Three Amazing Things About You (3 page)

Out of breath and panting, Tasha stood and stared at the bin, relieved that it hadn’t been emptied but slightly put off by the amount of junk that had been crammed in since she’d left it, not least the upended polystyrene container now dripping the remains of an unwanted doner kebab over the items beneath it.

Life would be easier, too, if it could have been one of those topless bins that were open to the elements. But no, this was the rectangular kind with an enclosed roof and letter-box openings around the side. Although luckily a bit wider than an actual letter box.

Oh well, better get on with it. Tasha put her many bags down on the pavement, removed her pink woollen coat and rolled up the sleeves of her black dress . . .

Eurgh
, this was truly gross. Within seconds her hand was gluey with chilli sauce, there were bits of shredded lettuce stuck to her bare arm and an upside-down McDonald’s cup was spilling melted ice cream over her too. There were cigarette butts in there, vinegar-soaked chips, and something repulsively slimy and unidentifiable.

‘Hungry, are we? If you’re that desperate, I’ll buy you a burger!’

Fabulous, just what she needed. A gaggle of teenage boys with skateboards and micro-scooters had gathered round to watch.

‘I saw an old drunk bloke puking up in that bin earlier,’ one of the boys called out.

‘He had a piss in it too.’ His friend, joining in, caused the rest of them to crack up.

OK, that wasn’t true, they were just saying it to wind her up. Pointedly ignoring them, Tasha knelt down and leaned against the icy cast-iron bin, pushing her arm further into its grim depths. The boys were still sniggering, other shoppers were stopping to stare and she was floundering helplessly in the dark, trying to
feel
for a lone credit card inside a scrunched-up plastic bag . . .

‘Could you get your hand out of there?’ barked a hatchet-faced woman holding a coffee cup.

‘I’m just looking for something.’

‘Well I need to throw this in the bin and I’m in a hurry.’

‘Sorry, but—’

Too late: the woman had already lobbed the cardboard cup into the bin, leaving Tasha with an arm drenched in lukewarm cappuccino.

Under her breath she muttered, ‘And a very merry Christmas to you too.’

‘I bet there’s dog crap in there an’ all.’ The boys were by this time helpless with laughter, competing to come up with more and more stomach-churning ideas. One of them had started skateboarding in circles around the bin, and the sound of the wheels whizzing menacingly round her feet, missing her by inches, was making it all that much harder to bear.

‘Right, you lot, that’s enough. Off you go now.’

It was an in-control voice, belonging to someone not remotely fazed by a bunch of hoody-wearing teenagers and effortlessly taking command of the situation. Since it was coming from directly behind her, Tasha couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but she was certainly glad he’d turned up.

‘So,’ said the male voice when the teens had reluctantly skated off, ‘do you want to tell me what’s going on here?’

‘I missed breakfast, was just looking for some chips.’ Pulling out her arm and twisting round to get a look at him, Tasha discovered that the authoritative voice didn’t belong to a police constable. Well, not one in uniform, at least. Her rescuer was around her own age, mid to late twenties, and he was actually pretty good-looking in a dressed-down, sporty kind of way.

He was also grinning at her flippant remark.

‘You’re in luck, found one.’ He pointed helpfully to her arm. ‘There’s a French fry stuck to your elbow.’

Oh, perfect. Tasha held her contaminated arm out in front of her and shook the chip off.

His grin broadened. ‘You know what you look like?’

‘Like a vet about to stick my hand up a cow’s bottom, probably.’

‘That’s exactly what I was going to say. We’ve been watching you from the café across the road, by the way. Taking bets on what you’re trying to do.’

‘And laughing at me.’

He looked wounded. ‘Nooo. Well, maybe a bit. That was mainly the others, though. Not me.’

‘Well I’m so glad I managed to keep you entertained. It’s like all my wildest Christmas dreams come true.’

‘Hey, I came out to see if you needed any help.’

Tasha gazed up at him. ‘If you’re offering to rummage round and see if you can find my credit card, that would be fantastic.’ Now that she was paying proper attention, it struck her that he had amazing eyes; they were a clear, light shade of green, with darker rings around the iris. He also had incredibly thick dark lashes, like a girl.

‘Note that I didn’t actually offer to lend you a
hand
.’ His mouth twitched as he pulled a folded black bin bag from his jacket pocket and shook it out. ‘But I’m happy to hold this open so you can empty everything into it. Otherwise you could be just feeling your way around in there indefinitely.’

This made sense. It was a good idea. They got to work. Tasha said, ‘Do you carry a bin bag around with you wherever you go, in case of emergencies?’

‘Always.’ He caught her eye. ‘OK, I asked the waitress in the café if I could have one.’

‘And then you came swooping to the rescue like Superman.’

‘Something like that. Thanks,’ he added drily as she pulled the polystyrene kebab box out through the gap, splattering his wrist with chilli sauce.

‘Sorry.’ She wasn’t
that
sorry.

‘Is your credit card definitely in here, by the way?’

‘I really hope so.’ The back of Tasha’s neck was prickling with perspiration. She dragged out a handful of wet rubbish and managed to splash more sauce over the front of her dress.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to cancel the card and order a new one?’

‘It would, but I need it. I’m driving straight from here to Luton airport.’

Superman raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re flying on Christmas Eve? Off on holiday?’

‘I’m spending the week with my mum in Saint-Tropez. And I managed to break the only other card I have. It all happens when you don’t want it to.’

‘Definitely going to need a credit card in Saint-Tropez.’ He nodded at her, because she’d suddenly gone still. ‘Don’t stop. Keep looking.’

But Tasha was concentrating on what her fingers had just brushed past. She moved them back and touched the crinkling plastic of a bag with something straight-edged inside . . . Oh please
please
let it be her card . . .

Hardly daring to breathe, she explored the edges, closed her hand around the small rectangle and hauled it up through the detritus inside the bin.

‘Yes!’ With a whoop of triumph, she dragged the bag out through the opening, pulled out her credit card and . . . well, no, she couldn’t quite bring herself to kiss it, but
almost
.

‘Brilliant.’ Superman grinned as she exhaled with relief and clutched the card to her chest like an Olympic medal. He closed the bag he’d been holding open for her, flattened it out as much as possible and crammed it with some difficulty back into the litter bin.

‘Thank
God
.’ Fishing a tissue out of her pocket, Tasha did her best to wipe the worst of the gunk from her right hand.

‘That’s great.’ He hesitated. ‘Now, can I ask you a question?’

Ooh, was he about to ask for her phone number?

Like someone who definitely
wasn’t
wondering this, she looked mystified and said, ‘Of course you can! What is it?’

He pointed behind her. ‘The people in the café, who’ve been watching all this going on? Could you give them a quick wave?’

‘Oh!’ Twisting round, Tasha saw that she did indeed have an audience. To cover up for the disappointment of not having been asked for her phone number, she beamed and waved the credit card in the air to show them it had been found. Rather sweetly, the customers applauded and waved back.

‘Do you know those people?’ She marvelled at their enthusiasm.

‘No, never been in there before. I think they’re just feeling the festive spirit.’ He shrugged. ‘Either that, or they’re a bit drunk.’

Tasha slotted her card into her purse, securely fastened her shoulder bag, rolled down her sleeve and put on her coat.

‘If you want to go and wash your hands, I can look after your bags for you.’

She checked her watch, conscious now of the time. Also, he didn’t look the type who’d run off with someone else’s last-minute Christmas shopping, but could you ever really know for sure? Untrustworthy men had a habit of appearing trustworthy.

‘It’s OK, I’ve got a pack of wipes in my case. And I really need to get going.’

He nodded. ‘Don’t want to miss your flight. If you like, I could help you carry your stuff back to your car.’

Tasha brightened. ‘Oh, well that—’ His phone rang before she could say more, and he answered it.

‘Hi. Yes, no problem, I’ll pick you up. Twenty minutes OK?’

It wasn’t eavesdropping; she couldn’t help hearing the female voice raised in protest at the other end of the line.

‘Right, five minutes. Just wait outside the shop and I’ll be there.’

So much for getting her hopes up.

‘I’m fine. You’d better go.’ Tasha started to gather together her motley collection of bags as he ended the call. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue, anyway. You’ve done your good deed for the day, Superman.’

Then their eyes locked, and for a split second the look on his face made her think something magical might be about to happen after all. There was electricity sparking in the air between them. She held her breath. The next moment a snowflake landed on her nose, startling her and completely breaking the spell.

‘It’s starting to snow.’ Glancing up, Tasha saw the flakes tumbling out of a pale-grey sky. ‘Anyway, thanks again. I really do have to go now.’ Nodding at the phone in his hand, she said, ‘And so do you.’

‘I suppose I do. Have a great time in Saint-Tropez.’

‘Thanks, I will.’ She picked up the last of her packages, still flustered by what had almost just happened. ‘Well, bye. Merry Christmas, Superman!’

He hesitated, fat feathery flakes of snow landing in his dark hair, the expression in his green eyes unreadable. Then, as his phone began to ring impatiently again, he raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. ‘Yes. Bye. You too.’

On the flight to Nice, Tasha found herself squashed between an overweight middle-aged Frenchman who appeared to have been gargling with garlic, and an underweight younger one who reeked of stale cigarettes, fell asleep on her shoulder and snored like a backfiring moped.

As far as fantasy Frenchmen sandwiches went, this one was singularly lacking in glamour.

OK, reasons to stop thinking about the man from the café.

For a start, she hadn’t even found out his name. Mad as it now seemed, she’d kind of hoped he’d volunteer this information so she wouldn’t need to ask him. But he hadn’t, so that was that.

He hadn’t asked her name either.

He had a nagging, high-maintenance girlfriend. Well, not absolutely definitely, but from the gist of what she’d overheard on the phone, it was certainly on the cards that she was.

For heaven’s sake, how could she be obsessing over someone she’d only known for ten
minutes
? She knew nothing whatsoever about him. He could have a million irritating habits she hadn’t had time to experience during their brief encounter.

Tasha exhaled. She was never going to see him again anyway, which was kind of the main overriding reason. She didn’t know who he was, and in return he knew nothing about her.

Never mind that he’d seemed really nice and hadn’t had freakishly hairy ears. They’d shared a spark of attraction, that was all. He’d had the opportunity to ask for her phone number and hadn’t taken it.

His loss.

Dammit.

Well, this was awkward.

The last of the mourners had left, and Flo was in the kitchen with her high heels kicked off, doing the washing-up. In the living room, the executor of Elsa’s will had just broken the bad news to Elsa’s grandchildren, and from the sound of things, they weren’t taking it too well.

‘What?’ Lena’s voice through the closed doors was shrill with disbelief. ‘Oh please, tell me this is some kind of joke!’

Flo rinsed a long-stemmed glass and placed it on the rack to drain. Hell hath no fury, it seemed, like a woman not being given an airy first-floor flat in the upmarket area of Clifton, in Bristol.

Not yet, at least.

‘But that’s not FAIR,’ Lena bellowed. ‘She can’t DO that.’

Flo exchanged a look with Jeremy, who was stretched out in his usual spot in front of the radiator. ‘Oh dear, brace yourself. Sounds like someone isn’t too happy with you.’

Jeremy blinked and lazily swished his tail back and forth. He was the laid-back type who took pretty much everything in his stride.

The kitchen door burst open and Lena Travis appeared, tall and angular in her tailored black suit and resembling a furious preying mantis.

‘So you’ve known about this all along.’ Her ice-blue eyes narrowed in disdain. ‘It was probably your idea in the first place. My God, people like you make me want to be
sick
.’

Flo dried her hands and said, ‘It wasn’t my idea.’

Luckily she was used to being shouted at by people who thought they knew better than she did, so Lena’s outburst didn’t scare her.

Well, not much.

‘You’d better come through.’ Lena gestured to the living room. ‘And just so you know, I’m going to be fighting this all the way.’

In the high-ceilinged living room, Elsa’s friend Mary was helping herself to more coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. Elegant and precise, she was in her late sixties and had known Elsa for over thirty years. Standing beside the sash window overlooking Caledonia Place was Elsa’s grandson Zander, two years younger than his sister but eerily similar in looks. With their dark hair, pronounced cheekbones, narrow blue eyes and striking dark brows, they had the air of a couple of vampires about them. Since they lived just across the square, it seemed weird that Flo had never met them in person before, but their paths simply hadn’t crossed.

At least the brother seemed calmer and less overwrought, although you couldn’t say he was looking exactly thrilled.