The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) (10 page)

She knew she should be sleeping.

So why was she trying on almost everything she owned, from scruffy, casual, laid-back, lazy-Saturday, to going-to-a-golf-club-dinner-with-her-parents smart?

She put her hair up, took it down. She made her face up, wiped it off. She put on big hoop earrings, put on studs. But nothing about her face, her clothes, her hair, even her flipping earrings, looked even halfway right for a day trip out with Adam Lawley.

Why am I doing this? she wondered, as she slung her clothes back in the wardrobe, on the bed or on the floor.

The girl whose face was in her mirror shrugged and said she didn’t know. But hadn’t she better get some rest?

So she took a long, relaxing shower. She made herself a mug of something which was meant to help you nod off straight away. She stirred in lots of honey. She put her lavender-and-hop-filled therapeutic pillow in the bed.

The dawn was breaking when at last she fell asleep.

She found she was ridiculously, absurdly pleased to see him.

When she saw him standing on her doorstep on the dot of half past seven that sunny Saturday morning, looking good (but not too good) in clean jeans that fitted properly (but weren’t ostentatiously designer) and a pale blue shirt which showed off his broad shoulders and his narrow waist (but didn’t have any special style details that would make him look like he was trying much too hard), smelling nice (but not too nice – there was a pleasant hint of soap and shaving foam about him, but he didn’t reek of aftershave or men’s cologne), she didn’t have any trouble smiling as she said hello.

He managed one of his almost-smiles, too.

‘How have you been?’ he asked.

‘Okay.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m sorry I cried all over you that time,’ she added, she hoped casually, as they walked down the street.

‘You mustn’t worry about it.’ Adam turned to glance in her direction, and there was that almost-smile again. ‘It often helps to talk our problems through. I’m sorry it’s so dirty.’

‘What?’

‘My car, it’s very muddy.’ Adam shrugged apologetically. ‘But there wasn’t time to hose it down.’

‘This—this thing is yours?’

‘I’m afraid so, Cat.’

It was the most enormous Volvo Cat had ever seen. It looked as if it had been made a hundred years ago. It was all huge bumpers, a bonnet like a battering ram and giant leather seats.

Its paintwork was all cracked and scuffed and bubbled, sprayed or re-sprayed an ironic green. It was an ecological disaster, a fuel-hungry behemoth of a thing.

‘Goodness, what a whopper.’ Cat stood back and stared at it. ‘I thought my dad’s was big, but yours is even bigger.’

‘Girls say that all the time,’ said Adam gravely, as he unlocked her door – no central locking on this great green dinosaur, she noticed. ‘It’s heavy on the gas, it isn’t pretty, but I need it for the stuff I cart around.’

‘It’s big enough to live in.’

‘Sometimes, Cat, I do.’

As Adam held the door open, once again she felt that warm sensation when he said her name.

Adam couldn’t believe how pleased he was to be with Cat again.

Or how much pleasure he had felt when she had opened her front door, smiling and apparently delighted to see him. Of course, he had to admit this pleasure probably had a lot to do with Cat being so pretty – especially this morning, in her washed-out jeans, white sandals, short-sleeved cardigan and flowery top.

She wasn’t wearing any make-up, or it didn’t show, and that was fine by him. He hated painted faces, even though he knew he shouldn’t, that it was a woman’s right to choose.

‘What about you, Adam – got something thrilling planned?’
she’d asked him, and his name upon her lips had seemed a kind of blessing.

‘You’re almost smiling, Adam,’ she observed as he started to untangle the old-fashioned seatbelt.

‘That’s because it’s such a lovely day.’ Then he suddenly found that he was smiling properly, that he was grinning even, for the first time in weeks, or maybe months. ‘It must be the best day we’ve had for ages.’

‘Yes, it must,’ said Cat and she grinned, too. She took the buckle and, as her left hand brushed his, he felt a pleasant shock, a jolt of happy electricity.

‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘I’m properly strapped in. What do you have to do to get this monster moving? Where do you keep the mice and bits of string?’

Adam turned the key in the ignition and Cat felt the huge green Volvo growl into life. ‘We’ll stop in Warwick, shall we, have a coffee, then go on to Wolverhampton?’ he suggested.

‘Great,’ said Cat, and smiled. She couldn’t help it. She knew today was going to be a good one. ‘I’ve never been to Warwick. But there’s a castle – right?’

‘A castle, lots of Tudor buildings, mediaeval churches. It’s an interesting little town. Well, if you like that sort of thing?’

‘I do,’ she said.

She stretched her legs out, deciding you could keep a dozen chickens in the left hand foot well. She giggled at the thought of Adam driving round the country in a mobile chicken farm, never short of eggs.

‘What’s so funny?’ he enquired.

‘Oh, I was just thinking – but I’m not going to tell you. It’s too stupid, and you’ll think I’m mad.’

‘You think my lovely vintage Volvo is a joke?’

‘Well, maybe – just a bit.’

‘You’re a good walker, are you?’

‘Sorry, Adam.’ Glancing at her feet, she realised she hadn’t done her toenails for a while. The polish was at least a fortnight old and it was badly chipped.

Moving up, there wasn’t much improvement – in fact, it all got worse. There was a big black mark on her left knee. A button was missing from her cardigan. But – most embarrassing of all – she’d got a long white trail of toothpaste dribble down her top. She must look a sight, she thought, as she started scrubbing at it with a tissue, failing to make much of an improvement.

This morning, she had pressed the snooze button a time or three too many. So she’d had to rush around to dress, to eat a bit of breakfast and be ready for when Adam said he’d come. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and she hadn’t done anything with her hair.

She couldn’t remember even brushing it.

But it didn’t matter, any more than it would matter when she had a slob-around-and-pizza day with Tess. Today, she could forget about her real life in London, about Fanny Gregory, the wedding competition, bloody Jack – especially Jack.

‘Who will you say I am?’ she asked as they drove through the quiet weekend suburbs.

‘Who do you want to be?’

‘What do you mean?’ She glanced at him and saw that he was staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the road, and there was no trace at all of any almost-smile.

‘You could be my business partner, secretary, personal assistant – or my friend?’

‘I suppose we’re friends?’ she hazarded.

‘I suppose we must be,’ Adam said, but kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

They drove a while in silence.

Then they were out of London, and Adam said that since they had a bit of time to spare they’d go cross-country for a while before they joined the motorway.

He got tired of driving up and down the motorways. He fancied dawdling along some country lanes.

So they drove through lush and pretty Buckinghamshire, which was full of winding country roads and quiet country villages arranged round village greens. There were scatterings of ancient churches, manor houses, lovely Georgian rectories and a lot of fairly hideous modern infill, too.

‘I don’t know this part of England,’ Cat told Adam. ‘Where exactly are we now?’

‘Oh, here be dragons,’ he replied. ‘Or reptiles, anyway – like Gordon Gekko, right?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I mean as in
Wall Street
. Do you know that movie? It’s one of Gwennie’s favourites. She fancies Michael Douglas. Cat, we’re deep in corporate-raider-land. We’re passing ordinary modern houses worth a cool five million or even fifteen million. See that one just over there with polystyrene pillars?’

‘Yes, I think it’s horrible.’

‘It would sell for six or seven million easily. But, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are really gorgeous older houses round here, too. One day, when I’m a zillionaire, I’ll—’

But Cat never found out what he would do, because as they drove round a sharpish bend they almost crashed into a Jaguar E-Type which was sitting in the middle of the road.

Adam spun the wheel. The big green Volvo veered off the tarmac and ploughed into a bank.

‘Jesus,’ Cat said shakily as they stopped mere inches short of an enormous oak which would have concertinaed the Volvo’s steel bonnet and most probably concertinaed Cat and Adam, too.

‘Cat, are you okay?’ demanded Adam anxiously.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Or at any rate, I think I’m fine. But what the hell does that fool think he’s doing?’

‘He must be trying to replace a flat.’

Adam left the Volvo and walked towards the E-Type – a very old and rusty one which made Adam’s ancient tank look like a limousine – and asked if he could help. So she got out and followed him.

‘I need to get a couple of warning triangles,’ said Adam.

‘Yes, okay,’ said Cat, who was now looking at the man and seeing he was much older than his car and that his hands were dirty, torn and bleeding. ‘What happened, then?’ she asked as Adam went to fetch the triangles and put them in the middle of the road to warn oncoming traffic.

‘I suppose I must have driven over a sharp stone or bit of glass.’ The old man shrugged apologetically. ‘I tried to steer into the verge. But the old bus started making such a ghastly noise I thought she might blow up. So I must have done some other damage when I stopped. Or rather when I skidded.’

‘My friend can probably sort you out,’ said Cat, nodding towards Adam as he walked back to the stricken E-Type. ‘If he can’t – are you in the AA? The RAC?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not, my dear.’

‘Oh – right.’ Cat looked at the man more closely, saw his green tweed jacket was worn and patched and frayed, that he wore a moth-eaten old pullover and that his grey flannel trousers looked as if they’d come from a bazaar on Noah’s Ark.

‘What happened to your hands?’ she asked.

‘I was going to try to change the wheel. But, as I got the jack out of the boot, I slipped and fell. I’m so sorry, miss. You must be thinking, daft old bugger, having an accident himself and trying to cause another one as well.’

‘I’m thinking I should clean you up.’ Cat smiled reassuringly and then she led the old man to the Volvo. While Adam sorted out the E-Type, she sat its owner down and found her bag.

She took out a bottle of water and a pack of tissues. She gently wiped the old man’s hands and satisfied herself that these were only surface grazes. They’d soon scab over but they’d probably be sore for a few days.

Then she noticed several clean and neatly-folded cotton hankies lying on the dashboard. Adam must have seen his mother recently, she thought. So she picked up a couple, folded them in triangles then bandaged the old man’s bleeding hands.

‘You have a very kind and gentle touch,’ the old man said. ‘I don’t suppose you happen to be a nurse, by any chance?’

‘No, but I’m a qualified first-aider.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I work in an architectural salvage yard where there are lots of hazards. So one of us has to be trained to deal with minor injuries and to give first aid.’

‘Do you like your job?’

‘I love it,’ Cat replied. ‘I meet loads of interesting people. I get to learn a lot about the building trade and I see some quite amazing stuff from years ago. Tudor terracotta, Georgian wood, Victorian stained glass.’

‘You might like my house, then.’

‘Where’s your house?’

‘It’s twenty or thirty miles from here, on the way to Marlowe.’ The old man shook his head. ‘I’m a long way from home. I don’t know how I’m going to get back. I don’t think I’m fit to drive. I feel a little shaky.’

‘You mustn’t worry. We’ll work something out.’

‘Adam, have you finished?’ Cat enquired.

‘Yes, all done.’

As he wiped his dirty, oily hands on his clean jeans, Cat gave him a handkerchief and a my-God-you-are-a-sight-now look. It made him want to laugh out loud because for just one second she looked so like his mother.

Did all mothers teach their daughters how to do that look?

He supposed they must.

‘I’ve changed your tyre,’ he told the man. ‘But soon you’ll need to get them all replaced. The nearside two have hardly any tread on them at all. Also, when you skidded, you bashed the exhaust. I’ve moved your car on to the verge, out of the way of other traffic, but it’s not fit to drive.’

‘I thought I must have done a bit of damage.’

‘It’s all fixable,’ Adam assured him. ‘It’s a lovely car,’ he added wistfully, gazing at the E-Type ‘It’s one of the very earliest models, is that right?’

‘Yes.’ The old man nodded. ‘I bought her back in 1962. We’ve been through a lot together, Boudicca and I.’

‘Adam,’ Cat said quietly, ‘Mr – what’s your name?’

‘Moreley, Daniel Moreley.’

‘Mr Moreley isn’t feeling well and he isn’t in the AA or the RAC.’

‘Then we’ll get a local breakdown service to come out.’ Adam found his phone. ‘Let’s hope we can get a signal here. Cat, perhaps you could try your phone, too?’

Adam was the first to get a signal. He did a bit of googling, made some calls and soon he had arranged for Mr Moreley and his car to be picked up and taken home.

‘But what’s that going to cost?’ demanded Mr Moreley. ‘I don’t have any money on me.’

‘I can pay the men,’ said Adam. ‘You get home, rest up.’

‘How will I pay you?’

‘I’ll give you my card. Then, when you’re feeling better, you can get in touch with me, how’s that? Mr Moreley, do you think you’re going to be all right? Do you have any medical conditions – your heart, that kind of thing? We could call an ambulance?’

‘Really, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little shaken.’

Mr Moreley sat in Adam’s Volvo, dozing in the sunshine.

Adam and Cat sat on a gate and waited for the breakdown lorry.