Читать книгу Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets - Cathy Kelly - Страница 30

By six the following Saturday, Leonie wondered why she hadn’t had her tubes tied years ago. Children were a nightmare. Well, her lot certainly were. She could remember the far-off happy days when they’d confined their energies to drawing on the wallpaper, eating clay in the garden and hitting other small children over the head with their wooden alphabet bricks. She’d thought those days were difficult. How wrong could you be? Small children were a joy compared to three teenagers. At least when Abby had been sweet and amiable, there had been some let-up in the constant warfare that made up the Delaney household but since Abby had turned into a cranky, health-food obsessed creature, it had been sheer hell all the way. They’d made up after Abby’s outburst the other night, but Leonie still felt as if she was walking on eggshells with her.

Today had started well enough: Leonie, happily thinking about her first date with investment-banking Hugh that evening, had bounced out of bed early, enjoyed a peaceful breakfast with Penny and the pair of them had gone for a wonderful three-mile-walk, buffeted by brisk January winds. As the rain started just when they reached home again, she was delighted they’d escaped a drenching. At half twelve, she left the house to do some grocery shopping and had bought herself a pair of pretty pink glass earrings in a local dress shop for her date. With a nice juicy magazine thrown into the shopping trolley along with a pack of her favourite low-cal chocolate drinks, Leonie decided she had a relaxing afternoon sorted out for herself. Saturday was the day when the kids did their bit of housework, which meant ten minutes of bickering over who did the kitchen, who did the bathroom and who did the hoovering and dusting. Leonie never minded the bickering. She’d long ago stopped herself from entering into the fray by screaming that she’d have the whole place clean in the time it took them to argue over who did what. That type of involvement got you on the slippery slope of doing it yourself anyway. Now, Leonie let them argue.

However, when she got home, it was apparent that the vacuum cleaner hadn’t moved from the last time Leonie used it. The inevitable layer of Penny’s blonde hairs was still scattered all over the hall carpet and the kitchen was unswept. Worse still, the remains of teenage breakfasts still littered every surface and an empty carton of milk stood on the worktop beside the bin. Whoever had emptied it hadn’t bothered to move it the eighteen inches required to put it into the bin. Furious, she dropped her grocery bags on the floor and went in search of the people responsible. Unfortunately, this meant passing the bathroom. The door was open and a pile of towels were clumped damply on the floor. The toothpaste, squeezed in the middle, was abandoned in the hand-basin and there was so much water in the soap dish that the soap itself, carelessly abandoned, was melting slowly into a puddle of sludge.

The lazy so-and-sos, she thought furiously. They expected her to do bloody everything. Well, it wasn’t good enough. They weren’t getting away with it this time.

‘Melanie, Abigail and Daniel!’ yelled Leonie. ‘Why is this house such a pit? It’s your turn to tidy up. Twenty minutes each, that’s all I’m asking for.’

She flew into the twins’ room but there was nobody there. Danny, looking outraged at being interrupted, was rubbing gel on his wet hair when she knocked brusquely and entered his den without waiting for a reply.

‘Have you got the slave’s wages?’ she demanded.

Danny looked understandably blank.

‘Because you and your sisters insist on treating me like a slave, so I presume I’m going to get paid some sort of pittance.’ Leonie glared at her son.

He began to look mildly ashamed.

Leonie ploughed on: ‘I work hard all week and I cook, clean and tidy up after you lot. Saturday is the only day when I expect some serious help keeping this house clean, and what do I get? Nothing!’

‘Cool it, Ma. I’ll start now,’ Danny said.

‘Where are your sisters?’ she demanded.

‘I’m here, Mum,’ said Mel meekly, appearing in her dressing gown with what had to be the remains of Leonie’s last bit of avocado face mask plastered all over her face.

‘Is that my face mask?’ Leonie asked.

‘Er yes, I’m going out in half an hour and my skin’s a mess…’

‘Going out in half an hour? So when exactly were you going to help clean the house?’ Leonie demanded icily.

‘Well, I didn’t think it’d matter…’

‘“Didn’t think it would matter,”’ her mother said angrily. ‘No, let stupid old Mum do it all, that’s all she’s good for, isn’t that what you thought?’

‘No,’ protested Danny and Mel in unison.

‘Where’s Abby?’ Leonie asked suddenly.

‘Gone jogging.’

‘Jogging! It’s pouring from the heavens, what’s she jogging in this weather for?’

‘Dunno. I’m sorry, Mum. I’ll do my share now,’ Mel said, remarkably docile for her. ‘I’ll hoover and dust, Danny, if you do the bathroom. You did mess it up,’ she began, then stopped when her mother shot her a fiery glance.

‘I don’t want to have this conversation again,’ Leonie said, still angry. ‘You all expect to be treated like adults, yet none of you will actually behave like adults. I’m not a skivvy, remember that!

‘You can put the shopping away, Danny,’ she ordered. Bringing Penny, who hated the vacuum cleaner, with her, Leonie marched into her room and slammed the door.

When she came out later, Abby had returned and cleaned the kitchen in a very haphazard fashion. Even though Leonie’s rage had passed, she still had some harsh words for Abby about duties and how they all had to pull together to keep their home running smoothly.

‘Smoothly?’ shrieked Abby. ‘If this is what you call smoothly, I want to leave. I’m sure Dad and Fliss would like me to live with them! I hate you.’ With that, she ran into her room and slammed the door. Too shocked to go after her, Leonie stood like a statue for a few stunned minutes then did the only thing she could think of in her distraught state: she drove to her mother’s house.

Claire was in the garage practising her golf swing when she arrived. She’d only taken the sport up in the last month and was keenly going to the driving range with her friend, Millie, at least twice a week.

‘You should try golf,’ Claire advised, putting her eight iron back in her bag and escorting her daughter into the house.

‘I have enough trouble coping with all the things I do now,’ Leonie said tearfully, ‘without taking up something else I’d be useless at.’

‘Nonsense.’ Claire was brusque. She raked her eyes over Leonie’s flushed face, spotting the tell-tale signs of impending tears. ‘What’s Mel said now?’

‘It’s not Mel, that’s the awful thing, it’s Abby.’

When she’d recounted the whole sorry tale, Leonie felt somewhat better. Tash, one of Claire’s beautiful Siamese cats, had deigned to sit on her lap and Leonie always felt better when she had an animal to hug. Her own cat, Clover, wasn’t the sitting-on-laps variety, so her animal comfort normally came in the form of cuddling Penny. Tash rewarded her with a few rumbling purrs and arched her graceful neck.

‘Abby sounds a bit like you when you were younger,’ Claire said reflectively.

‘I was never like that!’ Leonie protested.

‘Yes, you were,’ her mother pointed out, ‘when you were about sixteen and decided you were huge and ugly. It was awful, but there wasn’t much I could do. You blamed me in the absence of anyone else to blame.’

‘But Abby is miles prettier than I was then and she’s always been such a sweet person,’ Leonie said helplessly. It was totally different. She did everything she could to make Abby feel serene and secure in herself. Not that Claire hadn’t tried to do that with her, but, well, it was different. Wasn’t it?

Claire took a tin of catfood from the fridge and Tash leapt off Leonie’s lap, claws tearing into her skirt as she left. The other two cats mysteriously appeared, all trying to look uninterested in the catfood, but eyeing each other warily all the time, as if determined that the others wouldn’t get any more than they did.

‘She is pretty and growing prettier, but don’t forget that you didn’t have a beautiful twin sister to compete with all the time,’ Claire pointed out.

‘I had you to compete with,’ Leonie said wryly, looking at her mother’s petite and trim figure, slim in navy trousers, a matelot jersey and a jaunty red scarf round her neck. Claire had Gallic style, the ability to make the simplest outfit look chic. ‘You looked miles better than me when I was a teenager. Remember that awful striped crochet bikini I insisted on buying for that holiday in Spain?’

Her mother laughed. ‘You donated it to me.’

‘And you looked fantastic in it,’ Leonie said. ‘Ursula Andress, compared to me as Two Ton Tessie.’ She watched the cats circle their respective dinners, tails aloft as they assessed the food like disgruntled restaurant critics trying to ascertain whether the pesto oil was home-made or not, purely by sniffing it. ‘Life was easier then, wasn’t it?’

‘Life is always easier in retrospect,’ Claire said. ‘What else is wrong? You hardly drove over here on a Saturday afternoon just for that.’

Leonie shook her head. ‘There’s nothing else wrong, apart from the fact that Danny’s failing college, Mel isn’t even vaguely interested in school, except when it comes to getting the bus there so she can bat her eyelashes at boys en route, and now Abby has turned from the best, most well-adjusted person I know into this prima donna I barely recognize who never stops talking about her stepmother. I’m sick of dealing with it on my own,’ she said in an unguarded moment.

Her mother sniffed. Leonie groaned inwardly. She knew what that meant.

‘If you hadn’t broken up with Ray, you wouldn’t be on your own and the children wouldn’t have a fairy godmother for a stepmother,’ Claire said primly.

‘Mum, I don’t want a lecture.’

‘I’m not going to give you one. But if you come over here and ask my advice, you have to expect to get something. It’s tough bringing them up all on your own, but that was your choice, Leonie. You decided you wanted true love and that Ray didn’t measure up. You’re living with that choice now,’ Claire said heavily. ‘That’s all I’m saying. End of lecture. So, what are you up to this evening? Myself and Millie are going to the cinema. We can’t decide whether to go for improbable thriller, improbable courtroom drama, or something with Sean Connery in it. Do you want to come? It might do your terrible offspring some good if you leave them to their own devices for once. They’ve got so used to having meals cooked for them and the house magically cleaned that they’ll die of shock if you’re not there to dish up some cordon bleu meal.’

‘I’m…er, actually going out this evening,’ Leonie stuttered.

‘With the girls?’ asked her mother absently, then catching sight of Leonie biting her lip, she pounced. ‘With a man! I’m right, aren’t I? Good woman, Leonie. About time you got yourself a man. Who is he and where did you meet him?’

It was either the Spanish Inquisition or the How to Live Your Life lecture, Leonie realized. ‘He’s a friend of Hannah’s,’ she lied.

‘Really. Tell me all about him – or will that jinx the entire enterprise?’

‘No, his name is Hugh Goddard, he’s an investment adviser with the bank, he’s separated and he loves dogs.’

‘His CV sounds wonderful, but what’s he like as a person and what does he look like?’ demanded her mother.

Leonie paused. She could hardly admit that beyond knowing he was sensitive – well, he’d rescued a poor dog from the Grand Canal, so he must be – she hadn’t a clue what he was like and no idea what he really looked like. Solid, one-time rugby fanatic, works with money, no spring chicken but GSOH. Prospective partners must be animal nuts might be very descriptive as far as personal ads were concerned but didn’t yield the private nuggets to describe the person in detail to interested parties. She went for the vaguely impatient approach: ‘Really, Mum, he’s just an ordinary guy, honestly. We met at Hannah’s and he seemed very nice, so I’ve agreed to meet him for a drink, that’s all.’

‘OK, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ Claire said. ‘I was only asking. Will I ever get to meet him?’

‘If he turns out to be the love of my life and we decide to emigrate to the Bahamas leaving you with the kids, then, yes, you will meet him. It’ll be the least I can do. Must dash, Mum.’

Hugh had suggested meeting in a pub in Dublin so Leonie decided to take the DART into town rather than drive. Hobbling a bit in her new and slightly tight court shoes, she left the house at a trot after giving explicit instructions on how to reheat lasagne and on how she didn’t want to return and find Danny had gone out leaving the girls on their own.

‘Where you going to in your finery, anyway?’ Danny enquired, taking in her best ruched velvet skirt, the silky red shirt with the top three buttons opened and her Egyptian scarab necklace.

‘Out with the girls,’ his mother fibbed, dragging on the black suede jacket she only wore on special occasions. As Abby had been sulking all day, she didn’t want to start another row by mentioning that she was going to meet a man. Who knew what sort of extreme reaction that would provoke? In her current emotional state, Abby would probably race for the airport to fly to Boston, stopping only to phone the ISPCC to report her mother for child cruelty.

Having timed her departure to coincide with the passing of a bus, Leonie was soon on her way to get the DART into the city centre. However, by the time she’d got to the Greystones train station, having hobbled from the bus, every step agony, Leonie was tempted to throw her new shoes in a bin and go into town in her stockinged feet. People might point and stare, but surely not any more than they were going to do on seeing a tall woman limping along with little yelps of pain at every step. She took a seat on the right-hand side of the carriage so she could look out of the window at the sea. Easing her feet out of the shoes, she realized at last just how apt the Cockney for feet was. Plates of meat suited hers perfectly, both visually and realistically. She rested the plates on the empty seat opposite, hoping a train employee wouldn’t appear and remind her that ‘seats aren’t for feet’. He’d get a court shoe in the gob if he did.

Pain notwithstanding, Leonie enjoyed her train journey, peering into gardens and lit-up houses from the vantage point of the carriage, and watching people walking delirious dogs along the strand at Sandymount. That was her favourite bit of train journeys: the insight it gave you into other people’s lives. It was fun looking into curtainless kitchens, watching people at the sink with saucepans or wandering around drinking tea, oblivious to the fact that the passengers on the DART could see them.

The only flaw in this form of entertainment was the fact that the train went too fast for her to have a thoroughly good look.

At Tara Street station, she realized that taking the shoes off had been a serious error. Cramming her feet back into them was like stuffing an anaesthetized rodent through a narrow cage door. Hobbling even more painfully on now swollen feet, she trudged slowly along to the hotel in Temple Bar where she was meeting Hugh.

She was ten minutes late, her feet felt as if they required urgent amputation and she knew her ‘banish the blemish’ corrective foundation was sliding down her cheeks with the heat of struggling along in painful shoes and a heavy jacket. Her spirit of romance felt deeply absent. Perhaps he wouldn’t turn up and she could go home. There was a Richard Gere film on the telly and if the kids were all sulking madly, they’d probably stay in their respective bedrooms and sulk there, leaving her with control of the remote.

One foot in the door of the hotel and she spotted Hugh immediately. It would be hard not to. He was the only person in the premises over the age of twenty-five, apart from herself, that was. Standing by a pillar with a glass of beer and an uncomfortable expression on his face was a man of medium height with big shoulders, the bullish neck common to sporty blokes, and plenty of short nutty brown hair that was greying at the temples. He was good looking, she realized with a pleasant shock; he had a healthy out-doorsy colour, strong features and a solid, reliable sort of chin. In a casual open-necked shirt and tweedy jacket, he looked as out of place in this youthful emporium as a dowager duchess at a rave. Busker’s was clearly the in spot for the city’s bright young things on a Saturday night, because it was jammed with huge gangs of guys and girls, all dressed up for partying.

Overpowering wafts of hairspray competed with pungent aftershaves and perfumes. It was an asthmatic’s idea of hell. Minxy girls in snippets of lycra giggled into their bottles of beer and eyed up newly shaved blokes who attempted to look cool by smoking too much.

Leonie couldn’t help but grin at the stupidity of meeting in such a place and when his eyes met hers across the throng of exquisite twenty-year-old flesh, Hugh grinned back in agreement. He wound his way to the door, his face apologetic. He had nice crinkly eyes – laughing eyes, she could see up close – and a scar in the aforementioned reliable chin.

‘Leonie?’ he said loudly so she’d hear him over the music. ‘This is what I get for pretending to be trendy and suggesting we meet in Temple Bar.’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ she said, eyes shining, ‘I’m just as untrendy or I’d have known that this isn’t our sort of place. Will we find somewhere for geriatrics where we don’t have to semaphore our conversation? My hearing-aid battery is running low.’

He nodded, put his half-full glass down and they went outside.

In the disco-beat-free atmosphere, Leonie half-expected that their instant easiness with each other would disappear. But it didn’t. She liked this guy, mad though it was to make such a decision after a few minutes. But she did.

They walked slowly along Temple Bar and laughed at how stupid otherwise mature, intelligent people became when they started dating via the personal ads. ‘The first time I tried it, I suggested dinner in this ultra-posh restaurant to impress her and she said she hated pretentious restaurant bores so much that she left after the first course,’ Hugh recalled. ‘This time, I thought I’d be sort of trendy and with it by suggesting Busker’s.’

Leonie didn’t bridle at the mention of other personal ad dates on the grounds that he might be a serial dater. He wasn’t, she was sure. There was something comfortable about him, as if she’d known him for years.

‘My dating sin tonight is wearing new shoes to impress you,’ she said, struggling on the cobblestones that were considered part of the Left Bank-ish charm of Temple Bar. ‘Consequently, my feet are in agony and these cobblestones are hell.’

‘You should have said,’ Hugh declared, taking her arm. ‘I’ll drag you over to the footpath, milady, and we shall find a suitable hostelry where you can take the shoes off and nobody will notice.’

‘I need somewhere I can lie down,’ she joked, then blushed at what she’d said.

Hugh took no notice. ‘This is too advanced in the personal ad dating department for me,’ he said blithely. ‘Sex in the first ten minutes is too confusing, don’t you think?’

Leonie laughed. ‘Definitely. But a drink would be nice.’

‘Or how about something to eat?’ he said. ‘I’m actually ravenous and didn’t want to suggest dinner in case we hated each other and needed to escape quickly.’

‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ Leonie said. ‘I’d even invented a fictitious private party I’d have to get to by ten, in case you were as dull as ditchwater, but I’m starving.’

‘Right. Dinner. Lean on me. And if you suddenly need to leave at half nine, I’ll get the picture.’

Finding a table for two on a Saturday night when you haven’t booked is the Holy Grail of modern dating. But they managed it without having to hobble too far. Installed in a tiny booth for munchkins in a Chinese restaurant – the only place with a table – Leonie slipped off her shoes and moaned with relief.

‘You can’t do the fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally without food,’ Hugh warned her. ‘Otherwise we’ll be thrown out for fondling each other under the paper tablecloth. The police may even be involved. It won’t be nice. I’m a respectable man.’

She giggled. He was very funny, which was refreshing. Bob, whom she’d met twice since in a platonic way, was about as amusing as piles – and that was on a good day.

‘Ethnic restaurants are a good way of establishing if you can bear each other or not,’ Hugh remarked, putting on a pair of half-moon reading glasses to peruse the menu. ‘If one person starts laughing like a drain when they ask for “flied lice”, then you either know you’ve met your soul mate or not.’

‘If you’re a flied lice merchant, then I’m off,’ Leonie said. ‘Those glasses are great, by the way. I can just picture you peering at someone over a big desk and telling them they’ve been very bad.’

Hugh raised his dark eyebrows questioningly. ‘I think you’ve got your personal ads mixed up,’ he said. ‘I’m the investment adviser person; you’re thinking of Mr Whippy, who advertises on the next page as being good at punishment.’

Leonie smiled. ‘You mean, you’re not Mr Whippy?’

He appeared to consider this. ‘As long as it never gets out, I’d be prepared to consider it. No fee, seeing as it’s for you.’

She grinned with delight. This was marvellous, this was flirting. Ah, remember that. Smiling and making jokes with wicked innuendoes.

The waiter appeared and took their order. When Hugh got to the bit where he said he wanted fried rice with his beef, Leonie felt the giggles bubbling up inside her. She couldn’t laugh now. It would be too, too rude to the nice waiter who’d think they were making fun of his accent when it wasn’t that at all.

Hugh sent her a stern look. ‘Behave yourself,’ he mouthed. ‘She goes berserk after a few pints of shandy,’ he told the waiter.

She laughed seriously this time.

‘What is it about you that makes me keep laughing?’ she asked when the waiter had gone, unperturbed by the strange antics of diners.

‘My bald patch?’ he offered, bending forward so she could see it.

‘I think it’s relief because you’ve turned out to be so normal,’ Leonie declared. ‘Well, a bit abnormal really, but my sort of abnormal. I feel as if I’ve known you for years.’

He nodded. ‘Ditto. I never joke around with people I don’t know: I’m actually quite shy and when I don’t know someone, I’m very formal to cover up. Handy in my line of work, mind you. You can’t discuss investing money for someone and keep making cheap jokes. But with you, I feel very comfortable.’

‘Me too. So, you weren’t the life and soul of the party when you brought your last blind date to the posh restaurant?’ she asked slyly.

Hugh raked a bit of hair back with one hand and looked pained. ‘Hell, no. It was like a job interview. I told her what I did, where I did it and what my hobbies were. That was all before we’d ordered our first drink. If we’d had time, I’d have probably moved on to my career strategies and where I hoped to be in five years. Horrible. It’s a miracle I tried this again, after that fiasco.’

‘What was she like and why did you answer her ad?’ Leonie asked. ‘Actually, why did you answer mine?’

‘She said she worked with money and I thought it might be nice to meet someone in the same line of work,’ he explained. ‘That was a big mistake because I’ll probably spend the rest of my professional career hoping I’m never allocated to a branch where she works. She’s a tough cookie. It takes some nerve to stand up and say that we obviously weren’t suited and she didn’t want to waste the evening.’

‘Ouch. Maybe she’s a Miss Whippy,’ Leonie said evilly.

‘Wouldn’t be at all surprised. I’m afraid I was Mr Wimpy to her Miss Whippy. It’s not nice sitting on your own in a restaurant when your date has left abruptly. Everyone probably assumed we were married and I’d just told her I was having an affair or something.’

He looked so forlorn at the memory of that restaurant scene, that Leonie had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling.

‘That was in November,’ he said, ‘so I’ve been sitting at home licking my wounds for the past couple of months.’

Food and wine arrived and they tucked in.

‘You’re not getting off that easily,’ Leonie said, when she’d sated the first pangs of hunger with satay chicken. ‘Come on, spill the beans: why did you answer my ad?’

‘You sounded lovely and friendly, and you said you loved animals. Obviously, I do too and that was it. Also, I’m a sucker for statuesque blondes and my friends told me I was getting too big for my boots and needed another strange woman walking out on me on a blind date to knock me down to size. Only kidding,’ he added. ‘Although not about the first bit.’

‘If you’re hoping to get out of paying for your half of dinner with flowery compliments, stop right there,’ Leonie warned.

‘Not guilty, miss,’ Hugh said honestly.

He gazed straight at Leonie. ‘You’ve the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,’ he added softly. ‘They’re so blue, beautiful. And I’m having a wonderful time. Honest.’

Leonie’s belly quivered. Or at least something in her nether regions quivered. Maybe it wasn’t her belly after all, but some of the long-since rusted up sexual bits that hadn’t been out of dust sheets since Adam was a lad. Yes, definitely a quiver. She breathed deeply and said: ‘That party at ten o’clock has been cancelled, by the way.’

‘Good. When my friend rings my mobile at nine forty-five pretending to be locked out of his flat, to which, incidentally, I have the only spare key, I’ll tell him it’s OK, you’ve turned out to be wonderful.’

Chinese food had never been more fun. They laughed and talked their way through far too much Peking Duck and Sizzling Beef, until Leonie said she’d have to open all the buttons on her skirt or she’d burst out of it. She couldn’t imagine making such a statement with any other man, but she felt so relaxed with Hugh, it seemed natural. Of course, the second bottle of plonk helped.

‘I’m not really a heavy drinker,’ Leonie said, holding up her glass for another refill. ‘I like wine but it doesn’t take that much to get me drunk.’

‘I hope you haven’t copped on to my fiendish plan,’ said Hugh, dead-pan. ‘I’ve got a van out the back and I’m taking you on to my place to have my wicked way with you.’

‘Not that drunk yet,’ said Leonie, waving a reproving finger at him. ‘The worst I ever was when I was drunk was in college,’ she said, shivering at the memory. ‘It was a medical students’ party and they’d made ferociously strong punch with poteen and God knows what other booze. I mean, I was plastered after about four glasses, and I got talking to this guy who was a gynaecologist.’ She giggled at the memory. ‘Of course, I just had to ask him that fatal question.’

Hugh looked blank.

Leonie leaned forward and lowered her voice: ‘You know, how they can look at women’s bits all day and then go home and make love to their wives or girlfriends.’

Hugh’s eyes were dancing now. ‘What did he say?’

‘I can’t remember. I was too drunk! God, I was embarrassed the next day. People kept coming up to me and telling me things I’d done, all of it terrible. I was mortally embarrassed. The only reason I’d got drunk in the first place was because I desperately wanted to fit in and I thought booze would help.’

‘Your poor girl,’ Hugh said, petting her hand kindly. ‘I am ashamed to say that at the age of forty-seven, I’m not much better. The night of my ill-fated date with Ms Whippy, after she left the restaurant I finished the bottle of wine that we’d only just started and then had three brandies. At least you were a mere child when you did it.’

It was Leonie’s turn to pet his hand. ‘That’s perfectly understandable, Hugh,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’d have had two bottles in misery – or else I’d have pretended to go to the loo, climbed out the window and never gone back out of sheer embarrassment.’

He nodded. ‘Being a grown-up with kids doesn’t make you immune to the same pangs you went through as a teenager, does it?’

‘You’ve got kids?’ said Leonie delightedly. ‘You never told me.’ This was great. A separated man with children was perfect because he would understand how important they were to Leonie.

‘Jane, who’s twenty-one and Stephen, who’s eighteen. He lives with his mother, but Jane lives on her own in a flat near here. They’re terrific,’ he said warmly. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without them.’

‘Tell me everything,’ Leonie said.

Everything involved two more coffees on the grounds that they shouldn’t have any more to drink for health reasons. ‘I’d like to be able to get out of bed for some of the day tomorrow,’ Hugh said, ‘and not be hopelessly hungover.’

He didn’t say why he and his wife had separated three years ago and Leonie didn’t like to ask a question as personal as that. If he wanted to tell her eventually, he would. But he loved talking about his kids; his eyes lit up when he told her all about them.

Jane was ‘beautiful. I don’t know whose side of the family she got it from, but she’s a corker.’ She worked in an insurance company as a clerk. She was very clever and a wonderful artist. ‘I keep telling her to visit galleries with some of her paintings but she won’t.’

Stephen, on the other hand, sounded like a bit of a wild child and was currently saving up to take a year off his business studies degree to travel round the world. ‘Every time he mentions the Far East, Rosemary, that’s my ex, has a fit.’

‘I can understand that,’ Leonie said, sympathizing with Rosemary. If Danny had announced he wanted to travel to the Far East, she’d have had a fit. Only the week before she’d read another article about vulnerable young Westerners getting duped into the shady world of drugs in Thailand through having all their belongings ‘stolen’ by drug gangs, who then roped them in by lending them money and new luggage – luggage with a street value of a few million dollars in hidden heroin.

She recounted the most recent article to Hugh, pointing out that she’d read about young business people who’d never been involved with drugs in their lives ending up in jails thanks to having drugs planted on them by corrupt local police looking for protection money.

‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘That’s all hype and hysteria in the press. Young people need to spread their wings and travel. That’s what life’s all about. I’m only sorry I never had the chance to do it myself. I’m fully behind Stephen on this. I’ve told him I’ll pay his air fare and give him a thousand pounds when he wants to go.’

Leonie was stunned. If Danny had wanted to take a year off to travel, she’d make damn sure he paid his own way. What was the point of taking a year to mature and broaden your mind if you were relying on hand-outs from your parents to do it? He’d learn nothing about being independent if she was bankrolling him.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if Stephen earned his fare?’ she said tentatively.

‘I have the money, it’s the least I can do,’ Hugh said, his jaw tensing. ‘I’d give my kids anything. Anyway, I helped Jane buy her little runaround, a Mini, so Stephen deserves something to even it all up.’

‘Oh,’ Leonie said, smiling. Guilt money from an over-indulgent father. She’d bet a month’s salary that he’d left Rosemary and was now indulging his children like mad to make up for it.

‘Were they very upset when you left home?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t leave home,’ he said, surprised. ‘Rosemary did. She left me for someone else, but it went sour. Then we decided she should have the family home and I moved out. It made more sense that way as both the kids were still living at home.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ Leonie said quickly. So much for the home-spun analysis, Dr Freud.

‘No, it’s fine. We should get this sort of stuff out in the open so we understand each other. Tell me about your family.’

It was after twelve when they finally left the restaurant after some mild quibbling over who’d pay the bill. Hugh had wanted to pay for everything but Leonie said no, she preferred to pay her own way, thank you very much. They walked to a taxi-rank in silence. Their date had been wonderful and Leonie wanted to see him again, but she didn’t know how to say that without coming across as pushy. And what if she said it and he didn’t want to see her again? The ground would open up and swallow her, she hoped.

They joined the taxi queue but it must have been a quiet night in the city because they were at the top of the queue within minutes. Leonie could see a taxi approaching. Hugh lived in an entirely different direction to her, in Templeogue, so they couldn’t share one. This was goodbye. The taxi cruised to a halt and Hugh opened the door for her.

Disappointment flooded through her. He wasn’t going to ask to see her again. Then, she felt his lips brush her cheek gently. ‘What are you doing next Saturday night?’ he asked.

She beamed at him. ‘Painting my toenails, unless I get a better offer.’

‘You’ve got one now,’ he said, thrusting a business card into her hand. ‘Dinner same time next week. I’ll book somewhere exotic and you can phone me on the mobile.’

The taxi drive home took nearly an hour. Normally, Leonie would have been taut as an elastic band watching the meter rack up the fare with the speed of a slot machine in Vegas. Tonight, she felt as if she was sailing home on a thermal breeze, like a yacht racing around the Caribbean. Inviolate from the pain of everyday life, including huge taxi fares.

She whispered his name to herself a couple of times; Hugh Goddard, Hugh Goddard. It was a nice name and he was a nice man. Mind you, she could see them arguing over how to bring up kids, but then, that was hardly the issue here. She was hardly planning on having any more, so their wildly different views would not matter. What did matter was the way he made her feel. He was funny and attractive, and in his company she felt funny and attractive too. In other words, the perfect match.

‘No, we haven’t set a date, but we want it to be soon,’ Hannah said, holding her hand out as Emma and Leonie bent over and admired the rock. ‘Felix is up in the air for the next few months because he’s auditioned for two series and he won’t know if he’s been successful for ages. Which means,’ Hannah sighed, ‘that we daren’t book anyplace for the reception.’

They were having coffee in Hannah’s kitchen, a hastily convened conference to discuss life, the universe and men.

‘Oh,’ Emma said. ‘I thought Felix would be crazy to hold on to you now you’ve agreed to marry him. I was expecting you to say the pair of you were off to the Seychelles for a beach wedding in the morning.’

‘I’d like that,’ Hannah admitted. ‘I’m not into big family weddings, to be honest, and the thought of a party with seventy elderly relatives I haven’t seen in aeons doesn’t appeal to me. Not to mention what my father would probably do if he got drunk.’ She corrected herself: ‘When he got drunk. We’ll have to see what happens about the wedding. A beach one would be nice…’ she added.

Leonie was in fantasy land. ‘It’d be so romantic, Hannah,’ she sighed wistfully, thinking of Hugh. ‘Barefoot on the beach, coconut trees everywhere and the sound of water lapping the shore.’

Emma didn’t appear quite so happy at the news, Hannah thought. She must be imagining it: Emma was one of the sweetest people she knew. She’d be thrilled to see Hannah happy.

‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’ Emma asked bluntly.

Both Hannah and Leonie gaped at her in shock.

‘You don’t think you’re rushing into it, do you?’ Emma went on. ‘I know you love Felix, but wouldn’t it make more sense to live together for a year and then decide? Just to be sure,’ she added.

‘I am sure,’ snapped Hannah. ‘We were made for each other. I’m crazy about him – ’

Emma interrupted. ‘Don’t get cross, Hannah. I’m not saying that for a moment. I know you adore him, but marriage is a big step, you want to be absolutely sure. And Felix did go off before Christmas and not tell you where he was going. You have to be certain he’s not the sort of guy who does that on a regular basis.’

Hannah’s jaw tightened. ‘I don’t need to be reminded of that, thank you very much,’ she said icily. ‘He explained why. It’s complicated, and I didn’t invite you here to question my judgement, Emma.’

The other woman flushed. She’d gone too far and had hurt Hannah, which was the last thing she’d intended. ‘Please don’t get angry, Hannah. I only wanted to say, I’m afraid you’re rushing into it and that you’ll get hurt. I’m not saying it to be horrible. He’s lovely, I know that, and he said he was sorry. I’m sorry too, I’m just being cautious. That’s me – ’ she gave a brittle laugh – ‘too cautious.’

She sounded so genuine, but Hannah was hurt by the inference that Felix wasn’t really in love with her and that it was a one-sided relationship. She was also still smarting from Felix’s disappearing trick at Christmas, and to have Emma bring the subject up as though she pitied Hannah – well, that was too much to take. How dare Emma say those things?

‘I know you think you’re helping, Emma, but you’re not,’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘I’m getting married to Felix and I hoped you’d be pleased for me.’

‘I am,’ protested Emma.

‘Girls, let’s not fight,’ begged Leonie. ‘With you two at each other’s throats, it’s like being at home again while Danny and Mel are having a fight.’

Hannah allowed herself to smile briefly. ‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Let’s get off the subject of weddings, shall we?’

They had more coffee and tried to talk naturally, but the tense atmosphere remained, like the lingering scent of nicotine long after the cigarette had been put out. Eventually, Emma couldn’t take it any longer.

‘I have to go,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll phone you both during the week.’ And she was gone.

Hannah and Leonie sipped their coffee in silence, Hannah staring moodily at the fireplace.

‘She’s trying to be a good friend, that’s all,’ Leonie said, ever the pacifier. ‘Emma cares for you and she’s cautious. We all know that Felix adores you.’ Which wasn’t exactly true, because neither Emma nor Leonie had met Hannah’s Mr Wonderful. But they had heard Hannah’s version of events: that he was perfect and that he adored her.

‘Yeah, I know,’ sighed Hannah. ‘I suppose I over-reacted a bit. Let’s forget about it, shall we?’

But even though she wanted to forget what Emma had said, she couldn’t.

It was like a bad omen or a blight hanging over what was supposed to have been a lovely day. When Leonie had gone, Hannah pottered around the apartment, tidying things and straightening cushions. Emma’s words niggled at the back of her mind. How sure was she of Felix, really? He’d left suddenly without worrying about her. Could that happen again?

‘Hannah’s insane to get married to Felix,’ Emma said to Pete that night when they were washing up companionably.

‘Why do you think that, Em?’ Pete asked.

‘I don’t know, there’s something about Felix I don’t like. His name for a start. I mean, Felix! Come on, he comes from somewhere outside Birmingham. Felix Andretti is a bit exotic for Brum.’

‘He might have parents who weren’t born in the UK,’ Pete said mildly.

‘And I’m Dutch,’ his wife replied. ‘He went off and left Hannah without a word for a whole month and then swans back into her life, expecting her to welcome him with open arms! He’s a bastard. And I saw a photo of him in Hello! with someone else. I didn’t tell Hannah – I couldn’t.’ Emma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who knows what he was up to when he was away for that month. I bet Felix thinks fidelity is something to do with a stereo system.’

Pete laughed. ‘You’re a panic when you’re angry about something, you know that?’

‘Well, it’s just that I’d feel like a useless friend if I didn’t say something, Pete.’ Emma rinsed the last saucepan and started wiping the sink fiercely with a J-cloth. ‘I don’t trust him and I tried to tell Hannah what I felt. But she got so angry that I chickened out at the last minute and backtracked.’

‘If you feel that strongly about it, try again. Phone her and say you care about her and don’t want her to be hurt, so is she sure she knows what she’s doing,’ Pete suggested.

‘Yeah,’ Emma said. ‘I suppose I could. But she’s already furious with me for bringing the subject up in the first place. She’d never talk to me again if I went for a repeat performance.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘Come on, Father Ted is on in three minutes. I’ll make the tea and you get the biscuits.’

She had the baby dream again that night. It was so real, so utterly intense. She was standing in the shopping centre, trying to push a trolley into the supermarket. But she was tired and she was afraid of hurting the baby. A baby! she realized in astonishment. Then she looked down and saw that her belly had swollen to this small, neat bump. A three-months pregnant bump. She spent the next while gently holding on to it, as if something would fall out if she let go. How she caressed the bump, talking to it, loving it. It was a wonderful feeling, knowing that she was pregnant and sensing this tiny creature inside her, a creature she had to protect. Her little girl. How Emma knew it was a girl, she wasn’t sure. But it was a girl. She walked around and talked to people, Pete and her mother among them, but she didn’t say she was pregnant or anything, in case it would jinx things. So she decided to do a pregnancy test, but when she walked – barefoot for some reason – to the chemist to buy one, the chemist’s had strangely become a grocery shop.

Emma knew she had to do the pregnancy test, she panicked about it. But she couldn’t find one and she needed to sit down in case all that walking hurt the baby, and it started to rain and then…she woke up. Lying in her bed, she felt for a few moments as if she was still pregnant, it had all seemed so utterly real. Then Pete shifted in the bed and started snoring. The faint dreamworld faded as the real one came into focus. She looked at the clock: six thirty, it would soon be time to get up. And she wasn’t pregnant. Emma didn’t need to touch her belly to confirm that.

She climbed out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t go back to sleep now and not wanting to. She couldn’t bear to drift back into that dream and fool herself that she was pregnant again.

She slipped downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, all the while conscious of a huge sense of loss inside her. If this was what it felt like to lose a dream baby, what must it be like to lose a real baby, she wondered bleakly. How would your life ever go back to normal after that? It wouldn’t. You’d ache for that child every day.

Feeling empty and hollow, Emma sipped her tea and watched breakfast television for half an hour. She couldn’t cope with being alone with her own sad thoughts.

Pete walked into the sitting room as she was turning off the TV. His eyes were bleary with sleep and his hair, what little there was of it, stood up straight.

His very presence irritated her, she thought irrationally, as he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.

‘What has you up so early?’ he asked, throwing himself down on to the couch and closing his eyes.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she snapped. Honestly, couldn’t he tell? Had he any clue what was wrong with her? Men!