Yay! Is everything really OK now?’

‘It’s more than OK. Thanks to you. How about roast chicken?’

‘Yes please! With loads of roast potatoes. And can you do the stuffing separately? Because—’

‘It’s OK, I know.’ Abbie realized that what she was feeling was unconditional love. Her happiness knew no bounds. Squeezing Tom’s hand, she said into the phone, ‘Because stuffing’s always better when it’s crunchy.’

***

It was like turning up at Cabot Circus for a major shopping splurge, only to discover that all the shops were shut. Fia, having switched on the radio expecting to hear Ash, couldn’t believe it when she found herself listening to the voice of a complete stranger.

Had somebody moved the dial to another station without telling her? No, it was still on BWR. For heaven’s sake, who was this man burbling on about supermarket queues? He wasn’t even funny! What was he doing on Ash’s show? How dare he!

Was it weird to be this indignant and put out? Oh well, too bad. Fia carried on listening until the usurper said chummily, ‘And for those just joining us, a big hello from me, Max Margason, filling in for Ash this morning. Poor old Ash, he’s only gone and lost his voice! Has he tried looking under the sofa cushions, that’s what I want to know, ha ha ha! When I lose my car keys that’s usually where they’ve ended up!’

God, he was so
annoying
. But at least now she knew what had happened to Ash. Laryngitis, hardly ideal for a radio presenter. Poor thing, hopefully he wasn’t feeling too rotten. Maybe she’d call round after lunch and see if there was anything he needed.

‘Unless he’s pulling a sickie,’ Max burbled on. ‘Eh, Megan? That could be it, couldn’t it? Maybe he had a damn good night, met a pretty young thing and… well, wa-heyyyy, just didn’t feel like getting out of bed this morning, ha ha ha!’

How dare he say that? What an idiot, what an annoying, unfunny
prat.
Fia had never wanted to slap someone so badly in her life.

***

Emerging from the kitchen at lunchtime, Fia was startled to see Ash sitting up at the bar. So he wasn’t ill after all. Did that mean he’d lied to his bosses at the radio station?
Had
he pulled a sickie because he’d had a riotous night last night?

More to the point, who had he spent it with?

‘Hi.’ She felt… not jealous exactly. Just kind of really needing to know.

Ash looked up and waggled his fingers by way of greeting. His fair hair was tousled and still damp from the shower. He was wearing a blue and white striped cotton shirt over a white T-shirt and faded jeans. Beckoning her over, he scribbled something on a fluorescent pink Post-It pad:

Laryngitis. Hi!

Oh the relief. Fia knew she was beaming like an idiot but she couldn’t help herself. She was glad he hadn’t got lucky last night, glad he hadn’t been lying.

‘I know. I heard the other guy on the radio this morning.’

Ash raised an eyebrow and wrote:

He’s a dickhead.

‘You can say that again.’

He tore off the Post-It and wrote on the next sheet:

He’s a dickhead.

Fia laughed. ‘I thought you’d be at home in bed. How are you feeling?’

Ash scrawled:

Fine! It’s just my voice that’s gone. Saw Dr and he said rest it completely.

‘Poor you.’

Ash wasn’t looking at her. Instead he concentrated on writing the next message:

When did you start listening to my show???

The fact that his eyes were fixed on the Post-It pad meant she didn’t have to blush. ‘Oh, a while back. I like it. I can listen to classical music during the rest of the day. You and Megan make me laugh.’

As he scribbled the next words, she noticed that Ash’s neck was reddening. Maybe he was running a temperature and didn’t realize it. Fia watched him write:

Excellent! But I’m funnier than Megan.

‘That goes without saying.’

Smiling slightly, Ash scrawled:

That’s why I didn’t say it.

‘Are you hungry? Does it hurt to eat?’

He nodded then shook his head.

‘So you’d like…?’ Fia indicated the blackboard with today’s offerings chalked up.

Ash made horns of his index fingers.

‘Chicken.’

He gave her a look.

‘Sorry. Beef. OK, salad or curry?’

Ash fanned his mouth vigorously.

She smiled as his phone started to ring. ‘Coming right up. Want me to answer that for you?’

He glanced at caller ID, shook his head and scribbled:

Only my agent.

Ten minutes later, returning with the curry, she found Ash gazing into space and looking preoccupied.

‘Everything OK?’

He paused, then grimly passed his mobile over to her, indicating that she should listen to the message.

Never mind preoccupied, he was in a state of shock. Had someone died? Had he been sacked? Fia put down the plate of beef Madras and took the phone.

‘Ash? Listen kid, we’ve had an approach from KCL. I’ve just taken a call from the big boss—he’s a major fan of yours. He wants you to fly over there, meet the team, see what you make of the place.’ Ash’s agent had a gravely, intense, agenty type of voice, the kind that was skilled in the art of building up his clients. His words sent an icy tremor down Fia’s spine. ‘But they really want you, so it’s pretty much of a done deal. And they’re talking big bucks. So how about that then? Bit of a result, eh? Told you it was worth a shot. Call me back, kid. See ya!’

Fia switched the phone off and swallowed hard. ‘Wow. That sounds… fantastic. Where’s KCL?’

She peered at the pad as he wrote:

Sydney.

‘Australia?’ Idiotic question. And she already knew how many enthusiastic Australian fans he had; they were endlessly emailing the show. Ash called them his Possum Posse.

He nodded.

God, Australia. The other side of the world. Equally stunned, she said, ‘I didn’t know you were thinking of moving abroad.’

He shrugged helplessly.

‘Well, good for you. Sydney. Wow.’ OK, this was getting stupid; she had to stop saying wow. Fia dredged up a smile. ‘Bondi Beach. Barbeques. Beer… all that
sun
…’ Oh God, listen to her, and now she was practically pushing him onto the plane.

Deborah joined them. ‘Fia, table three are ready to order. D’you want me to do it?’

Did she? Fia couldn’t even tell. All she knew was that she was seized with a strange panicky fear teetering on the edge of tearfulness.

OK, get a grip
. She shook her head at Deborah. ‘No… no, it’s fine, I’ll take care of them now.’

Probably just as well, before she made a massive fool of herself in the middle of the pub without even quite understanding why.