Читать книгу Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle - Fiona Gibson, Fiona Gibson - Страница 16

Rob is slumped over the washbasin in Nadine’s bathroom, breathing deeply and trying not to throw up. It’s gone ten and there are two missed calls from Kerry on his mobile. How did he manage to sleep in with the traffic noise and merciless sunlight streaming in through Nadine’s huge living room window? Booze, of course. Far too much of it, on a virtually empty stomach too. All he ate last night was a meagre slice of lemon cake.

The thought of Kerry having phoned, and the prospect of explaining where he’s been, causes Rob to retch painfully into the washbasin. So what did happen last night? He has absolutely no recollection. Oh, he remembers the early part all right – being made a fuss of at Jack’s, like he actually belonged in the new team, then coming back to Nadine’s and her quizzing him about moving to Shorling, then … just a big, fuzzy blur. Surely, he tries to reassure himself, the very fact that he can’t remember anything would indicate that nothing went on? God, he hopes so. He has never once felt even the faintest urge to sleep with another woman and, despite Nadine’s obvious attractiveness, the very possibility that it might have been on the cards hadn’t even occurred to him last night. Perhaps she’d been drunker than she appeared, and had just happened to stumble onto the sofa bed and under the covers, wrapping her naked body around his entirely by accident. After all, mistakes happen. Eddy is always regaling the office with the time he peed into a former lover’s clarinet case, and how he once tried to exit a girl’s bedroom via her wardrobe …

Rob glances up dizzily from the plughole and focuses on a glass bowl sitting on the windowsill. It contains those effervescent ball things for the bath. Mia had some in her stocking last Christmas, he recalls with a twist of acute discomfort, containing secret glitter which clung to the sides of the bath for weeks. Nadine’s chalky orbs are encrusted with shrivelled petals, suggesting to Rob what his traumatised liver might look like right now.

Oddly enough, gazing steadily at the bath bombs is helping him to untangle his thoughts. By now, he’s managed to convince himself that he simply fell asleep last night. Yep, he’d definitely have been too drunk to manage anything else. Thank Christ for the withering effects of alcohol on a man’s ability to ‘perform’, as they rather cringingly describe it in Mr Jones (it always makes Rob think of bounding into a woman’s bedroom brandishing flaming torches, followed by a naked cartwheel).

We didn’t do anything, he tells himself firmly, peering at his waxy reflection in the mirror. Even if I’d been able to, which I definitely wouldn’t, part of my brain would have yelled ‘Stop!’ Yet there’s still the tiniest, niggling doubt, and he needs to know for sure. Could he possibly think of a way of asking her without it sounding completely insulting? ‘Er, I know we had a really nice time last night, but, um … would you mind filling me in on the details? It’s just a bit … hazy.’ Which leads him to picturing Nadine and Eddy having a good old chortle in the office first thing on Monday morning. They did have a bit of snog, Rob recalls now as bile rises in his throat, but that’s not the end of the world. I only kissed her, he imagines himself confessing to Kerry, before the saucepan clangs over his head, rendering him unconscious on the kitchen floor.

Mopping a lick of sweat from his brow with Nadine’s fresh white towel, Rob considers what to do next. Hell, he’s already missed that first appointment. He’d better dress quickly, hurry home and get ready to show the next lot of people round the house. That would at least make him feel purposeful, which might help to cancel out the pool of unease currently simmering away in his stomach. They’re due at one, he vaguely recalls, and he needs to clear up before they arrive. Then he can head down to Shorling and carry on with his weekend as if nothing has happened. He needn’t even wake Nadine. Sure, it might be a little awkward on Monday, but he’ll steel himself and just be casual with her and find out the actual facts then. That’s Nadine sorted, he decides, inspecting his tongue in the mirror and deciding it looks corrugated. So what about his wife? He could confess everything (not that there’s anything to confess), but what would that achieve? Despite being apparently ‘good with words’, according to Eddy The Patroniser, he doubts if he could fully convey what actually happened (especially as he still can’t recall the details).

‘Rob?’ Nadine’s voice makes his heart jolt. ‘Rob? You okay in there?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he calls in an overly-bright voice through the locked bathroom door. No way he can disappear quietly now. He clears more foul-tasting gunk from his throat and spits it into the basin.

‘Want some breakfast, sweetie?’

Sweetie? Good lord … ‘Uh, no thanks.’ He shudders and splashes cold water onto his face. Then, after patting it dry, he unbolts the door.

Nadine is standing there in the cool white hallway, a tiny lilac T-shirt flung on over a pair of little fleecy tartan shorts. She’s not wearing a bra, which is distracting.

‘Hey,’ she says with a sleepy grin.

‘Hey,’ he says, focusing firmly on her face.

‘Are you really okay?’ She raises a dark brow, and the flecks of last night’s eyeliner around her cornflower-blue eyes are oddly fetching.

‘Well …’ He rakes back his hair and follows her into the living room. ‘Guess I overdid it a bit.’

‘It was your party, you’re allowed to.’ She takes his hand and leads him to the sofa which has already been folded away. ‘It’s okay, Rob,’ she adds. ‘It was really nice, actually …’

‘Was it?’ he croaks.

She laughs, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Yeah, it was lovely.’

‘Oh.’ He senses a vein pulsating in his neck.

Nadine widens her eyes. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

He shakes his head. ‘Er … I’m really sorry, Nadine, but it’s all a blur. I remember us talking, and me telling you I felt weird about leaving London and all that …’

‘And then you went on to talk about your kids who sound adorable …’

A tidal wave of relief crashes over him until he remembers the kiss again, which definitely did happen.

‘But, er …’ He frowns. ‘Are you saying … nothing else happened?’

She chuckles softly. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, Rob.’

‘But we did both, um … spend the night on here …’ His neck reddens as he prods the sofa.

Nadine nods. ‘My fault really. You were so sweet, and it was so late by then, I just wanted a cuddle and you said it was okay …’

‘So …’ Rob’s breath catches in his throat. ‘That was it?’

She nods. ‘We just had a little cuddle as friends.’

‘Oh.’ Rob isn’t entirely sure what that means, and is even less certain that it would go down well if Kerry were to find out – but, hell, things could be a lot worse. He just cuddled (as friends) this cute, ditsy girl who’s turned out to be nothing like the frosty little princess he had her down for at work. And now … ‘God, I’d better go,’ he says quickly, checking his watch.

‘Got to be somewhere?’

‘Yes, I’m showing some people round the house and need to get it ready …’ His new-found decisiveness is helping to shift the terrible gloom. After all, he is forty today: he must act his age and seize control of the day.

‘You’ve got to clean the place?’ she asks.

‘Well, I just like to freshen it up when people are coming.’ He swallows, hoping that doesn’t sound too OCD. Secretly, though, he’s itching to get home and polish the taps.

‘Why don’t I come along and help you?’ she asks brightly.

‘Oh, you don’t want to waste your Saturday doing that.’

‘I do, honestly!’ She laughs huskily. ‘It might sound weird but I love cleaning. I like all the products – the squirty stuff for the bath, all the little wipes and dimply sponges …’ Rob smiles, unsure of whether she’s having him on or not. ‘And you can’t spend your birthday all by yourself,’ she adds. ‘That would just be too sad.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, and anyway, I’m off down to Shorling later …’

‘You live in Bethnal Green, don’t you?’ Nadine cuts in.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Well, I was planning on heading over that way anyway. My friend Jade lives in Hackney. She’s a hypnotist. She’s helping me deal with anxieties.’

‘Oh …’

‘Come on, Rob, I’ll keep you company and we can whip round your house with a J cloth. It’ll be so much quicker if there’s two of us.’

Rob nods, his hangover abating slightly as he thinks: Why not? She only wants to help, and she’ll probably get bored and head off after twenty minutes.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘D’you think you could get ready quickly, though? I really need to make a start.’

‘Sure,’ she says with a grin. ‘You know what, Rob? I really think you’ll sell it today. I’ve a feeling I’ll be your lucky charm.’