Take a Chance on Me (8 page)

‘Actually, thanks for the offer but—’

‘Don’t say
but
. Ach, I hate it when girls say but.’ He pulled a pouting, little-boy face. ‘Come on, live a little. We’d have a good time, I promise. What’s your favorite restaurant?’ He took out his phone and looked expectantly at Cleo, swaying on his feet as he waited for her to reel off her number.

Cleo, pointing behind him, said, ‘I think someone’s waiting for you.’

James turned and let out a groan. ‘Oh God, why isn’t she asleep?’

The woman, arms folded against the cold, was wearing a pink fluffy dressing gown. Her big furry slippers went
slap slap slap
as she made her way down the front path.

‘Always has to turn up and spoil my fun,’ grumbled James, leaning against the car.

‘Hello. Had a good evening?’ Eyeing the business card in Cleo’s hand, she said, ‘What did you give her that for? Have you been pestering this poor girl? Ugh, and you
reek
of booze.’ Tilting her head to survey the snoring occupants of the car, James’s wife said to Cleo, ‘Sorry love, he thinks he’s George Clooney when he’s had a few… ha, I wish! Come along now Georgie-boy, haul yourself inside and let her get off.’ Shoving him in the direction of the house, she added, ‘Why in God’s name would a pretty little thing like that be interested in an old fool like you?’

Stumbling up the path, James mumbled like a truculent schoolboy, ‘Always worth a try.’

Pink coat—turquoise scarf, pink coat—turquoise scarf, pink coat—turquoise scarf. The words were drumming through Abbie’s head in time with her racing heart as the train drew into Temple Meads station and slowed to a halt. The doors opened and passengers spilled out onto the platform, streaming towards the exit.

This was it; this was the one with Georgia on it. Any moment now, a teenager in a pink coat and a turquoise scarf would step down from the train and she would see the girl who should have been her daughter.

And then it happened. Next to her, Tom took an audible breath before saying in a carefully controlled voice, ‘There she is.’

Abbie squeezed his hand before releasing it. As the girl scanned the area beyond the gates, Abbie moved away from Tom. He had insisted she come along this evening, but the first meeting had to be between father and daughter. Melting into the background, bracing herself, she watched as Tom raised his hand and stepped up to the barrier.

Georgia was gazing at Tom now, a huge smile spreading across her face. The next moment she let out a squeal of excitement, shoving her ticket at the startled ticket collector and barreling through the gate, before abruptly screeching to a halt six feet away from him and pulling out her phone. She pressed a couple of buttons, held the phone up to record Tom’s face, and yelled joyfully, ‘Hi, Dad!’

Then she threw down her rucksack and launched herself like an Exocet missile into Tom’s arms.

It was hard to watch but impossible to look away. Other people were looking too, nudging each other and smiling, assuming the two of them hadn’t seen each other for weeks, maybe even months.

Then father and daughter pulled apart and gazed wordlessly into each other’s eyes. Abbie’s stomach twisted with envy and emptiness. With her heart-shaped face, slender figure, and long rippling silvery-blond hair, Georgia resembled her mother, but she was also, without question, a part of Tom. As in the photograph, there were those shared cheekbones, that exact same mouth shape. Even from this distance you could see that their eyes were an identical shade of sky-blue.

Abbie watched as Tom said something to the girl and then led her over to where she was standing outside the entrance of W H Smith. He was trying so hard not to show it, but the pride he was feeling was inescapable.

‘Abbie, this is Georgia.’

‘Hiya, nice to meet you.’ Politely, Georgia held out a hand for her to shake. ‘Isn’t this amazing? Look, I recorded it all on my mobile! Hang on, let me play it again…’

Her throat so tight she could barely swallow, Abbie was forced to stand by and smile and watch as the video clip was replayed on the mobile’s tiny screen.

Twice.

And then one more time for luck.

‘I’m going to keep that
forever
.’ Georgia clutched the phone to her chest. Then, putting her face next to Tom’s, she said, ‘Go on, can you take another one of us? Do we look alike? We do, don’t we! Look at our eyes!’

Eventually they made their way out of the station to the parking lot. Having chucked her haversack in the trunk of the car, Georgia automatically jumped into the passenger seat, so she could sit next to Tom. Abbie, relegated to the back seat, listened to her chattering excitedly away in the front and felt more left out than ever. She may as well be traveling in the trunk.

***

Back at Channings Hill, Georgia climbed out of the car and surveyed the house, currently in darkness but with the trees in the front garden decorated with twinkling white Christmas lights.

‘And this is where you’ve been living since before I was born.’

‘It is.’ Tom nodded in agreement. ‘We like it here.’

‘Pretty.’ She followed him up the front path. ‘So if Mum had given me to you like she was supposed to, this is where I’d have grown up.’

‘You would.’ He unlocked the front door, then showed her into the living room and began switching on the lights.

Georgia clapped her hands at the sight of the tree. ‘You’ve got a real Christmas tree! All my life I’ve wanted a real one. Mum always said they were too messy.’

Eighteen Christmases they’d missed out on. Abbie said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Make us all a nice cup of tea?’

‘No thanks, I don’t drink tea. I’ll have a coffee.’ Grabbing Tom’s left hand, Georgia held out her own and exclaimed, ‘Hey, our fingers are the same shape! Spooky!’

‘Um, do you take sugar?’ said Abbie.

‘That is so weird! How about cracking your knuckles, can you do that? And how about bending your thumb back until it touches your wrist?’

In the kitchen, Abbie fumbled to undo the packets of biscuits she’d bought specially. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she recited the alphabet backwards in her head. Then tried counting down in sevens from two hundred. These were meant to take her mind off what was happening in her house… which was, of course, more painful than any extramarital affair Tom could have had.

Anyway, they didn’t work. The lump in her throat grew and grew, and the girl who should have been her daughter carried on laughing and exclaiming and comparing various body parts in the living room with the man who actually was her dad.

Abbie opened the back door and slipped out into the garden. It was a relief to be able to let the tears out. They slid down her cheeks, icy cold within seconds. She must be a truly horrible person to resent all this so much, but just couldn’t help herself. It was only now that she truly appreciated how happy and uncomplicated and easy her marriage
had
been.

Georgia’s arrival had ruined everything. Hopefully, once this weekend visit was over and her curiosity had been satisfied, she would disappear again and leave them to carry on with their lives.

Well, you could always dream.

The kitchen door creaked open and Abbie hurriedly wiped her face before Tom could see that she was upset. But when she turned, she saw that the figure silhouetted in the doorway wasn’t Tom’s.

‘Hello?’ Gazing through the darkness, Georgia said, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Fine, fine! Just… fancied some fresh air. Where’s Tom?’

‘He went up to the bathroom.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you crying?’

‘Of course I’m not crying!’ This was now technically true; the embarrassment of being caught had stopped the tears dead in their tracks.

But Georgia was coming across the garden towards her. When she reached Abbie, she peered closely at her face and said, ‘Liar.’

Abbie braced herself; she was the grown-up and she didn’t feel like the grown-up. ‘Really, I’m OK. You go back inside. I’ll be in in a minute.’

Georgia didn’t move. ‘Do you hate me?’

‘No. No.’ Shaking her head, Abbie said, ‘I definitely don’t hate you.’

‘Mum, then. I bet you hate my mum.’

Oh God, this was difficult. ‘I don’t think hate is the right word. But yes, she made me… very unhappy.’ Which was about as inadequate an explanation as you could get, but how else could she put it?

‘She didn’t mean to,’ said Georgia. ‘She told me all about it, about everything that happened. The reason she did it in the first place was because she really wanted to help you. But then afterwards, as soon as she knew she was pregnant, it all kind of began to sink in that she was having an actual baby. And her feelings began to change and she started to panic… basically, she was falling in love with me, even though I hadn’t been born yet, even though I was only
that big
.’ Georgia held up her hand, her thumb and forefinger practically touching. ‘And she realized she couldn’t bear to give me away after all.’

Abbie nodded; how could she dispute that?

‘So she told her mother, my grandmother, and they decided they’d raise me between them,’ Georgia continued. ‘But if they’d told you and Tom, you’d have gone mental and nagged her to change her mind, and you might have got the police involved, and it would have been upsetting for everyone. So it was easier just to lie and say she wasn’t pregnant. Which I think was fair enough.’ She shrugged. ‘Under the circumstances, it was the best thing to do.’

From behind them, Tom said, ‘What are you two doing out here?’

‘Nothing. Just talking.’ Georgia, who was only wearing a T-shirt, said through chattering teeth, ‘I can’t believe we’re standing outside in the freezing cold!’

‘Did you miss having a father when you were growing up?’ Abbie had to ask.

‘I don’t really know. A bit, maybe, sometimes. It’s hard to know if you really miss something you’ve never had.’ Georgia’s teeth gleamed in the darkness. ‘Then again, it’s pretty cool meeting him now.’

That was the point of all this, Abbie reminded herself. It was happening for Georgia’s benefit, not theirs.

‘And I’m sorry if I made you cry,’ Georgia went on.

‘That’s OK. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘If my mum hadn’t decided to keep me, you’d have been my mother.’ Her blond hair swung as she shook her head. ‘That’s definitely weird.’

‘I know.’

‘The thing is, all my life, I’ve been wondering who my dad is and wishing I could meet him.’

Abbie nodded. ‘I know.’ God, she sounded like a stuck record.

‘So, no offense, but I haven’t spent years and years wondering who my mum is,’ said Georgia, ‘because she’s always been there.’

This was stupid, she couldn’t say ‘I know’ again. Searching for an alternative, Abbie said, ‘Of course she has.’

‘So what’s going on?’ From the kitchen doorway, Tom called across, ‘Are you two planning on staying out there all night?’

Georgia was shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her midriff.

‘I could light a bonfire,’ said Tom.

Georgia looked uncertainly at Abbie. ‘Is he joking?’

‘That’s something you’ll just have to get used to, your dad’s sense of humor.’ Smiling, Abbie said, ‘Come on, before we get frostbite. Let’s go inside.’

‘I just saw them leaving.’ Cleo unwound the bright pink scarf from around her neck and gave her sister a hug. ‘How did it go?’

Abbie heaved a sigh. It was late on Sunday afternoon and Tom was driving Georgia to the coach station; having spent the last fortnight with friends in Newcastle, she was now heading back to London, to the Paddington flat she shared with her mother.

‘Well, I suppose it could have been worse.’ At least she could be honest with Cleo. ‘She’s a sweet girl. But I’m glad it’s over.’

‘Over?’ Cleo looked doubtful. ‘You think she’ll leave you alone now?’

‘Fingers crossed.’ Pushing up her sleeves, Abbie began running hot water and Fairy Liquid into the sink; considering she'd spent hours cooking an elaborate roast dinner, it would have been nice if Tom and Georgia could have told her to put her feet up and let
them
do the washing up, but of course it hadn’t occurred to them to offer.

And just because she was crossing her fingers didn’t mean her wish would come true.

‘I wondered if she’d want to stay for Christmas.’

‘Me too, but it’s OK. She’s off to Portugal with her mother. Patty’s got this semi-boyfriend who lives out there. He’s invited them to stay for a few weeks.’ Dryly Abbie said, ‘He has a massive pool.’

‘Well, good. Maybe now she’s met Tom, the novelty’ll wear off.’

This was what she was hoping too. Something told Abbie, though, that it wasn’t likely to happen. Scrubbing hard at a plate, she said, ‘How about you, anyway? Any more funny phone calls?’

Cleo shuddered. ‘No, thank goodness. Maybe it wasn’t his wife after all.’

‘It was probably just some wrong number and you’ve got yourself all worked up about it for nothing.’ Even in the midst of her own misery, Abbie could still feel sorry for her sister, who had never had much luck with men; during her late teenage years, Cleo had got herself entangled with a number of supposed charmers who’d turned out to be less than charming in the long run. Since then, she had grown wary and ultra-fussy, reluctant to take the risk of getting hurt again. ‘Tell you what, how about if we get you a lie detector for Christmas? Then the next time you meet someone, you can give them a good old interrogation first.’

‘Oh wow, wouldn’t that be brilliant?’ Her eyes lighting up, Cleo said, ‘God, I’d love one of those! Think of the stuff you could find out, the havoc you could cause!’

Abbie reached for the next plate. ‘Like when you had your hair colored and it turned out bright purple and you asked me if it looked awful.’

‘I knew you were lying.’

‘I was just trying to make you feel better about yourself.’

‘Ooh, speaking of lies, you know what this place is like.’ Cleo pulled a face. ‘They were gossiping about Georgia in the pub last night. The O’Brien brothers were joking about Tom playing away. I think some people just don’t want to believe the whole surrogate story.’

‘Great.’ Abbie had expected as much, but it still hurt; the downside of living in a village was the gossip. As soon as Georgia’s startling resemblance to Tom had been spotted, they’d been forced to explain her existence and knowing nods had ensued.

‘Don’t worry, I had a real go at them in front of everyone. I said you and Tom were the happiest couple we all knew, and it was sick of them to even think that, because Tom had never done anything behind your back and he never would. I said the two of you had the perfect marriage.’

Oh God. ‘Well, thanks anyway.’ Here came the guilt again; she concentrated all her attention on the washing up. ‘Was it busy in the pub?’

‘Packed! Anyway, I showed up the O’Briens. They’re probably just jealous of you and Tom anyway,’ said Cleo. ‘Everyone knows Barry O’Brien’s wife had a thing with that guy from the garage who was always going round there to “fix her car.”’

Abbie splashed washing-up suds across the front of her petrol-blue angora sweater and carried on vigorously scrubbing an already clean gravy jug. She could be honest with Cleo about a lot of things but there were limits. She was the older sister, the happily married
settled
one, the one Cleo still looked up to.

No, there was no way she could tell her about Des Kilgour. Cleo would be shocked. Some secrets you just had to keep to yourself.

‘I never thought about it before,’ Cleo said dreamily, ‘but I could look on the internet.’

‘For Barry O’Brien’s wife?’

‘No,
duh
.’ The other thing about Cleo was the way her brain was capable of careering from one train of thought to the next, like a wasp in a bottle. ‘To see if there’s a company that sells the machines so I could do my own lie detector tests.’

***

‘You know, I really hate to sound like a miserable old killjoy,’ said Cleo, ‘but if one more person asks me in a jovial manner if I’m
all ready for Christmas
, I might just have to scream and stamp my feet and batter them around the head with a bunch of mistletoe.’

‘Or you could sing to them. Christmas Carols,’ said Ash. ‘That’d teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.’

Cleo pinched him. It was Christmas Eve and they were in the pub, sitting together in one of the window seats like a couple of Grumpy Old Men. ‘Why do people always say it, anyway? What difference does it make if we’re all-ready-for-Christmas or not? In two hours’ time, it’ll
be
Christmas, so it’s too late to do anything about it anyway.’

‘Bah.’ Ash nodded sagely in agreement. ‘Humbug.’

‘You know what? I’m twenty-nine and I’m sat here with you, and this
so
isn’t how I was expecting this Christmas to turn out.’ Cleo licked her index finger and dabbed at the last salty crumbs in her crisp packet.

Ash took a gulp of lager. ‘You make me feel so special.’

‘Oh you know what I mean. I really thought this year was going to be different.’ She’d actually secretly fantasized that Will would produce two airline tickets and whisk her away somewhere glamorous, even if it was just for a few days. Imagine, Christmas in Paris, living it up at the George V, walking hand in hand along the banks of the Seine while showers of stars exploded, Moulin Rouge style, in the sky.

Except
that
happy fantasy had exploded when she’d discovered Will had a wife and kids.

‘Alright then, you two?’ Raising a glass in greeting—and not the first of the evening by the look of it—Des Kilgour said genially, ‘All ready for Christmas?’

OK, Des was her sister’s boss and she couldn’t beat him with a bunch of mistletoe. Forcing a bright smile, Cleo said, ‘Not really, but never mind!’ Then, on the basis that if you can’t beat them, join them, she added, ‘How about you?’

This was Des’s cue to say cheerily, ‘Oh well, the usual chaos, you know what it’s like!’

Instead he said, ‘Not much point in doing anything. It’s just me at home, after all.’

Yeek, wrong reply. Oh dear. ‘Um… well, I expect that’s what you prefer, a nice lazy day…’

‘I wouldn’t say I prefer it.’ Des shrugged. ‘It’s just the way it is.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Fiddling with her empty crisp packet, Cleo felt awful. She didn’t really know Des Kilgour that well, but Abbie worked for him. He was evidently a good boss and a nice enough person—

‘How’s your sister?’

‘She’s fine, thanks.’

Des nodded slowly. ‘Good… good.’ He paused, then raised a hand in salutation and said, ‘Well just wish Abbie and… um, Tom a happy Christmas from me. And I’ll see her back at work next week. OK, bye.’

‘I know what was going through your mind,’ Ash murmured in her ear when Des had wandered off to the other end of the pub. ‘You nearly invited him over to your sister’s for lunch.’

‘I know, I know.’ Exhaling, Cleo said, ‘I just think it must be so horrible, spending Christmas Day on your own. If I was on my own, I’d want someone to invite me to their house.’ But she hadn’t invited Des; Abbie wasn’t having the easiest time of it lately and having another last-minute guest foisted on her probably wouldn’t fill her with joy.

‘It’s that bloody film’s fault.’ When he’d called round earlier, Ash had spotted the DVD on the coffee table. ‘I’m never letting you watch
Love, Actually
again.’

‘Trust me, I never want to watch it again.’ It had been her attempt to cheer herself up. Instead, as each of the wonderfully happy endings had unfolded, her own unhappy one had only made Cleo feel more miserable. Because let’s face it, the chances were that she
didn’t
have a Hugh Grant or a Colin Firth type character waiting to sweep her off her feet. ‘Ash, what happens if I never meet anyone else?’

‘You will. Some poor sucker’ll come along. It always happens in the end.’

‘Yes, but what if it doesn’t? What if I end up a lonely Old Maid?’

‘Hey, look on the bright side. You’ll be able to wear a crocheted shawl,’ said Ash. ‘And pince-nez!’

‘So could you. And a frilly bonnet. OK, here’s an idea. We could be like
When Harry met Sally
.’ Inspired, Cleo grabbed his arm. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we? So we’ll make a pact! In ten years’ time… no, better make that five years, if neither of us has met the perfect partner, we’ll get married.’

Ash frowned. ‘What, to just anyone?’

‘No! To each other, you dipstick.’

He pulled a horrified face. ‘But I don’t fancy you. At all.’

‘All right, all right.’ It was actually quite hurtful, having to hear him say it. ‘I don’t fancy you either.’

‘And you call me a dipstick.’

‘I wonder why.’

‘But you still think we should get married.’

‘Why not? Wouldn’t it be better than nothing? You’d be lucky to have me! Plus, I don’t want to end up on my own,’ said Cleo, ‘in a rocking chair and a bonnet.’

‘Fine, then. If it’ll shut you up, that’s what we’ll do. In five years, if we’re both still unattached, we’ll get married. To each other.’

‘Good.’ Cleo gave a nod of satisfaction; OK, now at least she had a safety net to fall back on. It might not be romantic but it was practical.

‘And if that’s not an incentive for me to hurry up and find myself a girlfriend,’ said Ash, ‘I don’t know what is.’