Thinking of You (21 page)

Yikes, cats giving birth wasn't the straightforward procedure she'd imagined.

“What?” Observing her look of alarm, Finn plonked a mug of coffee in front of her.

“Are you squeamish?”

“Why?”

“There's a whole list here of all the stuff you need when your cat goes into labor. A maternity bed.”

“Well, she's already helped herself to that,” Finn said drily. “What else? Gas and air?”

“A heating pad,” Ginny read aloud. “Clean cloths or towels. A weighing scale.”

“I've got bathroom scales.” Finn frowned.

“Sharp scissors,” said Ginny, pulling a face. “Disinfectant. A small syringe. And dental floss.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“If the mother doesn't sever the umbilical cord, you have to do it yourself. You tie the dental floss round the cord before you cut it.”

“Interesting use of the word ‘you,'” Finn observed. “How about if we toss a coin?”

“I only fix DVD recorders.” Ginny held up her hands “Besides, she's your cat.”

He grimaced, then nodded at the computer screen. “So is that it, then?”

“Not quite. Petroleum jelly.” Ginny read the accompanying instruction. “If the mother is having trouble giving birth, you need to put some petroleum jelly on her to help ease the kitten out.”

“Fine. I'll put some on her ears.”

“And we're going to need three tennis balls and a washed lettuce.”

“
What?
”

“Joking.” Ginny beamed.

“
Yaaaaiiiioooooooow!
”

As they hurried back to the bedroom, Finn said, “I don't think Myrtle found that joke funny.”

By three o'clock in the morning it was all over. Myrtle had given birth to a litter of four kittens and, thankfully, hadn't required the services of two incompetent human midwives. She had delivered her babies, chomped her way with relish through their afterbirths (
bleurgh
), and was now lying peacefully on the bed with all four babies curled up at her side.

Finn, busy making up the bed in the spare room seeing as Myrtle had nabbed his own, came out and saw Ginny yawning and collecting together her jacket, bag, and car keys.

“Are you off now? Drive carefully.”

Not
the
most romantic of sentiments but understandable, considering the circumstances. It crossed Ginny's mind that he might even have given her a good-bye kiss if she hadn't been yawning offputtingly, like a hippo.

“I will. Sorry, bit tired.” She waggled her fingers at him. “See you tomorrow.”

Who knew how their evening might have turned out if Myrtle hadn't chosen to give birth in Finn's king-sized bed? Oh well, it had been an experience.

“See you,” said Finn.

Was that a note of regret in his voice or was she imagining it?

Cattus
interruptus
, thought Ginny.

Damn.

 

Saying good-bye didn't get any easier. Jem was on her way back to Bristol and Ginny's throat was aching dreadfully with the effort of not making a public disgrace of herself. Having Jem at home again had been wonderful, but now their week together was up and she couldn't bear it.

To add insult to injury the train was on time. As it pulled into the station, there was a clap of thunder overhead and the first fat raindrops began to fall.

“Oh yuck.” Having painstakingly straightened her hair and keen to avoid it going stupid, Jem threw her arms around Ginny and gave her a kiss. “Don't hang around out here, Mum, it's going to tip down.”

“I don't mind. Text me when you reach the flat, just so I know you've got back safely.” Ginny had to force herself not to stroke her daughter's face—“Mum, that's
embarrassing
”—as she had always done when Jem was young.

“Yes, Mum, and I promise to eat plenty of fruit and vegetables and always wear a coat when it snows.”

“Don't make fun of me. It's my job to worry about you.”

“Well, you don't need to because I'm a big girl now.” Hauling her vast rucksack onto her shoulders, Jem moved toward the waiting train. With a grin she added, “And you have to behave yourself too. No getting up to mischief while I'm not here to keep an eye on you.”

Without meaning to, Ginny's thoughts turned to Finn. Chance would be a fine thing. Since the arrival of the kittens, there had been no more talk of blue moons. No flirtatious looks either, to the extent that she now wondered if she'd imagined them ever being there in the first place.

The heavens opened and with a squeal Jem leaped into her carriage. “Bye, Mum! See you soon!”

“Bye, sweetheart.” Ginny blew a kiss as the train's doors slid shut and the ache in her throat gave way to tears. Thankfully the rain streaming down her cheeks disguised them and she kept a bright smile plastered to her face.

Jem blew extravagant kisses back, the train pulled out of the station, and moments later she was gone.

Back to Bristol, back to Pembroke Road in Clifton, back to Rupert whom Ginny just
knew
wasn't right for her.

But what could you do? Jem wasn't six years old anymore; Ginny couldn't simply forbid her to see him because, like skateboarding without a crash helmet, if she did, Jem'd only end up getting hurt. Jem had to be allowed to make her own mistakes now. And hopefully learn from them.

Like the rest of us, Ginny reminded herself, thinking of Carla and Perry and the sorry mess that was her own nonexistent love life.

***

Jem had texted Rupert on the train. He had flown back from Nice airport that morning. Letting herself into the flat, she called out joyfully, “Hi, honey, I'm home!”

“Hey.” He appeared in the hallway, impossibly tanned and clutching a bottle of lager. “Honey, you shrunk your T-shirt.”

Jem gazed down at her front; the storm had followed her all the way from Cornwall and rain was bucketing down outside.

Her cropped white T-shirt was now drenched and transparent, thanks to the long walk from the bus stop on Whiteladies Road.

“Don't try and cover yourself up. I like it.” Grinning, he gave her a cool, beery kiss and trailed his hand down her chest.

“Is Lucy here?” Jem had to double-check.

“Not back yet. Which I have to say I'm quite happy about. So, good time?”

“Great.” With an expert shoulder wiggle Jem released the straps of her wet rucksack and let it fall to the ground with a
thunk
. “I went to a party, met up with loads of old friends.”

“Old friends, eh? Would that be old girlfriends or old boyfriends?”

“Both.” Entranced by the idea that Rupert might be jealous, Jem said, “Actually, there was one old boyfriend there.”

Rupert raised a playful eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No. I don't fancy him anymore.” It was the truth; bumping into Niall again had had zero effect on her. Compared with Rupert he'd just seemed so… ordinary.

“Good.” And then Rupert was kissing her, and all thoughts of Niall Finnegan flew from her mind. It was too busy experiencing its own fireworks display instead.

“What about Lucy?” breathed Jem as he led her by her wet T-shirt in the direction of his bedroom.

“Relax. She won't be home for hours.” As skillful as an ice dancer, he maneuvered her through the door, simultaneously unzipping her skirt and pulling the T-shirt off over her head. Jem didn't even care that he'd stretched it beyond repair.

“Anyway, what about you in the south of France?” Teasingly, Jem prodded his chest. “Surrounded by beautiful girls in bikinis? You must have been chatted up.”

“The thing is, you call them beautiful girls in bikinis. I call them a bunch of old slappers. Of course I was chatted up,” Rupert drawled. “But all they're interested in is bagging themselves a guy with money. The moment they spot your platinum credit card they're all over you like a swarm of wasps. Not my idea of fun.” Gently he pushed Jem onto his double bed, gazed down at her, and said with a smile, “That's why I'm here now. Because you are definitely my idea of fun.”

Afterward, Jem ran her fingers through her disastrous hair. “I must look like a wet hedgehog.”

“You look gorgeous.” Rupert kissed the tip of her nose. “Sexily disheveled.”

“Sexily disheveled.” She wrinkled her nose doubtfully. “Is that flattering?”

“Now you're fishing. OK.” Gravely he surveyed her naked body. “You have a great figure.” He ran an experimental hand up her shin. “No stubble, always a bonus.”

Jem giggled. “Cheek.”

“Ah yes, glad you reminded me.” Skillfully flipping her onto her side, Rupert carefully inspected her bottom. “Excellent, no cellulite either.”

“Of course I don't have cellulite!” Jem dug her fingernails into his shoulder by way of protest.

“But you never know; it could arrive any day now. Just take up residence whether you want it there or not. Does your mother have cellulite?”

“No she does not!”

“Hey, I only asked. It's just that these things can be hereditary. We saw a few prime examples ourselves last week, let me tell you.” Laughing, Rupert rolled out of reach before she could hit him. “Like mother, like daughter, wibble-wobbling along together across the sand. That's on the public beaches, of course. No gloopy cellulite allowed on the private ones.”

“You're wicked,” said Jem.

“But you love me.” He flipped her back over, his hazel eyes glinting with intent.

Jem's stomach contracted with desire as one of his knees slid between hers. She wouldn't admit it for the world, but she was beginning to think she did actually love him. Let's face it, he was gorgeous. And they got on so well togeth—

“
Shit
,” hissed Rupert as the front door slammed.

Beneath him Jem froze. They heard the click-clack of high heels out in the hall, then Lucy called out, “Where are you?”

“Fuck fuck
fuck
,” Rupert breathed. Eyes wide and brain racing, Jem glanced over at the wardrobe. Bulging with clothes, unread textbooks, tennis rackets, and in-line skates, there wasn't room for a hamster let alone a fully grown eighteen-year-old.

A
naked
eighteen-year-old.

A hysterical giggle rose up in Jem's throat. Oh well, maybe it was fate. Sooner or later Lucy was going to have to find out about them anyway.

“Shhh.” Rupert, who wasn't laughing, lifted himself off her in one swift movement. “Hide under the bed.”

Was he joking? Clearly not.

“Rupert?” Lucy was knocking on the door now.

“Get down there,” hissed Rupert, rolling Jem to the edge of the mattress. Still grinning, she decided to humor him and dropped silently to the ground. Moments later, having hastily gathered up her discarded clothes, Rupert thrust them into her arms.

“Lucy? That you?” Yawning noisily, he called out, “What time is it? I've been asleep.”

Under the bed and clutching her clothes, Jem came nose to nose with a semi-deflated blow-up sheep (a bachelor party prop rather than a perversion). The sheep had a dopey, crumpled look on its face.

“You lazy bum, it's four o'clock! Where's Jem?”

“No idea. I don't think she's back yet.”

“She is. Her rucksack's on the floor.” The bedroom door was flung open and Jem saw Lucy's emerald-green high heels. “You're not hiding her in here, are you?”

The bed creaked as Rupert sat up. “If she's not in her room she must have gone out. Hang on, I'll get up. Why don't you make us some coffee?”

There was a pause. Jem held her breath. Then Lucy said, “I've got a better idea. Why don't I wake you up properly?”

Jem frowned. What was that supposed to mean? She watched the shoes move toward the bed; Lucy was so close now that if she reached past the sheep she could touch her ankles. That'd give her a fright.

“Don't muck about, Luce. I've got a headache.”

“Now that's something I never thought I'd hear you say.” The bedsprings creaked again and one of Lucy's shoes disappeared from view; in disbelief, Jem realized that she was now sitting
on
the bed.

“Stop it,” said Rupert.

“Sorry.” Evidently unfazed, Lucy murmured, “But I just don't think I can. Come on, what's the matter with you? Haven't you missed me?”

What? WHAT?

“Luce, will you—”

“Because I've missed you. Loads. In fact,” Lucy paused then said silkily, “I'd say I missed you
this
much.”

Jem felt as if she'd been plunged into a vat of dry ice. Logically, she knew what was happening, but her brain was refusing to make sense of it. She was in such a state of shock she wasn't even sure she could move.

“OK, that's enough.” Rupert's tone was brusque. “Game over.”

“What's the
matter
with you?” protested Lucy.

“Oh, I don't know,” Rupert drawled. “Why don't you take a look under the bed and see if you can work it out?”

Jem couldn't believe he'd said it. Then again, Lucy hadn't given him much choice. She closed her eyes, bracing herself. Above her she heard Lucy say, “Don't tell me you've been playing about with that stupid blow-up sheep.”

 

When Jem opened her eyes again, she saw Lucy, crouching down, staring at her.

“No. No.” Lucy shook her head. “Tell me this is a joke.”

“I'll make the coffee myself,” said Rupert.

“You've been shagging both of us? You bastard!” shrieked Lucy.

“Be fair, you pretty much threw yourself at me. It was fun while it lasted.” He sounded bored. “But now it's run its course.”

“You arrogant fucker! Get out of here,” Lucy screamed at him. “I need to talk to Jem.”

“Fine by me.” Dragging on a pair of jeans, Rupert sauntered out of the bedroom.

“I don't believe this,” Lucy exploded. “I just do not bloody believe it. He's been playing us for a couple of fools.”

Jem, emerging from beneath the bed, said, “Could you look away while I get dressed?”

“Oh, for God's sake.” Impatiently, Lucy turned away. “So this is what's been going on behind my back. Rupert must have thought it was hilarious.” She was fuming, tapping her foot and shaking her head at the thought of it.

Hurriedly, Jem shook out her balled-up clothes and climbed into them, shuddering as the cold clamminess of the T-shirt hit her skin.

“Why didn't you say anything?” Lucy blurted out.

Stung by her tone, Jem shot back, “Why didn't you?”

“But you never asked me! I actually
asked
you. At the party when I saw him groping your backside.” Lucy's dark eyes flashed with anger. “I asked if there was anything going on between the two of you and you said there wasn't.”

“Rupert didn't want you to feel left out.”

“Funny, that's what he said to me too.”

Jem took a deep breath. “I can't believe this is happening.”

“I can't believe you lied to me!
Shit
,” Lucy said vehemently, before holding up her hands. “OK, OK, I lied to you too. But Rupert lied to both of us. This is all down to him. Well, he's really blown it now.
Bastard
.”

“I heard that.” Rupert, leaning against the door, took a swig from another bottle of lager.

“Good.” Lucy swung around. “And you can find yourself a couple of new flatmates. Because we are
out
of here.”

Jem looked at her in alarm.

“You're leaving? Fine. In fact, excellent.” Rupert shrugged, then in turn fixed his gaze on Jem. “But you don't want to leave, do you? Lucy never meant anything to me; it was only ever a casual fling. But you and me… well, it's different. Something special.”

Jem's heart was racing; this was what she'd longed to hear for weeks.

“Forget it!” Incandescent with rage, Lucy yelled, “We're both going!”

“You know, bitter and twisted really doesn't suit you.” Rupert raised an eyebrow. “A woman scorned is never a pretty sight.”

“You make me sick,” bellowed Lucy.

“Carry on like this and you'll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I think that's your job, sweetheart. You've already promised.” Taking another swig of lager, Rupert smiled at Jem. “You know why Lucy's so mad, don't you? She's upset because I prefer you.”

“You bastard!”

“Again? This is getting boring. Anyway, don't you have some packing to do?”

“Come on, Jem,” Lucy ordered. “Let's go.”

“She's not your pet dog,” Rupert said coldly. “She doesn't have to do what you say.” He turned to Jem. “It's up to you. I don't want you to leave.”

“Oh shut up, you arrogant wanker.”

“Jem?” Rupert tilted his head to one side.

“Jem!” snapped Lucy.

“I'm going to my room,” said Jem, “to think.”

She sat on her bed and buried her face in her hands. Everything had been going so well and now this. From next door came the crashings and bangings of drawers being yanked open and slammed shut as Lucy emptied them of her belongings. When her own door was pushed open she didn't look up.

“Don't go.” As Rupert spoke, the mobile in his jeans pocket beeped, signaling the arrival of a text. “I want you to stay. It'll be just the two of us from now on. We can be a proper couple.”

Jem's chest was aching so much she felt as if she was quite literally being torn in two. Her instinct in the past had always been to side with a girlfriend against a boy; it happened so automatically she'd never even questioned it. But this time was different; there was so much more at stake. Because, OK, Rupert had behaved badly but that was over now. And boys will be boys, after all. Especially boys with the kind of upbringing he'd had.

Far more important was how they felt about each other now that all the bad stuff was behind them. And she knew how she felt about Rupert. More to the point, she was realizing how he felt about her.

Jem trembled. Lucy, her friend, was exotic, sexy, and stunningly beautiful. Jem knew she herself was pretty enough in a ditsy, blond-hair-streaked-with-pink kind of way, but she couldn't begin to compete with Lucy in the glamour stakes. Yet when it had come down to it, Rupert preferred her. How flattering was that, for heaven's sake?

No wonder Lucy was spitting teeth.

CRASH went the wardrobe doors next door, followed by the furious jangle of coat hangers.

Rupert finished reading his text. “My mate Olly's invited us to a party next weekend. Up in Scotland. Fancy that?”

Olly, Olly. Oliver MacIntyre-Brown. “Is he the one with the castle?” said Jem.

“The one with the bloody enormous castle. Olly says we can hitch a lift up there in his uncle's helicopter if we want.”

Helicopter.

Castle.

She'd never been to Scotland before, not even on a train.

“Sorry,” Rupert continued. “Jumping the gun. You might be about to call me a bastard and start emptying your wardrobe too.”

Jem looked up at him. Life without Lucy would be horrible.

But life without Rupert would be infinitely worse.

“I'm not.”

He broke into a wide smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I'm glad.” Rupert's gaze softened as he put down his phone and the bottle of Pils. “Very, very glad. Hey, you. Come here.”

He kissed her and Jem knew she'd made the right decision. They were a proper couple now. And the way she was feeling, she suspected it might be the real thing after all.

If this wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

There was a sharp knock at the bedroom door. Bracing herself, Jem peeled herself away from Rupert and went to answer it.

Lucy, her shoulders rigid, said, “Well?”

“I'm staying.”

“With him?” Her mouth twisted into a pitying smile. “You sad cow.”

He chose me over you, Jem wanted to retort, but stopped herself. Lucy already knew that.

“Do you think he loves you?” Lucy demanded. “Is that it? Because if you really think that, you're even more stupid than—”

“Everything packed?” Rupert broke in coolly. “Called the taxi yet? Tell you what, I'll even pay the fare. No hard feelings, sweetheart. It was a good contest but the best girl won.”

“You arrogant git.”

“Ah, but a generous arrogant git, you can't deny that.” Having pulled out his wallet, Rupert began counting out twenty-pound notes. “Here you go; one month's deposit back and an extra twenty for the cab. Lucky I went to the cashpoint.”

“Does it not bother you, living off your father's money?”

“Funnily enough, not in the least. I love it. You should give it a go yourself sometime—oh sorry, I forgot your family doesn't have any money. Bad luck, sweetheart, you don't know what you're missing.”

Jem knew he didn't mean it nastily; Rupert was always making flippant, derogatory remarks about his own family's wealth or other people's lack of it.

“I feel sorry for the pair of you.” Lucy's eyes flashed as she uttered the words. The next moment she'd stalked out of the room.

“Obviously keener on me than she was letting on.” Rupert shrugged. “
And
a bad loser.”

“Don't.” Jem felt a pang of guilt. “She's my friend.”

“Not anymore she isn't.” Sliding his arms round her waist he winked and said, “You're all mine now.”

***

Lucy hauled her bags out of the taxi and looked up at the unprepossessing terraced house with its blue front door and neat, pocket-sized front garden. The door opened and Davy came out to greet her.

It wasn't ideal, but leaving Rupert's flat in a rush during the Easter break hadn't given her a lot of choice. Most of her friends had gone home for the holidays. At least Davy was here.

And he understood.

“Davy, thanks so much for this. I couldn't stay there.” Lucy hugged him. “She's lost her mind; she actually thinks he… he…”

“I know. Shhh, it's OK.”

“Oh, Davy, I'm so
mad
. How can she be so stupid? It's not that I'm jealous.” Dashing away angry tears, Lucy gibbered, “It's just… how could she find out what he's been doing and forgive him?”

“Come on, let's go in. Mum's waiting to meet you.”

“Oh God. And here I am, pitching up and dumping myself on you. Is she angry?”

Davy grinned. “Are you joking? She's over the moon.”

Rhona Stokes was making tea in the tiny kitchen. In her late forties, she was an older, female version of Davy with the same big dark eyes and shoulder-length dark brown hair. When she crossed the kitchen, Lucy saw that she walked with a slight limp.

“Hello, love, welcome. Crikey, Davy said you were a looker but he didn't tell me you were a supermodel.” She beamed and kissed Lucy on both cheeks. “It's going to get the neighbors talking, having you here. They'll think our Davy's got himself a cracking girlfriend at last!”

Davy rolled his eyes. “
Mum
.”

“Oh, I'm only joking. Sorry, love.” Turning back to Lucy, Rhona stage-whispered, “I know I'm an embarrassment.”

“It's your house; you can be whatever you like. It's so kind of you to let me stay.” Lucy gestured awkwardly at her pile of bags. “I'll be out of here as soon as possible, I promise, the moment I find another flat.”

“No hurry at all. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Here, drink your tea while it's hot and help yourself to biscuits. Then we'll get you settled in your room. It's only weeny, I'm afraid—smaller than you're used to.”

Lucy was overcome with gratitude. “I don't care about that. I'm just glad to be here, away from Pembroke Road.”

“I'll carry your stuff upstairs,” said Davy.

“It's the first time I've met one of Davy's university friends,” Rhona confided when he'd gone. “He said you've always been kind to him.”

Kind. “Well… why wouldn't I be?”

“Can I ask? Does he have many friends there? It's just, you know what boys are like,” Rhona went on. “They keep quiet about things like that.”

“I think he's fine.” Lucy was diplomatic. “He always seems quite happy to me.”

Rhona's dark eyes searched hers for clues. “Only I wondered if he ever gets teased, you know? For still living at home with his mum.”

Lucy burned her mouth on the steaming tea. How was she supposed to answer a question like that without offending Rhona? She put down her mug. “Well, one or two people might have said something, but they're idiots. The rest of us just ignore them.”

Well, what could she say? That Davy was a laughingstock?

“Oh, that's good news then.” Relieved, Rhona picked up a Maryland cookie. “Not that Davy's ever said anything, but I did wonder.”

“He's a nice person.” Lucy meant it. How many books had he lent her over the past months? Not that she'd actually wanted to read them, but still. It was the thought that counted, and you couldn't ask for a more thoughtful person than Davy.

“He's the light of my life,” Rhona said simply. “I do feel bad sometimes, keeping him here, but it's not as if I don't have a reason.” For a moment she grew misty-eyed, then visibly gathered herself and gave Lucy's arm a pat. “Anyway, bless you for putting my mind at rest, love. I honestly don't know what I'd do if Davy moved out.”