The Love Shack (28 page)

She listens silently, taking it all in. It feels strangely cathartic to tell her, but that doesn’t change the basic, hideous facts of the matter.

‘Here’s the solution,’ she says. ‘Stop worrying.’

This doesn’t sound like much of a solution. ‘Well, it’s a lot of money to us. Money I haven’t got. I have no idea how I’m going to break this to Dan.’

‘You don’t need to break this to Dan. And you don’t have to worry about a thing.’ I look up. ‘
I’m
paying for the repairs.’

I shake my head. ‘Dan would never accept it, Belinda. You know how strongly he feels about doing all this on our own. I didn’t tell you about it because I wanted to get the money out of you. Although it’s very good of you to offer. You’ve been nothing but generous.’

‘Gemma,’ she begins, ‘it would be madness to refuse. Take it. It’ll make all your problems go away.’

‘But Dan’s already refused the money for the deposit and—’

‘You’re not taking the money for the deposit, just the repairs. That’s different.’

I try to think of a compelling argument to continue to say no. I hear the door slam and my heart constricts: Dan’s home. I need to get out of here, fast.

‘Just take it, Gemma,’ she whispers. ‘Go on. Say the word now and I’ll transfer it into your account this afternoon. As simple as that.’

‘Gemma?’ Dan calls from downstairs, as blood thunders through my ears.

‘Gemma?’ repeats Belinda.

‘Okay,’ I splutter. I run to the door and turn back in time to see her smile. ‘And thank you.’

‘It’s my pleasure. And it’s our secret,’ she adds, as I feel torn between relief and a new kind of worry.

Chapter 43

Dan

I don’t know if it’s the strain of the house move, or just living here, but a nagging question finally pushes to the front of my head: is Gemma up to something?

I have this instinctive sense that she’s been meeting someone. The evidence isn’t exactly conclusive: texts she rushes to open and the panic in her face when she said she’d been in Manchester the other week, something I wouldn’t have given a second thought to otherwise.

Yet I trust her completely. Of course I do. So I tell myself to soldier on and forget these moments of doubt that creep up every so often. The same ones I got the first time I realised I never wanted to live without her.

The first time I proposed was in Cornwall and I’d have to admit that I hadn’t put a vast amount of planning into it. We’d camped overnight in a tiny, moth-eaten tent on an unspoiled site near St Mawes, overlooking the crashing waves of the Roseland Peninsula.

We were at the end of the week and had run out of clothes, forgotten what a real bed felt like and, in my case, was so relaxed I could barely see myself in the mirror for facial hair.

‘Don’t you love being by the sea?’ she said. ‘Imagine living this close to it.’

‘If I ever become mega-rich and successful, I’ll buy you a house by the sea,’ I promised.

‘It wouldn’t have to be the sea,’ she shrugged. ‘Just somewhere near a bit of water would do. How about one of those million-pound warehouse apartments in Liverpool with a balcony over the river?’

‘Right. A dream home with a view, any view. I’ll start saving now, shall I?’

When she laughed, a gust of wind blew hair across her cheeks and she shivered. I took her face in my cold hands and kissed her lips.

‘I love you, Dan,’ she whispered.

And suddenly, saying, ‘I love you too,’ didn’t feel nearly enough to express what I felt. Nothing did. So it was then that the immortal words first slipped from my mouth, words I’d never even thought about before but which at that moment – and every day since – felt right.

‘Marry me, Gemma.’

She didn’t respond at all at first. Her eyes scanned mine, reading my face as if trying to work out if I meant it. ‘I . . . I . . .’ she stammered.

I can’t think of a moment before or since when I’ve felt a stronger desire to un-say something.

Not because I didn’t mean it, but because I wanted her to say yes so badly that I feared it would destroy me when she didn’t oblige. She was at least polite enough to decline with a joke, one that stuck and has been repeated at least a hundred times since.

I often wonder if I could twist her arm one day; in moments of weakness or paralytic drunkenness I’ve come close to asking her for real.

But I know it would only end in the same excruciating way as in Cornwall, which is why I tend not to go there. So why do I still keep the diamond ring I bought three weeks after that day, hidden in the ‘important stuff’ box in my bedroom? The ring that she came so close to finding when she was looking for a pay-slip? Who knows. But it’s the closest thing I’ve got to proving the insanity of love.

Chapter 44

Gemma

The email lands as I pull up outside the village shop in Buddington following a difficult day after which, despite the budgetary implications, I need wine. I’m getting out of the car, idly flicking onto my phone, when the name Scott Bushnell appears and I scramble back into my seat, slam the door and start reading.

Gemma, what a lovely surprise to hear from you. Dan’s told me a lot about you and you’re right – a meet-up is long overdue. I’m back and forth to the UK at the moment as I’m in the process of securing a deal, so if you’re free next Saturday I’d love to get together. I’ll ask my secretary to book something. Can you suggest somewhere? I’ll obviously come to you.

Kindest regards, Scott Bushnell

My emotions are at odds as I consider this. I’m nervous about telling Dan about it, but also slightly surprised at how
nice
Scott sounds. I know it’s only a few paragraphs, but after listening to Dan and Belinda, I’d imagined some sort of megalomaniac.

It strikes me, self-indulgently perhaps, that maybe all he and Dan needed to rekindle their relationship was someone reaching out to him. I suddenly feel quite optimistic as I put away my phone and step out of the car again.

I can’t tell you exactly what makes my eyes lift to the entrance of the Brown Cow pub at the moment a couple fall out of it.

It’s only as giggles drift over the shrubbery and across the road, that my eyes spring back and register that it’s Belinda and James. Judging by the fact that they’re all over each other, her intention to dump him doesn’t appear to have quite gone according to plan.

I dart into the off-licence and emerge with the cheapest bottle of plonk I can find, noting that the lovebirds are still rooted to the spot. Every time he tries to say goodbye, she drags him by the lapels and plasters her lips to him as if she’s trying to unblock a toilet with them.

It’s only as I’m back in the car and have turned the ignition on that something else captures my attention: a bloke in a blue Mondeo parked on the opposite side of the road taking what must be the world’s least interesting photos of the pub wall. Don’t get me wrong, the Brown Cow is a nice-looking establishment; olde worlde and pretty, with roses climbing around the door. But he’s at such an odd angle, the only thing he’d be able to get in the frame is half a window. And . . .

And Belinda and James.

I hold my breath as my brain attempts to process this information and work out if I’ve got it right. It’s then that I spot the long lens firmly planted on the couple as they walk away. I process the scene – he must be a private detective.

I swing my car into the shop forecourt again and leap out as a red mist overcomes me. I’m across the road and knocking on the window unceremoniously before he gets a chance to move.

He winds down the window. ‘Yes?’

I get straight to the point. ‘Why are you taking pictures of that couple?’

He frowns. ‘Well, they’re in a public place, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Then it slots into place. He’s not a private detective. He’s a paparazzo.

‘Delete those photos or I’ll call the police,’ I hear myself saying.

‘I don’t think so,’ he says calmly.

‘But—’

‘Look, this is my livelihood. And I’ve done nothing wrong.’

My chest reddens. ‘Technically, perhaps. But . . .’

‘But what?’ He looks in the direction of the pub again. ‘Oh God, they’ve gone now anyway,’ he groans as he throws his car into gear and drives off.

Chapter 45

Dan

I have my key in the front door when Gemma’s car hurls down the driveway so fast she sends gravel machine-gunning across the lawn, nearly decapitating several pigeons.

‘Come inside, I need to tell you something,’ she announces, dragging me in. ‘Your mum has been having a . . .
thing
with James.’

The name, clearly, is supposed to mean something.

‘The architect!’ she hisses.

‘Oh.’ I let this information sink in. ‘Okay. Yes, I knew they’d been to dinner. But . . . a
thing?’

‘A relationship. Almost.’

‘She doesn’t do relationships,’ I tell Gemma.

She raises her eyebrows in a
you-know-nothing
way.

‘I’m serious,’ I insist. ‘I’m not saying she’s been celibate forever. I know there have been flings.’ The thought makes me want to bring up my lunch. ‘None have ever turned into more than that. It’ll be nothing.’

‘Believe me, Dan, it’s something. She’s told me as much.’

I let this information filter into my brain and, despite my scepticism, surprise myself by how much I want it to be true. ‘Well, if what you’re saying is right, then that’s great. Really great.’

‘It would be, apart from the fact that she’s been papped with him,’ Gemma replies.

She proceeds to tell me about some bloke she saw taking photos of Mum and James stumbling out of the Brown Cow. It all sounds extremely unlikely. This is my mother and her neighbour we’re talking about, not Kim and Kanye.

‘Mum’s not that famous. Not any more. You must have got the wrong end of the stick.’

The front door opens and Mum bursts in. She has lipstick on her chin, a ladder in her tights and looks as though she’s spent the afternoon creating Neknomination videos. Her attempt to walk towards us in a straight line – resulting in a near-dislocation of her shoulder on the banister – confirms my suspicions that she is not sober.

‘Belinda,’ Gemma begins, ‘I saw you and James in the village.’

Mum glares at her, then gestures in my direction with all the subtlety of an air-traffic controller.

‘It’s okay,’ Gemma assures her. ‘He knows.’

‘Mum, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’m glad you’ve found someone you like. I’m pleased for you.’

She tuts. ‘That was what I was worried about. I didn’t want you getting too attached to the idea, Dan, not when I’ve just dumped him.’

Gemma looks sceptical. ‘You did it then?’

‘I did, yes,’ she replies, raising her hand to cover what – horrifyingly – looks like a love bite.

‘So – it’s over?’ Gemma asks.

‘Well . . .’ she begins. ‘Not exactly. We agreed to see each other again tomorrow. It felt so sudden, you see, saying goodbye just like that.’

‘Belinda, it wasn’t just you and James I saw in the village,’ Gemma warns her. ‘A photographer with a long lens was taking pictures of you. I think it was for the newspapers.’

My mother’s reaction to this can only be compared to the red line in a cartoon thermometer, increasing in speed before it finally explodes out of the top.

‘NO!’

Gemma nods.

‘NOOO!’

‘Belinda, I’m so sorry.’

‘NOOO! NOOO! NOOO-OOO!’

‘Oh God, will you all calm down,’ I leap in, taking Mum by the arm as I lead her to the living room. ‘I really wouldn’t worry about it, Mum. I can’t believe that this is going to qualify as news.’

Mum hesitates. ‘Do you think?’

‘I do. Look, go and run a bath. Relax a little.’

‘But I need to get the dinner on. It’s spinach-stuffed squid,’ she slurs as I wonder if there is any food that sounds less appetising. ‘I haven’t even done the stuffing yet. The squids are lying in the fridge like six used condoms.’

Gemma and I finally persuade Mum to have a bath while we drive to get a takeaway so she doesn’t have to stuff the squid until tomorrow.

‘How come you didn’t mention that Mum was getting serious with James?’ I ask, as I climb into the passenger seat.

‘She asked me not to say anything.’

I glance over at her. ‘You’ve been keeping secrets with my mum? I can’t tell you the alarm this causes in me,’ I smirk.

‘It’s not like that,’ she leaps in, the subtleties of my humour clearly lost.

‘Hey, don’t worry.’ I reach over and clasp her hand. ‘I’m just glad it’s given her something to distract her energies away from hating Dad.’

She doesn’t reply. ‘What’s up?’ I ask.

‘Your dad.’

‘What about him?’

‘Look, I don’t know what you’re going to think about this. I was in two minds at the very beginning, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Only then I worried that what I’ve done was a massive mistake. But it was too late then.’

‘Gemma,’ I say. ‘What
is
it that you’ve done?’

Chapter 46

Gemma

I heard from Rich this morning and the plan is that we will exchange contracts at some point in the next week.

Once that’s happened, there is no going back. Pebble Cottage will be ours. For definite.

Which is one of the reasons why I decide, finally, to send Alex a Facebook friend request almost two weeks after he requested I do so. It suddenly struck me that not being Facebook friends felt like I was making far too big a statement about his significance in my life.

I mean, I’m Facebook friends with the office caretaker who retired two years ago, and my mother’s second cousin Shirley who lives in Australia and whom I’ve never met. So why wouldn’t I be Facebook friends with Alex unless for some reason I couldn’t bear to have updates about what was going on in his life?

Besides, he’s continued to text me intermittently and lately those texts have felt less flirtatious and more just friendly.